#da:i fic

[burntheedges]

2024 Fic Reading Tracker - February

Well, I did it! I kept it up for another month. Wild. I made a masterlist for this here. There’s a link to a blank version of the tracker on the masterlist.

I ended up reading more fics (as in, separate entries on the tracker) in February in comparison with January, but the total word count was WAY lower. I felt like I was reading less all month, so I guess that makes sense. I also read a couple of books. Graphs and recs below the cut!

February Fic Reading Stats

# of fic reading instances: 150 Fun fact: 74 were rereads

# of words read: 1,441,366 (remember, this is way lower than January. lol)

Fics by fandom:

PPCU = Pedro Pascal cinematic universe

PPCU Fics by Pedro character:

A few recs

Just like last month, here are some fics I definitely recommend, chosen with a random number generator (1 through 150):

Adrift With You by @morallyinept Fandom: PPCU, Frankie Morales x OFC Jude, 120 words (up to ch 7), Rating: E I love Frankie and Jude, I love how they’re getting to know each other, I love the crisis they’re in, I love everything about this fic!

let’s get outta here, baby by @ilovepedro Fandom: PPCU, Frankie Morales x f!reader, 2.5k, Rating: E Established relationship Frankie for Valentine’s Day 🥰

Married Javier Peña series by @lokischocolatefountain Fandom: PPCU, Javier Peña x f!reader, ~45k, Rating: E I feel like I’m late to the game with this one but I love it?? A perfect Javi, so intimate, so hot.

Greatly Approved by damalur (ao3) Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Varric x f!Hawke, 42k words, 3 parts, Rating: M This is my favorite DA:I fic. I reread it a couple of times a year. This is my favorite (rare) pairing and I can’t handle how much I love them in this fic. They’re perfect. 💕

… see you at the end of March!

#fanfiction #fanfic #reading tracker #ppcu #bte 2024 fic tracker #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x ofc #javier peña x reader #da:i fic

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

“Well.  He’s...charming.”

The Inquisitor’s head swayed disapprovingly from side to side as he watched the disheveled, travel-weary and hardly anything resembling even mildly friendly mage disappear down the stone stairs from the battlements, and Varric couldn’t help but let out a soft snicker under his breath, albeit a half-hearted one.  

“Yeah, see, the thing you’ve got to understand about Hawke is that even though he’s known all over for being the Champion of Kirkwall, this great big hero, the way he sees it all he is, is the guy who got pushed out front.”  

Let’s see...three, two, one...

Lavellan raised an eyebrow.  He couldn’t help but let out that snicker, either.

“Just...imagine, if you would, a group of travelers in the forest, cornered by a pack of hungry wolves.”

“I live in the forest, Varric, I’ve fought off more hungry wolves than I can count.”

“Heh, fair point.  How about darkspawn, then?  Now, imagine this group of people isn’t exactly a bunch of born heroes and fearless leaders who jump at the chance to fight ancient darkspawn magisters - just some ordinary people.  You think they’re gonna pull out a sword and hold their ground when they see some darkspawn closing in on them?  No.  They’re gonna do whatever they can to make sure their ass isn’t first in line for being turned inside out and sideways, which means sooner or later some poor bastard’s gonna get shoved out front.  Once that happens, you don’t exactly get that many choices of what to do next.”

Lavellan offered a curt nod.  “Of course.  You fight, or you die.”

“Exactly.  And if you fight, maybe you win!  Maybe you save everyone and live to tell about it, and now you’re the big hero.”

The elf’s nodding slowed, which could only mean he was starting to get it.  

“Even though you only did it because they threw you out to die in the first place.”

“Yeah.  If I’d spent as much of my life as he has fighting off wolves like that, I don’t think I’d be all that nice of a person either.”

“Don’t you mean darkspawn?”

“ Heh, yeah, them too.  Literally, in his case.”

Once their chortling had died down, Lavellan stayed quiet for a moment.  Varric could almost see the gears in his head turning; Hawke was a new challenge, after all, and if there was anything the Inquisitor would never, ever, ever do, it was turn down a challenge.  Eventually, he let out a loud sigh and stretched his arms into the air, which Varric had learned was a surefire way to tell when a conversation with him was over.  Just as well.  He had a cranky mage to collect, before he could get to making too many people cry.

“Why did he come, then?” came the Inquisitor’s voice as Varric turned to leave himself, “if he’s so tired of being ‘pushed out front’?”

“Why do you think?” Varric replied, and sent a smirk over one shoulder.  For dramatic effect, of course.

“The wolves came back.”

--------

Eternal heartfelt thanks to the darlingest darling @sunshinemage for bringing the very grouchiest of grouchy boys to life so very, very well, and for enough inspiration to finally get off my ass and write something. <3  

#art: nicky hawke #delph is a wizard #i am so irrationally attached to this man it's ridiculous #so much bitterness over everyone expecting him to save them all the time but too much of a conscience to just tell them to go kick rocks #leo the lion writes words #oc: nicky hawke #oc: tasalin lavellan #varric tethras #da:i fic

[becauseanders]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Mature Relationships: Inquisitor/The Iron Bull (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Disability, Chronic Pain, Chronic Illness, Disabled Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, Headaches & Migraines, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Mage Rebellion (Dragon Age), Rebel Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Past Female Inquisitor/Original Female Character, internalized ableism, trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma chameleon, Medical marijuana, or like a DA equivalent to MMJ…just go with it, [slaps roof on characters] you can fit so much lifelong psychological damage in these motherfuckers, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, referenced sexual content, Title from a Placebo song

The mind is far more easily manipulated than people like to think, and Bull is very good at manipulating his marks. And it turns out this even works on himself.

Here and now, however, this accidental self-manipulation is unravelling. Here and now he is being thrown into having to face these fears he didn’t even know he had.

#dragon age #fan fiction #my writing #da fic #bull/inquisitor #dragon age: inquisition #da:i fic #the iron bull #astrid trevelyan #i got sick of looking at this so here is some bullshit lmao #please validate me

[violasarecool]

Rating: G Relationship: Leliana/Morrigan Summary: Morrigan stops by the rookery to catch up with Leliana—or perhaps only to tease.

"You are not as animated these past few days," came a voice from the stairs. Leliana looked up from her parchment to watch as Morrigan climbed the last few steps and came to stop beside her desk. She trailed a hand across a pile of letters; Leliana suppressed the brief urge to rap the back of Morrigan's hand with the flat of her closest dagger.

"It is funny that you say that," Leliana said instead. "People have been commenting for days on how cheerful I was at the ball."

"Really." Morrigan watched as she returned to her work, scribbling ink across a short piece of parchment. "You don't enjoy your position, then?"

Read More

#morrigan x leliana #morrigan #leliana #da:i fic #dragon age: inquisition #da:i #da

[reecey9o5]

The second chapter of Fen'Harelan Tuast Elvar'nas'era is here!

(I mean, I'm working on about as much sleep as Nancy Thompson, I might as well write Freddy fic.)

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age fic #da:i fic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #a nightmare on elm street #freddy krueger

[blarrghe]

Rating: M | Category: M/M | Words: 30 839 | Chapters 14/28

Summary:

When Magister Dorian Pavus' expedition meets unexpectedly with a clan of unhappy Dalish elves, First Taren Lavellan may be the unhappiest among them. Unhappier still to be put to the task of helping to see his quest through. This is the tale of how a fortnight in the forests of the Free Marches can change everything.

From the top

Ch. 14: A Lesson in Responsibility

Snippet:

“The last time the clan travelled through these parts, I was needed with them,” he explained. This admittance held more of that hidden embarrassment, a shortness to the usually even candour of his accented speech. “Even now, we could not spare the people, but then you came along,” he sighed, but the words contained less malice than Dorian had come to expect. “The clan will be moving early, we won’t return until the forest heals. A few seasons, at least. Our hunters needed to come out this way to prepare, and with your —” he faltered, “the help of your people, your supplies…” And here, Dorian understood. The great upset his witless companions had caused in alighting the forest and abandoning their slaves had benefited him, in a roundabout way. The slaves who wished to join clan Lavellan would now help his people prepare to travel, the supplies and gold taken from Dorian’s looted packs meant that elves of the clan who might have been sent to trade were free to join him, and meanwhile the hunt had to be sent further out. All of it allowed the bright-eyed, story-telling First to set out for the mythic temple he had, apparently, a longstanding fascination with. He had only to chaperone Dorian through the forest, and that too had benefits besides his own winning charm. He was, after all, another mage.  “So… you’re using me, my resources and my people, to do something you wanted to do all along?” Dorian concluded, settling back with the first genuinely smug smile he’d ever been able to direct at this self-important elf.

Daff tags list below the cut

@warpedlegacy @rakshadow @rosella-writes @effelants @breninarthur @ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer @crackinglamb @theluckywizard @nirikeehan @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @melisusthewee @agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow @about2dance @plisuu

#my fic #my writing #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age inquisition fanfiction #pavellan #dorian x lavellan #canon divergent #enemies to lovers #the hunter the snake and the fox

[edda-grenade]

some sketches i made while working on a matter of love

soul names (love and death names, in the case of this fic) are honestly a narrative goldmine, like is it fate? is it yourself? are you being controlled, and if so, are you gonna let it? stack a pile of cultural pressures about soulnames on top and off you go :D

#i don't wanna post like. massive spoilers but also. wanna draw So Many things from this fic still it's my baby #can't believe saar gets to lose her shit in an au before i get to it in her main timeline lmao #solas #soladaar #adaar #saar gets her own tag #inquisitor #iron bull #varric tethras #art tag #fanart #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #inquisitor x solas #soul names verse

[catofadifferentcolor]

An Incomplete List of Dragon Age AU Fic Ideas

A Curious Thing Happened on the Way to the Conclave: In which the Inquisitor is a Spirit of Curiosity who enjoys being trapped in the mortal world just a little too much

Forget-Me-Not: In which an amnesiac Inquisitor Trevelyan learns he was once Corypheus' second-in-command, and gradually comes to terms with his villainous past

From Lothering with Love: In which a case of mistaken identity makes Edmund Hawke the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Fereldan and the Herald of Andraste

The Magister Who Loved Me: In which Dorian Pavus bends the laws of time to save his lover, Inquisitor Lavellan, but winds the clock back just a little too far

The Name of the Dragon: In which Razikale has been hiding out in the mountains since the Warden killed her dragon cult, but could get used to this Inquisitor thing

Time Loops Are Forever: In which this is not the first time Inquisitor Lavellan has saved the world, though he'd very much like this to be the last

#plot bunny #fic ideas #dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age: inquisition #da:o #da2 #da:i #warden hawke #inquisitor hawke #inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #inquisitor x solas #hawke x fenris #dragon age hawke #solas #male lavellan #male trevelyan #mage inquisitor #dalish inquisitor #inquisitor trevelyan #tevinter #male inquisitor #female inquisitor

[arcane-hunger]

I need to know more about the Solas that lived for a year in the dark future in Redcliffe. I need to know everything he went through even though - to the Inquisitor and Dorian, he only existed for all of about an hour.

Did the Dread Wolf give up? How did he despair at his plan going so awry, so out of his hands? Was it because he could not have predicted that Alexios had the power to manipulate time? He ended the world once trying to make it better, and now, in his attempts to fix it - he's broken it again, this time beyond repair. He's captured, powerless, infected with the red lyrium: how many times did he try to escape? How many times did he wrack his mind for a plan, but come up empty? And how many times in his powerlessness did he pound his fists against the cell walls, crying in frustration?

And then the Inquisitor arrives, unchanged and radiant like the sun that he had not seen in a year. The key to his salvation returns, and he can start over. He can unbreak the world this time, for free. This abomination of a world does not have to come to pass, and he will sacrifice himself in order to succeed, to rely on the version of himself of a year ago to make the right decisions.

And that Solas ceased to exist as the Inquisitor and Dorian return to Redcliffe, just as the dark future ceased to exist. Did he ever matter, really?

And how does the present Solas react to hearing of this version of him that seemingly gave up... only to sacrifice himself for a do-over? To have existed as a mistake that had to be changed - to be erased - for the purposes of a better world - does he see the irony in that?

#-bangs on table- solas and the inquisitor are foils for each other!!! #redcliffe's dark future is to the inquisitor what solas woke up to!!! #does he think about it??? does it scare him what he'll do to 'get it right'??? #solas #da:i solas #dragon age solas #if someone has a fic they can recommend PLEASE send it to me

[greypetrel]

A Dalish Elf and two Tevinter Mages enter a tavern...

They collapsed, in absolute mental exhaustion from too much study and work, writing their six-handed dissertation on the very important, much academic question: “Is it better to drink bad wine or bad beer?”. After careful studies and experimentations, they concluded that beer is better. If you’re in a country too cold for good grapes, at least.

I don’t see enough love for Felix, so I decided to give him some myself. And nothing, three idiots coping with existential crisis, researches that do work but in working almost destroyed the world, imminent death, FEELZ. A new friend gets adopted, because this shit is weird so we’d better go with the flow of weirdness.

*** [ The morning post the events of In Hushed Whispers, The Gull and the Lantern, Redcliffe Village. ]

Come morning, Seeker Pentaghast has to but step out of her room to be met with the first problem of the day. She hoped, going to sleep, that the next day would have been better. The next day couldn’t be worse than the one before, couldn’t be worse than the shy, demure, sweet elf actually stepping up to her role and both enrolling a bunch of rebel mages as full-fledged allies, and come face to face with the rulers of Ferelden and refusing to lower her eyes. Weren’t it her mess to clean up -and Josephine’s and Leliana’s and she didn’t want to hear Leliana’s opinion on the matter-, she would have been impressed. But it was her mess to clean up, and she could feel a headache forming just thinking of accommodating the Mages at Haven, in the little space they were allotted, and having them coexist with the Templar they had in house. So, half of her was impressed, the other half hoped Cullen would have eaten her alive so she wouldn’t have to be the one to dispose of her dead body.

Today couldn’t possibly be worse.

And yet, as she steps out of her room, there’s Solas banging on the Herald’s door, shouting to just open up. She can’t but think, forlornly, that she isn’t gonna see the evening.

“What is it?”

“She’s not answering. She wasn’t well yesterday evening, and- We shouldn’t have left her alone.” The apostate complains, trying to force the knob and pushing at the door, but with no result.

“What’s going on, stop banging, someone’s trying to sleep in.” Varric adds, popping out of his own room. Just what Cassandra needs.

“Urgh.” She grunts, stepping out and placing a hand on Solas’ shoulder, to have him step away and give her room. “Let me.”

“Hey, is everything all right with Lucky?”

“Either she has the deepest sleep of the world, or we’re finding a Demon inside.” Cassandra snorts, shaking her head.

“You don’t think-“

“Get your crossbow.”

She closes her fingers on the hilt on her side, and bracing up hit the door with her shoulder, hard. The door rattles, but doesn’t give way. She repeats the action, putting more strength in it. At the third attempt, the lock breaks and the door swings open, letting the Seeker in as she takes advantage of the momentum to swing her sword inside.

The room, however, is empty, saved for the still full bathtub. Cassandra walks in the room, sheating her sword again and huffing through her nose. The bed is wrinkled but still neatly done, signalling that nobody slept in it. The elf’s few belongings are all there: her staff is propped against the wall beside the bed, her armour tossed haphazardly on the chair in a corner, and below it, without an order, on the little table just there lie the pouches full of medicinal herbs she insists on keeping with her, along a couple of flasks full of healing poultices and lyrium drough. The windows is open, letting the fresh morning air in, but a quick check confirms the jump is too high, and there’s no rope attached anyway. The water in the bathtub is dirty and cold. No signs of fighting, all in all.

“She didn’t spend the night here.”

“She must have gone in the evening, the candles aren’t melted. And I’d say she planned on returning.” Solas added, walking inside as well and looking around.

“We’ll never find her if she slept outside, she could literally be everywhere.” Comes Varric’s contribution, before he turns and steps down the stairs.

“Where are you going, dwarf?” Cassandra barks, not intending of losing another one of her party. One she could manage, two definitely not.

“Relax, Seeker, I’m having breakfast. And asking the hostess if she saw Lucky yesterday.”

They follow him, without any better idea. The common room is empty, so early in the morning, but the hostess is already behind the counter, wiping glasses and tidying up. She greets them all, and before disappearing to get breakfast, she points at a precise corner as Varric asks her about a Dalish elf, blonde and with teal tattoos on her brow and chin. Coming closer, there’s a table tucked in that corner, two benches on each side: and on the bench that’s tucked against the wall, there they find her, in an unlikely company.

Lavellan is tucked against the side of the son of Gereon Alexius, her cheek resting on his shoulder and drooling slightly, mouth open and soundly asleep as the two other mages. Dorian is on the other side, equally resting against his friend in sleep. All three looks perfectly healthy, and by the cups, pitchers and empty bottle, it’s pretty easy to reconstructs what exactly had happened.

Solas snorts, shaking his head and approaching the three, gently shaking Aisling by her shoulder.

“Wake up, da’len, are you fine?”

“Ungh- Five more minutes…” she grumbles, not waking up and instead turning her head to drown further into the shoulder she’s perched into.

“Da’len.” He remarks, severely.

“What?” She finally answers, opening one green eyes and looking at her wake up call with as much reproach ash Solas used to stir her awake.

“You’re sleeping on a Magister’s shoulder.”

“He’s not a Magister, he’s an Altus. And he told me he didn’t mind.”

“Would you please shut up? I’m trying to sleep, here.” Dorian grumbles from his spot, turning to face the wall and draping an arm over his ear and face. Felix just grumbles and shifts, if he’s awake, he seems pretty sure to ignore everyone.

“Herald, we were very worried about you.” Cassandra adds, but all the edge is gone from her voice.

Hearing the Seeker sound not angry but just a little tired, tho, makes Aisling finally open her eyes for more than one second, looking at her for some moments before raising her hand and rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry… I came down for a drink, we started chatting and we fell asleep.” She explains, groggy from sleep, but not oppositive. Which makes Solas huff and raise up, patting her shoulder before stepping away.

“I’m helping Varric with the breakfast, you raise up, it’s not so polite.” He chides, her, going to help the dwarf and the hostess taking a couple of trays of full dishes and cups to the table. Cassandra, meanwhiles, just sits down on the opposite bench, scuddling over to the very end to make room for the others.

The clank of full trays and the movement of cutlery and dishes, as breakfast gets served and the remnant of the evening moved on the tray and taken away, united with the sweet smell of porridge, jam, eggs and bacon, finally stirs the two Tevinters up to wakefulness. Felix yawns, all so polite with a hand coming to cover his mouth and apologising for both the scene and for taking Aisling there without making sure she got back to her room. As Dorian keeps grumbling, he asks if there’s coffee and if it can please not taste like piss as well - Aisling and Felix giggles, the rest just look at them with a question in their eyes that doesn’t get answered.

Varric just keeps on looking at the three in front of them, slowly raising up in pretty much the same level of disarray and messy hair, Aisling and Dorian complaining that the room’s too bright and their head throbs, Felix doing the same because they should have listened and stop drinking before they actually did. He can’t resist but comment.

“This is really some weird shit, you know, Lucky?” Master Tethras, smelling a story, barely can contain his amusement as he sips his tea.

The elf turns to look at him with a shy smile and a glint in her eyes that promises nothing good. And indeed, when she replies, it gets even weirder:

“…Scis quod etiam amentior?” (1) (1) “Do you know what’s weirder?” (or it should be, I was never that good with Latin and I have no intention of studying it better for silly fanfiction I write when I can’t sleep. Feel free to correct me if you actually know Latin and detect mistakes, tho! Tevene is not a 101 correspondence to latin anyway, and Aisling is totally self-taught, hence mistakes are in characters... But I’m curious and I would like to know the correct form. xD Aaaaaand, if you want to read more...)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dorian pavus #da fanart #felix alexius #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #da:i #dragon age oc #illustration #digital art #bioware #fanart #tevinter #da:i fanarts #oc love #greypetrel #original character #da fic

[hawkezone]

[[ RETURN TO HALAMSHIRAL - PART ONE ]]

A missing Queen Cousland, whispers of an elven rebellion, and one hell of a party: Hawke, Fenris, and Varric attend a lavish ball at the Winter Palace celebrating Empress Celene and Marquise Briala's alliance, where Hawke finds himself enlisted to help by a man with a strong Fereldan accent and a deep-seeded fear of swooping. A Trevelyan-Dorian & Fen(m!)hawke imagining of the events leading up to Dread Wolf, sequel to The Seat of Power.

CHAPTERS: ♕ [1]

♕

“I cannot believe you’ve talked me into this, Hawke.”

Fenris, frowning, fidgeting uncomfortably in his velveteen guardsman’s uniform. It was the closest thing either of them had for formalwear - Hawke, being a man of habit, had smuggled some amount of finery out of the Hawke Estate when they’d escaped Kirkwall that night so long ago, but, much like Hawke’s usual escapades, he neglected to pick up a few key items - such as britches that actually matched their doublets, and shoes. Any shoes. At all.

“I think you look handsome,” Hawke smiled, impishly, knowing that Fenris, while grumpy, had a little room left in him for some light teasing. Unlike Hawke’s usual methods of heavy teasing, which typically led to even heavier petting when the two were left alone.

Fenris didn’t take this well, but he merely sighed, tugging the uniform so its creases unfolded. “My least favorite part of going undercover,” he said, solidly and glumly, “is that the rest of us have to play-act while you always get to be yourself. Do you remember when we went to Chateau Haine? You had to accompany that awful Tallis, and Varric and I were assumed to be your manservants.”

“I remember,” Hawke chuckled. “You almost threw that guard in the moat outside the formal gardens.”

“I should have!” Fenris pouted. “Manservant. The gall.”

Hawke turned, and swept Fenris up by the waist. He smiled, from ear to ear, and Fenris - very briefly - forgot what he was mad about. Briefly.

“I promise. This ball will be better. And if anyone calls you a manservant, I’ll punch them in the face,” Hawke smiled.

Fenris, despite himself, let out a crooked smile, too. “That would blow your cover, I think.”

“Who’s to say the Champion of Kirkwall doesn’t go about punching random nobles in the face for calling his boyfriend a manservant?” Hawke said, defensively.

“You’re ridiculous,” Fenris said, but he didn’t let go of Hawke. Or stop smiling.

-

The gardens at Halamshiral were abuzz - it was a hot, breezy, summer night, and the fireflies were out in full force. The sun had set not but an hour ago, and the coolness of the evening had just begun to lay down on the stuffed shirts in attendance at the Winter Palace. The hum and splash of the magnificent fountain, forming the centerpiece of the front gardens, made for a soothing backdrop to the idle chatter and excited gossip of the guests. This was a much less fussy affair than the Winter Ball - but as an afterparty of sorts, to greet guests cordially as one of the first “informal” parties of the social year, and to introduce the Empress Celene and her recently reconciled lover, the elven Marquise Briala.

Hawke and company, however, had alternative goals in mind.

“Thanks for coming, Hawke,” Varric muttered, feeling rather out of place at the soiree.

“You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” Hawke replied, a little suspiciously. “You’re not one for parties. Well, not this kind of party, anyway.”

Varric sighed. “Just - trust me when I say I’m glad you’re here, all right?”

This time, unlike at Chateau Haine, Varric was wearing an unusually formal shortcoat, and he seemed ever so slightly nervous, shuffling from one foot to the next - which piqued Hawke’s interest, as his best friend almost never showed any signs of things getting to him. Especially social affairs.

Bethany was dressed in an Orlesian gown of periwinkle blue and white, in lush velvet, with a high collar in delicate gold filigree, embellished with designs of leaves and rings, reminiscent of the Circle. It had been a gift from Leliana, sent by courier when she had heard the Good Lady Bethany would be attending her first party at the Winter Palace. Hawke had interpreted this as a nice gesture, but Varric was quick to point out that the Nightingale had probably gifted her the dress as a sort of measure against the Inquisition’s acquaintances, however distant, being played as rubes in the dangerous machinations of the Game - especially when debuting.

Varric seized a beignet from the tray of a passing masked server, staining his gloves immediately with powdered sugar. The server either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“Are those the ones with the chantilly cream?” Hawke asked, with interest. “Last time I was in Orlais, they had these tiny little beignets full of chantilly cream. And dusted with sugar, just like that. Only I think they had little swans made of gold foil on the top, too.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Nobles,” he said, scoffing. “Always trying to outdo one another.”

Varric bit into the beignet, and made a face. “Nope. No cream. It’s filled with something, though.”

“Hmm,” said Hawke, eyeing the server who’d gone off with the tray. “I could go for some something.”

Before he could pop off in search of the most ridiculous food the party had to offer, Varric grabbed him by the coat.

“Have you noticed,” Varric began, very slowly, “That this party is filled to the brim with people who have pissed off the Tevinter Imperium?”

Bethany, who had taken a beignet of her own and was nibbling with interest, nodded along. “Isn’t the majority of Orlais an enemy of the Tevinter Imperium? That’s like saying the Qunari and Tevinter are in a little spat.”

“No,” Varric continued, slowly, looking around again. “I mean, this party, specifically, is full of people who have made specific enemies of the ruling magisters of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Hawke, listening, subtly reached for one of his sheathed daggers, which he’d kept on his attire for an emergency. Most people saw it as a bit of a Hawke-esque flourish, just another quirk of the Champion of Kirkwall. But it comforted him - as both an accessory and an accessory to a quick escape.

Varric, who had finished his beignet, patted down his coat as well - just to make sure Bianca was in play. “We’ll keep an eye out. Could be the Empress just keeps really good company.”

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit of a who’s who of people I’d like to meet,” Hawke said. Was that even a hint of being impressed in his voice?

Fenris, in the meantime, had not let his guard down for one second since entering the gardens, and was stationed just to the back of Hawke, in a position, he subconsciously realized, to thwart any surprise attacks on his charge. What was he to call Hawke, now that they were together, but he still felt compelled to protect him? What did Donnic call Aveline, do you think?

“I don’t trust a thing anyone at this party has put forth,” Fenris said, muttering, darting poisonous glances at the nearest group of nobles, who huddled together and began to giggle, which only infuriated Fenris more.

“Keep it together,” Hawke advised, patting Fenris on the arm. “They’ll probably kick you out if you try to rip out their organs. Although it is rather salacious when you do.”

Fenris frowned, but Hawke winked, boyishly, and he found himself smiling, despite himself.

Towards the group came a meandering group of ladies, all dressed in triplicate; the Empress’s Ladies in Waiting each curtsied lightly, one after the other, like a set of ascending piano keys.

“Messere Hawke,” the first one said, curtseying lowly. Her golden mask glinted in the gaslights that dotted the garden’s walls.

The second one giggled at Varric, and bowed to Bethany, who began to wave, then began to proffer a hand, then, finally, attempted a sort of curtsey, which was rather hard to tell in the voluminous dress Leliana had lent her.

“Why didn’t Mother ever prepare us for this sort of thing?” Bethany hissed, turning ever so slightly to Hawke.

“Mother was trying to run away from this sort of thing when she met Father, I think,” Hawke said, with a smirk.

“It is most pleasurable to see you, Lord Tethras,” the second one continued, to which Varric immediately held up his hands, which were still powdered with beignets. 

“Please,” he said, shaking his head. “Just Varric. Thank you. This is hard enough.”

“We’ve read the Tale,” the third one said, nodding at Varric, who - Hawke could tell behind his mask - was already sheepishly shrugging in extreme apology for the fracas that he was about to invite.

“Yes, the Tale,” the second one went on, animatedly. “Is it true, then, that the Champion really defeated the Arishok in hand to hand combat?”

“Well. It was more knife to knife,” Hawke shrugged, with a lopsided grin.

“And is it true, too, that your fellow Isabela ran off with the sacred texts of the Qun?” the first one asked, leaning in, with genuine curiosity.

“Just one book of the Qun, but yes,” Varric admitted.

“And is it true,” the third one said, earnestly, leaning in even further, “That you fought a High Dragon on the outskirts of the Bone Pits?”

Hawke, shrugging again, gave them a bit of a grin. “Fenris was there for that one. Varric, too.”

Tittering, the Ladies all looked at each other, flapping their fans at premium speed. A quick rush of whispers went through them, before they turned again to Hawke.

“We shall have to return, then,” the first one said, smiling coquettishly under her mask.

“And hear more of you and Lord Tethras’s stories,” the second one went on, as Varric winced at the “Lord Tethras” comment once more.

“It was a pleasure, truly,” the third one said, and all three of them curtsied, deeply, again, as Hawke bowed as they took their retreat, into the throng of the gardens.

It was as if they’d narrowly had a brush with a storm - or a windfall.

“Ugh,” Varric groaned. “Remind me to never tell people who I am or what I do, next time.”

“...Did they ignore you?” Hawke asked, looking back at Fenris, who was still standing a small distance away, his heavy, two-handed sword almost dragging in the garden lawn.

Fenris, sighing, barely looked up at Hawke as he dusted off the sword’s hilt. “I believe they are accustomed to people of your stature bringing elven servants as part of your coterie. Perhaps it would have been impolite to acknowledge my existence.”

Frowning, Hawke crossed his arms, glaring after the trio of Ladies-in-Waiting. “Perhaps it’s impolite to ignore you, at all,” Hawke said, scoffing.

Sighing heavily, Varric dusted the last of the beignet sugar off his hands with a clap.

“Well, I’m going to get just drunk enough to forget what’s going on, while being sober enough to remember why I’m here,” he said, stalking off with the firm purpose of a man who’s on a mission for nothing but the worst Antivan wine.

“And I would like to meet some new people,” Bethany said, with enthusiasm. “Is that the Marquess du Pompadour? Do you know her? Can we be introduced?”

“No, but I’m sure she’d be enchanted to meet the great Lady Bethany of House Amell,” Hawke smiled, as Bethany squeezed his arm excitedly before bounding off to introduce herself to Orlais’ best and richest.

“Have fun,” Hawke beamed, wagging his fingers at Bethany as she bounced to the next group of nobles, who already began chatting with her excitedly about the gold filigree neckline and the status of the party’s hors d’oeuvres.

Looking back at Fenris, Hawke frowned - but not at him.

“I don’t mind. Truly,” Fenris said, but his anger betrayed him in the way he wore his face.

Hawke frowned even harder.

“Well, I do,��� he said, crossing his arms again. “One of the reasons why I agreed to come to this silly thing was to make up for Chateau Haine in the first place.”

Now, it was Fenris’s turn to frown. “Chateau Haine? I had assumed we came here to pry information out of the Inquisition. To assure their allegiance against the magisters. Or whatever strange twisted plan Varric has fished up.”

Nodding, Hawke waved a hand in the air. “I’m as eager to fight some magisters as the next man,” he said, continuing, “But I really wanted to come and show you a good time. I don’t like how things worked out at Chateau Haine - and I know how you feel about Tallis. I just supposed - perhaps - I wanted to take you to a party, and have you by my side. Properly. For once.”

Hawke looked rather embarrassed at this, and shrugged a little, in his reclaimed part-Hawke Estate part-leftover-guardsman-formal-uniform combination of attire.

“Hawke…”

Fenris’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. He reached for Hawke’s arm, and squeezed it.

“If you wish to have me by your side, you need only ask.”

Hawke, smiling, sweetly against the honeyed air of the garden, squeezed his hand back.

“I always need you by my side, Fenris,” he said, softly.

-

Meanwhile, at the other end of the party, Dorian Pavus was getting drunk. Very, very drunk.

He had harangued Josephine for an invitation to the Inaugural Ball, and, despite her best efforts, he had finessed his way into blackmailing, cajoling, and, in one case, outright bribing assorted members of Skyhold staff into bugging the Ambassador straight into sending Dorian one of the Inquisition’s coveted invitations to Empress Celene and Marquise Briala’s first ball, formally thrown together. Not counting the last one, of course. He felt he deserved it, after all, since he was both the life of the party and present for when they got together. The second time, anyway.

Dorian was engaging in one of his favorite pastimes - flirting with the masked drinksman serving the flutes of violet cocktail - when he was jostled by another patron, elbowing his way in.

“Ale, please. Not dwarven. Please tell me you have ale that isn’t dwarven. Everyone says it’s top notch but it just tastes like piss, and I know it does, so don’t tell me otherwise.”

Dorian’s ears perked up. That voice. It sounded weirdly familiar. Weirdly… Fereldan.

Looking over, the man next to him, wearing a simple silver mask with blue silk piping, slumped over, sighing, putting his head in his hands. His dirty blonde hair was just barely poking out of the back of the silks of the mask, and he had the stature of someone who had spent a long, long time training as a warrior - and an even longer time sitting around afterwards, getting all antsy as those muscles waited for their next workout. The man tapped his fingers on the table - and his heavy rings clanked against the delicate, white-lacquered wood. One demon head ring, as big as two knucklebones. One thick, silver sigil, like the symbols carved on the tunnels in the Deep Roads marking the location of Darkspawn. And, on his ring finger, a delicate, tiny silver band, with the smallest of silver roses, inlaid with flakes of mother-of-pearl and red ruby.

Dorian raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not very subtle, Your Highness,” he said, leaning against the bar, rolling his R’s. Loaded, like bait.

Startled, the man turned around, coughing and straightening up, making sure his mask was covering his face.

“We’ve met,” Dorian went on, somewhat relishing in the man’s uncomfortableness. “However briefly. I believe you know my paramour, Lord Angus Trevelyan? He has nothing but good things to say about you. King Alistair.”

The man, startled, whipped his head back around to the bar, to make sure nobody was listening, then, as best he could, made an extremely frustrated gesture at Dorian, hunching over, clearly annoyed.

“Have we met?” he said, irritably. “Because you are absolutely blowing my cover, here. …Which would make you, I suppose, a likely candidate for Angus’s new boyfriend. Which is who I suppose you are.”

Alistar sighed, and put his elbows back on the bartop. The server returned with a large flagon of ale, and Alistair placed several sovereigns on the bar. The server sniffed.

“We don’t take Fereldan currency, messere,” he sneered, pushing the coins back towards him. Alistair - even with a mask on - looked utterly defeated.

“Here,” Dorian said, hiding a smirk, pushing a handful of shiny Orlesian gold pieces towards the server, who nodded curtly, and disappeared back behind the bar.

“Thank you,” King Alistair groaned, putting his head between his arms. “You would not believe the amount of social faux pas I’ve racked up tonight. If I’d gone as myself, Orlais and Ferelden would be back at war by now.”

Dorian looked at him curiously. “Why are you here, if I may ask?”

Alistair shook his head. “Ale first. State secrets later.”

Dorian laughed. “You’re cute. I see why you’ve got the whole country wrapped around your little finger.”

“I do?” Alistair said, surprised.

“Not this one. They seem to think you’re a gauche little imp, here,” Dorian said, airily.

Alistair frowned.

“Ferelden,” Dorian clarified. “I hear you and your little wife are something out of a fairy tale, a Grey Warden King and Queen alike. Must be some sight to see. Does seem rather romantic, in a way.”

Alistair paused, then, slumping even further, let out a sigh that seemed to shake the very foundations of Halamshiral, let alone the bartop.

At that moment, Dorian remembered the other thing Angus had told him about Alistair - the important thing.

“Ooh. Ah. Sorry. I - I know it must be difficult, with your wife missing, and all. I’m sure - I’m sure she’s busy doing, ah. Grey Warden. Things.” Dorian thought about this for a moment. “Ah. Oh dear.”

Alistair looked hopeless, but downed his entire ale in a resolute gesture of bravery. “Lord Dorian of House Pavus, right?” he said, straining his last Kingly muscle to make the most out of the situation.

“Yes. Please don’t tell anyone I’ve so successfully put my foot in my mouth,” Dorian said - charmingly. As charmingly as possible, under the circumstances.

Alistair sighed. “You’re part of the Inquisition, then. You - were at Adamant.”

Dorian shook his head. “Not personally, no. …And don’t get me started on how I feel about that. Have you ever had your boyfriend go off into the Fade and have you think he was dead for almost twenty-four hours? No, I suppose not.”

Alistair gave him a withering look.

“...Right, missing wife, right,” Dorian said, hastily. “Here. I shall buy you another ale, and I’ll answer everything you wish to know about our visit to Adamant, as told by Lord Trevelyan himself. But no promises on me remembering everything correctly. I’ve had quite a lot of champagne.”

Alistair sighed, then nodded, solemnly. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

Finishing off his ale, Alistair motioned to the bartender for another, while Dorian slipped over another handful of silver coins.

“Then let’s begin,” Dorian said, with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous grin.

-

#dragon age #return to halamshiral #god i love fuckin' writing fenhawke. gaaaawd #and also fancy parties. #dragon age fic #dragon age fanfic #fenhawke #m!hawke #purple hawke #da:i oc #da2 oc #dorian pavus #alistair theirin #fenris #bethany hawke #varric tethras #andey hawke #antoinette cousland #queen cousland

[rayshippouuchiha]

I bring a Naruto x DA:I crossover fic rec as tribute!

Shisui dies, but finds himself waking up in the place of the Inquisitor. Knowledge of Dragon Age helps and increases the enjoyment, but Shisui's discovery of Thedas paves a pretty good road to knowledge. A lovely and tastily gritty look at some shinobi behaviors that get glossed over at times. It's been updated pretty regularly too!

Nobody Expects the Shinobi Inquisition

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282646/chapters/71908998

!!!!!!!

#RayRambles #Naruto #DA:I #Fic Rec

[nelkenbabe]

a Dalish inquisitor post-trespasser should have been able to claim Skyhold for the Dalish as a whole, cause it IS a remnant of Arlathan, it should be accessible to all Dalish without human/chantry influence or abandoning it alltogether

i think it could be beautiful

#high-key regret not setting up Ivy& Twine in this way #like it's too late now i can't rewrite the whole fic AGAIN and this way it has conflict and whatever #but i am mad that i didn't think of this #nelke talks #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age inquisition #da:i

[becauseanders]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Relationships: Inquisitor/The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull/Female Trevelyan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Disability, Chronic Pain, Chronic Illness, Disabled Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, Headaches & Migraines, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Mage Rebellion (Dragon Age), Rebel Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Past Female Inquisitor/Original Female Character, internalized ableism, trauma trauma trauma trauma trauma chameleon, Medical marijuana, or like a DA equivalent to MMJ…just go with it, [slaps roof on characters] you can fit so much lifelong psychological damage in these motherfuckers, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Title from a Placebo song

The mind is far more easily manipulated than people like to think, and Bull is very good at manipulating his marks. And it turns out this even works on himself.

Here and now, however, this accidental self-manipulation is unravelling. Here and now he is being thrown into having to face these fears he didn’t even know he had.

—————

surprise, bitch, first dragon age fic in like three years and i’m just here to project disability shit onto my inquisitor! (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

#dragon age #dragon age fic #da fic #fan fiction #my writing #dragon age: inquisition #da:i fic #dai fic #the iron bull #astrid trevelyan #ao3

[pursuitpredation]

Okay, so this craving hit me yesterday, and I've been dying to read this poem since. It's my favorite in this series, and that's saying something, since they're all so good.

Series is Verse & Volleyverse by boycoffin on ao3, link here, it's a Varric/Cullen DA:I slowburn. Seriously, this comes from the second part in the series, and it's magnificent. The last stanza kills me every time, and I love it.

I didn't want you when we met

Or when we parted ways,

I didn't want you fortnight last

Or even yesterday;

I didn't want to cross a bridge

With a toll I couldn't pay.

I didn't want to recognize

That old familiar pain,

I swore I didn't want you, but

The mind and heart are twain;

I hadn't thought of you at all,

But there you were again.

I hadn't thought of you at all,

You never crossed my mind,

A hint of yearning in my heart

No search could ever find;

I'm very good at telling lies

Until I'm left behind.

I didn't want you when we met

Or when we parted ways,

I didn't want you fortnight last

Or even yesterday;

But damn it all, I want you now

And cannot turn away.

#da:i #cullen rutherford #varric tethras #slow burn #fic rec #poetry #fanfiction

[moonsugar-and-spice]

Ohoho, for the Prompt Ask:

🌧 #17: “We never called it what it was.”

Pairing… Ozara?

OR

🐉 #2: “Oh, good. You’re here. Hold this.”

Dorian Pavus & character of your choice.

Hey, remember this from, like, 84 years ago? I couldn't choose between them, so I'll get around to posting the Ozara one sometime next century.

🐉2: “Oh, good. You’re here. Hold this.”

Or, the one where Cassandra is the only adult in the room.

Send me a prompt and a pairing.

+++

They prepared as well as they could in the time they had. Which was to say terribly.

A mysterious stranger. An anonymous letter. Rumors of a man hosting a cult that was preparing to sacrifice a kidnapped child come midnight. It had all happened so quickly, just as they were approaching the gates to put Val Royeaux behind them, and now the motley agents of the Inquisition found themselves lurking at the city’s eastern fringe, bathed in the evening’s fading glow.

On a humid breeze wafted the tang of where the river kissed the city’s walls. Cassandra rechecked the map, then trained her eyes on a slice of mansion visible through the network of stone buildings and wrought iron fences, while the others shifted in boredom or restlessness.

“Chateau de Beaumier,” she nodded, her face set in grim lines. “Our suspect, the owner, is a wealthy man of Antivan descent, full name Dego Bonaccorso de Barbarisi.”

A brazen snort cut her off. Gazes swerved to the small elven archer leaning back against a tree, one foot propped up on the trunk.

“Shew, that’s a verbal marathon, innit?” Sera snickered. “Rich asses and their names, you’re out of breath before you even reach the end.”

Cassandra fixed her with a look, dispelling the approving smirks on the dwarf and qunari’s faces in turn.

“Unfortunately," she continued pointedly, "judging from the heavy guard presence around the perimeter—”

“Bet kids like that have to make up a song just to learn how to spell it.”

The scar on the warrior’s cheek tightened with the muscle in her jaw as the boorish elf girl barreled on, picking grime out from under a fingernail.

“Like, their school award ceremonies, or whatever hoity-toity shit they do, being called up on stage just to have your name massacred in front of hundreds. Probably not even spelled right on the award.”

“If you are quite finished…” But she trailed off, the map crinkling in her grip.

Cassandra became aware of the indistinct mumblings of delight where, in her periphery, Dorian was turning over a girthy, elongated object. Her eyes slid closed on a heavy sigh.

“What is your problem, mage?”

“My problem?” he asked, a hand flying to his chest in mock affront.  “Dear me, I have so many, but a cutting wit and probable demonic origins are the ones that should concern you.”

Cassandra turned to face him dead on, but whatever she had intended to say dried up, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “What. Is that?”

Dorian spared a quick glance at the polished dildo in his hand. “If you were literally anyone else, I’d be surprised.”

“I know what it is,” she snapped. “Why do you have it?”

“I hadn’t worn this cloak in a while, and I’d forgotten it was in my pocket. I was, uh, holding it for a friend.”

“It’s me,” the qunari chipped in, “I’m friend.”

“Ugh, nevermind, just…” Cassandra massaged between her aching brows. “Please, everyone, let’s stay focused.”

“Cassie's got it, we’re losing time and musn't let the”—Iron Bull paused, wrestling with his budding grin—“Dego by before we complete our heroic operation.”

Snorts of choked laughter filled the air, lips pinching under Cassandra’s incisive gaze.

“Is something funny?” she demanded of the group, the control in her voice fraying.

“But of Corso, he’s right,” Varric hazarded, relishing the moment the joke washed over her face like a shadow.

The Divine’s Right Hand practically growled. “Pride of the Inquisition, you all are. Making jokes while an alleged cult readies to sacrifice an innocent child. You should be ashamed of yourselves.” 

“Key word there, Seeker. Alleged,” emphasized Varric. “You realize we’re still only going on one person’s account, grasping at hearsay straws. Doesn’t that seem just a little… rash to anyone else?”

“Rash?” she echoed, the fire in her cooling with a sigh. “Perhaps. But if the account proves true, and I had failed to act… I could not live knowing a child’s death was on my head. On all our heads.”

A muggy gust of wind sent leaves fluttering, a gilded kaleidoscope changing and shifting where they stood. For a rare moment, everyone was silent.

“Fair enough. I’m with you,” Varric nodded, shifting his weight. “But the security hefty as it is, if we’re caught we’ll never step foot inside that mansion, much less Skyhold again. So, the question remains.”

“What we need is a diversion,” Sera piped up, a little too eagerly.

“Maker help me, if you suggest a jar of bees—”

A hard, unfamiliar voice cut in from behind them. “What’s all this?”

The group jolted and spun to find a scowling wall of a man, a guard whose approach had been masked by the wind. In the seconds of held-breath confusion, before things veered from bad to worse, Dorian took a quick, amicable step forward.

“Oh good, you’re here! Hold this,” he smiled, shoving the manufactured phallus into one of the guard’s large hands.

The look of pure bewilderment on his jowly face would later go down as one of the trip’s highlights.

“What…” The guard stared down at it, disgust dawning with the realization, when a sickening crunch sent him to the ground like a felled tree.

But not before he let out a throttled cry.

The air turned ripe with whispered curses. Varric gave Bianca a quick once-over, wiping a splatter of red from the end of her stock, as everyone's attention turned to the host of sentries now on alert and in search of the source.

Everyone except for Iron Bull.

At the rattle of what sounded suspiciously like a belt being unclasped, Cassandra turned, strangling a cry of exasperation.

“What are you doing?!” she hissed.

Bull finished kicking off his armor and pants, and now stood at their rear, wearing naught but a smile.

“Supplying the diversion,” he grinned, stooping to pluck the dildo out of the unconscious-maybe-dead guard’s limp hand.

“Don’t! Bull, what are you—?”

But he was already off, streaking out across the courtyard, the bedroom tool brandished aloft and gleaming in the late evening’s glow.

“First one to catch me’s the lucky winner!” his bellowing voice rang out.

It was as if he’d whacked a hornet’s nest, every guard in the vicinity now teeming after him. A successful diversion by almost any measure.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that the entire ordeal, they soon found out, came down to a game of rumor and a rival’s petty shot at revenge.

“So…” Varric asked later, hands shackled as they all sat against the cold stone wall. “Draw straws to see who asks Ruffles to bail us out?”

#prompt fic #dragon age: inquisition #dorian pavus #cassandra pentaghast #varric tethras #iron bull #sera #my brain said 'chaotic and silly' i'm sorry i have no idea what this is 😅 #dragon age #da:i #moonsugar writes #something not atla for a change #writers on tumblr #prompt ask