#DAI FIC

[mumms-the-word]

Dark Future, Dark Reality

Part 1

Characters: Solas x fem!Lavellan, Varric Tethras, Dorian Pavus, Leliana Summary: When Iren Lavellan is cast into the future via Alexius's spell, she wants to believe everything is just a temporary nightmare. But as she encounters and speaks with Solas, the details of the dark future become all too real to her and she struggles with how much the future has changed her friend. Solas is not the man she has grown to care for in their travels up to this point. Torn between longing for the man she left behind and the man she must leave behind soon, she fights her way through Redcliffe Castle, wrestling with guilt, fear, and a desire to save a man who refuses to be saved. A/N: Did you want Solavellan angst just a week before Veilguard comes out? of course you do. I'm zooming through my new inquisitor's game before the next game comes out but I couldn't let In Hushed Whispers go by without writing a bunch of pining and angst and so on. You know me. Part 2 is here, but the whole thing can be read on AO3 here!

Your spymaster, Leliana. She is here. As are your companions.

Where? Are they all still alive?

I do not know. But you must find them. If you can.

Fiona’s words repeated in Iren’s head as she stepped softly over the cracked flagstones of the Redcliffe Castle dungeons, peering through the gloom. The dungeons were more shadow and frigid water than stone and wood, illuminated only by weak, blue torch flames and the hazy glow of red lyrium. It was difficult to see much of anything, but even so she searched, looking through the bars of every cell she passed. She had to find them. Whether dead or alive, she had to know.

She had dragged Solas, Varric, and several Inquisition soldiers into this mess. Whatever their fates were, they were on her head.

If Dorian and Fiona were to be believed, Alexius’s spell had cast them an entire year into the future, into a world so bleak and broken it was difficult to make sense of. The evidence of catastrophe was all around them, in the red lyrium all over the place, in the way the air felt mutable and wrong, in the heavy, howling emptiness of these dungeons. As though every soul in Thedas had already perished. Each time they passed another cell without any signs of life, the feeling of her and Dorian being the last two people alive in the world increased, pressing down on Iren like a millstone around her neck.

Some cells were empty, their occupants long since dead and disposed of. In others, the dead remained, curled against the floor, their faces cast in darkness, or they stood as twisted, desiccated statues out of which red lyrium grew in abundance. Iren forced herself to study each body, dread churning in her gut, just in case it was someone she recognized. Thus far, Grand Enchanter Fiona and the young elven mage, Lysas, were the only living occupants. Neither were in any state to help. Both were more dead than alive.

She pressed on, stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other to keep searching. More empty cells. More darkness. More silence. Keep searching. Keep looking. Leave no space unchecked. You must find them.

But would she find them dead or alive? Which was worse, in this hellscape?

Keep searching.

She approached yet another room of cages, her cold hands stiff as she pushed the heavy door open. At first, she heard and saw nothing. But then something shifted in the far corner.

“Is someone there?”

Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Solas,” she breathed. She would recognize his mild tenor anywhere. She set a hand on Dorian’s arm as he tried to draw his staff, stopping him. “Wait. That’s Solas.”

“Who?”

But Iren didn’t answer. In the far right corner cell, a pale hand gripped one of the metal bars and then disappeared back into the gloom. She wanted to rush over, but cautious sense prevailed, and she crept forward quietly instead, glancing at the other cells to be sure. All empty.

But she had heard him. She had glimpsed him. There, in the last cell on the right. As she drew even with the bars of his cell, she saw him moving within, his pale form appearing ghostly in the darkness.

“Solas.”

He didn’t hear her. He paced and shifted restlessly in his cramped space, like an animal in a cramped cage. Huge shards of red lyrium grew out of the walls and pointed toward him like dull blades, a constant threat, but he moved around and through them without thought. Dipping a shoulder to pass beneath one large crystal that jutted out at neck level. Turning his head just before a sharp fragment would cut his cheek. Stepping around a cluster of crystals that grew out of the flagstones. Each motion a habit, a series of muscle memory movements that spoke of weeks, months of confinement in this one small space.

How long had he been here?

The heat from the red lyrium seemed to pulse as Iren drew nearer to the bars of the cell, the crystals the only source of warmth, twisted and unnatural, in this freezing cold dungeon. The red haze coming off the corrupted lyrium made the air swim as if she were in a dream, but he was no illusion. This was Solas, in the flesh.

What was left of him.

“Solas,” she said again, softly, taking hold of one of the bars. “Can you hear me?”

He turned at the far wall, dragging his gaze up from the floor, and then jolted to a halt, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, and then—

“Iren,” he breathed. He took a step closer, lifting an arm as if to take hold of the cell door again, and then halted once more, his arm dropping back to his side with a clenched fist. “You’re alive?”

She nodded, tightening her hold around the bar. His eyes glowed with a strange, sickly red light, but any other detail about him was lost amid the darkness and red lyrium miasma surrounding him. “I’m here, Solas.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “We saw you die.” His voice rang with a strange metallic echo, warped and wrong. “Yet you are no spirit. No illusion. How is this possible?”

“We traveled through time. I can’t explain it. I…”

“Allow me,” Dorian said, producing a key they had plucked off a Venatori jailer’s body. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, speaking as he worked. “In brief, no, we’re not dead. Not yet anyway. The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time. We just got here, so to speak, plucked directly from the throne room one year ago and dumped here. Simple, really.”

As Dorian explained, Solas emerged from the darkness, out into the blue light of the nearby torches. Iren stifled a gasp.

The red haze from the lyrium clung to his body, flickering around a frame that was dangerously thin. Already a slender yet lean man, now his wool shirt hung off him as though he were little more than bone, the knuckles of his hands like sharp peaks, his cheeks sunken in. Beneath his pale skin, turned bone white and ashen in the strange light of the dungeons, his veins stood out stark and bright red. Each beat of his heart sent a crimson glow webbing outward from his core, nearly in time with the pulsing of the red lyrium crystals around them. The blood vessels and pupils of his eyes shone with that same crimson light, and beneath his eyes, his skin had turned gray and black, bruised by exhaustion and months of torment.

He was a dead man walking. A corpse holding onto the barest thread of life.

But his focus was on Dorian. “Displaced in time,” he repeated, as if to himself. His focus sharpened, a sudden, almost frenzied urgency tinging his voice. “Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late.”

“That is the plan,” Dorian said. “You catch on quick. Good to know someone understands me around here.”

Solas frowned. “You would think such an understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.”

Iren was barely listening. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. His body bore the subtle signs and markings of a year’s worth of living as some madman’s prisoner, but the damage ran much deeper than the surface showed. The red lyrium haze, the glow that pulsed in his veins, that shone out from his eyes…it went far beyond any healing spell she knew, beyond any herbal remedy that she had memorized.

“Solas…what happened to you?” she asked quietly.

His ashen lips twisted in a grim, humorless smile. “Red lyrium. It kills, but slowly. I am dying.”

“Dying?”

She didn’t want to believe it, but she had never seen anything like this. He was…changed. Though he carried himself with the same somber gravity that he often adopted back at Haven, when all eyes were on him, he no longer stood as tall as before. The bend of his shoulders and the gauntness in his face spoke volumes. He was exhausted, worn down to nothing. All traces of his subtle humor and gentle kindness had been destroyed, replaced by cold detachment. His mind may be as sharp as ever, but physically, he was no more than a shadow of his former self.

It made her heart ache with a pain deeper and heavier than she dared name.

She reached out a hand to touch him. To do what, she didn’t know. Offer him comfort. Attempt a healing spell. See if he was even real. But he took a step back, out of her reach.

“Do not.” Though warped by the metallic tone, his words were firm and unyielding, almost sharp. “This is not something your healing magic can alter.”

“There must be something I can do. Or something I can try.”

“No. There is nothing. My death is inevitable. And there are more important things at stake.”

There was no room for argument in this tone. As if his death were no more than a minor, immutable fact. The evidence was carved into his body. Bruised deep into his skin. Radiating within his blood. He was dying.

But Iren pressed her lips together. “You’re not dead yet. Maybe I can—”

“No. I do not matter here. You do.”

A familiar exasperation rose up within her. “So there’s nothing I can do? Nothing at all?”

“No.” His jaw hardened and he clasped his hands behind his back, all sharp angles and steely silence. She clenched her hands at her sides, swallowing frustration that was little more than thinly veiled despair, and glared at him. For a moment, they merely gazed at each other, Solas’s usual grim sobriety weighed against her stubborn stare. Neither budged, until at last he sighed softly, relaxing a fraction.

“What you can do is this: return and make sure none of this ever occurs,” he said. “And if—when you succeed in returning to your own time, it’s best that you do not bring anything from this time back with you. This red lyrium is a slow poison without a cure. I cannot let it affect you, too.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Can the effects of red lyrium spread so quickly? Just by touch?”

“Perhaps. It is better not to risk it.”

“So you don’t actually know.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his features, a ghost of the man she had befriended back in her timeline. It was good to see that that Solas still lived, buried deep within this new corrupted form. That somewhere beneath the unrecognizable frame he now bore, her friend was still within, with all his stubborn pride and ridiculous opinions.

It hurt as much as it comforted. This was no mere dream of the Fade. This was a new reality, a potential future. This Solas, with all his wounds and pain, was real. What he had lived through was real. All of this was real.

And in this timeline, she had abandoned him. He had every right to act coldly toward her.

It was her turn to relent. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. But Solas merely shook his head, silent.

“As charming as all this is,” Dorian interjected, glancing between them, “we should get back to the matter at hand. Alexius? Remember?”

“Alexius is not the one that need concern you,” Solas said. “He serves a master, the Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared.”

“Prepared?” Iren asked. “For what?”

“To stop the Elder One.” He focused his glowing gaze on her, more serious than she had ever seen him. “I will tell you all I know. But remember this future, Iren. It may help you prevent it.”

—————

Solas spoke low as they moved through the remainder of the dungeons, checking for other survivors. He spoke of the Elder One assassinating Empress Celene and of the chaos that descended on Orlais. He spoke of an army of demons, pouring out of the rifts that only grew more numerous and more unstable without Iren there to close them. Even more gravely, he spoke of the Inquisition and Ferelden armies attempting assault after assault on Redcliffe Castle, always working separately, only for the Ferelden forces to retreat after three failed attempts. But not the Inquisition. In their final assault, only a few short months ago, they were overwhelmed by the demon armies of the Elder One and slaughtered, down to the last man.

“Even Cassandra?” Iren asked. “Cullen? Our friends?”

Solas shook his head. “I can only assume based on what I have heard, and what little I have seen. I have heard of no other survivors, other than myself, Varric, and Spymaster Leliana. Why they keep us alive now is a mystery. The Elder One has already won.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, sharp. “Anything can be stopped.”

Solas let out a short, rough laugh. “You would not say that if you had experienced these things firsthand. Any hope of stopping this Elder One died when the Veil was torn asunder.”

“You’re talking as if all of this is inevitable, even if I do make it back to my time,” she argued. “I can’t afford to think like that. I have to believe he can be defeated.”

“He can be defeated, but not by fools who ignore the dangers even when they are staring them in the face.”

Iren’s face flushed as her temper rose. “So I’m a fool now?”

“Yes, if you continue to treat this world like some dark fairy tale,” Solas snapped, anger flashing through his words. He stopped to face her. “In this world, the Elder One has already secured his victory, and the world has spiraled into chaos as a result. I am not telling you this to pass the time, Iren. These. Things. Happened.” He paused, searching her face, and then added firmly, “You cannot hope to defeat him if you close your ears to the truth now.”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to back down from his stare. But he was right. As was so often the case, he was right, even when she wanted to argue the finer points with him.

Pretending all of this was a dream would help no one. No matter how much she wished to convince herself that this could all be washed away, the evidence was all around her. Even if she did make it back to her timeline, she would have to carry these memories with her. The more tangibly they lingered in her mind, the better prepared she would be to predict the Elder One’s next moves. It made sense.

Much as she hated it.

Dorian, several paces ahead, turned to look back at the two of them. “I’ll just search the next room alone, then, shall I?”

They both ignored him. He shook his head and disappeared through another door, leaving them to their silent staring.

“All right,” she said quietly, after the silence had stretched on too long. “Then tell me everything. Starting with how I died.”

For the first time, a flicker of genuine pain crossed his face and he looked away. “No. Do not ask me that.”

“Solas, I’m not a child. There is no need to protect me.”

“You misunderstand. And it is of no benefit to you.”

She threw one hand into the air, exasperated. “According to who? You’ve talked of nothing but what has happened to everyone else, to this world—”

“Because it is the world that matters!”

“—but never once have you said how I died or what happened to you and Varric,” she continued, raising her voice over his. “How am I supposed to save you, or save myself, if I don’t know what I’m up against when I get back? How can I guarantee anything if I don’t know what I might face?”

“We do not matter so much as the world at large,” he said, his voice rough.

“You matter to me,” she snapped.

He shook his head again, turning his face away, and fixed his gaze on the far wall, his eyebrows lowered. Light and darkness cast his profile in stark relief, black and white, sharpening the planes and angles of his face. Pools of shadow gathered in the hollow of his cheek, of his throat, darkening the bruises beneath his eyes by contrast. In the flickering blue torchlight, the line of his jaw was honed to a knife’s edge. The only color came from the glow in his eyes, a scarlet shade the color of rage, a rage that was not his own but had been forced upon him, sinking into his blood, consuming him from the inside out.

For a moment, he looked lethal, a predator, ready to bear sharp fangs and lunge for the kill. And then the shadows shifted, and all she saw was the hollow death mask of a dying man running out of time.

This world had changed him. He was all shattered glass and ragged edges now. Sharp, brittle, trying to be strong and resolute but shredded raw by months spent in one small dungeon cell while corrupted lyrium slowly ate away at his body, his mind, his will. This whole time, whenever he spoke, his tone had been steely, almost cruel in its coldness. He was less patient here, more frenetic. No more the mentor or the teacher, the wisdom-giving friend, but a dread harbinger.

But the Solas she knew was still in there somewhere. She had seen him, a glimpse, flickering at the edge. And that faint specter of the man she had grown to care for was what kept her tethered here, grounding her in this reality, even as it wrung out her heart to see this world so horrifically twisted and empty. The Solas she knew would want her to equip herself with as much knowledge as possible to stop this Elder One. Even if it hurt. Perhaps especially if it hurt.

And whether this Solas or that Solas liked it or not, she would use that knowledge to save as many people as she could, starting with him.

She took a step closer to him. He flinched faintly and took a step away. Always keeping her just beyond arm’s reach.

“Please,” she whispered. “Tell me what happened the day I di—I disappeared.”

At first, he pretended not to hear her. But then he released a breath through his nose, glancing sidelong at her. It only took another second or two for him to cave. “Very well. I had forgotten how stubborn you were.”

She smiled slightly. “Indomitable focus, remember?”

A hint of a smile passed over his lips. The first real smile, however faint, she had seen in this dreadful world, other than Dorian’s cavalier smirks. His eyes softened. “I do.”

It was the hint of encouragement she needed. She took another small step closer, prompting him with a quiet, “So…?”

This time he didn’t step away. But his expression grew somber again as he lowered his gaze to the floor between them. It took him a moment to find his voice.

“The magic Alexius used to transport you to this time appeared to us as a tear in the fabric of reality. It ripped apart your body in seconds before sealing itself closed, leaving behind nothing more than scorch marks and silence. It was…” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Swift. Swift and unstoppable. There was nothing I—nothing we could do.”

Iren said nothing, letting the severity of the memory settle over her. She tried to imagine it from his perspective…and failed. He had painted the scene in so few brushstrokes…

A realization washed over her with a cold shiver. His hesitancy, the pain that had crossed his features the first time she had asked, his resistance…it all suddenly made sense. It wasn’t her he was trying to protect from the memory.

It was himself.

“With you gone,” he continued, not noticing her sudden chill, “Alexius unleashed his forces upon us, ensuring that none would escape. Varric and I fought to the point of exhaustion, down to the last crossbow bolt and wisp of magic. But Alexius’s forces were too numerous. They wasted no time chaining us to our cells. There, we have remained. Until now.”

“Solas…I…”

He passed a hand over his eyes as if shielding himself from seeing the past. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “If I had been stronger, more powerful…none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she chided quietly. Creators, what she wouldn’t give to touch him, red lyrium or not. She felt so useless standing there an arm’s length away while he tore open old wounds to sate her foolish curiosity.

She shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have pushed for answers. Wasn’t that how they ended up in this mess? In every mess? Because she couldn’t leave anything well enough alone? If the blame had to be laid at anyone’s feet for all the horrors of the last year, it should be at hers, not his.

She chanced another step closer. “None of this is your fault, Solas. You can’t blame yourself for what happened in this world.”

He dropped his hand with a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “You say that with such conviction, but you have no idea what I have—” He cut himself off, turning his face away, his hands clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath. “What I have experienced. You know nothing of this world. It is far worse than you understand. To you, this will be nothing more than a terrible dream. But in this world, an entire year has passed, the people crushed beneath the whims of the Elder One and his armies. If you had seen what I have seen…endured what I have endured…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then again, stronger this time, “Solas, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to cause you more pain.”

“No. There is nothing you can do or say to cause me any more pain than I have already endured.” And just like that, his vehemence cooled, leaving behind only weary acceptance. “And you are right. You must know what you are up against.”

He took a slow breath, meeting her gaze once more with careful detachment. She struggled to hide her disappointment and her guilt. Any ground she had gained moments ago was lost. He was back to grave business once again, the Solas she knew buried deep down where he could no longer be hurt.

“Now…I trust your curiosity is now satisfied?” he asked. Without waiting for her answer, he turned toward the door Dorian had disappeared through some time ago. “We must find Varric and a way to reach Alexius. That is all that matters here. We should waste no more time.”

Then he stepped through to the next corridor, leaving her alone in the cold darkness of the dungeon chamber.

She struggled with herself a moment, wrangling guilt and shame and embarrassment into something she could swallow. She was such a fool. Silent, she followed after him, heading past yet another row of cells trying to focus on the tasks ahead.

They found Varric shortly after, safe and sound. Or as safe and sound as one could be after a year spent in a dungeon cell surrounded by red lyrium. Like Solas, he looked gaunt and pale, a dying man’s husk for his normally stocky and well-built body, but he spoke with his usual casual levity. Though it seemed more forced and less vibrant than usual, he acted as though none of this horrific future had actually affected him.

But Varric had always been a very good liar.

“Solas told us everything,” Iren said. “The Elder One, all that he’s done…”

Varric nodded. “Yeah. To say it’s ‘bad’ out here is an understatement. The past year has been a damn nightmare.”

“Are you all right?” she asked. She heard Solas snort quietly behind her and winced. “Right, stupid question.”

But Varric just gave her a crooked grin. “I think I look pretty good for a dead man, honestly. Just saying, the not-dying version of this red lyrium stuff? Worse. Way worse.”

“Were you in there with the red lyrium this whole time?” she asked cautiously. She knew how much Varric hated it. How much it had cost him.

“The red lyrium came later,” Solas answered for him, his face carefully blank. “After the first few methods of torture proved insufficient to produce any new information about you.”

Torture. He said it in a tone so matter-of-fact, she nearly missed it. She stared, speechless with muted horror, but he was already moving on. Already gathering himself up and drawing away toward the door.

Varric grimaced. “Aw, Chuckles, you don’t have to scare her like that.”

“She wants to know,” was Solas’s distant answer.

“You were tortured?” Iren whispered, looking to Varric for an answer. But Varric just shrugged.

“These Venatori don’t appreciate a good story,” he muttered under his breath. Then he followed Solas toward the door.

Iren learned to stop asking questions after that.

—————

Iren caught a glimpse of the torture methods of the Venatori firsthand as they burst in to save Leliana. If anything, she looked worse than the others, her skin mottled and unnaturally gray, her blighted flesh hanging off her bones as though all the strength and vitality had been sucked from her body by some vampiric demon. She bore no traces of red lyrium corruption, but she was dying as surely as the others. Everyone was dying here.

Leliana had even less patience for rehashing the details of the past than Solas, though it was Dorian attempting to ask for details this time.

Enough! This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.

Iren’s eyes had been on the bloodied and rusted torture elements when Leliana spat those words out to Dorian. Though they lay inert now, all she could see were the brands blazing white hot, inching toward her friends’ bodies, the sharp pokers and tools with which they could cut, slice, stab, tear…

What marks did her friends bear that she couldn’t see? Scars healed by time, or possibly even magic, as Alexius forced them to stay alive in hopes that they would reveal some secret about her, even after she was supposedly dead.

Torture. Red lyrium. Demons. Death.

It was real.

Her words rang in Iren’s head as they made their way, stoic and silent, through the rest of the lower floors, creeping ever upward and forward toward the surface. She was only half-paying attention when Dorian opened the door leading out into the courtyard, only distantly aware of the green-tinted light spilling through the doorway. She heard Dorian swear in Tevene and dragged her gaze up to see what had alarmed him.

She stepped out into the courtyard with a gasp.

“The Breach! It’s…”

“Everywhere,” Dorian finished. He looked shaken for the first time in that dark future.

What had formerly been just one ugly, green-glowing wound in the heavens had spread, the very sky rippling and churning with sickly-looking clouds and ribbons of Fade light. Colossal columns of stone hung suspended in the air while whole chunks of buildings and ruined towers floated over their heads, as though bits of the Black City that hovered just out of sight in the Fade had been brought to bear down upon the mortal, living world. The grass at their feet bent not from the brush of a natural breeze but from hazy washes of magic that swept around them like filmy curtains, thin but tangible even to the naked eye. All around them, flakes of ash and small rocks floated skyward, drawn in by the pull of the Breach, by the gravity of a sky so shattered there was nothing solid left to rely on.

The overall effect was so disorienting, Iren nearly lost her footing simply standing just beyond the doorway. More than anything else she had seen so far, this nearly brought her to her knees. Her mind struggled to make sense of where the world ended and the Fade began, where the Veil was supposed to be, which parts were meant to be mutable Fade structures and which were the hand-hewn stones and walls of Redcliffe Castle. She stared up at the broken head of an Andraste statue, larger than any statue she’d ever seen for any Creator, god, or prophet, as it hung suspended and slowly rocking in the sky. No such carving existed near Redcliffe, of that she was certain.

The world was warped, shifting, neither Fade nor not-Fade but something in between that refused to make sense. The longer she gazed up at the sky, the more she felt as though she would fall into it, her feet lifting from the ground like the small stones around her, the whole world tilting as she was dragged upward into that sea of green and gray.

She staggered, catching herself with her staff, and forced her eyes onto something that wasn’t moving. The flagstones at her feet. “I don’t understand.”

“The Veil is shattered,” Solas said, joining her outside and staring up at the sky. He leaned more heavily on his staff now for support, the shadows beneath his eyes darkening in the eerie green light.  “There is no boundary now between the world and the Fade.”

Shattered. There was no Veil here. Nothing keeping the Fade from spilling over and twisting the world, rewriting the rules, and leaving only chaos in its wake. No more Thedas apart from the Fade. No more Fade apart from the world. It was all one and the same.

And it was hell.

She saw Solas’s jaw clench. “It is not supposed to be this way.”

“Understatement of the age, Chuckles,” Varric muttered, but Solas ignored him. He turned to Iren instead, red-glowing eyes intense in the fluid light of the broken sky.

“This world is an abomination,” he said, every word weighted. “It must never come to pass.”

She nodded. Something in his tone spoke of warning beyond the threat of the Elder One, but she couldn’t discern what. And with very little time on their side and the Elder One the most immediate threat, she elected not to ask.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep this from ever happening,” she said solemnly. “Ever again. I swear it.”

“Good,” he murmured.

“Let us put those words to the test, Herald,” Leliana said, drawing her bow and notching an arrow. Iren followed the point of the arrowhead over to the upper level of the courtyard, where several demons prowled, eager for something new to hunt and devour. “There are still many obstacles between us and the throne room where Alexius cowers and hides.”

Iren readied her staff with a nod. Even here, demons could be killed. First them, then Alexius, and eventually, one day, the Elder One. Simple.

For now.

[quitefair]

Chapter 1 of my Dragon Age Rewrite is finally, finally here. I've been vibrating in the seat of my pants for days over this. Here you go.

Rating: Teen and up

Category: F/F

Ship: Josephine Montilyet/Female Adaar

Tags: Canon Rewrite, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Grief/Mourning (Other Additional Tags to Be Added)

AO3 summary:

An explosion. A plan gone awry. War on either side of the Frostback Mountains, and a mystery to uncover underneath even that. All this chaos, and it falls to the last person you'd expect. Vashoth. Mercenary. 'Oxman.' Adaar is all they have, and by the skin of the Maker's teeth, Adaar will be what they need.

[sweetjulieapples]

Dear Commander - Chapter 16: A Victory Of Alliance

Cullen x Trevelyan

AO3 MASTERLIST

(Spoilers for the "In Your Heart Shall Burn" quest)

Full chapter below:

At first, there was nothing. Emptiness. Darkness.

Then, a sudden wave of sound crashed over her. A high-pitched ringing, suffocating and disorienting. Flickers of light followed—bright green and blinding. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus as a chaotic blur of colour and distorted shapes gradually took form. A sharp, jarring pain shot through her body, and a burning ache settled into her ribs, as if the air had been violently knocked from her lungs.

A surge of panic coursed through her veins as Juliette slowly pushed herself upright. She clutched her head, attempting to steady the swaying sensation and dull throb that pulsed through her skull. She managed to draw in a shaky breath as the air surrounding her crackled with magical energy. She glanced up at the sky, a mix of awe and relief washing over her.

It worked!

For all the people who had gathered, the temple was eerily silent. The air was thick with anticipation, broken only by the occasional murmur or gasp of shock. The crowd remained respectfully quiet, their collective breath held as they waited for The Herald’s next move.

Juliette’s attention sharpened as she picked up the sound of footsteps drawing closer. Turning her head, she saw Cassandra weaving frantically through the soldiers, her movements desperate and determined as she made her way toward Juliette.

When Cassandra drew near, Juliette tilted her head slightly, blinking in confusion as their eyes met. The Seeker’s gaze was a mix of astonishment and relief. A breathless smile broke across Cassandra’s face, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Her tense demeanor relaxed, replaced by subdued joy. She exuded fierce protectiveness and gratitude, overwhelmed by the sight of The Herald of Andraste surviving the blast.

Cautiously, she reached her hand towards Juliette’s shoulder. A hesitant touch, just to be sure that her eyes weren’t deceiving her. She was truly alive and well.

“You did it!” Cassandra exclaimed softly, her voice trembling with overwhelming disbelief and emotion.

Stumbling slightly as she rose to her feet, Juliette slowly looked around her. The moment she stood, an eruption of cheers and applause filled the air, sweeping over the temple like a tidal wave. Soldiers, mages, and healers alike celebrated her success with exuberant shouts and clapping. The sound was a deafening roar of triumph and relief.

In a daze of astonishment, Juliette let out a delicate, airy chuckle. She looked back to the sky, now a cloudy swirl of energy, a reminder of the breach that just moments before had boomed above. With her hand, still glowing from the mark, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight that bore down on her as she looked back towards the terrace where she had entered the temple. There, silhouetted against the haze of sunlight and smoke, Cullen was unmistakable, his distinctive armor gleaming brightly. Beside him stood a hooded figure, whose presence and silhouette made Juliette assume could only be Leliana watching.

A subtle smile began to curl at Juliette’s lips. As the cheering grew louder and more boisterous she turned back to Cassandra. A soft laugh escaped and her smile widened, transforming into a radiant expression, both proud and relieved.

It’s finally over.

The roar of celebrations was muted by the closed doors of the chantry. Illuminated by candlelight, the building was warm and inviting. A modest gathering surrounded the statue of Andraste. Led by Mother Giselle, those yet to indulge in the revelry beyond the doors came together to express their gratitude to The Maker. Their voices, soft and earnest, filled the quiet space with a sense of peace.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood The Maker’s will is written.”

Juliette was always fascinated by the way that Mother Giselle would hold onto the hands of those she spoke to. With her hands clasped around Juliette’s, both firmly and tender, Mother Giselle’s voice was melodic, her words gracefully rolling off the tongue like delicate song.

“Thank you, Herald of Andraste. A task such as closing the Breach is a heavy burden. I’m glad that it wasn’t a burden that you had to carry alone.”

Juliette smiled politely. “So many good people made this possible, Revered Mother.”

Nodding in agreement, Mother Giselle said, “We remember Andraste, but Andraste did not carry the Chant of Light alone. She had generals, advisors… even her husband, for a time.”

“And The Inquisition, our supporters, you—without all of it, I would never have been able to achieve this.”

“Without you, Herald, we would have all perished long ago.” Mother Giselle’s gaze softened as she sensed Juliette’s lack of confidence. “I understand you may not believe yourself to be Andraste’s Herald. Whatever you believe, there remains a task to be done.” Juliette looked at her with a hint of surprise, as if taken aback by how easily Mother Giselle could read her insecurities. “Andraste forged her own path, guided as she was by her visions. Look to Andraste for guidance… but ultimately, that The Maker has made this your task to fulfill. The people remain divided and Thedas still looks to hope. The hope they place in you is a tool within your reach. What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

“I appreciate your insight, Mother Giselle.”

“But tonight is for celebration…” Mother Giselle’s voice trailed off as the chantry door creaked open. Officers entered, their footsteps echoing through the hall as they carried crates of supplies, their chatter filling the space with a lively commotion. Juliette’s attention was drawn to the interruption, and she noticed Cullen among the officers. Her gaze lingered on him, a mixture of surprise and warmth flickering across her face as she took in his presence. Gently pulling her hands away, Mother Giselle added, “We come together to count our blessings because of you. Enjoy it, Herald. You are deserving.”

“Thank you, Revered Mother,” Juliette said softly, offering a warm smile. However, as she glanced back up, a wave of disappointment washed over her when she saw that Cullen had already slipped through the door, vanishing from view.

The campfire crackled and popped, casting a warm, flickering glow over the gathering. Juliette held her hand against the flames, watching with a content smile as the fire’s heat warmed her fingers. She was starting to enjoy the feel of fire and found herself longing for that burning sensation as it tingled her flesh. She waved her fingers quickly, as not to cause pain, but just to feel the slightest tingle, a touch of power coursing through her fingertips. She sighed, happy and relieved.

The night air was filled with the lively hum of voices raised in song and laughter. People danced around her, an infectious energy as they sang and drank, raising their tankards in victory.

“Oh, so this is where you’ve been hiding?” Dorian’s voice cut through the noise, his sly smile matching the playful glint in his eyes as he approached her with a confident stride.

“In plain sight?” Juliette laughed, turning to face him with a warm smile.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten our deal, Lady Herald.” He leaned in closer so that she could hear him above the ruckus of the celebration. “You owe me a drink.”

“What?” she shrieked with a laugh. “You never said that I was buying.”

With an amused scoff he asked, “You are their Herald of Andraste. One would think that your drinks are free, no?”

She looked around, confused, but smiling. “I saw bull down a barrel in one sitting. I don’t think anyone is keeping tabs.”

“Fantastic!” Dorian exclaimed, tugging at her arm with mock urgency. “Come along!”

Chancellor Roderick sauntered into the chantry, eyeing The Inquisition officers with disrespect. He shook his head, offended that not a single person seemed available to listen to his concerns. “You!” He shouted at an elven servant who tried to hurry past with a box of vegetables. “Where are they? Is truly no one in charge now?”

“If you're here to file more complaints…” a voice spoke melodically. Roderick turned around to see Leliana emerge from the shadows of the chantry arches. “Our Ambassador will soon be in her office. You could wait there for her.”

“I've had it up to here with these games!” He exclaimed, dramatically throwing up his arms. “Sending me here then upon there. I'm no fool, you see. I know —”

“Or you can stand here and complain. Either way, I've other matters to attend” she spoke indifferently. Without a backward glance, she walked away, unbothered.

With a huff, Roderick reluctantly made his way into Josephine's office, loudly slamming the door shut behind him.

More officers entered the chantry, their arms straining under the weight of bulky supply crates.

“‘Scuse me, Sister Leliana,” one of the men said, his voice rough from exertion as he shifted the crate on his shoulder. “Do you know where we are to put these?’”

A wicked smirk flickered across Leliana's face, a brief flash of mischief before she spoke inconspicuously, “against the door to The Ambassador's office.”

The man looked to the door with confusion, his brow furrowing, then back to Leliana with a nervous gulp. He hesitated, glancing at the door again as if it might offer an answer. “Uh… as you wish,” he finally managed.

“Oh and if you hear shouting from the other side of the door…” Leliana continued, dropping her head slightly, her hood casting ominous shadows on her face. “…no, you didn't.”

With petrified eyes the officer nodded, stammering, “Y…yes. Understood.”

Juliette’s laugh rang out above the noise of chatter and lively celebration. “You’re relentless!” Shaking her head, she smiled. “No matter how many times you ask - I will not tell you the horribly embarrassing circumstances of my harrowing!”

“That’s hardly fair!” Dorian protested, his voice almost a shout as he competed with the noise. “You can’t just preface a story with ‘horribly embarrassing’ then refuse to tell it.”

Just after Dorian spoke, Maryden began to play an upbeat and spirited tune, the lively notes swirling around them like a gust of wind. Juliette's laughter faltered as those around the campfire jumped up with excitement, their movements drunken and uncoordinated, yet charming nonetheless. She looked back at Dorian, her smile growing wider. “I can, and I will continue to do so.”

Juliette watched with intrigue as the deep red hue of the spiced wine swirled in the chalice she held. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled its rich, fruity aroma. But just as she slowly brought the wine to her lips, a sudden knock from behind sent the liquid splashing up her nose and the chalice crashing against her teeth. She let out a squeal of surprise, her nostrils burning from the accidental inhalation. With a cough, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, stumbling toward the fire.

“Careful!” Dorian called, his voice rising with concern as he shot a wary glance at Adan, who swayed drunkenly beside her.

The suddenness of it all left Juliette momentarily stunned, but as she caught sight of the drunken culprit, laughter bubbled up, light and infectious. “Well, that was graceful!” she said, shaking her head and grinning.

“Oh! Sorry, love,” Adan slurred, placing a hand on her shoulder in a wobbly gesture.

“Love?” Juliette laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with our grumpy apothecary?”

With a sudden outburst of excessively loud laughter and clumsy applause, Adan revealed a much more cheerful version of himself. Juliette and Dorian exchanged glances, their smirks revealing their amusement.

When Juliette turned her focus back to Adan, she caught a glimpse of Cullen walking briskly past, a bundle of supplies tucked under one arm. He moved with purpose, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were on a mission. The soft glow of moonlight illuminated his features, highlighting the determined expression on his face. With a soft chuckle under her breath, Juliette recalled his earlier joke—“No rest for the wicked.”

For a moment, their eyes met. Despite his hurried pace, a flicker of recognition passed between them, accompanied by a brief smile that lit up his face. Her heart skipped a beat as she sensed the connection—an energy that made her feel a little lighter.

He seemed engrossed in his tasks, yet that smile lingered in her mind—a fleeting moment that intrigued her, even if she didn’t dare hope it meant anything more.

As she returned her attention to Dorian and Adan, their chatter faded into the background, a comforting hum of laughter. Suddenly, Dorian’s voice cut through the noise. “Isn’t that right, Juliette?”

“Sorry, what?” she asked, dazed and unsure of what they were discussing.

“To dance a… to victory and not… getting myself killed,” Adan slurred, his words tumbling out in a jumbled mess, laughter punctuating his attempts at coherence.

Juliette smiled politely, tilting her head slightly. “Thank you, but I must decline. Perhaps you should rest a while before dancing, Adan.”

With a mischievous grin, Dorian leaned closer, teasing, “I think she has her eyes set on another dance partner.”

“What?” Juliette shrieked, her high-pitched reaction betraying her denial.

“Oh, don’t be coy!” Dorian teased, a playful lilt in his voice. “Ha! Look! Now your face is all red.”

She quickly slapped her hands onto her cheeks and, with a mortified expression, screeched, “No, it’s not!”

A sudden, loud thud interrupted their banter. Juliette and Dorian turned to see Adan sprawled on the ground, his arms flailing as he laughed at himself.

“What an odd dance move,” Dorian quipped, bending down to help Adan to his feet. He flung Adan’s arm over his shoulder, stabilizing him with a grin. “Let’s get you out of here before you piss yourself in front of the Herald of Andraste.” He looked over to Juliette with a smirk, “Wouldn’t that be a tale for the grandchildren!”

Juliette chuckled, bringing what was left of her drink to her lips. As Adan was led away, he called out, “I never asked… how was the… what’s it?… sleep tonic?”

“It was entirely useless!” she shouted back, her voice rising above the chatter.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what the Commander said,” he slurred, waving his hand dismissively. Juliette’s jaw dropped in shock. She clearly remembered Adan saying the exact opposite days earlier.

After they had left, Juliette took a moment to retreat to the ledge overlooking the fire, settling into a brief and quiet reflection. She rested her hand on her cheek, as though searching for evidence of her embarrassment.

I must learn to stop blushing, she thought to herself.

Taking in the lull of music and the earthy scent of the fire, Juliette drew a deep breath and looked up at the sky. The swirl of clouds that once was the breach lingered high above them. She remembered the first time she had seen it—her initial moments in Haven—and felt a swell of emotion. She had come so far since then.

Cullen stood by the stairs, his gaze fixed on Juliette as she sat, watching the campfire. The flames flickered and danced, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminated her features. The firelight caught her cheeks, giving them a soft flush, while her eyes sparkled, reflecting the warmth and intensity of the flames. The flickering light accentuated the gentle curve of her lips, which held a hint of a smile as she lost herself in thought.

He leaned slightly against a wall, arms crossed, observing her with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She absorbed all that magic and somehow managed to pull through unscathed. And she just sits there calmly, as though it was nothing at all.

In that moment, the chatter and laughter of the gathering faded into the background, leaving only the soft crackle of the fire and the captivating presence of Juliette before him.

He felt an urge to approach her, to share in her reflection, yet he remained where he was, mesmerized by the beauty of the moment.

Cullen couldn’t shake the worry that she might soon choose to leave. He was concerned for her safety, and the thought of her facing the challenges ahead without the Inquisition’s support filled him with deep unease. She had gathered allies and built a significant following, but she had also amassed a growing roster of enemies. The Venatori would hunt her down. What if they succeed?

All things considered, with the weight of her future pressing down on him, what struck Cullen most as he watched her was the realization that he might not be ready to say goodbye to Juliette. He needed more time.

Cullen took a deep breath, pushing off the wall as he stepped forward, his heart racing with a mix of hope and fear. Yet, uncertainty gripped him, anchoring him in place.

Running a hand through his hair, he slumped back against the wall, staring ahead as the firelight blurred in the distance. I can’t just tell her to stay—that’s her choice, not mine.

He reflected on all she had achieved: aiding refugees, clearing dangers in Ferelden, sealing rifts, and sending demons back to the Fade. The allies she had rallied—Master Dennet, Mother Giselle, and nearly every local in the Hinterlands willing to help. How she negotiated with, persuaded and tolerated nobles, The Chantry and that awful merchant, Seggrit. He smiled at the thought, how she wrinkles her nose and shudders when she hears Chancellor Roderick's voice.

Still staring ahead with a vacant expression, he thought back to earlier in the day, as he stood watching her close the breach. That powerful image of all those mages standing behind her, pouring their magic into the mark. He didn’t like to admit it, but recruiting them was useful. He looked to the ground and slouched his shoulders. He remembered what she had told him during their argument in the yard that day - ‘We seal the breach and then my job is done. I won’t be here to burden you any further and you can chase me and all the other apostates away!’

I’ve made her feel unwelcome. I need to set things right!

With a determined nod and a deep inhale, he stepped forward once more. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to ask her to stay, but she needs to know. I have to tell her that I want her to stay with The Inquisition.

Just as Cullen took a step forward, the voice of a soldier cut through the night, calling out, “Commander!”

He halted, the word jolting him from his thoughts. The urgency in the soldier’s tone sent a ripple of apprehension through him. Cullen felt a prickling at the back of his neck, instinctively knowing something was wrong. He turned slowly, his brow furrowing, a silent question forming in his eyes. The soldier stood stiffly, as though every muscle was coiled, ready for action.

“Commander, there’s movement at the perimeter,” the soldier said, voice steady but urgent. “I think you need to see this.”

Cullen’s eyes sharpened, the weight of the soldier’s words settling heavily in the air. “How many?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“We can’t see. Just light in the distance.”

Cullen nodded, adrenaline surging through him. “Lead the way.”

Juliette looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching. With a kind smile, she set her drink down as Cassandra settled beside her.

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm,” Cassandra said, relief in her voice. Juliette nodded, exhaling slowly. “The breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but this was a victory.”

With her head tossed back, Juliette chuckled softly. “About time we had some good news.”

Cassandra’s smile widened. “Word of your heroism has spread.”

Juliette tilted her head, a hint of modesty in her gaze. “You know how many were involved. Luck just put me at the center.”

“A strange kind of luck,” Cassandra agreed, her brow furrowing slightly. “Not sure if we need more or less of it. But you’re right—this was a victory of alliance.”

Juliette looked back up at the sky, the stars glimmering faintly through the aftermath. “Aside from the demons, the war…” She smirked, rolling her eyes. “And the killing,” she added with an awkward laugh. “It’s been an honor working alongside you, Cassandra.”

As Juliette finished her thought, Cassandra’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of concern crossing her features. “Don’t think that you’re going anywhere,” she said, her tone stern. “With the breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.”

Juliette let out a high-pitched laugh. “Back to being a prisoner? I don’t think so.” Cassandra glared, her expression momentarily breaking as Juliette flashed a cheeky grin. “I saw the way you ran towards me after the breach,” Juliette teased, her voice playful. With a twisted smirk and narrowed eyes, she added, “You care about me, Seeker Pentaghast.”

Cassandra scoffed, but a flicker of warmth danced in her eyes. “Well, I’d rather you alive than dead.”

Juliette giggled, accepting the quip as a hidden admission. They sat in silence for a moment, the crisp night air swirling around them. Juliette sensed the lingering suspicion in Cassandra’s gaze and her grin widened. “Okay!” she laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving!”

Cassandra’s expression softened, a mixture of relief and fondness. “Good.”

“Besides, Josie just ordered me a new coat,” Juliette said with a nonchalant shrug.

Cassandra gently tugged at the sleeves of Juliette’s arm, concern threading through her voice. “You should be wearing something warmer. It’s freezing out tonight; you’ll end up sick.”

“Alright, Mother!” Juliette teased, laughter bubbling uncontrollably from her.

Cassandra pushed her shoulder playfully, a smile breaking through the seriousness before she stood. “I’m going, before—”

The sudden sound of bells rang out, slicing through the night air—loud, alarming, and impossible to ignore. Both women froze, the playful atmosphere instantly replaced by a shared sense of urgency.

Quickly jumping up, Juliette turned her gaze to the distant mountains. Flickering lights moved toward their base in a uniform manner, an indication of an approaching army. As the bells rang louder, the joyful celebrations shattered; people scattered in panic, voices rising in frantic cries. A tightness gripped Juliette’s chest, as if her ribs were being crushed. Her blood tingled with adrenaline, and she turned to Cassandra, fear evident in her wide eyes.

“What?” Cassandra gasped, her own gaze drawn to the chaos beyond the walls.

Amid the rising panic, Cullen’s voice cut through from a distance. “Forces approaching! To arms!”

Cassandra drew her sword, her grip firm and resolute, and shook Juliette’s arm, pulling her from her stunned daze. “We must get to the gates!”

[rietveldings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Lavellan Additional Tags: Awkward Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Short & Sweet, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Rogue Lavellan (Dragon Age), Rogue Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Summary:

“Maker’s breath, but you’re an icicle!” Cullen exclaims and envelops her hands in his. “We ought to warm you up more thoroughly.”

“Oh?" Athesa grins while the Commander catches and flails over his innuendo.

“I, er— not in the way you’re implying. I mean, not now… That is to say—” Athesa cuts him off with a soft but deep kiss, standing on her tiptoes to reach his face. He catches her by the lapels of his own mantle and pulls her in closer, until they’re pressed up against each other and Athesa can actually feel the warmth radiating off his body. Gods, just when she didn’t think she could want to climb into this man’s skin any more.

Cullen/Lavellan ficlet based on this cute imagine by @andraste-preserve-us ! Thank you for the frankly genius inspo and permission to upload <3 

[leoisanaries]

anyone interested in hearing about this pile of pasta I have about a Josephine/Inky Trevelyan/Cassandra fic I'll never have the time/energy/skill level to write?

[spainkitty]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Part 1 Chapter 2: The course is but run, and end has begun

The beginning of the "apocalyptic future" chapters. ❤️‍🔥 I had so much fun writing Lanil and Dorian in the future. I kept adding OCs or little DAO cameos and they kept getting longer and longer. 🤣🤣 There's a bit of cullavellan peeking out at the end, too. 😏 oh yeah... and trauma.

[theoldwest]

Asks are open!!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

hi!!! I write x reader fics 🫶🏽 (no y/n)

no nsfw themes :) , 420 friendly, romantic or platonic.

all of my fics have a genderless reader perspective, and tbh, a non- white perspective! (Im black and nb lol)

~

I’d love to write for these characters!:

Sam Winchester (Supernatural)

Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

Castiel (Supernatural)

Arthur Morgan (RDR2)

Charles Smith (RDR2)

Iron Bull (DAI)

Sera (DAI)

If you have any other characters from these series that you’d like me to try my hand at, please let me know! :-) I’m always willing to expand my horizons!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Please also feel free to send prompts without a specific character! 🤠🌿 I love you!

[5lazarus]

Work in Progress Wednesday

“Surely you don’t think the gods are coming back,” Imladris says, nonplussed. “I didn’t see Fen’Harel in the Fade.”

Briala says, “Isn’t that the story, that He trapped them in slumber, waiting in the Fade? Well, the barriers between the waking and the dreaming are broken now. The dead have been rising. Why not the gods?”

“Because the gods are dead,” Imladris says furiously. “If they ever existed. If they ever cared. I cannot imagine the degradation of our history, Briala, if the gods were real. Who would let this happen to us? They were legends, nothing more. Perhaps there was some historical antecedent, folk heroes who became cast as divine after—why are you here? If you wanted to argue theology, you could’ve just sent in an essay.”

“I have better things to do than write for your little magazine,” Briala says. “But you have made my point nicely. Something existed, to make the legend. The religion. And whatever was does not seem to have cared too much about what happened to their people.” She leans forward and fixes Imladris with a stare. Imladris tenses. “I believe the gods existed and I believe they were not kind. I have seen the ruins of Elvhenan, Immo’.” Imladris looks down. She hasn’t heard that name since Val Royeaux. “It was a caste-based slave society. I cannot believe the gods in charge of that were good to us. And if they are waking, as I believe there are—well.” Briala settles back in the rickety chair, which creaks dangerously but does not break. “That does not herald well.”

Imladris digests the pun. “Do you have any evidence?”

Briala says, “I met an ancient elf who called himself Slow Arrow in the old tongue, who told a the Forbidden One called Imshael ‘something big is coming’ to convince him to let myself and Mihris go. Something bigger than the Orlesian civil war. You’re not the only one who has been walking into legends, lethallin. The Forbidden One possessed Mihris. She saw something. And it is time to prepare.”

Imladris says, “For what?”

“The end of this world, of course. Do you think what’s coming is good? Is better than where we are now? I want the Dales, Imladris Ashallin. I want Elvhenan for our people. And I want it without the gods.” Briala gestures. “Lindiranae and the Emerald Knights thought the gods would save them, and we ended up little better than slaves again.”

Imladris, a bit shocked, laughs. “What are you asking of me? I can’t fight legends.”

“Except you are,” Briala says. “After you kill Corypheus, one would-be god, what’s a whole pantheon?” She rises and smirks down at her. Imladris, realizing she’s gaping, hurriedly fixes her face and glares. “Think about it. It would do us all some good, if you used your position for the people.” She picks up the tray still sitting on the table and offers it to Imladris. Mechanically she takes it. “You should eat before your food gets cold. When you’re in the Graves, do give Fairbanks my regards.”

Briala leaves quietly, head bowed and movements small and quick like a servant. Imladris hears the ugly sound of cutlery clattering against stoneware and looks down. She’s shaking so violently she is spilling her soup: a waste, she thinks, and mechanically begins to eat.

[aimlessglee]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast Characters: Cassandra Pentaghast, Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Nonbinary Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Nonbinary Lavellan (Dragon Age), First Time, Sex Toys, gender feels, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, cassandra pentaghast has a queer epiphany Summary:

Cassandra has an epiphany, aided by the Inquistor's store of sex toys.

[mumms-the-word]

Love and Loss

Characters: Josephine Montilyet x Male Trevelyan (Everett), also Cassandra, Dorian, Varric, Cullen, Leliana, Vivienne, and Cole Summary: TRESPASSER SPOILERS AHEAD - Everett has caught up with Solas and Solas has granted him one last mercy by stopping the mark on his hand from spreading. But the mark is still killing Everett. His friends drag him back to the Winter Palace to try and save his life. If they can't stabilize the mark, then they will have to get rid of the arm instead - even if that means an emergency amputation. A/N: This is probably my favorite DA fic I've ever written but I know it probably isn't to everyone's tastes. See tags for CWs. I didn't want to put them here because they kind of spoiler the ending reveal haha. Read it on AO3!

Everett stumbled out of the eluvian, blind with pain, gritting his teeth so hard to stop from screaming that they nearly cracked. Sharp crackling stabs of pain shot up along his left arm, constricting his lungs and fueling a deepening, burning ache in his chest. Whatever Solas had done to the Anchor, it had stopped it spreading—but it hadn’t stopped the pain. He could barely stand. He couldn’t find his feet and his legs held no strength. His arms were draped around the necks and shoulders of Dorian and Cassandra, with Varric hot on their heels.

“Clear the way!” Cassandra barked. She had one of Everett’s arms around her shoulders, and Dorian had the other, still flaring wildly with green rift magic. Everett tried to find his footing and failed. His legs had gone numb. Dark fog began to crowd the corners of his vision as he struggled to draw in shallow gasps between waves of pain.

The soldiers that stood guard on either side of the mirror jumped back as they burst through. “What in the Maker’s—”

“There’s no time!” Cassandra snapped. “Send for some healers!”

Cullen appeared in the doorway, his face pale but his expression fierce, sword drawn and ready. “What’s going on here?”

“My arm,” Everett growled, the words barely intelligible through his clenched teeth. He cried out in pain as another wave drilled into his chest and stole his breath, his legs giving out beneath him. Dorian and Cassandra grunted under the dead weight, but they managed to hold him up. “I can’t—”

Cullen looked at Everett’s arm, crackling and sparking with magical energy, and took an involuntary step back. “Are we in danger?”

“No.” Everett squeezed his eyes shut, panting, trying to focus, to think through the pain. It was getting more and more difficult. “S-Solas contained it. It won’t—it won’t explode. It won’t spread.” He ground out another groan between clenched teeth as the pain stabbed once more through him, harder, incessant.

Cassandra flinched when a flicker of energy from his arm brushed her cheek. “But it’s still killing you!”

“Solas said it wouldn’t—”

“I do not care what Solas said!”

“We must remove it,” Dorian said, adjusting his hold on Everett. “If this keeps up, he’ll die from shock, if the pain doesn’t drive him mad first.”

Everett barely registered the words. Another spasm, sharp and hot, seized his arm, and this time he fell to his knees, nearly taking Dorian and Cassandra with him. They let him drop to the floor and he curled around his arm, digging his fingers into his forearm as though he wanted to rip the entire thing from his body.

“What in—Everett!”

Panting, he looked up at the voice. Josephine. She had her hands over her mouth, staring horrified at him, at his sweaty face, his shaking frame, his crackling arm.

“Get her out of here,” he growled. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He’d spent most of their time at the Winter Palace avoiding her every time his hand acted up, just to keep her from worrying. Saving her from those worries meant nothing now, if she saw him at his near-fatal worst. “Varric, please, I—”

Before Varric could so much as move, Leliana appeared at Josephine’s shoulder, the robes of the Divine looking sickly green in the light of the eluvian and bright, surging light of Everett’s mark. She took in the scene in seconds and grabbed Josephine’s arm, tugging her back.

“Josie.”

But Josephine didn’t move. Her normally amber skin looked gray in this light. Everett groaned again in pain, curling around his arms to try and contain the sight.

“Give me your arm,” Dorian said, crouching by Everett. Without waiting for him, Dorian wrested his arm free and got to work tugging off his gloves. It had become a mangled mess of burned and melted leather and bits of metal, barely even recognizable. While Dorian tried to remove all the mess, Cassandra started on the buckles of Everett’s armor, trying to get it off, to give them both access to his arm without hindrances. Everett tried to help but the pain was so fierce in his arm he couldn’t move it, not even to bend at the elbow.

Dorian swore colorfully in Tevene. “Where are those damned healers?”

“There’s no time!” Cassandra yelled. The Anchor surged again and Everett curled in on himself again, nearly touching his forehead to the floor.

“Move aside.”

Vivienne’s commanding voice shot through the air like a cannon, and the small crowd, Josephine, Leliana, and Varric included, parted from the door to let her enter. Behind her, Cole hovered just outside, pale eyes wide. Vivienne swept through the tiny room to take a knee by Everett and place one cold hand on his cheek. “Tell me what you need, my dear.”

“I need—the pain—to stop,” he ground out.

“Healing magic won’t stop it,” Dorian said. He and Cassandra tugged Everett’s mail off, tossing it with the rest of the armor they’d torn from him. Everett had only his sweat-soaked shirt left, messily untucked from his trousers in Dorian and Cassandra’s hasty work to remove his armor. “Trust me, I tried. There’s nothing more to be done. If we don’t remove it now—”

Magic surged once more in his arm, and Everett yelled out, unable to stop himself. He collapsed on the floor, his body seizing and twitching as the pain stabbed into his chest, causing his heart to jitter erratically and his lungs to constrict all at once. Distantly he heard Josephine call his name.

“Hold him down!” Cullen yelled, all but throwing soldiers toward Everett. “Cassandra—”

“I know, Cullen!” She unsheathed her blade, her knuckles white on the hilt.

Soldiers wrestled Everett onto his back, sitting and laying on his legs, his torso, his right arm. Everett gasped for air as the pain subsided just enough to for his lungs to release. He could do nothing to resist. Cullen seized his marked hand and pulled the arm out taut, holding it to the ground with his knee as he pushed Everett’s sleeve up nearly to his shoulder. He ripped off his belt and cinched it tight around Everett’s arm, just above the elbow. The pain from the belt was lost entirely in all the rest of the chaos.

Vivienne and Dorian exchanged a quick look, and soon fire was in Dorian’s hands, pale green healing magic in Vivienne’s. Cassandra thrust her blade toward Dorian, and he heated the metal until it was white. Everett gritted his teeth, panicked noises escaping his throat unbidden. There were too many people. Too many bodies on top of his. The pain was unbearable. Maker, Andraste, he wanted it to end, he just wanted everything to stop. His eyes rolled, blind to everything but searching out that one face anyway, the one he kept close to his mind and his heart in his worst hours, yet hoping at the same she was gone, that she hadn’t stayed to witness this torture.

But she had stayed.

Leliana had her pinned in a corner, trying to shield her view with her body, while Varric tried to usher them both out the door. Josephine had one hand clutched on Leliana’s Divine robes, the other clamped tight over her mouth. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, his wide with panic, hers flowing with tears. He couldn’t be strong for her. Maker curse him, he couldn’t do it.

A pulse of pain slammed through his arm, and Everett arched, seizing up and yelling, squeezing his eyes shut. There was nothing else for him—nothing but pain, shooting from his hand deep into his chest, threatening to stop his heart, to collapse his lungs, to suffocate him and kill him with its strength. Behind his closed eyelids he saw nothing but white—white stars, white pain, white fire.

Was this the end?

“Now!” Cullen yelled.

Cassandra gave something like a war cry and a sudden, new, white-hot pain seared at his elbow. The crackling and singeing of the Anchor fell away, replaced by a blazing, scorching pain—and then nothing.

Nothing.

Ringing filled his ears, blocking out every sound, even the sound of his own gasping breaths. Though his eyes were open, he saw nothing but darkness and ghostly stars. He sensed as if through a dream, people all around him, nearly suffocating him. Hands holding him down, the entire weight of several men on him, but vaguely, as if he were distanced from his own body. He could no longer feel Cullen’s knee pressing into his left wrist. Had he blacked out?

Slowly, sensation came to him. He lay there, panting, his entire body heaving with the effort to breathe. Several soldiers moved off. Vivienne was on his left, illuminated by pale green healing magic as she focused on his arm. She glanced up at him, dark eyes unreadable, and placed one of her hands on his forehead, cooling it with ice magic.

“How are you, my dear?”

“I don’t—I don’t feel anything,” he rasped. No pain, but nothing else either. He glanced around. Cassandra knelt beside him, her bloodied, still-hot blade loose in her grip, her face covered by her hand. Dorian stood behind her, watching Vivienne’s work with a grim expression. Cullen sat on the floor, leaning back on his hands, his face pale and sweaty. And between his feet…

Everett looked away, quickly. It was one thing to know he would lose his arm, to wish for it to be gone. It was another entirely to see it, lifeless on the floor beside him. Panic started to grip him, tightening his throat. None of this seemed real. He was struck with an absurd desire to laugh. That was his arm. Just lying there. Completely separated from his body.

He was going mad.

He resisted the urge to try and move his left hand, swallowing both laughter and panic as much as he could.

“I can’t feel anything,” he whispered again.

“A blessing, all things considered,” Dorian said. “That blade should have been hot enough to deaden your nerves immediately.”

“And my magic is keeping you from further pain.” Vivienne focused once more on his arm. Everett didn’t dare look. His heart thundered in his chest. If he thought too long about the dead limb at his side, he was certain he’d lose his mind. Vivienne’s eyes flickered back to his face again, as if she sensed his heart beating erratically. “Calm yourself, my dear. The worst is over.”

He managed a nod. He had to believe that.

“Maybe we should move the Inquisitor’s uh…arm out of the room?” Varric said. Even he sounded shaken, though he hid it well. “I think we’d all be a little less queasy with it gone.”

Cassandra sighed and lowered her hand from her face. “Varric.”

“What? I’m just saying…”

Cullen stood and gestured to a soldier along the wall. “You there—wrap this up. Use your shirt if you have to. Take it outside and burn it.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Perhaps a magical fire would be best to dispose of it, yes?” Dorian said. “I’ll go prepare one.” He shot Everett one last, concerned glance and left.

Everett tried to swallow again. His throat was sore and inflamed from his screams and he was desperate for water. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling as the soldier wrapped up his—the severed limb beside him. “Where…where is Josephine?”

“I am here, Everett.” Her voice, quiet and shaky, came from the corner where he’d last seen her. He briefly closed his eyes, a dull ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the Anchor.

“You should have left.”

She didn’t respond. The soldier stood up and hurried away, the cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms. Everett tried again to ignore the urge to flex his left fingers. He focused instead on the numbing magic Vivienne was washing over him, through her hand on his forehead. Gradually, his heart slowed. He began to breathe easier.

In the back of his mind, he wondered how badly he would be panicking without her magic to calm him. Maker, if Josephine had to witness that…

Vivienne pulled off the belt that was still cinched tight just above his elbow and rolled his sleeve back down over what was left of his arm. She deftly tied it off, making a neat knot. “There. That’s all that can be done for now.” She stood and glanced around the room. “I suggest you find yourself a bed and rest for the day, Inquisitor. Your health is in a delicate state. I will have a few select potions and teas sent to your room shortly.”

“Thank you, Vivienne,” Everett whispered. She glanced back down at him and he thought he saw her eyes soften.

“Anything for you, my dear.”

“How did you get here so quickly?” Cassandra asked, finally standing. “We’d only just sent people from the room when you stepped in.”

“The demon alerted me.” She slid her gaze to the door, where Cole stood, worrying at his hands. He remained quiet, watching.

“He’s human, Vivienne,” Everett said, exhaustion settling over him. He was still reluctant to move his left arm. Or move at all. “He’s been fully human for over two years now.”

Vivienne’s lip curled ever so slightly, her icy mask back in place. Any softness in her gaze hardened once more to crystal. “Semantics, darling. But…I suppose Thedas owes him its thanks. You’d be dead otherwise. Get some rest, Inquisitor.”

She brushed past Cole and left the room. Cole stared after her, his face hidden by his hat. Silence hovered in the air for a few seconds until Cullen blew out a breath.

“Some things never change,” he muttered. He pointed to a group of soldiers standing near the door. “Carry the Inquisitor to the nearest bed—I don’t care whose it is.”

“No,” Cole said softly, turning back around. He took a few quiet steps into the room. “He doesn’t need that.”

Everett suppressed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure if he could stand, let alone walk anywhere. He certainly didn’t want to be carried. He didn’t want to do anything other than lay there on the stone floor until he could gather the strength and courage to move again.

The others stared at Cole. Undisturbed, he walked to where Josephine, Leliana, and Varric stood in the corner. Gently, he took Josephine’s hand, tugging her toward Everett.

“He needs you,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. Josephine looked to Cole, then to Everett, eyes wide. Cole tilted his head to one side, as if listening, then let go of her hand. “You should tell him. I think will help.”

Tell him? Tell him what? Whatever it was, Josephine understood immediately. Her eyes widened again and she glanced at Everett, uncertain. 

Cole looked over his shoulder at the others, then left the room as silently as he entered. Josephine hesitated, as if keenly aware of all the eyes on her. She turned an uncertain, pleading look on Leliana, but it was Varric who crossed his arms and nodded toward the door.

“You heard the kid,” he said. “Let’s go.” He met Everett’s gaze. “If you need us, send Ruffles.”

Quietly, everyone filed out of the room, sending Everett sympathetic glances. Leliana squeezed Josephine’s arm as she passed by her. Before he left, Cullen murmured something in Josephine’s ear. She nodded once, sending him a grateful look, and he too left the room. Soon it was only the two of them.

Taking a shuddering breath, Josephine walked around to where Everett’s head rested against the ground. She lowered herself to the stone floor, sitting on her knees, and gently lifted his head to lie against her legs. With trembling fingers, she swept his sweat-soaked hair away from his face. Everett’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured. Suddenly, without everyone in the room, he felt tired and worn. The panic had faded. Now he was simply drained. Exhausted.

“I was afraid.” Her voice still held a trace of tears. Everett opened his eyes to look up at her. There were tear tracks on her face, but her eyes seemed dry now, though filled with worry.

“You should have left.”

She shook her head and leaned forward, lifting his head gently to kiss his forehead. “I will never leave you, Everett. Not when you need me. Not if I can help it.”

Everett closed his eyes again, a pang of guilt throbbing in his chest. He was the one who was supposed to be strong for her. The one who was supposed to protect her. The one who was supposed to shoulder all the burdens so she could live as worry-free as possible. All of that had shattered now.

“Josephine, I…I’m so sorry.”

Her fingers continued to comb lightly through his hair, brushing it away from his face. “Sorry? For what?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t put it into words. He was sorry for the whole Exalted Council. He was sorry for leaving her to deal with it all without helping her in the slightest, for worrying her, for scaring her, for avoiding her. He was sorry she had to witness him break down. He was sorry she had to witness him losing his arm. He was sorry she was married to a broken, disabled man. “I should have…I should have done more. I don’t know.”

“Stop talking like that,” she said. She placed her hand on his cheek, her cool fingers a relief on his fevered skin. “All that matters is that you are still here. You are not dying.”

“For the moment. There’s still the Exalted Council.”

“A trivial matter, after all you’ve been through.” She paused. Everett let the silence settle over them, sinking into it, losing himself to her gentle touch. Her fingers paused against his cheek. “Do…do you want me to retrieve your wedding band? From the…the ashes?” She seemed to almost choke on the words.

Everett grimaced and opened his eyes. “No. It…somewhere in the midst of battle, between the Anchor flaring up and dispelling magic, the ring was destroyed.” It had melted from his hand, dripping in molten metal drops as he raised his hand to try and release the pent-up magic before it killed him.

“…Oh.”

He craned his neck slightly to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” she murmured, shaking her head.

He searched her face, his eyebrows drawn. “But you spent so much time picking it out, just for me. You were so intent on keeping it a secret before the wedding. It meant a lot to you.”

And to me.

“Everett, it is just a ring. We can always get another one. There is not another one of you.”

“But—”

“You do not need a ring to know I am yours, Everett.” She leaned forward and kissed him again, this time on the lips. “Rings are replaceable. They get lost or bent. The diamonds fall out. They tarnish. They stop fitting. Ten or twenty years from now, you might have worn a different ring anyway. But we would still be together. Any ring, or lack thereof, would never change that. And I would much rather lose the ring than lose you.”

He stared up at her, a little amazed. What had he done to deserve such a woman? What had he done to gain her love, love that showed in her eyes and her face, in the little smile of her lips? Love for him, for all that was left of him, love that looked beyond his imperfections, both old and new.

And, Maker preserve him, he loved her back. Fiercely and loyally. After two years of marriage and the chaos of this Exalted Council, he still loved her as much as when he first proposed back in the Arbor Wilds. Perhaps even more so. Definitely more so.

“I love you, Josephine,” he whispered. “With all my heart.”

She smiled faintly. It was a refrain he added often when he told her that he loved her. I love you, with all my heart. It never failed to make her smile.

“I love you, too,” she said quietly. “Although…you may need to begin thinking about sharing a part of your heart soon, my love.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Sharing? With who?”

Her voice became a whisper. “Our child.”

It took three heartbeats for Everett to register what she said. His eyes widened, and his heart started to pound again. Was she saying…?

He stared up at her, scarcely daring to believe it. “Are you…?”

She nodded, her smile widening and her eyes filling with tears. He sat up, using his remaining hand to help him, and twisted to face her. A quick scan revealed nothing—no signs that she was telling the truth, aside from a slight pallor to her skin, which could still be left over from the trauma before.

“Truly?” he breathed.

“Truly.” Even with the tears, there was a hint of laughter in her eyes, a brightness he hadn’t seen since before they reached the Winter Palace. Joy. It was almost foreign to him, after all that had happened lately.

“You’re certain?” A smile began to spread across his lips, the first genuine smile in…Maker, days. All his melancholy started to lift off his shoulders. A child. His child. Their child. “You’re absolutely certain?”

Josephine let out a light laugh. “Yes, Everett. I made certain with healers before we left.” She paused, searching his face. He was frozen in place. “Are…are you happy?”

“Happy?” The shock abating, Everett cupped her face with his hand and pulled her into a kiss, letting her know exactly how he felt about the news. She made a surprised noise in the back of her throat. “Josephine, I—I couldn’t be happier. A child…”

“Our child,” she correctly softly, brushing the hair out of his eyes and caressing his cheek.

Everett captured her lips with his once more, and she melted into his embrace, awkward and one-sided as it was. She held him steady, compensating for his lack of balance. If the feel of his newly severed arm disturbed her, she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t show it in the way she held him or kissed him back. He wrapped his good arm tightly around her, holding her close even after their kiss ended.

He was to be a father. It was something he’d only vaguely dreamed of, a conversation he’d had with Josephine only occasionally since their wedding. One day, they’d often said. It had been their answer for so long. One day, when the world was a little calmer, when the Inquisition was not quite so busy, when there would be time to consider children and where they would live and what kind of world they would grow up in. One day.

But now that day was here. In a world that had never been so uncertain, though it was calm enough…for now.

If he was reeling from the news, he could only imagine how she felt. To have braved the Exalted Council in her condition—

“Maker’s breath,” he said, pulling away to look at her again, amazed. “The fright I must have given you. The hell I put you through. And you, with child. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She gave a shrug of her shoulders that was, if anything, surprisingly mild given the circumstances. “Everything happened all at once. I had planned to tell you early on, during a slower evening, but there was never enough time. And to tell you in the midst of the Qunari plot—I couldn’t. I did not want to distract you.”

A sudden thought struck him. “I left you alone to fend for yourself,” he murmured, horrified. “With child.”

Josephine smiled wryly. “See? You would not have left my side, if I had told you.  And this world still needed you to act.” Her smile faded. “You…you would have died, had you not gone to find Solas. I did worry, Everett. I wondered if perhaps this child would grow up without his father. But he is—you are here. You are safe.  And I want never to part from you again.”

“Josephine…”

She took his hand and kissed it. “My love, the fate of the Inquisition and its future lies with you. It is enough knowing that you are alive, and no matter what happens, know that I will support you in anything. But if there is some way we can create a future where we can raise a family in peace and prosperity, together…”

“I swear it,” Everett said. He gripped her hand tightly, capturing her gaze with his so she would know how seriously he meant his oath. “I swear I’ll forge that future for you. For us. Even if it means disbanding this Inquisition, I swear that you will never have cause to worry for me or the safety of our family ever again. And Maker willing, I swear that we will never be apart again. Not if I can help it.”

She accepted his oaths with a small smile. “Those are weighty promises, Everett,” she murmured. “I do not know that you can keep all of them.”

“On my oath, I intend to try.” He took her wedding band and engagement ring between his thumb and first finger, rubbing his thumb over them. “It’s nothing short of what I swore to you when we married. I only want to see you happy, safe, and loved, Josephine. I may not have the ring anymore to remind myself of my vows, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop striving to keep them. I love you. And nothing in this world is going to change that.”

She smiled then, the brightest smile he’d seen in days, and hugged him close. “I love you, too.”

Soon he would have to face the Exalted Council. Soon he would have to give them an answer to the question they were all wondering—an answer that determined the future of the Inquisition. And one day, perhaps soon, perhaps years away, he would have to face Solas again, to clash against his old friend for the fate of the entire world.

He’d already sworn to stop him, if necessary. It was a decision he hadn’t made lightly. But now, with Josephine in his embrace, carrying the fluttering little life of their firstborn child, his resolve sharpened like steel tempered by flame. He would not let Solas destroy the world. He would not let his wife and child become collateral damage as the world burned away to be reshaped by Solas’s hand.

If that meant killing Solas to stop him…then so be it.

[quitefair]

Chapter 2... Josephine...... (yeah i've got nothing fancy for this one y'all can take it)

Rating: Teen and up

Category: F/F

Ship: Josephine Montilyet/Female Adaar

Tags: Canon Rewrite, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Grief/Mourning (Other Additional Tags to Be Added)

Chapter summary:

An ambassador. An explosion. A terrible mistake.

AO3 summary:

An explosion. A plan gone awry. War on either side of the Frostback Mountains, and a mystery to uncover underneath even that. All this chaos, and it falls to the last person you’d expect. Vashoth. Mercenary. ‘Oxman.’ Adaar is all they have, and by the skin of the Maker’s teeth, Adaar will be what they need.

[becauseanders]

Chapters: 19/20 Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age), Anders/Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Justice!Anders/Hawke, Anders & Justice (Dragon Age), Anders & Fenris (Dragon Age), Hawke & Varric Tethras Characters: Anders (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Justice Anders, Hawke (Dragon Age), Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Fenris (Dragon Age), Cole (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras Additional Tags: Post-Dragon Age II - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, circle abuse, fuck the chantry, Kinloch Hold (Dragon Age), Repressed Memories, Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Past Rape/Non-con, Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Anders Positive (Dragon Age), Justice Positive (Dragon Age), Dragon Age: Inquisition Era - Freeform, Self-Harm, Dissociation, Suicidal Thoughts, Bipolar Disorder, Eating Disorders, Psychosis, Body Memories, Past Anders/Karl Thekla, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Angst with a (relatively) Happy Ending, Title from a Lingua Ignota Song

Remember this body is not your home.

 Hawke has left to help the Inquisition. In her absence, Anders's nightmares get worse, for reasons he hadn't even known were there.

chapter 19: the penultimate update, and it’s a long one

[balrogballs]

i'm a writer irl (can't say who because my agent would rightfully put me into a blender and press the button if i go and out myself as "balrogballs") and honestly the funniest and most humiliating incident of my life was the time my finished manuscript triggered a plagiarism flag with the publisher for two lines of prose in my literary fiction novel...

.... which was word for word similar to a paragraph in a certain explicit work on FFN starring elrond and his batsman from the hobbit films, aka that one elf that looked like he ate panic attacks for breakfast (i forget his name but it's Figwit II) where the lord of imladris bends said twink over his writing desk and gives him the battering ram treatment.

and if you think i had to sit in front of one if the biggest publishing companies in the world and admit that it was, in fact, me who wrote the fic where the lord of imladris bends said twink over his writing desk and gives him the battering ram treatment in order to avoid being wrongly flagged for plagiarism, you would be absolutely correct.

(yes they published the book)

[btbonescanon]

people telling you they reread your fic is the biggest compliment you could ever receive. there are thousands of stories out there begging to be found, to be explored, but your story meant so much to someone that they came back to it eagerly, they went over every word again. to love is to return and loving a fic is rereading it. thank you to all readers and rereaders <3333

[king-nyx]

Say it with me now

You are never late to a fandom. Your fic is never "invalid" for being "late". Your fic doesn't need a high word limit. Your fic does not need a high standard. Your fic does not need to be highly popular. Your fic isn't less valid than a popular author's fic. Your fic isn't inheritly bad. Your fic is amazing. Your fic is valid. The only thing that matters is that you're having fun. Fandom is not consumption and consumerism. Fandom is fun, free and for the people. Fandom is not a popularity contest. We're all nerds at the end of the day.

[shining-just-4-u]

u ever read a fanfic so good that you want. fanfic of the fanfic