#but krem's nickname stands out so much

[abyssal-ilk]

iron bull having a special nickname for all of the chargers seemingly unrelated to their actual names and related instead to their abilities/roles/backgrounds (skinner, stitches, dalish, rocky, ect) vs him keeping krem's nickname as an actual shortened version of cremisius. thinking very hard about it

[blarrghe]

ooo could you do “Can we make cake? I like cake.”

@midnightprelude also sent me this prompt, approximately a year ago now lol, and I've been dwelling on it for sooo long. Anyway I just woke up and decided to fill this very cute prompt with some Lavellan Fam and I think there’s a sequel brewing. ft. @serphena ‘s Theo and Kiara! -- Taren used to be good with kids. He used to spend his weekend mornings teaching the children of the clan traditional dances, he used to light up holiday nights with bursts of magic whisps that made them ooh and ahh, he used to tell the littlest ones, the scared ones whose parents were away, or just gone, the same old stories that had been told to him, when he'd needed them. In his heart of hearts, he always wanted kids. A family. A home. He never really talked about that. He still never really talks about that.

There are five kids at Skyhold. Five is nothing compared to the number of scampering, laughing, rambunctious children he used to sometimes be put in charge of supervising as a First, back when Keeper Deshanna thought he’d needed practice at responsible. He isn’t in charge of supervising any of the children in the fortress. He’s had more than enough practice at responsible. But they’re well taken care of, the children of this strange new clan. The baker’s daughter has her mother still, the merchant’s three children come and go, and Kiara... Kiara is just like her father, independent. And when she isn’t being independent, she’s stuck to the legs of Theo, and when Theo is away, Cassandra. He tries not to be offended by the fact that his brother’s daughter doesn’t seem to like him very much. If he were her, he wouldn’t either.

It’s a good thing, really, that there are other people to supervise the children. The Inquisitor has enough on his plate without having to worry about things like mediating fights over building blocks or soothing nightmares, and in this chaotic world with it’s green, gaping sky filled with literal demons, there have been a lot of nightmares. Now, he is the story parents tell their children when the bad dreams come at night: the Inquisitor will fix it. He has a magic hand and he’ll heal the whole sky, patch it right up.

He tries not to hear the stories, but his brother’s daughter looks at him like he’s one part mythic hero, one part imminent threat to everything she has ever loved.

She’s no stranger to danger, even though she’s barely five. Theo told him about how they used to live, running from place to place, threat to threat. Even with the gaping green hole in the sky, this is better. Skyhold feels safe. Sometimes, Skyhold feels like the only safe place in the world.

Which is why she doesn’t like Taren very much. Because every so often, when the gaping green hole is being particularly nasty, spitting out its demons and smaller tears of awful and green into the world, Taren sends her papa away. Really, Theo volunteers to go. Taren never asked for his help, he just showed up and offered it. He’s always been the kind of person who could never just stand by, they have that in common. And by the looks of things so will Kiara, one day, but right now she just misses her papa, and worries about the demons she knows are out there, and looks at Taren like he’s responsible.

And he can’t blame her. He is.

Which makes being put in charge of supervising her while both Cassandra and Theo are away exceedingly difficult. He volunteered to do it, of course. Promised Theo it would be fine, fun, even. Reminded him of how good he has always been with kids, told him he’d be grateful for the opportunity to get to know his little niece. And now she’s huffing at his every suggestion, and running away from him when he offers her dinner at the end of the long days, and hiding in her room with a doll Krem made her while refusing bedtime stories at night. Krem, who is a great, scary mercenary from a band of great, scary mercenaries, who lives in the tavern making lewd jokes and telling gory stories with Bull, is better loved by Skyhold’s children, by his own brother’s child, than he is.

Of course, he understands it. If he was a child, he’d like Krem better too. Krem makes little nug dolls with wings on them, and it’s hard to compete with that.

Still, it’s not just a jealousy thing. It’s not just a want of family or a desire to see enthusiastic appreciation for his skills at story-telling and whisp-making again. It’s not even just that he’s missed so much of his brother’s life, that he found out about Kiara when she was already four years old, and that Theo’s story about that life they had on the run sank into his heart cold. Those are all good reasons to feel a sense of determination about this, to want to prove that he is a fun, funny, warm and welcoming uncle. To want to be there for her even when her papa can’t be. To want to be considered as family. But it’s more than just love, he’ll love his brother’s child even if she does nothing but throw tantrums and slam doors the entire time Theo is away. What he really wants, selfishly, is a break.

He still knows how to make colourful whisps, but it’s been years since anyone’s needed his magic to do anything other than hurt. He still knows all the old stories, but it’s been years since anyone wanted to talk about Elvhenan as anything other than a puzzle to solve. He still knows the traditional dances, but the only dancing he’s done in years took him in stiff steps over marble floors, analyzing the threats hidden behind glittering masks, until finally, at the end of the night, someone tried to kill him. He’s just tired. He just wants to have some fun. 

So he decides, after four days of enduring a five-year-old’s brooding, that today they will have fun, whether Kiara wants to or not. They clearly both need it.

“Hey Kiara Kiddo,” he calls out to her where she’s picking dandelions from the courtyard green. She looks up at him with a sour expression, but she doesn’t get up or abandon the chain of flowers she’s connecting, which is a promising start. He sits next to her on the grass.

“Why do you always call me Kiara Kiddo?” she asks, stubborn, huffy, eyes narrowing to a squint. She doesn’t have Theo’s distinctive eye colours -- one blue, one green -- hers come from someone neither of them have ever met, and they’re deep and endlessly brown, but they squint just like her father’s. Taren leans back in the grass, and squints back at her.

“Because you’re a kiddo,” he says, “and it starts with the same letter.”

“I’m not a kiddo!” she huffs, “I’m a knight! Like Cassandra!”

Taren stifles a chuckle. Yesterday, she proved her skill with a practice sword by hitting him with it when he tried to tell her it was bedtime, which wasn’t very knightly, but her sword skills are rather good for a five year old, and now he has a bruise on his knee.

“Ok,” he says, “I’m sorry, Knight Kiara. That starts with the same letter too.”

Kiara considers this for a moment. “No it doesn’t.” she determines, “Knight starts with ‘nnnn’.”

“There’s a ‘K’ there first, you just don’t say it aloud.” Taren explains, “do you want help with your crown, Knight Kiara?”

“No.” she says, as she returns her attention to the linkage of yellow flowers, “why are there so many letters you don’t say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Laugh has a ‘guh’ at the end you don’t say, and know has a ‘K’ before the ‘nnn’ too.” she says, squinting down at her chain, “and Uncle Dori says that lots of big words sound smaller once you learn them.” Dorian is teaching Kiara to read. Dorian, who is probably the last person anyone would ever expect to even go near a child, never mind being the one to tell one stories, has earned himself a nickname and several flower crowns. Taren is head-over-heels in love with Dorian, though neither of them has said as much, and seeing him with a flower crown on his head about stopped his heart, the first time. But that doesn’t keep the jealousy from rising in his throat right now, when Dorian gets to be “Uncle” and he’s still spending his days feeling like he’s more title than person. More title than person to everyone, not just to Kiara, but not getting to be anyone’s uncle, that’s where it stings the most.

But if Kiara wants to be a knight, then he can be the all-important Inquisitor.

“He’s right about that,” Taren agrees, “do you want to go find a story about knights? I can help you read it.”

“No.” says Kiara.

“Or you could teach me sword fighting,” he suggests. Kiara simply shakes her head.

Taren is determined. He has an arsenal of kid-friendly activities at the ready to suggest. Colouring and stories and games and imaginative adventures they could go on around Skyhold, since he holds all the keys. She could sit up in his throne or they could visit Leliana’s birds, they could steal Cullen’s chess board or borrow Solas’ paints. He suggests a few of these things, and Kiara continues to say no, and squint at the grass.

Taren sighs. “Well I don’t know, Knight Kiara, what should we do?”

“Nothing.” she says.

Taren frowns. “That doesn’t sound like much fun,” he picks a few dandelions of his own, and fiddles with their stems, “I told your papa that me and you would have lots of fun while he’s gone,” he tries, “what are we going to tell him when he comes back?”

Kiara looks at him, fire in her warm brown eyes. “I don’t want to play with you until papa comes back. I just want papa to come back.”

“I know, kiddo.”

Her frown deepens, her eyes blaze.

“Sorry, knight,” Taren sighs again, “he’ll come back soon.” he promises.

“Why did you make him go?”

“I --” Taren pauses. His defence is not what Kiara wants to hear, not what she needs to hear. She’s already asked that question of him a hundred times, and she knows what his answer is. She asked Theo the same question a hundred times before he left, too, and Theo’s answer was the same. “I miss him too.” he says instead, “I’m worried about him too.”

“Then why don’t you make him come back.” it doesn’t sound anything like a question.

“I can’t,” he says, and it’s an honest answer, then he smiles, “no one can ever make your papa do anything, and no one will be able to stop him coming back to you.” that’s true too, mostly. Kiara is silent, she picks at the petals of one of her flowers.

“Do you want to see where he went?” Taren offers. She’s seen the maps before, Theo outlined the whole route and showed her the maps he’d be taking with him, and she’s gone over all the place names so many times that now she can recite them from memory, but sometimes it helps. “We can go look at the big map in the war room,” Taren offers, knowing she’s always been curious about what goes on in there, “or we can climb to the tallest tower of the castle and look out, if we face the right way and look really hard, we might see their fires.” That’s less true. Some scout fires can be seen from Skyhold’s peaks at night, but none of those are where Theo is. 

Kiara considers, then she shakes her head.

“We could write him a letter,” Taren offers next, “and take it to Leliana’s birds.” That helps too. He knew it would, so he suggested it to Dorian, and now they do that almost every day. Kiara gives him a startled look, like she’s surprised that he knows about the power of writing an absent parent letters, but then she shakes her head again.

The stem of one of Kiara’s flowers snaps when she tries to tie it, and she drops the whole thing with a disappointed groan. Taren picks it up. “Here,” he says, delicately taking the thing from the ground and waving a hand over its broken end until the stem grows out. He magics them together, pulls on the fade until it the stem is long and sturdy and then gives it reinforcing vines of magically grown plant matter to bind it, tying the whole thing together, “all better, see?” It’s an easy thing to do, sprouting a bit of green. Easier than calling on the spirits of the dead to fight after they fall, or summoning a rift he still doesn’t really understand to isolate his enemies, much easier than flinging bolts of electricity or even putting up a barrier. Kiara’s eyes go wide while she watches him.

“Do you have green magic because of your green hand?” she asks, for the moment more curious than she is upset with him, which is something.

“No,” he answers, “well I do, but not that kind of green magic. That’s a trick our Keeper taught me, when me and your papa were both young.”

“Papa can’t do magic.” Kiara frowns, “you have two kinds but all papa has is a bow.”

“Your papa doesn’t need magic,” Taren says, but Kiara looks unconvinced, “we learned together, you know, your papa with his bow while I was learning magic, and every time we fought he’d win.”

“Why did you fight?”

“Just for fun, just for practice. Like you and Cass.” he says, “we used to have fun together all the time, me and your papa.”

Kiara looks at him, her big brown eyes taking in his face, on which he’s projected an honest, if somewhat sad, smile. Then her eyes travel down to the flower chain, to the hand he waved over it and then to the hand he didn’t, that glows green.

“Papa won?“

“Always.” Taren says, “I don’t think even The Iron Bull could beat him.”

Kiara nods seriously.

“Did your papa ever tell you about when he was little?”

Kiara shrugs, “papa didn’t have a mama either, and he didn’t even have a papa, but you took care of him. That’s why I have to listen to you while he’s gone.” she recites, not like she knows it, but like she’s been told. Taren frowns.

“We had each other,” he says, “we had the whole clan, like a big, big family, but...” he pauses. He doesn’t want to make her sadder than she already is, “I didn’t have a mama or a papa either, so we took care of each other.”

“Were you sad?” her eyes travel back down to the ground, and she picks up the crown again, admiring the mended flower stem; it’s seamless. 

“Sometimes,” Taren shrugs, “we both were, sometimes.”

“Did you help papa when he was sad?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

Taren thinks. Stories, games, helping to get them into mischief some days and to keep Theo out of trouble on others.

“Once, we got some cake from a merchant, and ate so much we got sick.” he suggests, “and I did this, and told him stories,” Taren waves his hand, the ordinary one, up into the air, and colourful whisps begin to dance about. Kiara watches a blue one flit around her flower crown, and a corner of her lip almost makes it up to a smile.

“Can we make cake?” she asks, “I like cake.”

“Good idea, Knight Kiara,” Taren smiles, “but I bet to make a cake we’ll need supplies. Are you ready for your first quest?”

Kiara smiles a little more, and nods. “Here,” she says, offering the flower crown she’s just finished out to him, “if I am the knight then you have to be the princess.”

“Got it,” Taren agrees, and places the crown on his head.

[jacklyn-flynn]

Headcanon du jour-Satinalia edition

Merry Christmas! Happy Satinalia! A blessed day for whatever holiday you celebrate, real or made up. I cooked up something special for today. There are still two more dads of Dragon Age headcanon du jour for this week but I wanted this one to be special. It’s a long one, but I hope you like it! I’ll put it under a cut to keep your feeds nice and tidy!

Stay safe and happy holidays. ❤️Jacklyn

When Cullen is handed his screaming infant for the first time, there is a moment of panic. His eyes seek out Dejah while carefully cradling the babe with the utmost of care. His look could only be described as ‘abject terror’. She smiles at him lovingly and reassures him it’s okay. 

Her blue eyes are tired, but alive with love. Her brow is wet and her black hair clings to her face. Her cheeks are flushed, making her blue vallaslin stand out in sharp relief. If she could bring their child into the world after hours of pain and exertion, he could do this. Her calm immediately calm washes over him.

The midwife asks if he would like to help clean up his son while she finishes with Dejah. He looks to her, hesitating. She’s fine, be with him. He’s relieved to hear her say aloud that she’s okay. For a moment in time he can only smile back at her, distracted and lost in her eyes. Another midwife touches his arm gently.

She helps him bathe the baby. She checks his eyesight and hearing. He’s thrilled to see Dejah’s brilliant blue eyes on his son. Cullen absently counts all the fingers and toes though it hardly matters if there were more or less than ten of each. He is perfect regardless.

When the midwife tells him to take off his shirt, he is confused, but complies. She deposits the baby against his bare chest. It will help them bond and his heartbeat will soothe the newborn she assures him.

Cullen is sure his heart is racing far too fast to be of comfort, but the infant settles down almost immediately. It’s a completely new feeling. Holding his perfect, innocent, unmarked baby against his battle-scarred chest with hands that have been soaked in blood. Maker, this must all be a dream. How can this be real?

He holds his son carefully and pulls up a chair next to the bed. He reaches out and takes her hand, kissing her knuckles gently. He tells her how beautiful she is. How amazing she has been. How much he loves her. He doesn’t mean to make her cry, but cry she does.

He tells her that what he got her for Satinalia can’t possibly compare to what she’s given him. Dejah insists that he helped and he can only laugh and shake his head. Of course she would do the hard work and give him credit.

Cullen nearly jumps out of his skin with the infant coos and gurgles, wiggling against Cullen’s chest. He cradles him gently, whispering soothing words of comfort. His fingers run over the dusting of golden blond curls, silky and soft. He adores the softly pointed ears not quite as pronounced as his mother’s.

Dejah is sleeping peacefully when he descends the stairs, finally ready to present his son. He opens the door so quietly that no one waiting in the main hall notices him at first.

They’re all gathered there. His friends and family. They’ve been waiting since yesterday morning when Dejah calmly announced that it was time. Blankets and pillows are piled off to the side, indicating they’d all slept in the main hall. They’ve only had sparse updates from Dorian but they’re determined to wait. Nothing will drive them from this hall

Cullen realizes suddenly that Dorian left hours ago. He’d been at Dejah’s side through the whole of her labor. He must have snuck out to give them time alone and he is guilty for not noticing. He would seek him out next and make his overwhelming appreciation for his presence known. There was no better friend or godfather for his firstborn.

Cassandra throws her head back with an ‘ugh’ when she sees the hand of cards Varric lays down. Likely better than her own. The honest-to-a-fault Seeker stands no chance against the dwarf. Sera is laughing and from his angle by the door he can see the cards she has hidden under the table, within Varric’s reach. She wishes Cass better luck next time but the Seeker clearly knows she doesn’t mean it.

The Iron Bull is slouched in a chair, his arms crossed over his massive chest. His head is rested back against the wall and he’s snoring loudly. Decorations hang from his horns, likely Sera’s doing. Beside him sits Krem who is also sleeping. His head is rested on Bull’s arm and his mouth is open. On his lap is a hand-sewn nug toy, likely meant to be his son’s first Satinalia and birthday present. Normally they would never be asleep at the same time but Cullen knows they stayed up all night to protect their friends and keep watch over the route to Dejah.

Blackwall is talking quietly with Leliana though Cullen can’t fathom what about. They have nothing in common. Whatever it is, it makes Leliana laugh and Blackwall smile and shake his head. Perhaps it’s about the child in his arms. One thing that will connect them.

He looks down at the swaddled babe and smiles. He tells his son that they’re all here for him. They’ve gathered from the corners of the world they’ve scattered to for him. Though they haven’t seen him, they love him. He tells him that he has the fiercest, most loyal family in Thedas. He isn’t wrong.

Josephine is the first to notice them. She’s at the opposite end of the table where Cassandra is getting swindled. She looks up from her work and her quill drops to the floor with a clatter so that she can cover her mouth with her hands. She finds that she can’t speak so she slaps the table a few times to get everyone’s attention.

All eyes shoot to her and then follow her gaze to him. He asks if they would like to meet their nephew and it sets them all into action. Varric kicks Bull’s shin on the way past and the Qunari snorts and blinks quickly to wake himself up. He dislodges Krem who sits up with a start. Like father, like son.

They all gather around him and suddenly Cole is at his side. Cullen isn’t sure where he’d been before. His hat is nowhere to be seen but his blond tresses are molded to his head as if it had been there a moment before. He reaches out to touch the child but hesitates and draws back his hand. Cullen turns toward him and assures him it’s okay. He transfers the babe to Cole’s arms and he stares down at the infant.

He leans in close to whisper to the baby, words that Cullen can’t hear. He can guess their nature well enough. Cryptic words of comfort that tell him how everyone feels about him, what they’re thinking at this moment, seeing him for the first time.

He wakes when he’s shifted to Bull’s enormous hands. He laughs at the baby’s lack of fear at a face so different from the others around him and his whole body shakes with it. He promises to teach him all manner of unsavory things, from wooing partners to slaying dragons.

Cassandra lets out a disgusted noise and gives him a reproachful look before taking the baby. She coos and tells him how beautiful and perfect he is. She marvels to Cullen at how tiny he is and Cullen agrees. Smaller than he imagined.

The babe is very interested in Varric’s necklace when it’s his turn. Varric helps him so that he can hold it in his impossibly small, uncoordinated grasp. He muses, mostly to himself, that he’ll have to come up with a new nickname.

Sera refuses to hold him. He’s too pure and fragile for the likes of her. She does brush his cheek though and smile. She’s going to teach him all the best places to hide, she promises. He’ll be a master at hide and seek. A perfect, tiny partner to pull off pranks. She produces a cookie from some hidden pocket but before she can give it to the babe, Cassandra snatches it out of her hand. Sera pouts. 

Leliana is hesitant to hold him, but gives in. She doesn’t have anything profound to say so she just smiles ever so slightly at the babe. She adjusts the blankets around him, brushes his cheek with her finger. Her hands linger when it’s time to give him to Blackwall.

Blackwall promises that as soon as he can walk he’ll get him a good and proper pup. Every boy needs his dog. And a horse. A good loyal one. And a sword. 

Josephine holds him next and she can barely contain her excitement. She falls into her native Antivan. The words are beautiful and lilting and the babe stares up at her, enraptured by her voice. He reaches as if he can grab it and hold it.

Krem presents the nug and asks hesitantly if he can hold the little one. As if he’s an intruder on this moment. Cullen doesn’t hesitate to insist that do so. Krem is so focused on the little creature for so long that Bull nudges his arm and asks if he’s gonna be okay.

The man clears his throat and declares that of course he is. He hands the baby back to his father and praises what a fine boy he has. Bull teases when he asks if it makes him want one and everyone is surprised when Krem unashamedly says yes, he does want to be a father. Someday.

Cullen assures everyone that Dejah is fine and will be up for visitors later in the evening. They protest that it’s too soon but he tells them that she insists on seeing them for Satinalia, even if it’s just for a few moments.

He promises to be back shortly and heads to the upper levels of the library. Much to his surprise Dorian is awake. Sitting at a table, he’s writing furiously in a leather bound journal. The babe coos and throws his fists around.

It catches Dorian’s attention and Cullen sits beside him. He should have held him before he left, Cullen insists. Dorian confirms his assumption that he’d left to give them time together as a family. He didn’t want to intrude.

He’s clearly nervous to hold the child. Too many self-depricating thoughts are going through his head. He wonders if he will taint the babe. The moment he’s in Dorian’s arms though, Cullen recognizes the change that he himself went through.

The moment of awe and wonder. That he can be a part of this wonderful creatures life amazes him. He wishes he could visit for more than a few weeks. He misses his friend but he also wants to make the world a better place for her child, which he can’t do from here.

Cullen further stirs up the emotions swirling inside of him when he plainly and honestly tells Dorian how much his presence means to Dejah. And to him. That he is proud the first moments of his son’s life we’re shared with the woman he loves and the man he’s come to respect and trust above all others.

He tells him on Dejah’s behalf how much it meant to her to have him there for that experience. He even tells him of the midwife they had dismissed. She declared that she would be no part of a birth that involved Dorian Pavus. He wasn’t the father and worse, he was a Vint. He smiles when he recalls how furious Dejah had been. How scared the midwife had been when the former Inquisitor was done with her. 

That she cried for hours the night he arrived from Minrathous because she was so relieved he would be there. Cullen also assures Dorian, who is now holding back tears, that he wanted him there too. He doesn’t feel that his presence robbed him of or lessened a once in a lifetime experience with the love of his life but that it enhanced it.

He will always have a place with them. He is their family and that will never change. He wishes Dorian had stayed to help with the babe. To hold him. Dorian has never felt more accepted in his life but he doesn’t have the words to say so.

He holds the babe close to his heart and closes his eyes. Cullen is silent. He gives this moment to Dorian and his beautiful child. A chance to bond that will be rare for them.

He urges Dorian to sleep and to visit Dejah once he’s refreshed. He won’t be a bother. 

She’s still sleeping when he slips back into the room with their son. He takes a moment to watch her. He savored every moment of her pregnancy. He remembers every kick. He’s massaged sore muscles and swollen ankles. But, it didn’t feel real until he held his child in his arms. He wonders when the moment was that it felt real to her. He’ll ask her when she wakes.

He slips into bed. He has no intention to sleep but has every intention of holding the two people who carry with them his heart and soul. Dejah wakes sleepily and he pulls her gently against him. He tucks the baby between them and she cradles him protectively, as Cullen is her. Dejah murmurs that she loves him. So very much.

He kisses the top of her head and gazes down at them. His heart swells and he tries to tell her he loves her too but he can’t get it past the tightness in his throat. By the Maker, he does love them. It consumes him. It’s so much more powerful than the hate he’d carried before.

There are several days that have made a lasting impression on him. Thanks to Dejah, the good we’re starting to outnumber the bad. And this day…he prayed this day would be vivid in his memory until he died. He’s a father. He vows he’ll be better every day. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this but he’ll show his Maker that he’s worthy of keeping it.

I love you. He’ll learn it in every language and it still won’t be enough.

His son will be a better man than he is. He will grow up in a better world than he did. He will be loved. Maker, he will be loved!

He realizes he hasn’t given her the present he got her but she and their son are sleeping so peacefully he doesn’t dare move. Instead he basks in the gift Dejah has given him. Her love and his son. Both have changed him irreversibly and he is grateful.

He brushes back his wife’s hair and strokes her cheek. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. He says it aloud and means it with everything he is. Never will they doubt the strength of his love. 

[bigfan-fanfic]

Truth at the Bottom of a Mug

For Day 11 of @scharoux‘s 14 Days of DA Lovers’ Prompts!

Day 11: Love Potion

Pairing: Cal Hawke x Varric Tethras

“So, Varric, which do you like better: here, or the Hanged Man?” Hawke slurred, swaying a little in his chair. He had just participated in a drinking contest that had mainly consisted of competitors from the Bull’s Chargers and the Valo-Kas, so he was more than a lot drunk.

“The Hanged Man, obviously. It’s got a certain...uh... presence. This place has only been here for a little while; no time to get any good characters in.”

The serving maid set down another round of ale quite forcefully, sending a glare Varric’s way. He supposed that was the end of the spit-free portion of his drinks that evening.

Hawke guffawed. “Ha, Varric, you could make a character come out of anywhere, even here.”

“I suppose it isn’t all bad.” Varric scanned the Herald’s Rest, seeing the Iron Bull getting drunk under the table by Shokrakar, the Valo-Kas’s leader. He looked up to see Sera mooning some of the Chargers from her place on the second floor, who tried to pelt her with scraps of bread, which fell on poor Maryden the bard, inciting Krem to go and help move her.

Varric smiled a little, earning a gasp from Hawke. “What? What is it, Waffles?”

Hawke snickered. “Ha, haven’t heard Waffles in a while. Wasn’t in your book, was it?”

“There’s a lot of things I didn’t put in my book.” Varric said. He didn’t put his affectionate nickname for Cal in the book. He didn’t put the fact that Cal’s beard had never been as thick and bushy as he had described, nor that Cal had shaved it. He hadn’t put how much he wanted to touch Hawke’s smooth face when he had shaved, or how much he wanted to test the tips of Cal’s pointed ears to see if they were sensitive like an elf’s. He hadn’t put how Cal had held him like a lifeline after Leandra died, nor how his heart fluttered whenever Cal smiled at him. And above all, he hadn’t put that he had been head over heels for the man since he had met him, never mind his torch for Bianca.

Bianca. Varric sighed. That was over now. He hadn’t thought it would be. Until Tash knocked some sense into him.

“She doesn’t love you like you love her.” the boy had said, glaring angrily after the woman. “She’s just using you whenever she needs something.”

“Sometimes that’s what love is, kid. We love people who don’t love us back, even though it hurts.”

Tash shook his head. “But what do you love about her? You named your crossbow after her, but do you even know her anymore? You haven’t seen her in years, and you know she doesn’t like you like that, so what are you waiting for?  I think somewhere inside you, you know you deserve someone better. Someone who loves you back.”

The kid had a way of getting inside your head, even more than Cole did, sometimes. Varric had shaken his head. “Kid, thanks, but it’s none of your business, okay? It isn’t that simple. The world isn’t always a story with a happy ending.”

Tash had growled in frustration. “But it is! You’re just too stub - Fine. But you know I’m right. The sooner you let go of this... this awful, stupid, thing you have with her,  the sooner you can fall in love with somebody who can give you happily ever after. I wish you’d see that.”

“Varric, I need to tell you something.” Cal muttered from his mug of liquor. “Something important.”

Varric nodded, a little bit more drunk than he gave himself credit for. “Alright, shoot. What’s up, Waffles?”

Cal looked... afraid. Or that he might be sick. Either way, Varric scooted around the table to put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Come on, you can tell me anything.”

Cal turned and smashed his face against Varric’s, lips pursing in a hasty and sloppy kiss. And though it was terrible and awful and smelled of cheap booze and ended far too quickly, Varric thought it just might have been the greatest kiss of his life.

“Sit down.” he ordered when he saw Cal pale and attempt to run. The man obeyed instantly, head bowed like a kicked puppy.

““m sorry, Varric. I didn’t mean to. I’ve just... for so long, I’ve loved you. I couldn’t go another minute without saying it.”

Varric grinned. “I think you’ve got great timing, Waffles. I love you too.”

“Really?” Cal grinned. “You’re not just saying that because you’re drunk?”

“I could say the same of you.” Varric retorted. “Tell you what: let’s find a bed and sleep this off, see how we feel in the morning, okay?”

Cal nodded. “As long as you hold me, if that’s all right.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re a sap...” Cal smirked as Varric helped him stand. “What do you think’s in this ale? Cabot!” he called, earning a glare from the bartender. “What’s this stuff called?”

Cabot considered for a moment. “Love Potion. ‘Cause you’d need to be under a spell to drink it willingly.”

Laughing madly, Varric and Cal went in search of an unoccupied bed to rest their heads and greet the dawn from.

[crackinglamb]

Fluff-uary Prompt 16 - Pet Names

(DA - Hawke/Varric)

The Herald's Rest was much nicer than the Hanged Man, and Hawke could tell Varric thought so too.  He pointed to a corner where the massive shape of Iron Bull could be seen, surrounded by his Chargers and Astrid, who looked entirely too dainty next to him.  

“Hey, Tiny, got room for a couple more in here?” Varric called out as Hawke grabbed an ale for herself and something advertised as a dwarven sweet wine for Varric.  She didn't even want to guess how the Inquisition had such a thing sourced.  There actually wasn't much room, but Varric managed to sidle into a chair and he patted his lap suggestively, daring her to sit on him in public.  She gave him a look, but took his bait, settling herself crosswise on his legs where she could lean back on his arm and still see the crowd.  He chuckled softly under her, awarding her a point for scandalous bravery.  As if she had some other kind.

Bull was smiling at them, shaking his horned head.  “You two are adorable, you know that?”

“Hey, I can't let him out of my sight now,” she said, digging her shoulder into Varric's chest.  “Who knows what kind of trouble he'd get himself into next?  No offense, Inquisitor.”

“None taken,” the young Dalish elf said around a mouthful of ale.  It was good to see her in a setting like this, relaxed and happy and not thinking about the weight of the world.  Hawke exchanged a glance with Bull and saw that he'd planned that just as she had with the snowball fight.  She gave him a quick nod and he grinned.  Astrid finished her glass – and it was just a glass, Hawke noticed – and stood up, her small hand on Bull's arm to get his attention.  “Thank you for inviting me, but I really should get back to the Keep.”

Bull frowned but nodded.  “Krem, see her back, would you?  Just don't turn into a Kremsicle, it's cold out there.”

Krem rolled his eyes, but shouldered his sword.  “Of course not, Chief.  Maker forbid you should be without me.  What would you do then?”

“Hmm, I'd have to find a new Krem of the crop.”

Varric snorted under his breath and the rest of the Chargers made some sort of exasperated sound too.  Apparently this was a long standing joke between them.  Varric must have read her mind, since he nudged her and said, “Bull has a different pun for him for every situation. The list of nicknames is inexhaustible.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bull retorted, but his tone was light and teasing.  “The only person I have yet to hear you call something ridiculous is Hawke.”

Varric opened his mouth to reply, but Hawke was already laughing.  “It's true, you know.  You've never called me anything but Hawke.”

“Now you know that's not true.”

“Varric, what you call me behind closed doors doesn't count,” she said with a lascivious grin, which he echoed.  Then it turned sour as he sipped his drink.  The look he gave her was one of betrayal and disgust.  

“What is this nug shit?”

She laughed so hard she nearly fell off his lap.  “I was curious how you'd react.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and delicately set the glass down on a barrel with an air of thorough distaste.  “I am not drinking fermented lyrium fern.”

“Is that what it's made of?” Bull asked.  “I wondered.”

Varric reached for her tankard and washed the taste from his mouth with a large swallow of her ale, his eyes never leaving hers.  Oh, she knew full well he didn't drink nearly as much as he pretended to, and it was worth her coin to see him fail to pretend just once.  He scowled at her, but she could see the grin fighting to escape.  He reached over and took the glass back and offered it to Bull.  “My compliments, serah. Drink at your own risk.”

Bull knocked the entire glass back before anyone could stop him and made a contemplative face.  “A bit cloying.”

Varric snorted. “No shit.”

Hawke was still chortling and wiggling around in his lap.  He put a steadying hand on her outer hip to keep her in place and she stilled instantly, her body's reaction to him suddenly overpowering.  There was something about being able to do this, where everyone could see.  It was breathtaking.  She gazed at him, the rest of the tavern now distant and nearly forgotten.  His eyes met hers, warm and happy.  

“You know,” she said aloud, vaguely in the direction of Bull.  “He actually does call me something that no one else does, and I don't mean behind closed doors.  Sure, it's not Daisy or Tiny or Moody.  Or even Sweetheart, no that's reserved for Bianca,” she added with a smirk. “But...he's the only one who calls me by name.  My first one, I mean.”

Bull looked equal parts wise and content, having rooted out a secret.  “Ahh.  Makes sense, I suppose.  You humans put such stock in names.  They have so many meanings.”

“Our names are part of our identity, Bull,” she said, pointedly, thinking of how many the former Ben Hassarath had had himself.

“A fair point, Champion,” he replied, just as pointedly.  She flapped a hand at him, dismissing her title.

“I don't use that anymore.  It doesn't mean anything if I'm in exile, does it?”

“Perhaps not. But it is part of who you are, isn't it?”

She smirked. “Sure, so is rogue, mercenary and public drunk.  Doesn't mean I go by any of those titles either.”

“Hey,” Varric protested.  “You haven't been a public drunk in years.”

“Only because 'Bela isn't around.”

He grinned broadly. “Sometimes I miss Rivaini.  Then I remember how much I enjoy sleeping peacefully at night.”

“Ah, another one,” Bull crowed.  “Tell me Varric, what makes Hawke so special that she does not get a nickname, since I assume that is the thought process behind it.”

“I'm surprised you have to ask that,” he said.  She knew very well that he wasn't going to declare his deep, abiding love for her in front of a crowd, but she wondered how far he would deflect it.  “Have you seen me with many human women on my lap, Tiny?”

“Another fair point.”  

“Varric,” she teased.  “That makes it sound like you have other kinds of women in your lap when I'm not around.”

“Shush, you,” he said, poking her in the hip.  Then he turned more serious.  “Hawke is Hawke, I guess.  As important to me as Bianca.”  He shrugged and laughed a little, almost in surprise.  “Guess I never realized I only called you two by name.”

She had, she had known it for years.  But she didn't say so, not here in mixed company.  There were other outliers, but she knew the reasons behind those as well.  Oddly enough, they were the same.  Aveline and Cassandra both commanded respect, either willingly or unwillingly. And maybe a healthy dose of fear of getting his ass handed to him in very short order.  But she wasn't going to say that out loud either. She kissed the broken bridge of his nose instead.  “C'mon you. Let's get back to the Keep.  Then you can call me whatever you like.”

He grinned mischievously.  “I like the way you think, Cara.”

[ccremisiusacclassi]

A Report, Of A Kind

Ao3 Link

Three months ago, Optio Aquestus decided he liked my penmanship and began calling me in to scribe his reports, especially when he’d overdone it on wine the night before. 

I was worried at first. I’ve seen soldiers caught between the commands of their direct superior and the whims of a far outranking officer, but Decanus Martinus found no issue so long as I fulfilled the rest of my duties without delay. Earning the Optio’s favor, more than my good standing and competency in battle, was probably what put me up for promotion. I guess it chaps my ass a bit that my mother’s obsession with giving me a “lady’s education” had any positive effect on my military career, but I’m not about to whinge about it. 

On the other hand, that promotion was what required me to undergo that Maker-damned medical examination.

This is all a long way to say that I got into the habit of writing reports. Since everything’s gone to shit, my ribs are still healing, I don’t want to go out to the campfire when I can’t bind my chest, and I can’t sleep, I thought I’d write a report, of a kind. What things are like now, what I observe, you know. Only there won’t be a “you”, no one’s meant to read this. I’ll probably just burn it all as I go.

Anyway, I’m stalling. 

I’m going to describe The Iron Bull.

He’s one of those Qunari, first of all, and you have to understand: unless the Qunari slaves I’ve seen all came on the small side, he’s massive. With things... as they are, I’m not a very tall man, but I’d eat my hat if I even come up to his tit! He’s got to be 20, 25, maybe even 30 stone and he’s covered in scars. Like his name suggests, his horns protrude straight out from the sides of his head and then bend up into points. By the way, unless he and his mercenary company (called the “Chargers”) are really committed to taking the piss, he truly goes by that entire name. 

Intimidating, right?

I was stationed so far South, I’d never fought any Qunari, but there’s not a Tevene soldier alive that hasn’t heard stories of the ox-men. We all heard how they know no concept of family, no emotion or passion except for war and loyalty to the monolith of the Qun. 

I suspect The Iron Bull isn’t from those tales. 

He’s a fearsome warrior, I saw that myself, but besides that? He talks loudly and endlessly of his love of good food and redheaded barmaids. As I gritted my teeth through my second medical examination in as many days, this time by the Chargers’ company medic, Stitches, The Iron Bull stood outside the tent and attempted to distract me with tales of Nevarran dragon hunting. The distraction actually worked far better than I expected, if only because I was caught up trying to decide whether he was actually making innuendos, going on about thrusting his axe into “thick, hot dragonflesh”, or if it was all an unfortunate coincidence. Even now I can hear his booming laughter outside this tent. 

He isn’t even like any Captain I’ve seen. One of the first things one of his men said to him when he brought me to his camp was, “Andraste’s tits, Captain, we can’t leave you anywhere!” There was no punishment given for his disrespect. He encourages their input, without expecting some drawn out show of lowering themselves to preface it. He even pitches in during camp setup and breakdown– less at the moment, I’m told, but that’s my fault.

You see, the Iron Bull lost his eye saving my life. I’m a stranger to him. A Tevinter stranger. I still don’t understand it. 

...I don’t want to write about deserting, and what happened three days ago during the fight doesn’t matter. The Tribune and his men are all dead. But I’ll write about afterwards. 

I saw The Iron Bull kneeling in front of me. I was so dazed, I thought he was going to kill me now that he was finished with the others, but enough of the spots cleared from my sight and I saw that he was hunched over, holding his eye as blood poured down his forearm. 

He asked if I was ok. It made me laugh, which, if you didn’t know, hurts like a howling bitch when you’ve got a cracked rib. 

“What about your eye,” I said.

“That’s why we’re made with two of them,” he replied, like it could’ve been a chipped tooth, for all he cared, “Plus, I’ll get to wear an eyepatch, now.” 

He took a tunic off one of the dead, gave it to me to cover up. I gave him my torn shirt, which he wound around his head to soak up some of the blood. He introduced himself and asked what I was called. 

I said I was Cremisius Aclassi, and when he raised an eyebrow I was braced for a sneering remark like, “What’s your real name.” I had abandoned the life I’d worked for since I was fifteen, the life that freed me, and I was sick to death of being mocked. I admit, I was ready to pop the guy right in the face and likely vomit from the pain of it, wisdom be damned. 

But all he said was, “That’s a mouthful. Do you have a nickname?” 

“Says the man called ‘The Iron Bull’,” I said. I’m not blessed with an overabundance of self preservation, but it just made him laugh. 

He wanted to call me “Krem.” I accepted. I intended to walk out of that tavern alone and find a place to hide and recover, so it didn’t much matter to me. But just as soon as I was on my feet I was toppling over, so when The Iron Bull caught me, he insisted that he take me back to his camp, where “Stitches can patch us both up.” 

I accepted that as well.

As he took me to the outskirts of Hunterfell, and later, when I was laid out on this cot, waiting for the medic to determine if his Captain would ever see out of his left eye again, I wondered when The Iron Bull was going to bring it up. 

He must have heard the Tribune reading my charges, and there’s no chance he didn’t see what I am. I wanted to gauge what sort of lie I needed to tell, how much of my pride I was expected to swallow until I was healthy enough to leave. I’d already learned that there was no place for me once people knew the truth.

It… hasn’t played out how it ought, which is becoming a theme with The Iron Bull.

He came in before Stitches did and sat down on the ground in front of my cot with a remorseful groan, like he’d already realized that he wasn’t going to like the process of getting up again. He’d been outfitted with a proper bandage around his face, and I could see the swelling and the dark bruising against his silver skin peeking out from it in the dim candlelight. I was too exhausted to fill up with defensive anger when he looked me over now. We began speaking at the same time.

“Look, it’s been a long fucking day, so just ask what you must and be quick about it–”

“I’m going to brief Stitches on how to approach this, but I need to ask some questions–”

We stared at eachother. 

“What?” I said.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, kid. You’ve gone through a lot, so I thought I’d follow your lead, make things simple, but I’ve probably been scaring the shit out of you instead.” 

“...What?” I said again, getting tired of the cryptic act, fast. The Iron Bull nodded, like he could see exactly where my head was at. It’s not the first time I got that sense, and I don’t suspect it’ll be the last.

“You’re a man,” he said, “Is that right?” 

“I– What?” ...Really! I was so bloody airheaded that the first fucking time someone saw what I am and still called me a man, I don’t even confirm it right away! As soon as my mind caught up to my mouth, I waved my hands and sputtered something painfully stupid like, “I mean– yes! That’s right! You’re… you’re right. I just didn’t think– I didn’t expect–”

He nodded again, which shut me up, and he stared at me with this strange look in his eye. It didn’t piss me off like it did before, but it made me uncomfortable enough that I looked up at the shadows on the ceiling of the tent.

“How did you know?” I asked. It was a little easier to shape my mouth around than ‘Why do you believe me?’

That’s when he told me about a word in Qunlat. I don’t think I can spell it, “a-qun” something or other, but he said it meant someone “born one gender, but living like another.” 

“What does the Qun do with these people?” I thought it was an insult. There’s no word for me in Tevene. There are descriptions of fraud, at most. For there to be an insult in Qunlat told me I’m not alone. Believe me, I’m still reeling from that. But it put me on guard again, all the same. 

“Whoa, kid, back up,” he said, “There’s no punishment, if that’s what you’re thinking. The [a-qun somethings] are treated exactly as they are– real men and women. The Qun’s practical that way.” 

I must have given him a really skeptical look then, because he laughed really loud. 

“You think Tevinter is threatened by the Qun because it’s torture?” He waved the topic off with his hand and straightened out his legs with a groan. “Point is, running off a perfectly good soldier because his insides and outsides don’t match is stupid. Shouldn’t have happened.” 

“You really think that?” I asked. 

“I do,” he said.

After that, he talked to me about Stitches, asked me what I wanted him to know, how I wanted the examination to happen, whether I wanted company. He started telling me that unless I started foaming at the mouth or something, Stitches would be instructed to stop at any time, etc, etc, etc.

It was a lot. Too much. The pain in my ribs was making me sick, all of a sudden.

“I just want to get this over with,” I told him, and he got that same weird, intense look, so I scrambled to summarize, to prove he could stop, “Stitches can know if he doesn’t call me a girl and doesn’t talk about it to anyone, I want to be as clothed as possible… Maybe company outside the tent would be good.” 

“Ok,” he said, surprising me with how quickly he responded after dragging things out so long. He got up stiffly and said, “I’ll go give him the heads up.” 

“If you’re Qunari and not Tal-Vashoth, why are you running around Thedas with a mercenary company?” I blurted out as he started to leave. If you think I had a really good reason for asking that when I did, I appreciate your faith in me, but you’d be wrong. It just popped in my head… and maybe I was getting nervous about him leaving.

“Long story,” The Iron Bull answered, but he formed a toothy grin when he looked back me, “Mostly to hunt dragons, though.”

[dragon-age-companions-speak]

Heyo! Found this delightful little page surfing for more DA content (again; thanks trailer) and thought I'd try an ask! Could I request reactions of all the DA:I companions to an Inquisitor that has been nothing but focused and serious about the whole thing just suddenly finding the cutest random object (like an abandoned music box) and going completely fan girl/boy over it for a few moments before remembering they're not alone? Thank you much and looking forward to your work!

Sent in by @bottastic0201 !!

((Oof, I deviated a bit from the ask, hope you don't mind! Also didn't include Blackwall cause I don't know his character to well yet as I never really had him as part of my party. Not to fear, he will be added later on!))

Cassandra: After the demon fight at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Cassandra always had a certain respect for the Inquisitor, despite their poor first impressions. They took the Inquisition's cause very seriously, and were focused on closing the Breach perhaps even more so than she was. Of course, that didn’t stop the Seeker from at least chuckling at the sight of the Inquisitor fawning over a fancy little elven music box they found when exploring Skyhold, tucked away in some corner long covered in dust. They were exploring the lover levels of the grand fortress together, though Cassandra guessed they forgot she was even there whenever they spotted the little thing. It was made out of a black, sleek wood, and covered in carvings of wolves and halla with golden accents for the wolves’ eyes and the halla’s horns. Cassandra cleared her throat, arms crossed over her chest and a light smile playing at her lips. “Found something you like, Inquisitor?” The blush that crept onto their face was worth the little tease, and she had to promise them not to tell any of the others. If this little scene did manage to make it into one of Varric’s new books, she certainly wasn’t the one who told him.

Varric: Varric had to say that, in his time of both writing and following heroes, the Inquisitor was probably the most… Efficient one the dwarf had encountered. Sure, being driven to save the world from becoming ass deep in demons and corrupted with red lyrium was certainly commendable, though he did find himself missing Hawke’s snarky comebacks and sassy remarks. The Inquisitor was a serious leader, and didn’t usually humor his, well, humor. However, whenever the two stumbled across a little gold and white painted music box in a random part of the ass end of nowhere and the Inquisitor let out a little squeal at the sight, the dwarf couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, Stiffy? That’s what cracks you? A music box?” His gruff voice reminded the Inquisitor of his presence, and the blush of embarrassment that followed just made the dwarf grin. When they asked him to keep this little scene out of his book, all they got in return was a wider grin and a wink.

Solas: Before this little incident, Solas had a pretty neutral opinion of the Inquisitor. They were focused and did their assigned role well, and he couldn’t complain much about their serious demeanor. To be the Inquisitor was a hard task, and he understood what they had to carry on their shoulders and the face they had to put on for nobles and pretty courts. After all, he had the same weight on his shoulders, as well as a face of his own. Unlike a few of the more boisterous companions the Inquisitor has taken under their metaphorical wing, Solas doesn't interrupt them whenever they spot a charming little Dalish themed music box while combing through the Exalted Plains. He watches them fawn over the little wooden thing, running their fingers over the raven and bear carvings all over its surface. They pouted slightly once they realized the small box no longer played music, the handle broken and the gears inside probably long since rusted, and placed the pretty thing into their bag. “Shall we move on then, Inquisitor?”If this is after his personal quest ‘All New, Faded for Her’, and they tried to help his corrupted friend, the Inquisitor will find a new music box on the desk in their quarters. It is covered with delicate little designs of wolves and elves, obviously drawn by Solas’ hand, and when it’s golden handle is turned it plays a lovely tune that the Inquisitor is humming for days afterwards.

Sera: First impressions of the Inquisitor? A stuck up nob with too many sticks up their back-end mouth. They’re not fun to joke with, absolutely no help in pranking, and don’t appreciate a good bee nest inside of a training dummy. Sure, being serious was good and all, and being focused on what you want to do is fine, though Sera finds herself a little aggravated with them after a short time. Unlike most of the others, she was not exploring with the Inquisitor when she spotted them gushing over some slightly beat up doll in the middle of Redcliffe, though she was planning on pranking them with a good pie. However, whenever she spotted them holding the doll with the cheesiest smile on their face, cradling the small thing against their chest, Sera almost couldn’t handle it. She almost fell off of the roof she was spying on them from because of laughing so hard, which, or course, startled the Inquisitor to no end, and instead of being embarrassed they were almost terrified at the quirky elf’s barking laughter. “A doll?! You’re just putting me on, right? It’s a doll and you’re smiling at it like it’s just watered your damn crops!” Sera spoke in between laughing, and in the end, her pie ended up ruined all over the roof as she jumped down to the Inquisitor’s level. It becomes a constant thing she teases the Inquisitor about, and it’s not long before the rest of the Inner Circle knows.

Dorian: Dorian is not an unreasonable man. All he wants is a nice glass of wine in the morning, some decent fucking literature, and an Inquisitor who at least humors his jester personality just a tad more than the current one does. They dismiss any of his playful flirting and sarcastic comments, and suddenly that one glass of wine turns into two. It’s not that he minds them being extremely driven- Far from it, actually, though he wished that their devotion also came with a little sense of humor. So one can imagine how unimaginably pleased the ‘Vint was whenever they came across a pretty little mabari figurine at the Winter Palace. They were supposed to be looking for some halla statues or something to open a door in their way, and instead, found a golden painted dog in one of the guest rooms. While Dorian thought it would be more fitting to find in Ferelden, the Inquisitor was overly pleased to have found it at all. The dog had a golden chain attached to it, and it wasn’t long before it was around the Inquisitor’s neck and they were standing in front of the best mirror they could find to see how it looked. “I personally think drakestone would suit you better. Really brings out your eyes.”Dorian spoke casually as he stepped behind the Inquisitor, looking at their reflection in the mirror as they nearly screamed at his. The flushed look on their face and wide eyes were more than enough of a reward for his teasing, and he spent a lot of their time left at the Palace making similar comments.

Vivienne: Similar to Solas, Vivienne’s initial reaction to the Inquisitor was pretty neutral. They were serious in the work that they did and driven to rid the world of this nightmare, so she had a certain respect for them for taking the role as leader of the Inquisition in stride. She didn’t have a problem with their serious demeanor, and it made speaking to them much more tolerable than speaking to someone like Cole or Sera, who were either too cryptic or too aggravating to understand. Whenever they did find a little pretty trinket and the Inquisitor all but gushed over it, she found it almost charming. A powerful, grand person of power absolutely fawning over a wooden doll was almost unbelievable, yet here they were. They were shopping in Val Royeaux when the Inquisitor spotted the doll, and Vivienne felt a little pity for them. After all, the Inquisition’s money was always tight, and a doll was seemingly worthless in the grand scheme of their cause. With a gentle sigh, Vivienne stepped forwards and bought the wooden thing with her own money, which rewarded her with another smile from the Inquisitor. “No need to thank me, my dear. Do keep that out of Sera’s reach, though. I fear she may end up breaking it.”While it was nice to have a devoted leader, they still needed their reasons to smile. Vivienne was many things, and cruel wasn’t one of them. Bluntly honest? Maybe. But never cruel.

Iron Bull: Having a serious leader such as the Inquisitor was somewhat of a change for The Iron Bull. Having been with his boys for so long took away a lot of the seriousness from his own personality, so it was a bit of a difficult transition. They didn’t seem to care for his beautifully crafted puns and endearing nicknames, and was nothing but straight to the point when invited to drink with him and his boys. Bull understood that certain jobs needed to be taken with a certain amount of committedness, though it was a bit of a damper whenever they didn’t respond to a joke or laugh at his foolish nicknames. So, whenever his favorite ‘Vint and lieutenant Krem made a stuffed nug for the Inquisitor to hopefully lighten their mood, Bull was the one to volunteer to give it to them. He brought it to them right after him and the Inquisitor slayed their first dragon together as a ‘congratulations’ for the kill. They eyed the nug carefully before taking it away from Bull, giving him a curt ‘Thank you’ before closing the door to their quarters. He was a little disappointed with their reaction, as he knew Krem would be, though before he left he heard the most suspicious of noises from inside of the Inquisitor’s room. He grinned as he realized the Inquisitor was squealing over their gift, and he swore he could hear them speaking to the stuffed nug as well. “I’ll tell Krem you liked his gift!”Bull called through the door, and the sudden silence was enough to make him laugh. He brought the good news to his boys (And Varric), and they drank over a good kill and finally being able to know what makes the Inquisitor tick.

Cole: Cole didn’t know what to think of the Inquisitor at first. They were bright- Even without the mark they were bright and blinding and good. He didn’t really understand why Sera and some of the others got aggravated at them whenever they were so devoted to sealing the Breach and helping people. He knew they didn’t laugh as much as the others did, but it was only because they didn’t know when to laugh.She grins, a joke meant to be laughed at and shared, but they don’t. An odd look, then embarrassed, but it’s too late to do what they were meant to do, and the joke is ruined.It brings him joy when they find the music box Solas left for them because it makes them happy. It sings a song belonging to skulls and paints a story they don’t know, but they still love it.Winding, winding until it’s wound and sings. It’s so like him, so strange yet so harmonious, like a wolf howling to the sun. How long did it take him? Days, weeks? So pretty yet so tedious- Have to thank him later. Cole doesn’t interrupt them, and instead, watches passively as they hold the box in their lap and hum along to it, the stress of their day melting as the music plays.

[lumateranlibrarian]

for the Hero of Thedas thing ( which I now want to do for all my OCs), I'd love to hear about August's Details -- mostly because I want to hear about August because he's wonderful, but also because I love the questions the Details section asks.

Hey, thanks for the ask

Okay, so a quick character background - August is the biological son of Fenris, conceived with another slave while Fenris was still owned by Danarius in Tevinter. Ten years later, Marian Hawke and her friends break up a slave caravan sneaking through the Wounded Coast, and discover a nine-year-old August, who just so happens to be a dead ringer for Fenris himself. When Fenris, traumatized from the discovery and the resurgence of his past demons, refuses to take the boy in, Marian decides that she’ll bring him into her household, in the hopes of raising August as a free man.

Eventually, Marian, August, and Fenris come together as a family, but that’s another story.

When the three of them are forced to flee Kirkwall after the explosion of the Chantry, they are separated after a few months of being on the run. With the agreement of heading south towards Ferelden, August gets there first, and decides to head for the Divine Conclave, where he’s heard wind Varric Tethras, an old friend of the family, might be. And the rest, of course, is history.

THE INQUISITOR: AUGUST LAVELLAN

INTRODUCTION

Name: August Hawke, but decides that it’s probably safer to not use that name these days…

Nickname: Broody Junior. Kiddo. Inquisitor. Gus.

Motto: Familia Supra Omnia. Family over everything.

BASICS

Race: Elf

Class: Warrior

Ability Focus: Two-Handed Weapon (just like his daddy, who taught him when he was like eleven, much to Hawke’s consternation)

Specialization: Champion

DETAILS

Alignment: a Lawful Good Boy

Personality Type: Oh gosh, I have no idea. ISTP???

Archetype: The obvious answer is the Chosen One, but also the Caregiver, I think. August is a very kind and selfless person, traits that emerged through a horrible upbringing but were only truly nurtured when Marian Hawke saved him as a child took him under her wing.

Tarot: Hoooo boy. After a cursory investigation, I’m gonna go with The Moon.

Symbol: Some days, a wolf, like his father - protective, swift, dangerous. Some days, a hawk, like his mother - conviction, freedom, independence.

RELATIONSHIPS

Romanced: Krem

Closest To: Varric, Sera, Harding… and in a weird way, Cassandra

Clashed Most With: Vivienne (Pro-Circle, which Rogue Mama Hawke with Circle Mage Bethany isn’t thrilled about) and the Iron Bull (Qunari Occupation of Kirkwall, anyone?)

TACTICS

Ideal Party: Varric, Dorian, Cassandra. Not Bull or Vivienne, for the aforelisted reasons. Not Solas, because if anyone could figure out August isn’t really Dalish, it’d be him (or so he thinks). Cole is creepy. Sera is usually Varric’s stand-in. And something about Blackwall makes August’s bullshit sensor tingle pretty consistently.

Weapon of Choice: Bastard Sword

Favorite Ability: Pommel Strike (but also Mark of the Rift is pretty sweet)

[collagedraws]

Inquisitor as companion

Inquisitor’s Name: Osa Trevelyan

Race / Class / Specialization:  Human / Mage / Rift Mage; Osa relies heavily on storm and winter schools of magic, her spells focus more on attack than stat-boosting or defense

Gender Identity: Female

Varric’s Nickname for them: Stormcloud - “Always carrying something heavier than she lets on, takes a bit to find that silver lining, but she’ll get there.”

Short bio: A child of the upstanding Trevelyan family, Osa was previously deeply entrenched in Chantry life, dedicated to honoring her family’s Andrastian loyalties. She and her brother have been scrambling to navigate the burning landscape of post-Circle Thedas and reimagine their lives moving forward. She moves with confidence, something that might almost be grace. That paired with a talent for powerful magic makes her deadly in combat

What would their companion card look like?

Initial Card: The high priestess, reversed

Loyalty: The hierophant, reversed

Romanced: Temperance - Osa faces east, one foot half submerged in choppy water and the other balanced on the rocky shore. Her hands are clasped together lightly, one resting on top of the other. Something bright spills from between them- glass, perhaps. She is looking at the viewer, head tilted slightly, a faint smile on her lips

Recruitment mission:  

Upon interacting with Leliana, she will tell you that her scouts have reported a particularly aggressive clash between a group of apostates and templars in the Hinterlands that is endangering farmers and refugees passing through the area. She points out that it would be to the Inquisition’s advantage to pacify the conflict and aid the threatened passersby, cultivating goodwill and securing the area for the Inquisition.

When you arrive at the location marked on the map, you will find a group of five templars closing in on a group of frightened and injured apostates being tended to by a mage and her templar brother. Once you approach, it will trigger a cutscene.

Shiori stands to confront the advancing templars, calling for them to back down and end the senseless violence, letting the mages live. One of the templars calls him a traitor and Osa, laying a newly dead mage gently down, cuts in. Invoking the Chant of Light, she lashes out, likening their mindless slaughter to the death of Andraste herself. The templar commander accuses her of heresy and demands that they submit to the Chantry’s judgement. As they are poised to attack, two mages who had been huddled together on the ground murmuring to themselves give in and transform into a pair of despair demons, much to the horror and grief of the Trevelyans. A battle then ensues in which you help the twins defeat the templars and demons to complete the mission.

After the fight, you speak with the twins, learning that they had been attempting to escort the small band of apostates to a safehouse. When they arrived, they were met by the templars, who had reduced the barn to rubble. Requesting that you take the remaining injured mages into your care, they willingly accompany you back to Haven, after which they can both be found on the party select screen.

Where they may be found in Haven: She and Shiori can be found outside the village perimeter, across the road from the gates on a snowy bank. They stand huddled together, exchanging quiet words and occasionally glancing towards the sparring recruits

Where they may be found in Skyhold: Initially, the twins can be found in the back corner of the lower courtyard near the stables. Once repairs are made and things are more settled, Osa can be found at a table on the second floor of the Herald’s Rest nursing a drink and studying a book

Personal quests:

Quest 1: Far From the Tree

The cutscene will open in Skyhold’s library where Osa chats lowly with a smiling Dorian, retrieving a book from a high shelf and adding it to one already in her arms. She will greet you, asking if you have a moment, at which point she will lead you out to the battlements for more privacy. She is straightforward- she wants to reach out to her family. She hasn’t had contact with them since the fall of the Ostwick Circle, and more to the point, she’s sure their connections in the Tevinter Imperium or Nevarra could benefit the Inquisition. However, she is unsure if they will be willing to work with the Inquisition, given the speculation over Divine Justinia’s death and the future of the Chantry.

This will trigger a war table operation. Leliana will not participate in this mission. Josephine suggests delivering a message through an allied noble in the region, insisting that going through the proper channels will make for a smooth reception. Cullen reminds you that it doesn’t hurt to make a grand impression, and recommends sending an outfitted Inquisition unit to deliver your regards, as well as Osa’s message.

Quest 2: Bitter Pill

Osa, having a drink with Shiori and the Chargers, spots the Inquisitor down the bar at the Herald’s Rest and indicates that she wants talk. She gets up, sharing a laugh with Krem, and comes to sit beside the Inquisitor. She is more relaxed this time around but her tone, though light, is still serious. She wants your help obtaining a recipe for a healing potion, though she will only specify that it’s for her brother to a high-approval Inquisitor. She already has a contact for the recipe and hopes to meet with them as soon as possible. Upon completing this conversation, the location of the meeting will become available on the war table.

You travel to a crumbling chateau that initially appears abandoned, but as you draw closer, you can see that a large, thriving clinic has set up camp amongst the ruins. When you get close enough, you find the clinic besieged by a group of red templars. Once you help defeat them, the leader of the clinic, an elven mage and healer named Mailani offers her thanks. They had been operating covertly for weeks, treating refugees and sheltering apostates, when they were discovered by a band of red templars. According to a missive you find on one of the corrupted templars, they had received orders to cut off the camp’s supplies before moving in to finish them off. The leader tells you that they were after not only the mages in the clinic, but the tomes of spells they had been protecting. It is a relatively isolated area, and supplies are hard to come by. She is glad to accept help from the Inquisition in exchange for the knowledge they have collected, including the recipe that Osa is after.

Back in the Herald’s Rest, Osa thanks the Inquisitor, saying that it means a lot to her personally. She confesses that things hadn’t been easy for her and her brother after the fall of the Circles. She speaks a bit more candidly about the strictness of her family and the pressures of Circle life. If the Inquisitor has high enough approval, she talks wistfully about Shiori’s confidence. In a harder voice, she says that she would do anything to preserve his sense of self worth. Her words hint at past turmoil, perhaps related to the potion, but she will not go into detail even if pressed. Shaking off the seriousness of the topic, she jokes that she’ll have to hunt you down if you ever tell her brother about her protectiveness. Despite the hardships, she insists that having their freedom for the first time in their lives has been worth the trials they still face, and that she’s glad to be here with the Inquisitor.

Breakdown of Approval Ratings for Major Missions:

Fate of the Mages

Conscript: Greatly disapproves

Ally: Greatly approves

Fate of the Templars

Disband: Slightly approves

Ally: Slightly disapproves

Inquisitor’s Lead:

A Dwarf/Elf/Qunari Stands for us all: No approval change

Example as a Mage: Approves

For Faith: Slightly approves

For Order: Slightly disapproves

For What’s Right: Greatly approves

To Stop Corypheus: Approves

For Personal Power: Greatly disapproves

For Vengeance: Slightly disapproves

Fate of the Wardens

Exile: Disapproves

Ally: Approves

Ruler of Orlais

Gaspard: Disapproves

Briala: Slightly approves

Celene: Disapproves

Reunite: Disapproves

Spare Everyone: Slightly approves

Arrest Florianne: Approves

Save Celene: Slightly disapproves

Kill Celene: Slightly approves

Abelas Alliance

Ally: Approves

Reject: Disapproves

Drink from the Well:

Non-Lavellan Inquisitor Drinks: Disapproves

Lavellan Inquisitor Drinks: Slightly approves

Morrigan Drinks: Slightly disapproves

Other ways to gain approval: Gaining high approval from her brother, helping mages, generally using reason over force, helping Josephine restore her family’s status, working with Frederic of Serault

Other ways to gain disapproval: Disrespecting Andrastian faith (neutral to different beliefs, but active scorn is regarded with distaste), mistreating mages, killing dragons

Are they romanceable? Yes, by a female Inquisitor of any race

Can you have sex with them? Yes, but only mid- to high-approval Inquisitors

Are they open to polyamory? Yes, but only when it’s relatively casual. If it starts involving more serious feelings from any party, she won’t want to get too tangled up in it and will take her leave

If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who? There are hints that she and Sera hook up, but nothing serious ever comes of it, and Sera still ends up with Dagna if unromanced

Who are they friendly with? Dorian, Bull (plus Krem and the Chargers), Varric, Sera (kind of). Osa finds solace and understanding in Leliana, and shares some much-needed levity with Josephine (the family connections help, but really she kind of appreciates the frivolity of chats with Josie)

Who do they dislike? Vivienne. She tries initially to approach the Court Enchanter with deference, but her disdain and rigidly structured views end up rubbing Osa exactly the wrong way. She likes Solas initially, curious to learn and see from different perspectives, but eventually his aloofness and world-weary pretensions get old. She generally avoids Cullen. She doesn’t necessarily have a problem with him, and she’s not going to find out. Too much trauma with templars

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit? “Faith may not save us, but it gives us the strength to face another day. The sun rises and we move forward.”

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: Osa won’t be tempted to leave that easily, but if you manage to make Shiori leave, she’ll follow his lead

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your Inquisitor holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year?

She stares unseeing at the wall of her cell, trying to read the lines of lyrium that cover its surface like spiderwebs. She murmurs to herself, pieces of phrases that might be an ill-remembered Chant of Light. Her head snaps up, eyes clear for a moment, as she says “Shiori-,” then trails off, descending back into muddled recital before the Inquisitor interrupts. “Inquisitor!” She stands quickly, pressing a hand to her temple, slowly shaking her head as if plagued by a bad headache. She breathes deeply, slowly coming back to herself, and her muddled thinking is replaced with angry intent.

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace?

Osa loves Orlais. Fascinated with the sheer opulence almost as much as the Game, she thoroughly enjoys the masquerade from behind a half-full glass of wine that she nurses the whole night. She’s knows that it’s not nearly as glamorous as her first impression, but she’s striking enough in her own right to pique the interest of powerful people and it’s at least a little thrilling. She’s been trained her whole life to wear a mask and she falls into the push and pull of intrigue with ease. Plus she gets to see Cullen surrounded by a flock of cooing nobles and it’s hilarious enough to make the evening worthwhile

In the Fade:

“Maker help us, what next?”

Osa is awed, wide-eyed and fascinated, edging on disbelieving. Fear keeps everyone on their toes, but she is obviously taking everything in with a hint of wonder. However, she is particularly shaken by the encounter with the spirit of Divine Justinia.

Nightmare: “You’ve worked so hard to be what they wanted. Such a shame, really. What a disgrace.”

Osa: “Right. Just another voice to temper. But piss off!”

Her gravestone reads: “Aimlessness”

Trespasser:

Inseparable as ever, she and Shiori can be found crowding the bar (with the Chargers, if spared). They look a bit older, a bit road-weary and significantly more seasoned by the experiences of the past few years. Osa has penned the occasional missive to the Inquisitor, informing them of her and Shiori’s whereabouts and ongoing projects. Over the last two years, the twins have traveled all over Thedas, lending aid mainly to refugee resettlement and support for displaced mages building new lives. Josephine’s notes reveal that several attempts by their family to reach them through the Inquisition have gone very clearly unacknowledged.

Marriage, while not completely out of the question, is not on the visible horizon. It is likely that the ensuing commitment to stopping Solas’ newly-revealed plans will leave little time for the indulgence of a full-blown romance. Osa will go where she is needed, finding purpose in helping those displaced by the events surrounding the Breach who are making the effort to rebuild their lives. However, she will return to the Inquisitor’s side when she can. When she does, she lingers. Maybe for longer than she ought to, she thinks. But solace is fleeting and some kinds of healing can only happen in the company of someone you love

[mindsmade]

(  ‘ROMANCE’  )  HEADCANONS.

NAME, cremisius aclassi NICKNAME, mostly the iron bull’s puns, but the most common ones are krem and crème de la krem. GENDER, (trans)male ORIENTATION,  unsure? not too preoccupied with finding out either jklfjsdf PREFERRED  PET  NAMES,  i don’t think he has a certain preference? so long as the nicknames aren’t used in a demeaning manner. RELATIONSHIP  STATUS,  he’s a single pringle, my guy FAVORITE  CANON  SHIP( S ),  i’m really indifferent about krem / maryden and that’s the only canon-esque ship you can get w him lol FAVORITE  NON-CANON  SHIP( S ),   WELL ... i don’t know if any of you OGs are still here, but some of u might remember my ship w vivienne ( @courtxjewel​ who’s now inactive, rip )? i loved that ship 😭

OPINION  ON  TRUE  LOVE,   it exists, he thinks. he doesn’t expect to find it anytime soon — nor is he specifically looking for it. OPINION  ON  LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT,   nah, not a thing. attraction at first sight, sure, but not love. HOW  ‘ROMANTIC’  ARE  THEY,   dude. DUDE. krem’s actually all about romance. i mean, he’s not all suave about it but i think he’s the sort of guy who’ll do like all sorts of little things ( pick flowers for them, make rings/chains w rough gems, give them long shoulder massages, dance w them, etc ). even when life’s busy, he’ll make time for all of that somehow. and tbh he’s also a sucker for doing shit like ... long walks w his s/o sdfkjlf. IDEAL  PHYSICAL  TRAITS,   i don’t ... think he cares much? screams jfkdsjfl. though from past experience ig he’s into that dark and ( slightly ) mysterious sort of type. IDEAL  PERSONALITY  TRAITS,  kind / social / humorous / dedicated ( to person/s or a goal ) / open-minded UNATTRACTIVE  PHYSICAL  TRAITS,  honestly, there aren’t really any to speak of. i mean. i guess he may prefer certain things over others? but other than some physical extremes, i don’t think there are any dealbreakers per say UNATTRACTIVE  PERSONALITY  TRAITS,  manipulative tendencies, bigotry, sanctimony, total lack of imagination/creativity, excessive ambition IDEAL  DATE,   um ... well, again, he’s pretty easygoing and generally appreciative on that front. he likes undertaking things, though. like ... go somewhere new with him, go out and have drinks w him, maybe dance w him to some upbeat tavern music, etc. DO  THEY  HAVE  A  TYPE,  social, outgoing people, i think! he reflects the behaviour of more extrovert people with quite a bit of ease and tends to stay interested in them longer in general. what seems to be a bit at odds with this is that he’s also rather into people who don’t show all their cards upon first meeting him — but he likes to think of it as a show, don’t tell sort of deal. he’s p into that sort of attitude, as long as his patience regarding what really moves a person pays off in the long run. AVERAGE  RELATIONSHIP  LENGTH,   i’ll get back to u on that when he actually gets one LMAO ( long forgotten one-night stands aside ). PREFERRED  NON-SEXUAL  INTIMACY,  dude. cuddling!!! slow dancing w someone’s head leaning on his chest is a good one, too, actually. he’s down for that. 8) COMMITMENT  LEVEL,  it differs, tbh? i think he’s perfectly capable of having a casual sort of thing with the right person — once he’s established that the other person is 110% okay with him being a transguy ( not that he’d use that word, obviously, but u catch my drift ). but i think he’s more inclined towards longterm commitments. i think casual stuff gets ??? boring to him after a while ldjflskf. hE NEEDS SOME DEPTH OKAY. OPINION  OF  PUBLIC  AFFECTION,   MMM, he’s fine with it when practiced only to a degree? like, he’s game for a long hug and a kiss after having been away for a while or a peck when ‘no one’s looking’ or something. he’s not really about that constant touchy feely stuff in the presence of others, though. then again ... he’s game for secret touches in crowded spaces though. :’) quick brushes of the hands? a touch to his back? a hand on his leg under the table? he’ll Go Wild 4 that. PAST  RELATIONSHIPS,   nothing substantial to really speak of ( save for the aforementioned thing i had going w that vivienne, but that took place in its own verse ). i imagine he might’ve had a special ladyfriend when he was still serving in the imperium’s army, but that obviously led to nothing since he left so abruptly. he probably still feels bad about that : )

tagged by : @mercysought ( thanks! ) tagging : @aelwihtas ( beru! ) / @fleurdacier ( cora or liara! ) / @multimentium ( nix! ) / @brittlethorns ( allison or elena!! ) / whOEVER ELSE WANTS TO TBH just say i tagged u

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [287]

Evelyn finds the Iron Bull sitting by himself at the bar of the Herald’s rest, large form leaning against the well tended wood as he drinks from a very large tankard of ale.

“If you’re looking for Wolf she isn’t here,” he says when she tries to subtly look around him for a sign of the mage, “We aren’t actually attached at the hip. She doesn’t like it when I drink during the day. I think she’s probably poking around the merchant caravans by the main gates.”

“I know you aren’t,” Evelyn says, taking a seat next to him. “Oh, no - I don’t - “

Evelyn is about to say that she doesn’t want a drink at this particular moment but the Flyssa has already put a much more moderate sized goblet in front of her.

“You look like you need it, ma’am,” Flyssa says and then walks away before Evelyn can protest.

“If she’s saying it then it must be true,” Bull says, nudging her goblet with his tankard, “Bottoms up.”

“Right then,” Evelyn says, “She doesn’t like it when you drink?”

“During the day,” The Iron Bull stresses, “She doesn’t like a lot of shit that I do. Wolf doesn’t like it when I drink during the day, she doesn’t like me walking around shirtless, she doesn’t like me flirting with other people…”

Evelyn turns the words over in her mind because it wouldn’t make sense for the two of them to be so close if one of them was constantly picking at what seems to make up vast portions of the other’s character.

“Why?” Evelyn asks and the Iron Bull grins around the lip of his tankard. “Why doesn’t she like those things?”

Evelyn knows that if there is something Ellana doesn’t like, the Iron Bull doesn’t do it. Ellana asked the Iron Bull to stop trying to rip Dorian open like a hang-nail to the root and he did. Ellana asked the Iron Bull to attempt patience with Cole even though he’s unnerved by demons and he did it. Ellana probably asked the Iron Bull to join the Inquisition - Qun and all aside, Evelyn is pretty sure that the Iron Bull would have come just for her.

“Knew there was a reason why Wolf liked you aside from all that magic theory stuff,” the Iron Bull says. “She doesn’t like me flirting with other people in front of her because she thinks it’s  unfair to the person I’m flirting with. It puts them in an awkward position. Even if they know that she doesn’t care if I’m sleeping with other people. She doesn’t like me walking around shirtless during the winter because usually she ends up being the one taking care of me if I get sick and in her words I turn into a philosophical nightmare that’s best avoided at all costs.”

Evelyn can’t really imagine the Iron Bull as a philosophical nightmare, but then again Evelyn doesn’t really talk to the Iron Bull that much regarding anything like philosophy or figurative matters.

“And the drinking?”

“Well, she usually has stuff to do during the day that she can’t do if she’s got a buzz going. Alcohol and magic don’t mix, right?” Bull shrugs a shoulder. “You know, I’m going to tell her you asked and she’s going to like you even more. Wolf likes people who dig deep.”

“About that,” Evelyn leans closer to him and lowers her voice, “Is there a reason why you call her Wolf? Isn’t that…sacrilege?”

Bull blinks at her and then laughs, body pushing back from the bar table as he throws his head back. “Relax, Inquisitor. Everyone on my team’s got nicknames. Stitches stitches people up, Grim’s quieter than dirt, you know? And Dalish was taken, so she gets Wolf. No article in front. We’re good.”

Evelyn turns the words over in her head. Because she’s found that things are rarely so topical when you’re dealing with a Qunari spy.

“There are other things to call her,” Evelyn prods, “Aside from the obvious reasons, why Wolf?”

“You mean aside from the many wolf skins she wears?” The Iron Bull responds dryly.

“Aside from those.” Though they are very impressive and intimidating. As is the staff.

The Iron Bull hums, turning his tankard on the bar with slow steady movements of his fingers.

“She’s Wolf because if I called her Ataashi then she would have run and I’d have never gotten her back,” He says with a gentleness that Evelyn didn’t know he ever really chose to use. “And it’s just stuck since then.”

“Oh,” Evelyn says. “You like her.”

“Yeah, I mean. I hired her.”

“No, I mean. You like her.”

The Iron Bull actually turns around in his stool to look at her, “Are you asking me if I like, like her like we’re eleven year olds? Yes, Trevelyan, I like-like her the same way you like-like your Commander, except neither of us wants to go at it like the two of you do.”

Evelyn sputters and the Iron Bull’s smile is a touch sharp but also genuinely amused as he roughly pats her shoulder and stands up. “You should finish that. Take some time to relax. Breathe. I think Pentaghast was looking for you to complain about Varric.”

-

“So there’s a elf underneath all that wolf after all,” The Iron Bull muses, standing over Ellana and Dalish as they hurriedly rip apart fabric and start arranging things to be re-sewn together. Ellana ignores him as he sits down next to her, watching her work.

It’s summer and Ellana has just gotten back from visiting her clan. Ellana’s normally kept herself to the North during the summer - Orlesian summers are wretched and wet and muggy and the heat is a tangible weight on her chest that makes her feel sluggish and tired.

She’s shed her furs and thrown them into the back of one of the caravans along with the rest of her belongings. She’s also changed out of her normal traveling attire and into a light cotton dress that her cousin had given her when she was up with them. Dalish is wearing one similar and the two of them are working on sewing together pants and tunics with light padding to fight in.

Ellana is not going to be wasting mana on constant cooling and temperature regulating spells in the middle of a fight. That’s ridiculous.

“You seriously do this every year?” Ellana says to Dalish as the woman arranges panels of leather that she had Ellana bring back. No one tans leather like the Dalish masters do.

“I’m not carrying summer gear around all year when we spend most of our time in the mountains or Ferelden,” Dalish replies, “Besides, by the end of the summer this will all be worn down anyway. Watch, you’ll be having to patch something after the next fight and it’ll only go downhill from there.”

“You wanna make me some?” Krem asks.

Ellana and Dalish cast annoyed looks at him.

“You’re the actual professional tailor,” Dalish says, waspish as she turns back to the work in front of her, “You could help us.”

“Nah,” Even Krem’s switched to a short-sleeved shirt and light trousers.

Ellana shoves her hair out of her face and there’s a light tap on her shoulder. Ellana turns her head to see Skinner handing her a leather thong to tie her hair as the other woman presents Dalish with the measurements from the others.

“Not much change since last summer,” Skinner says, “Thank June. A few of our other Dalish members also got materials back from their clan. I think we’ll be able to make it with what we have. We just can’t make mistakes. I’ll start cutting. I’ve got some of the others ready to go.”

“You actually sew a summer set for every single person?” Ellana asks, baffled. “Ridiculous. What happens after summer?”

“After summer we scrap it to pad our winter gear. You know we need it. Besides, we wear them into the ground, summer is a big season for us. No bad weather so everyone wants to go to war and shit or adventuring or doing dumb stunts in stupid dangerous places,” Krem says, “I’ll consider helping if you make the Chief’s out of plaid weave.”

“We don’t have plaid weave,” Ellana says.

“Thank fuck,” the Iron Bull says under his breath. The Iron Bull is the only one among them who doesn’t seem to suffer from the oppressive heat. Ellana’s envious.

She tugs at the collar of her dress, trying to get some air as she scans the measurements with Dalish. This would be the perfect time for the Wolf to show up and drag her on some sort of quest to inspect a rock or dig up some ancient scrap. Which of course means he won’t show up. Though she feels that she’s due for a visit soon, she hasn’t seen the Wolf since before she left the Chargers to visit her clan.

“Here,” the Iron Bull touches her arm with something and Ellana turns, accepting the water skin gratefully. “Can’t have you passing out before the actual work starts.”

“I regret ever letting anyone see me mending my leggings,” Ellana says.

“You’re Dalish, you’d be dead if you can’t sew,” Skinner replies, “It’s part of the package. Sewing, hunting, trapping, dancing, doing stupid stunts with animals.”

“I feel like I ought to be offended but it’s all very true.”

[enby-prompto]

Inquistor Nyx Ulric & His New Team -PREVIEW-

Dragon Age Inquisition Final Fantasy XV Crossover based on @bierausgalahd‘s art. Character Introductions. Takes place after the Winter Palace, in The Emerald Graves. This excerpt ends before the fight scenes, but by the time its done it they’ll hit up the spooky Chateau d’Onterre. Hopefully I’ll be able to write more soon. Enjoy!

Inquisitor Nyx Ulric Trevelyan emerged from his tent, as sunlight streamed through the glorious thicket of trees and curved elven ruins surrounding their camp, marking their first day of exploration of …. Of….  “Uh, where is this exactly again?” The rogue asked the guard standing off to his right. “The Emerald Graves, ser.” The guard returned drily, continuing to stand at attention.

“Right, The Emerald Graves.” The trees were immense, standing as tall as towers, and bursting with lush greenery. He was sure he had heard of this place before, but this had been the most time he had spent outside of The Free Marches since incidentally joining the Inquisition. Although hastily constructed the previous night, the camp had held up. Nyx tried to hide his relief; in the wake of Haven, they were getting better at this.

All he remembered being told the night before while they settled in was something about the trees being dead elves, or for the dead elves, but it now being full of Orlesian villas. And red templars. And Freemen. Oh, and of course the demons. All in all the forest, and all of Orlais, was beautiful, but only in the way that things are when they wanted to kill you. In fact, ever since settling into Skyhold, the Orlesian Empire seemed like nothing more than an increasingly palpable assassination attempt covered in silks and painted masks. Had he been given the option, the rogue would have gladly kept his distance.

Yet, here they were, at Josephine’s behest. There had been several nobles’ complaints about rifts in the area, and a very interesting letter from an individual named “Fairbanks” that they needed to find. It was for these very reasons that Nyx had decided to bring along the newer members of his team, and from the rustling that had started behind him, they were awake. 

The first to appear was Gladio Amicita, a member of Thedas’ much lauded mercenary group, the Chargers. Their leader, a rather personable Qunari named The Iron Bull, had called him “a chip off the old block”. While Bull was away on business, or as Leliana had informed the Inquisitor, a mission spying on Nyx’s far distant cousin, Dorian Pavus, Bull’s right hand man, Krem, had recommended Amicita to the job.  “G’mornin, boss.” The tattooed man greeted. Like his Qunari leader, Gladio also liked to fight shirtless, and was currently casually flexing in a way that made Nyx think he practiced. The rogue nodded in turn.

“Is it morning already?” A whine escaped the next tent, followed by the sulking form of the Inquisition’s only Orlesian royalty, Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caem Valmont. He, unlike the other of the Inquisition’s members, had joined at the urging and planning of his chamberlin, Ignis Scientia. Scientia was a skilled player of The Game, making him a good friend to both Josephine and Leliana. Ignis gave the opportunity for the Orlesian Empire to not only keep a friendly, if not scrupulous, eye on the growing Inquisition, but also to aid in his majesty’s current incognito status. Upon a young age, the crown prince was found to have profound magical capability, after which he spent most of his life in the Circle of Montsimmard. After the unrest in Kirkwall, Emperor Regis commanded his son’s chamberlin to conduct some obfuscation that would eventually result in the curious disappearance of the prince from the Circle, and would end with the arrival of a very fatigued, but well-tended, apostate to Skyhold’s door, but months after the assassination attempt at The Winter Palace. As it would turn out, the boy was a damn fine Knight-Enchanter, if he could ever be bothered to wake up from a nap.

“Good morning, your Highness,” Nyx offered cordially as the young mage made his way over to them.

“What’s so good about it?” Noctis asked lazily, picking grass out of his silk robes.

The warrior scoffed, “Well, I dunno, you just woke up in a beautiful magic forest, and your butler is already making you breakfast.” Gladio leaned over to the Inquisitor, mumbling “damn brat doesn’t know what a bad morning looks like.” Nyx bit back a snort.

The prince looked affronted and moved to retort when Ignis appeared, presenting a plate of what looked like fancy eggs.

“I am not a butler,” his voice smooth as he passed the plate to his liege, before producing two more for his companions. “Thanks, Iggy.” The bespectacled man quirked a brow at the Inquisitor, but seemed otherwise nonplussed by the nickname. “Now, if you don’t mind, I shall be making my return to Skyhold. I must aid Solas in some research.” Ignis looked pointedly at Gladio. “Please try not to let him get killed, he is the crown prince to the Orlesian throne.”

“Pay me,” the warrior spat. Forever stoic, the chamberlain didn’t miss a beat.  “Your stipend shall be in the post, upon your safe return.” The only response from the warrior to that was a grunt, Nyx suspected in affirmation. With that, Ignis mounted up alongside another Inquisition guard and left camp.

As fun as it was watching his new team make friends, The Inquisitor was preoccupied by the absence of the fourth member to accompany him to The Emerald Graves. As if summoned, an arrow flew past the three of their heads, continuing on to strike the form of a possessed wolf on the edge of the clearing leading out of their camp. It let out a pained cry, alerting the two other wolves who appeared behind it. While the guards leaped at the wounded creature, a blond figure tumbled to the ground from a nearby tree. “Thanks Prompto!” the Inquisitor called out, before fading into the shadows himself. The archer bounced behind Gladio and Noctis, all three falling into an offensive stance.

Ulric had found the half-elven archer just after the crown prince’s arrival to Skyhold, if only because he kept leaving a rather obvious trail of clues as to how to find him, or rather, the infamous ‘Red Jenny’ of Val Royeaux. Red Jenny was known throughout Thedas for feats of great revenge and attrition, so upon finally meeting with this so called ‘Jenny’, Nyx could hardly hide his surprise. Standing in a growing puddle of some random noble’s fresh blood, Nyx could remember Prompto holding out his hand in greeting, to which he blinked. “You’re Red Jenny? I kind of expected you to be more…” “Womanly? Haha, yeeeah, no. But, my sister is. And an archer. And she’s a Jenny. Well, we both are. And some other folks… There are a few of us, actually.” The blonds words seemed to stumble out of his mouth, after which he broke down the system of The Friends of Red Jenny, or at least tried to. Nyx still wasn’t sure if he completely understood it. However, the archer seemed earnest enough about wanting to do good and help people, so Prompto had joined the Inquisition. He didn’t seemed too concerned about leaving his sister to take care of things in Val Royeaux while he was away, and when asked about it, only responded something about there not being enough gold in Thedas to get her any closer to the hole punched into the sky. And that had been that.

And here they were.

[thorstbench]

oh my, I am so late I’m sorry! Anyway, I was tagged by @stevetopsbuckysbottom​ and then @silverpearlsandtattoos​ in two similar games (thank you so much, omg <333 I am finally able to do this!)

#1 rules: tag 9 people you want to get to know better.

01. how old are you? I’m 22 ~ 02. what’s your current job? none, I’m currently studying languages (English & German) @ my university 03. what are you talented at? mmm, manips - I guess? - and I like singing and helping people out, although I’m an awkward potato most of the times. duh, writing (Italian’s fine, currently working on my English) 04. what is a big goal you are working towards (or have already achieved)? writing a book in English and publishing it, I’m slow though so no, I’m just gathering materials, doing my research and planning atm 05. what’s your aesthetic? (I know I didn’t understand the question, but I’m trying okay?) dark hair, blue eyes, muscles FTW 06. do you collect anything? any kind of paper / card from my trips, have a bulletin board with my airplane tickets, bus tickets, coupons, excetera(?). 07. what’s a topic you always talk about? Stucky, specifically Bucky Barnes, although lately I’ve been all about Dragon Age, especially the 2nd and Inquisition (good lord help me) 08. what’s a pet peeve of yours? incorrect grammar (in serious situations(?)) and prolly the “omg i’m the only one suffering rn” attitude. 09. good advice to give? I know, y’all prolly already heard it a thousand times, but the place where you are now won’t always be the same. Even if it doesn’t look like, it will evolve and partially it’s up to you whether it’s gonna get better or worse. 10. What are three songs you’d recommend? covers are my curse rn, so I’ll go with - Ki:Theory - Stand By Me - Boyce Avenue - Rise (by Katy Perry) - Ariana Grande - Side to Side

#2 rules: tag the 20 people you want to get to know better.

name: Emilia nicknames: Ems, Emi, hikku(?) - that’s it, really gender: female star sign: Capricorn,,,,,, height: 1,70m (5′6?????) sexual orientation: asexual ~ hogwarts House: Slytherin (nyehe) favorite color: this might sound weird or boring but, green djskdjskdsk favorite animal: horses...gimme a horse and I’ll die happy. average hours of sleep: lately? 5, 6..usually 8 cat or dog person: can’t hear you, too busy petting my cat and my dog favorite fictional characters: (r u really asking dat) Bucky Barnes (Marvel), Fenris (DA2), Cole (DAI), Garrus Vakarian (ME), Krem (DAI), Dorian&Iron Bull (DAI) ---I could list only the folks from dA2 and DAI it’d be shorter..... number of blankets I sleep with: three djskdjskjdks and the last one is fluffy favorite singer/band: My Chemical Romance (ofc), Twenty One Pilots, anything from Gerard Way, Zack Hemsey, Chase Holfelder’s (creepy covers ftw) dream trips: everywhere I can speak English dream job: I’d like to write for a living, but that’s really not gonna happen so I’ll settle for something between translation of scientific texts / anything interesting to me. Or something related to psychology. when was this blog created: September 2014, do you’r own maths cuz I’m lazy (but it was right after I watched CATWS bcos I was bored and hadn’t nothing better to do.....) current number of followers: 786 (floating, since I keep recieving p*rn blogs, blocking them, then someone new follows and someone old unfollows so I’m stuck here, it’s like a limbo and I really don’t know wtf is going on but okay)

tagging (imma do a random number cuz I’m bad at remembering people sorry, also if you’re tagged just choose which one you enjoy more and remember, no pressure, you don’t have to do this <3): @viperbranium @stevetopsbuckysbottom (for the second tag game hee~) @silverpearlsandtattoos (of the first one!!, also duh tumblr) @shanology @frostbitebakery @stephrc79 @punkandjerkmeaniloveyou @enigmabarnes @enterprise-pica @thekingandthelionheart @demirhys @ginger-emperor @xqueenromanoff @cloudshapedrain @venenix @not-poignant @heartsforbuck