#da:2 fanfic

[sparemoon]

RELEASE THE DA2 VARRIC ROMANCE ENDING BIOWARE

[lilgoblinbitch]

Gossip 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

part two here

a/n: i based this fic on this post here! i might make a part 2 because i have some ideas in the back of my head of how i think this story could end up going eventually, but idk if i will write it yet. we'll see! also i made up the two random alexandrians in this story :)

summary: rick overhears you and some alexandrian women gossiping, and he decides to confront you.

warnings: 18+, alcohol consumption (reader gets drunk).

wc: 1.5k

MDNI

“Spencer does not like me, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You scoffed, taking another sip of the pinot. This was your second glass, and your head was starting to buzz.

Two Alexandrian women became well acquainted with you, offering you a bottle of wine and some dinner after your first week in Alexandria. You decided “why the hell not.” You never really had great friends before the apocalypse and the only ones you had were the group you came in with, so it wouldn’t harm you to make more.

“Oh honey, did you not notice the way he was ogling you at Deanna’s party?” One of them asked — her name was Shannon. The other woman, Vivian, slightly chuckled, taking one last swig from her glass. She nodded, muttering something in agreement.

You sighed. “Even if he was checking me out, it’s not like I care anyway...”

The two women paused simultaneously, looking up at you with ‘bitch, HUH?’ written on their faces. “Y/n, Spencer is a beautiful man! He’s tall, handsome, and he’s around your age I believe,” Vivian gushed. You scowled, displeased at the comment.

You took another gulp from your glass, emptying the contents down your gullet and then setting it on the kitchen island. After licking your lips clean, you said, “Well, frankly, I don't really care if I’m being quite honest.” Your mind swirled with inebriated thoughts; you sort of had a love-hate relationship when it came to alcohol — it either made you perfectly giddy and sociable or very angsty and erratic. But that’s what it did to most people, anyway. Right now, it was making you angsty. “I have someone else on my mind.”

“Oh, my! Okay, who is it?” Shannon asked, her and Vivian both on the edge of their chairs anticipating what you were about to say — well, what they expected you to tell them, that is.

You thought for a moment; should you tell them? It seemed like they lived for that kind of gossip. But that could mean that they might spill your secret, and you weren't exactly ready for that. “I’ll tell you another time. I’m tired, gonna head to bed,” you stated, yawning as you got up from the stool you were seated on. The two women groaned in disappointment, like children who failed to convince their parents to take them to disney world.

After your friends left you strutted out of the kitchen, about to head upstairs when you heard a door open and shut. Instinctively you ran back to the kitchen to grab a knife to defend yourself from a possible intruder or walker, but before you could your body collided with something, or rather someone.

You cursed and looked up at the culprit; it was none other than Rick Grimes. “Rick, what the fuck! I could have stabbed you!” You scolded him, picking up the knife that clattered on the ground. 

“You forget we live together?” He teased, taking a step back to get a good look at you. Your eyes were glassy and eyelids heavy — a telltale sign that you were drunk. Rick had experience pulling over a few drunkards back in his day as a cop, so he knew immediately without even having to smell the alcohol oozing from your breath that you weren’t sober.

You pushed a strand of hair out of your face, swallowing the excess saliva forming in your mouth. You mentally scolded yourself for drooling over a man, but this one was just too beautiful to not gawk at. The sound of Rick clearing his throat snapped you out of your trance and brought you back to reality. “No, no. I didn’t forget. I just…”

“You’re just drunk, right?” He chuckled, turning his head to look at the empty bottle of wine sitting on the dining room table. You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of your lip while trying to think of a plausible excuse. 

“Look, I only had two glasses. Shannon and Vivian from a few houses down brought us a casserole and some pinot. Girls’ night. Sue me, Rick.” You slipped past him and headed to the kitchen, Rick hot on your tail. “There’s leftovers in the fridge, if you or Carl want any,” You said without turning around. When you got to the kitchen sink you started washing the dishes, but you frowned slightly, looking back up at Rick with worrying eyes. 

“Shit. Did I wake the kids? Is that why you’re down here?” You turned off the faucet, wiping your hands hastily on a dry towel. 

Rick shook his head. “No. Only I heard you. But you weren’t very quiet, and when I heard them leave that’s when I came down here,” he explained, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Your heart picked up its pace. ‘How much did he hear?’ You wondered. You pursed your lips and your eyes floated around the room, quite obviously avoiding his intense stare. He made you nervous. That sheriff always made you nervous, and part of the reason was because you were so utterly attracted to him. 

Finally you brought your eyes back to his icy ones, which were studying your body. You blushed and bit your lip again — it was a nervous habit you could never seem to break. “You got a stain–” Rick pointed to the red stain on your shirt, just below your breasts, “Right there.”

You looked down at the stain, it was wine — dark red wine, at that. And you were wearing a white tank top. How convenient.

You looked back up at him, snorting in slight amusement. “Guess I shouldn’t have worn white, huh?”

He let out a low chuckle, showcasing his pearly smile. God, he was pretty. “Thought you knew better than that, Y/n,” he joked, standing back up fully to make his way over to you. Okay, now your heart was really beating fast. 

When he was finally in front of you, face to face, you gulped. He smelled like the forest after a rainshower, and somehow he always did; it engulfed you like a tsunami. You berated yourself for getting so worked up over the smell of him, and just him in general. He was your leader, your friend. And he asked you to live with him and his children because he trusted you. Why were you acting like a cat in heat? ‘It’s the alcohol’, you convinced your mind, it had to be…

The silence was too loud. You had no idea what Rick was thinking right now; frankly, you never did. His poker face was always unreadable. But your tipsy brain gained a few confidence points, letting smugness wash over you.

“Whatcha thinking about, Grimes?” You shifted your weight to one leg and batted your lashes at the man in front of you. He only grinned, then glanced away momentarily only to stare back into your eyes. 

“Y’know, I overheard the conversation,” Rick started, his chest steadily moving up and down as he breathed. One of his hands gripped the counter while the other was glued to his hip. Your eyes trailed up and down his tanned veiny arms, taking in his manliness.

“Mhm. And?” You kept your composure, not wanting to let Rick taunt you; you knew you talked pretty loud when you were tipsy or drunk but it’s not like you said anything negative about him or anyone.

“You girls like to gossip, huh?”

“Well, yeah. We’re women,” you joked, cracking a smile and trying to ease the tension a bit. “What are you trying to get at?” Rick never bothered to indulge in any girl gossip you, Rosita, and Maggie used to partake in, so why was he so invested now?

Little did you know, he was always invested in literally anything you had to say.

Rick licked his lips and exhaled through his nose. “Heard you talking about liking someone. Is it anyone I know?”

He smirked when he noticed how red you turned. Your face would have matched the stain on your shirt if it was a few shades darker. “I– I don’t…” Of course now was the time to choke on your words, right when you were using every fiber of your being to keep your poise in check. But goddamnit, Rick just had to be a sly and cocky bastard.

“I don’t remember even saying anything about that, Rick.”

His smirk never faded. You wanted to slap it off his face, then kiss the hell out of him. 

He tilted his head to the side a bit, furrowing his brows as if to challenge your statement. “Really?”

You nodded and crossed your arms right over the stain. ‘Deny, deny, deny,’ You repeated in your head.

But he didn’t buy your bullshit. He brought his hand to your cheek, fingers barely grazing your skin as if he was afraid he’d scare you away. Your breath hitched in your throat and subsequently dropped your arms to your sides, separating your lips to say something. However, nothing came out.

“Well, I think I know your secret, Y/n. Answer seems pretty clear to me.” His voice almost came out as a growl from how low and raspy it was. Goosebumps awakened all across the surface of your body. You were tongue tied. 

“I’m the one on your mind, aren’t I?”

[dapolyshipping]

Dragon Age Polyshipping is Back!

✨Join us for the 2024 exchange!✨

Are you a fan creator looking for Dragon Age poly content? Hoping to expand the AO3 tag for your favorite throuple? Or maybe you look at the Inner Circle and think: "they're all just too pretty to choose"?

If so, this exchange is for you!

DA Polyshipping is a celebration of healthy polyamorous, polysexual, and polygamous ships in the Dragon Age fandom. It is open to all creators who are willing to create one piece of fanart or write one fanfic that meets our exchange requirements and deadlines!

The exchange focuses on healthy polyamory in all its forms and welcomes queerplatonic relationships, one-time theesomes (or moresomes), and long-term relationships. Check out FAQ - What do you mean by healthy polyamory? for more details on acceptable pieces.

NOMINATIONS OPEN IN 4 WEEKS!

Important Changes & Updates

This year we will pre-load ships that have been nominated for all prior years of DA Polyshipping, so you can free up your nominations spaces for other characters/ships.

Nominations will only be open for one week!

Welcome new mods, @inquisimer & @plisuu! With the larger mod team, we will no longer be taking personal communications about the exchange via Discord DM or tumblr DM/ask. Please send communications regarding individual circumstances via email or the official extension form. General questions can still be asked in discord or via tumblr ask.

2024 TENTATIVE Schedule

‼️With Veilguard set to release in Fall 2024, the mods reserve the right to make drastic adjustments to the schedule when a specific release date is announced. Please note that if we do alter the schedule, it will be to give participants MORE time, not less.‼️

Nominations Open: Sunday, September 1st, 2024 12pm ET

Nominations Close: Sunday, September 8th, 2024 12pm ET

Sign Ups Open: Sunday, September 8th, 2024 12pm ET

Sign Ups Close: Sunday, September 22nd, 2024 12pm ET

Assignments Out: Tuesday, September 24th, 2024 5pm ET (or sooner!)

Assignments Due: Sunday, November 3rd, 2024 12pm ET

Works Revealed: Sunday, November 10th, 2024 12pm ET

Creators Revealed: Sunday, November 17th, 2024 12pm ET

Visit our website to see the schedule in your local time

More Information

rules & info | FAQs

Contact & Follow Us

ask | discord | bluesky | email: dapolyshipping@gmail.com

Tumblr’s asks are famously unreliable. If you don’t see a response within 72 hours please feel free to resend the ask, DM us on tumblr, or send an email.

[oftachancer]

Thank you, @maxkennedy24, for this incredible portrait of Anders, Karl Thekla, and Cecily Hawke, from Aisles of Memory and Regret!

Also reposting for the fans of @tranquilweek!

[hollyand-writes]

Rating: Mature   Word Count: 6,064 Pairing: Arishok/Male Hawke Other characters: Fenris, Qunari, Varric Tethras, Anders, Merrill, Purple Rogue Hawke, Herbert the Goose Other Tags: POV Fenris, Humor, Wild Goose Chase, Light-Hearted, Canon-Typical Violence, Untitled Goose Game References, Comedy, Slapstick, Horrible Goose (Untitled Goose Game), Accidental Death, Implied Sexual Content, Fade to Black, Dead Goose: Do Not Eat

Summary:

The Arishok gives Hawke a special task to prove his worthiness as kadan: to get rid of a goose that is pestering his men at the Qunari Compound.

Written for the Dragon Age Create-a-thon 2024 @dacreateathon!

———

‘This is a foolish plan,’ Fenris told Garrett Hawke when the latter asked him for advice on the Qun, and—more specifically—how he could become the Arishok’s lover. Fenris had almost added ‘for a foolish man,’ but realised his warning would fall on deaf ears.

For Garrett Hawke had decided that he wanted to sleep with the Arishok—his latest harebrained scheme in this equally harebrained city—and once the dark-haired bearded rogue had decided on something, not even his beloved sister Bethany would be able to dissuade him.

Somehow, things had a way of working out well for Hawke, even though they really shouldn’t. Either the man was incredibly, ridiculously, extremely lucky, Fenris thought—or the Maker was real and loved Hawke very, very, very much.

‘But I want him,’ Hawke whined, ‘and I don’t know anything about the Qun or the Qunari. That’s why I need your help. You do.’

Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose: as much as he regarded Hawke as his friend, a competent fighter and wielder of dual daggers he respected for his skill as much as his can-do attitude, sometimes Fenris swore that the man’s occasional idiocy would be the death of him.

Read more on AO3...

[da-rulah]

Not a request just a lil head cannon:

Secondo, despite being the man he is LOVES…….loves getting pegged

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT SO I DON'T HAVE TO (18+ MDNI!)

But here's the thing, he doesn't go all subby... He puts up a fight, and that's what he loves.

He loves being overpowered, talked down to, manhandled but he doesn't make it easy for you. It's a power struggle - one that sometimes you're not sure he's going to actually let you win...

He likes his partners to be fierce, to have that 'take no shit' approach to overpowering him. It makes him feel fucking alive, igniting this primal need to fight back until he can't anymore and suddenly he has no choice but to give in and submit.

And of course, the pegging is just the cherry on the cake. Always the best orgasms he has ever had - intense, whole body orgasms that have him screeching into the sheets like a banshee and begging you to stop and not to stop in one breath.

[mrs-theirin]

“Bianca’s getting married.”

“Oh, I’m very happy for her. Is it to a charming Honda Civic? Or is that too young for her?”

Her joke didn’t land well. He sighed heavily. “The real Bianca."

Eden Hawke and Varric Tethras have been friends for 7 years. Their bond is unbreakable, which is why when Varric asks Eden to be his fake date to his on-again/off-again ex girlfriend Bianca's wedding, she agrees immediately. The two of them embark on the road trip of a lifetime, one they will never forget. ♫

Beginning | Last Chapter | Final Chapter

[v-arbellanaris]

da4: inquisition redux.... the illusion of choice pt 2

a continuation of the rpg series where literally 3 of your choices over 3 games matter at all :)

[shouldaspunastory]

Thank you @tobythewise! @dadrunkwriting

Garrett Hawke x Fenris, (DA2, Act III, 574 words)

——————————

“It’s hot,” Fenris remarks, stepping back from the steaming tub with wide green eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Garrett replies quickly. “Too much? I can add some cold,” the mage offers, but Fenris shakes his head.

“No. It’s fine. I just… didn't expect that.”

Garrett looks confused, then with dawning comprehension, a little angry, though Fenris knows this man, this mage, well enough by now to know this is not directed at him. Ever since Fenris expressed his discomfort and disdain for it, Garrett Hawke rarely expresses pity for what the former slave has endured. But this righteous indignation and fury on his behalf, runaway desires to hunt down his tormentors and force them to endure equivalent suffering and misery is a familiar standby, and one Fenris finds that he appreciates.

It’s a strange thing- being valued simply for *who* he is, rather than what or what services he can provide. Garrett would love nothing more than for Fenris to move in here with him, the elf knows, and yet, he has never forced his hand, never made him feel guilty or wrong for wanting his rare and hard-won independence, for keeping his stolen mansion on the hill just in case things between them ever go sour.

“Fenris, does your mansion not have hot water,” Garrett asks. Fenris shakes his head. It doesn't. It has running water, and after so long on the run, that in itself seemed like a luxury.

"I could fix that," Garrett says. The thought of Hawke on his hands and knees, under cabinets and in walls fiddling with pipes as if he has any earthly idea what he's doing is a laughable one. And yet Fenris knows he would do it. And probably wind up calling on Varric to find a more skilled laborer to fix whatever he's made an even bigger mess of. Still, the effort is... sweet. "If... you'd like me to."

Choice is another new and rather unfamiliar concept. But Garrett always offers it, however seemingly insignificant the decision is, and he always respects whatever Fenris choses. It's why Fenris chose him, another mage, despite how many have hurt him before. Because despite his initial misgivings Hawke could never be like Danarius. Garrett Hawke is unlike anyone else. And for some unfathomable reason, Hawke wants him, even three long years later.

It seems too much to ask with all he's put him through, but Fenris let fear make his decision for him last time, let it keep them apart for far too long. He won't make that same mistake again. He will trust Hawke, trust what they have, and take a risk.

"Do you- would you still have me here- with you," Fenris asks cautiously, large green eyes searching Hawke's brown ones, finding the same patience and love he always has for him reflected back in them.

"As often as you'd like and can stand me," Hawke nods immediately.

"Then perhaps, it's time I let the mansion go," Fenris replies softly. Garrett's answering smile is nothing short of blinding. Fenris feels his heart flutter, a rush of warmth rising to the tips of his ears and coloring his cheeks that has nothing to do with the steam that fills the small room. He clears his throat. "C'mon, then, the water's going to get cold," he smiles fondly back at Hawke who is already ripping his shirt over his head as Fenris begins to peel off his leggings.

[mayhems-cannon]

Gabv1 thang i cba to put on ao3 (rather nsfw)

The thought of the Machine haunted Gabriel as does the phantom of his Father. It never left, never will, only wringing havoc in his mind and setting ablaze his heart and loins, as much as he denied it.

Oh, how much had he pressed his thighs together, his insides burning to be touched lustfully?

Oh, how many times has the mere idea of the Machine made his helmet blush and his wings shine with joy?

He whispered the Machine’s name as his fingers entered himself, any fear of desecrating himself lost as he moaned “I love you’”s only interrupted by the softest “ahs” as he bucked his hips and glided his fingers over his own weakest point.

Would this be true love, worth dying in its arms as its piercing cycloptic eye gazed into his thoughts, unable to answer back?

His nails pierced and gashed his skin again as he flogged himself mentally for daring to think such obscene ideas, but the thought remained that he wished this wasted blood could be drunk by it. If desecrated, defiled, deflowered he would have to be, he prayed again and again to his Father for it to be the one to do so, knowing His absence and abandonment of his Children. His fingers locked, his words knotted awkwardly, between apologies for daring to pleasure himself and prayers for the Machine to love him back.

The fairest blouse, the most pristine of dresses, hiding nothing but his own barest form, oh how he wished it could tear into the linen and gaze upon his cursed body, feast on him, love him, make love to him, violently fuck him to the point he can no longer think.

Its metal hands warming up from its inner workings, a beating heart resonating through its chest, its cables hugging him, tying him, jerking him. The feeling of its hands inside him, a mere doll he wished to be to it while seeking warmth seen nowhere else.

If death he must face, he can only pray it will meet him in the arms of the Machine, bearing a smile it will never see.

[pineflowerart]

The Forgotten Memoir: Cost of Dreams Chapter 2: Storyteller, Demon Slayer, Man of the Hour

Enter Varric Tethras, Hawke’s been keeping secrets and The Inquisitor brings news of the Champion’s next move. What could be so important Varric can’t know? A Dragon Age fanfiction, cowritten with @oracle-of-space! Read over on AO3.

[Chapter 2 on AO3]

[Start from the Beginning]

[perlen-gold]

Something in Fenris stirs too like ash inside a ruin.

It is already too late, by then.

A prodigious silence, crinkling inertly, has melted the air like the blunt edge of an axe pooling silvery on the ground. A word, a stunned noise smoking somewhere to his right.

Too late.

They have never learned. They have never learned what true fear is, let their senses become jaded by power and arrogance; they have never learned how to fight, genuinely fight, whatever they are believing of themselves, Fenris’ mind flashes with a stroke of disgust.

He hears the arrow’s singing aim, let loose from the only fingers not hopelessly lost in almighty trust, just when his own inexorable feet slap onto the first step before the throne.

Fenris lets the arrow strike right through him, allowing the lyrium’s flaring blaze of pain to breeze his physical form away and it sticks fast driving right into the wooden throne, quivering with the force of the impact.

The figure is half-rising from her throne, hair shining in a long ink-black sheen, reaching, when Fenris already grabs her shoulder and her neck and the glass inlay of the magnificent window sprays as rainbow drops with vibrating shatters as both he and she collide with it.

Fenris knows a human, elven, dwarven body as well and precisely as a surgeon. Place veins and bones he can, muscles and hearts and lungs and livers as though they were palpitating and pouring blood into his very own throbbing body. But it is his sword’s silver he has summoned, sizzling and darting like lighting’s verge.

She cries out not but narrows her widening eyes upon the impact, a myriad of color-bright shards of glass, a shimmering glitter fleeing in all directions, in unforeseen shock and confusion and something else Fenris cannot quite place as his blood-dried, dirt-streaked, hollowed face stares into hers. From the broken windows’ mosaic icy mountain air gushes inside, whipping her dark hair afly in a furious storm, surrounding the grief-whettled blade pressed against her slender throat. Fenris’ gray-skinned face, so distorted as to be monstrous.

“Let go of her or death be upon you!”

The words are meant to be a lash.

A woman spears them, pointed with the tint of lands Fenris’ remembers wandering through, the color of people who, in that language of their own, call themselves dragon slayers.

Too late.

Fenris has seen them already, his senses meticulously having studied them in the hitches of time it took him to stride up the hall, every single one of them.

The warrior woman who stands at the base of the stairs, prepared to take him on, slim and slender, sword raised high like her cheekbones – tight and skilled with strength, the only one, perhaps, to truly match his own ineluctable skill, fiery and determined, but unsuspecting of lyrium sorcery flying through her guard.

On the other side of the hall a Qunari warrior who swears in perfect Qunlat as the Tal-Vashot he is, so mighty and broad he could snap Fenris’ body into splinters, and way too powerful like so many of his kin to match his swiftness.

Talking in the filthy tongue of the alienages, on the balcony above the far gates, an elf girl, faster and quicker than the others, whose knife-edged arrow-point has whirred through him already.

Behind the Qunari a mage, a woman, proud and high-faced, whose carriage is different from other mages and not defenseless, no, against the swings of a silver blade, but prey to her own pride.

Next to her, another warrior, less proficient than the Nevarran woman, though alert, rimmed, sharp.

Left is an apostate mage, neither reclusive Dalish nor subjugated city elf, the only one Fenris has not assessed thoroughly yet, a man who carries himself like a servant but smells like smooth stone, like an age-old statue of a deity found in immemorial woods among fallen winter leaves.

And, at last, behind the Nevarran woman with the sign of the seeker, one last mage.

Fenris can discern it in the sheen of his garments. Taste it on the man’s rolling tongue. The gleam of his well-oiled hair. Fenris can stroke it, an answering call to the aching, pulsating lyrium inside his skin. The magic pulsing through the man’s limbs taught in prideful night-long lessons without any restrain or cover.

Every inch of him cries it. Magister.

But even this, that man whose skin reeks of the Imperium cannot permeate the strangulating screams inside Fenris threatening to tear his skin.

“Oy, elf!” Out of the color-blurred haze, Varric’s voice. Fenris senses his weapon, Bianca, grabbed in Varric’s white-knuckled fingers.

The second arrow croons like a siren’s song.

This time Fenris is almost too slow, its sleek point nicks his shoulder muscle before he lets it pass through his body, and it lodges into the Lady Inquisitor’s right shoulder instead. This time, she gasps.

The sound of another arrow, the bow strung, magic humming, deviating the air. Fenris grasps her neck and whirls her around until she is facing the crowd and her ink-sleek hair seems to be touching every inch of Fenris’ skin. Within the immediacy of the motion he lets his sword’ hilt sink against her upper body, pressed hard against her clothes, her back against Fenris’ chest, holding her body length to length to his like in a lover’s embrace.

Fenris’ hand, however, clings to the lower part of her neck. With a blinding azure-light glow his fingers sink beneath her skin. Veins and bones.

They stop, they all stop.

“Open the Fade and take me where you left him to die!” To say it, speak it, is too much.

His voice has become a feral thing, too beast-deep – fangs caught in on themselves – thrashing and clawing and coiling – winnowed and bare, too deep – yet quiet, quiet, quiet as a dead tree – too deep, catapulting the light thrown from under his skin into a thousand different directions, draining down upon him – too deep, and this is when the lyrium slips past him, past his control.

This time her screams pierce the roiling winds.

Whoa, wait, you're bringing up that angstful monster of an angsty fenhawke fic?! AGAIN??

I'll run fast enough this time!!!

Shameful self promotion AGAIN?!

Forget it, I'm not clicking on one of these stupid links!

[mountainlurker]

Junipyr Wren Hawke and Isabela ♡⦾♡

Recreating Hawke in DAI pissed me off so bad I had to draw her correctly.

My IG is MountainLurker.

Additional stuff under the cut including a little fanfic writing (like 5 small paragraphs of the photo)

Junipyr watched Isabela's concentration with rapt attention. Normally Isabela took just about nothing seriously, but when she was fixing up Junipyr's facial tattoos, Isabela had this look in her eyes that hooked Junipyr.

"Close your eyes." Isabela's words dragged Junipyr out of her daydream.

"But that means I have to stop looking at you." Junipyr replied, purposefully sultry and leaning forward, hoping for a quick kiss.

But Isabela shook her head, giggling. "Flirty. But do you want me to finish this tattoo or not?" She played with the tattoo pen, waiting for Junipyr to obey.

"Not if I can't watch you work." Junipyr replied softly, her hand itching to reach forward and touch her lover. Instead, she gripped the edge of the crate she was sitting on, closing her eyes.

Isabela smirked, cupping Junipyr's face as she prepared to continue her work. "Good girl."

[dapolyshipping]

Nominations Are Open!

✨CLICK HERE TO NOMINATE YOUR SHIPS✨

Nominations Close: Sunday, September 8th, 2024 12p ET

View Nominated Tags: gDocs | ao3 | autoao3app

Regarding Veilguard Ships: For the 2024 exchange, ships that include Rook, the DA4 protagonist, are NOT eligible for nomination, but ships that include Veilguard companions & NPCs without Rook are eligible. We look forward to including Rook ships in the 2025 exchange! Reminder: Ships that have been nominated for two prior years of DA Polyshipping have been pre-loaded in the tagset, to free up your spaces for other ships!

⏰ Updated Schedule ⏰

Per the results of our Veilguard release date poll, we are adjusting the schedule for this year's exchange as follows:

Nominations Open: Sunday, September 1, 2024 at 12pm ET

Nominations Close: Sunday, September 8 2024 at 12pm ET

Sign-Ups Open: Sunday, September 8 2024 at 12pm ET

Sign-Ups Close: Sunday, September 22, 2024 at 12pm ET

Assignments Received: by Tuesday, September 24, 2024 8:00 PM ET (or earlier!)

Works Due: Sunday, November 17, 2024 at 12pm ET

Works Revealed: Sunday, November 24, 2024 at 12pm ET

Creators Revealed: Sunday, December 1, 2024 at 12pm ET

Visit our website to see the schedule in your local time

More Information

how to nominate | rules & info | FAQ

Contact

ask | discord | email: dapolyshipping@gmail.com

Tumblr’s asks are famously unreliable. If you don’t see a response within 72 hours please feel free to resend the ask or send an email.

[essayfox]

This is the work I predicted. it's set in season two, between the last episode and the Christmas special, and it's basically my outlet for that very painful story-line of that maid. Oh, yes, it's also my collection of praise for Cora and the deepening of her character that I think she absolutely deserved. It would a multi-chapters one.

[agentgayngel]

AND I’M THINKING, “DAMN, IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK”

• dawanjessie fic

• one-shot, hate sex

• dawan and jessie keep digging at each other and something finally snaps between them.