#da create-a-thon

[chaosherald]

10 First Lines/Self Promotion Sunday

Tagged by @sandcastlekings @jukkaricity @aetherflowers @dags-over-caravans @adejareve @mythals-whore @selennes Thank you all <3 Sorry for the delay, but I really wanted to wait until I could include the create-a-thon pieces. 😂 (And while I technically worked on 8 pieces for the event, two of them have two chapters so that's going to be the list. 😁)

Rules: Post the first line of your ten most recently published fanfics.

Bellara was on edge, eyes darting around the dimly lit crypt. (The Adventures of Professor Hezenkoss: Hero of the Veilguard. AU/What if Johanna was our Watcher companion? 1k words)

Here lies a Pentaghast/Who tried to be King/Next to him a Van Markham/Who tried the same thing (Mementos of the Dead: Chapter 3: Otto Willibald. Team Mourn Watch Collab: Artifacts from the Necropolis. 300 words. h/t to @seaglassmelody for the spirit of Vigilance)

Oh my child/Where have you gone?/Off hunting dragons/You've stayed out too long (Mementos of the Dead: Chapter 5: Lady Isadora of Hunter Fell. Team Mourn Watch Collab: Artifacts from the Necropolis. 🎵)

Everyone in Nevarra knows the story of Prince Cynebald and Lady Adalgard. (Stories We Tell Chapter 1: Rising Action. Post-game victory ball. Spin off from "Acts of Discretion" 6k total)

Rook felt the heavy door close behind her, cutting her off from the rest of the keep with a solid, satisfying thunk. (Stories We Tell Chapter 2: Denouement. Post-game victory ball. Spin off from "Acts of Discretion." 6k total)

As soon as the idea occurred to her, Rook couldn’t shake it. (Rites of Passage. 3k words. *NSFW* Rook wants to explore a magical phenomenon in the Necropolis. With Lucanis. Without clothing.)

The hummingbird flits/From one project to next/Outrunning the guilt/The pain, the regret (Hers to Write. Going for the full set of companion songs!🎵 )

The candles burned low and still they lingered, the Inquisitor who loved a God and the Mourn Watcher who sought to kill one (or two.) (As The Nose On Your Face. Interwoven moments about the impossible and the obvious. Amara and the Inquisitor. Varric and Dorian. Solas. 2k words @blackwall-my-tiny-husband remember your comment about how so many people should be commenting on how Amara looks like her mom? 😂)

“I have some concerns about Miss Ingellvar.” (My Fair Necromancer or A Death Caller Amongst Crows. Amara isn't ready for life amongst the Crows - but the Crows aren't really ready for life with Amara either. 1k words)

“She fluttered her eyes, and opened her thighs, and said of course I'm going to fuck it!" (Literary Critique. Cassandra and Varric discuss literature. Smutty literature. 1k words. h/t to @blackwall-my-tiny-husband for putting the idea of Varric/Cassandra in my head <3)

It has been killing me not being able to talk about these/share WIP/etc. My first time doing an event like this and I'm very happy with how things turned out. 2 songs, 3 poems, 7 pieces. I'll be posting most of the works here too at some point. Also tagging some other folks who are either fellow marathoners, fellow mourn watchers, or friends who might be interested <3 @seaglassmelody @hedwigoprah @woundedsoul12 @davrinsleftpectoral

[hollyand-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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...

[whereismywarden]

Portraits of Orlesians wearing traditional French clothing. (created for the @dacreateathon 2024)

Leliana is wearing traditional Boulonnais clothing (Northern France).

Vivienne is wearing traditional clothing from the Tarentaise Valley (Savoy).

Fiona is wearing traditional Capicursini clothing (Corsica).

Briala is wearing traditional Creole clothing from La Réunion.

[teine-mallaichte]

Sensitive Information

So @dacreateathon works have been revealed, which means I can start sharing stuff. There was a prompt for elven ears being sensitive, so of course I had to give Adrian this information and let him experiement.

It was just past midnight, the sky velvet-dark above them, stars scattered like someone had carelessly upended a bottle of diamonds over black silk. The ship creaked beneath their feet, the Crimson Gale at rest, drifting with the tide. Most of the crew were asleep—or drunk enough to count as it—and the deck was quiet, save for two figures leaning on the rail.

Adrian Hawke lounged there like he owned the night, one shoulder pressed against the wood, arms folded. The grin that curved his mouth was lazy, practiced, dangerous in its ease. When he finally spoke, his voice sliced through the stillness—light, teasing, threaded with that familiar challenge.

“I read a book last night.”

Fenris didn’t turn. He stood beside him, forearms resting on the rail. His white hair caught the moonlight like frost, and one ear flicked—the only hint he was listening.

“Thrilling,” he replied, perfectly dry.

“It had words and everything,” Adrian said, edging closer.

“That is generally the minimum requirement for a book.”

Adrian waved the comment away. “Bella’s library is a masterpiece of chaos. One volume’s just ship manifests with swear words in the margins. Another’s a cookbook where every recipe ends with ‘serve with rum.’ But last night…” He paused, eyes glinting. “Last night I found a scholarly tome. Footnotes. Diagrams. A proper, dusty, respectable work of art. I think it changed me.”

That earned him a look—slow, brief, wary. Fenris didn’t move otherwise, but Adrian caught the flicker of suspicion in the moonlight. The elf had known him too long not to sense danger.

Adrian’s grin deepened, delighted.

“I learned something fascinating,” he murmured, leaning in until his shoulder brushed Fenris’s arm. His voice dropped lower, conspiratorial. “A secret.”

Fenris didn’t move. But Adrian caught the shift—the faint straightening of his spine, the coiled awareness that always came when he suspected Adrian was up to something.

“What sort of secret?” Fenris asked, voice flat, measured.

Adrian hummed. Not answering. Just letting the silence stretch between them.

Then he leaned closer, until his mouth hovered by Fenris’s ear—not touching, but close enough that his breath ghosted over the skin.

He waited. One heartbeat. Two.

And there it was.

A flick—sharp, involuntary—the ear twitching like that of a cat who knew it was being watched.

Adrian smiled, slow and wicked. “That elven ears,” he whispered—still close enough to feel the faint flicker of movement from his breath—“are very… sensitive.”

Continue on A03

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[raflesia65]

@dacreateathon

The first two works I made for DA Create-a-Thon on Ao3

Magister Augur of Mystery

The Fallen Magister Augur of Mystery

[raflesia65]

@dacreateathon

My third work for DA Create-a-Thon. The OC of @midnightprelude and @oftachancer: Rilienus Maecilia