#varric's nicknames
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Captain Isabela
#She ❤️#austinart#isabela rivaini#I think it's funny that Varric's nickname is her unofficial fandom last name akdhdjd#isabela dragon age#Dragon age#Da2#Pose super based off an ad I got on Pinterest
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You ever think about Hawke and their relationship with their name
#lay rambles#it can be a title or a nickname it can be personal it can be made up by varric to protect their identity it can be all of these things#either shifting or at the same time#not to mention the relation to malcom it might have. was that his real last name or was that a name made up after fleeing?#either way if its related to him there is something to say about them choosing/being assigned that name over the amell name#despite that being the one with official status in the city#i could go on about it tbh i love the leeway we get to play around w it#in fact do feel free to tell me abt your hawkes if you read this i am very curious abt your interpretations of it!#(also dragons if u read this: 'tis the one! xd)
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Snowflakes.
Orynaleh 'Ryvae' Lav.
#ryvae lavellan#ryvae ath haral lavellan#orynaleh#ryvae#inquistor lavellan#dalish inquisitor#dalish elf dragonage#dragon age inquisition#dragon age inquisiton#art#digital art#snowflakes#yes ryvae's nickname by varric is snowflakes#now i miss winter#not that you get much of a winter in scotland#it's just fog and rain all year round
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bethany didnt first come on screen snapping “WHY did we wait so long” at her family for u all to characterise her so flat
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Day 28: Sparkle
“The nickname you gave me makes no sense,” Dorian complained to Varric. He had to raise his voice to be heard, even though the dwarf sat on the stool next to him. The tavern was busy and spirits were high today. The Inquisitor had slain a high dragon, and the news was on everyone’s lips. (Of course, everyone seemed to have forgotten that Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall were there too. Typical.) He and Varric were currently drinking to their successful escape from death. Arlaros had intended to join them as well, but the elf was no where in sight.
Varric laughed. “I don’t change nicknames once I hand them out, Sparkler. No redos.”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to; I’m simply letting you know your naming skills leave something to be desired. Fire magic produces embers. The Inquisitor is the one who makes sparks.”
“That’s semantics, besides, your everyone-look-at-me magic isn’t the only reason I gave you the nickname.”
“Oh?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the other reasons, if they truly existed, but his curiosity was piqued. Varric seemed allergic to calling people by their given names, having bestowed all of the inner circle with nicknames describing various characteristics. Some people had taken to their names more than others, and the dwarf seemed to thrive off of every reaction to them.
Varric took a hearty drink from his mug and then set it back on the counter. He turned fully toward Dorian and gestured with both hands at, well, all of him. Then he sat back, his expression clearly stating he believed he had answered Dorian’s unasked question. Which he had not.
“I’m sorry, did I miss something? Does my skin sparkle in the sunlight? I know you southerners don’t put much stock in personal hygiene, but some of us believe in skincare routines.”
He didn’t really know why it bothered him. He had been called much worse in his time, and it was obvious that while Varric had some fun with his names (he had dubbed Solas ‘Chuckles’) he didn’t intend them to be proper insults.
“You wear more metal than any mage I’ve ever seen, and none of it is defensive.”
“Says the man wearing a v-neck practically to his navel.”
“You light up like a mirror in the summer when the sunlight hits you. You can’t tell me that wasn’t on purpose.”
It had been. What could he say? He liked his clothes to be fashionable and flashy. It was a given that people would stare any time he walked into a room; the least he could do is ensure they got an eyeful when they did.
“Still, I thought a writer such as yourself would know the difference between sparkling and shining. I’m not made of crystal.”
As he was speaking, there was a change in the crowd’s atmosphere, a brief hush followed by an uproarious din like the tide pulling in before a tsunami. He glanced behind him, already knowing who he would see. Standing in the door to the tavern was Arlaros, dressed in the simple robes he preferred to wear around Skyhold. Their eyes met for a brief second across the crowded space before Arlaros was swarmed by people giving their congratulations and wanting to hear the tale of how he slayed a dragon.
“There’s also that.”
Varric’s voice startled him, but he quickly covered his reactions, turning his jump into an easy turn. “There’s also what?”
“That sparkle in your eyes when you look at the Inquisitor. That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”
Dorian scoffed. “What are you insinuating? You think my charms have dragged our dear leader in?” He said the words lightly, but his stomach roiled. There had been more and more moments, lately, when he felt his attention was being reciprocated. It was thrilling little game to play, flirting with Arlaros, but for some reason the knowledge that his game was being observed by others put him on edge. Typically, that kind of attention would have had him preening, but this felt...different.
Varric shrugged and turned back to his drink. “I think his charms have dragged you in, if anything. You should know, I’ve written enough romances to recognize a tragic one when I see it.”
“You should also know that flirting does not a romance make. I’d be rather hopelessly entangled if it did.”
Varric just hummed in response. Eventually, Arlaros joined them, looking a little harried. Then, he smiled at them, and Dorian couldn’t help but smile back. From the corner of his eye, he saw Varric tilt his head in an I-told-you-so gesture, which he firmly ignored.
“Our dear Inquisitor arrives, having survived a flocking of the masses,” Dorian said by way of greeting.
Arlaros laughed quietly and shook his head. “You would think I had killed Corypheus with the kind of welcome I’ve been getting. How come you two aren’t swamped with questions?”
Varric spread his hands in an expressive shrug. “There’s no love for the grunts,” he answered, a chuckle in his voice. “I don’t think anyone has realized that we were there.”
A longing expression spread across Arlaros’s features, making both Dorian and Varric laugh. Varric waved to the barkeep and yelled, “Can we have a round for the slayer of the high dragon?”
There was a fraction of a second where Arlaros looked like he wanted to strangle the dwarf. Then, he sighed. “I expect support here,” he muttered, then he painted on a smile and turned toward the crowd of people nearby.
Dorian watched him with a soft smile, and he knew without looking that Varric was watching him. Sparkles in his eyes. Maker.
#my fics#dorian pavus#varric tethras#arlaros lavellan#dragon age inquisition#dai#i felt like i had to discuss dorian's nickname with this prompt#and then it kind of devolved into unwanted advice from varric lol#i picture this being set pretty soon after they move to skyhold btw
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@imbricare sent a meme: have we reached the stage where we gossip about each other's love lives? / eleanor for varric 😘
“ I don't know, Lady Thistle. Have we? ” Varric arched a curious brow across the desk at her, elbows leaning forward on the table. His response was very much a test of Eleanor's reaction: whether this would prove the opening of doors between sometimes work colleagues, sometimes confidantes, sometimes friends, or whether she'd simply slam it shut in his face instead. His business partner was a difficult woman to read at times, but Varric liked to think that he could get away with more than most. He'd soon find out. “ There's a scintillating serial I intend to pitch to my publisher about two rival queens who, to their loyal subjects, appear mortal enemies but, known only to themselves and a few trusted companions, secretly share a bed at night. Any gossip you had to share about Aria T'loak's comings and goings would undoubtedly help get the creative juices flowing. ”
#imbricare#imbricare: eleanor guthrie#* / answered ( varric tethras. )#* / verse: mass effect ( varric tethras. )#so i didn't answer the one you sent recently because i found this one deep in my inbox and i remember how Feral these two make me#one of those crossover ships that is TOO perfect dfkgjdf#also eleanor has a varric nickname now B)#and is he jealous of aria ? quite possibly
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I have a deep appreciation for Varric, but if I have to give another character a Varric-type nickname because they're two seconds too long in a scene with this dwarf, I'm going to scream
#series: walk the other way#dragon age fanfiction#this is fine.#one of the most difficult things is assigning characters nicknames for Varric to use i swear to god#especially because varric has such a habit of either using ironic or appearance-based nicknames#felassan and dirthamen were the worst. like. how do you give someone a nickname who's not authentic in any way?#anyway. i have a little plotline planned for mihris and i'm kinda satisfied with varric's nickname for her ... i guess?
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cyrus & varric had to get their own entire document separate from the one where i've written all my other da2 cyrus stuff bc they're so messy but. one day. one day i'll get back to them.
#tumblr decided to throw the tags on the last post through a paper shredder so uh. attempt number 2.#i just need exhausted bloodied cyrus having signed his soul away to kirkwall#snapping viciously at varric for his part in laying the groundwork for his champion persona before he even got the title#'what am i supposed to make of that of all the stories you tell about me of the damned nickname#other than that im supposed to be the world's savior'#cyrus hawke#cyrusXvarric
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for the love of god please stop drawing fenris only ever scowling im so tired of it. the game's been out 10 years and ppl still characterize him as solely grumpy
#i lose 1 hp every time i see him depicted scowling or shirtless#or called broody#which ISNT EVEN varrics nickname for him#varric calls him elf#''broody'' is fanon#im gonna maim
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I feel sun through the ashes in the sky
dragon age brainrot remains undefeated
#dragon age#dragon age inquistor#dragon age inquisition#da: inquisition#inquisitor trevelyan#his name is Rook like the chess piece like all my game characters. First name Adam nickname Rook in a fruity way. transgender style#the sun#yeah OK varric's card is the sun but also. optimism. prosperity. but reverse unrealistic expectation and the weight of that......Mm uh huh#the Weight of that#also he and dorian are married and that's all i'll say on that. Long distance with that calling crystal. eboys moment#someone please take the da:i bard album and exalted march EP away from me instantly#also i'm replaying all the games rn. finish da2 again a couple of weeks back now i'm completing da:o for the fourth or so time aaaa#i'm alive btw.
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I have a Trevelyan OC who doesn't get a ton of "screen time" even in my PSLs. (I do a lot of writing, just most of it is in RP with my wife and will never see the public light of day.) It's because Ramsay is my main Trevelyan's younger brother, and his job in the narrative is to be unjustly killed during the fall of Ostwick Circle so his sister has a Tragic Backstory. But almost all of my Trevelyan siblings have a continuity where they're Inquisitor, and I wrote one up for Ramsay last year just for fun, and he ended up as this kind of cool, anti-authoritarian mage who specializes in fire and rift magic. I imagine him having, like... will anyone know what I mean if I say Wolverine Energy? Gruff, emotionally guarded, has done and is capable of doing very violent things, but also prone to ending up in leadership roles despite being like "ugh, no, I'm not a role model", would function well with a young girl as a morality pet.
Anyway what I've got stuck in my craw right now is the idea of a Trevelyan/Hawke fic with Ramsay and my red/purple blood mage f!Hawke (a classic Spiky Lady Character named Marsali), probably starting around Hawke's introduction in Inquisition and through the end of Here Lies the Abyss. The Warden companion is Carver, and it's this big heartwrenching thing when they're in the Fade and someone has to stay behind.
(Stuck this behind a read more because I just rambled about mirrored narratives wheee)
Marsali and Ramsay are both naturally wary of each other, they're both these guarded sorts of people, slow to trust. But they're such good mirrors of each other, and if you know me, you know I'm a big sucker for mirrored narratives. Marsali is the daughter of an apostate father and a noble mother; Ramsay is the son of a noble father and a common-born mother. They're both very much like their fathers, much to their own dysfunctions, Marsali because they're alike in personality and intensely close to hers, Ramsay because he's the only one of his siblings with a strong physical resemblance to a man who refuses to acknowledge him.
Marsali tries to suppress a natural talent and inclination for blood magic, but actively chose to learn arcane and force magic - schools of magic that focus on buffs, shields, areas of effect that push people away or slow them down - and only employs her more truly violent and aggressive blood magic abilities when she's backed into a corner or loses control. Her father shares her talent for blood magic and kept her from learning to harness it until she was an adult (long, long after she'd developed bad habits and a complete distaste for it, too late to cultivate true control). Ramsay has a natural talent for destructive magic and instead pursued control of it, turning his gift for violent magic into a useful weapon under the mentorship of a similarly inclined father figure in the form of Ostwick's First Enchanter.
Marsali is a mage protective older sister to a non-mage younger brother (who only didn't join the Templars because fate forced him into the Wardens). Ramsay is a mage younger brother to a protective older sister who joined the Templars to look after him in the Circle. Marsali and Carver's relationship is loving, but it has walls up as she's been parentified, and is often quite contentious and full of bickering; despite effectively being his mother figure, Thayet is much more open with Ramsay, especially after escaping the Circle. They rarely fight. For both Marsali and Ramsay, their sibling is the only family they really have, Marsali because hers is all dead, Ramsay because Thayet is the only one who wants to acknowledge he exists.
Marsali consistently shirks and runs from responsibility to anything bigger than herself, only grudgingly taking up the fight against Corypheus because she feels personally responsible for it beginning - and because of the danger to Carver with the false calling. Ramsay grows into authority and takes well to the kind of big picture responsibilities that the Inquisition demands, and he chooses the life and actions of a hero because it instinctively feels like the right thing to do.
And yet, because of their other-side-of-the-coin sorts of differences, I think they would really understand each other. Like they're just the correct amount of distance from one another to have the best view. Marsali sees Ramsay and understands exactly what it takes to be that sort of person, because she tried to be that kind of person and buckled; Ramsay sees Marsali and knows exactly how much love she has for the people around her, because he knows how difficult it is to care for other people in a world that's constantly trying to tear you away from them, up to and including by killing them.
And, of course, because of how similar Marsali and Carver are to Ramsay and his sister... holy shit choosing between them would be torture. Does he let Marsali die protecting her little brother and force Carver to live with a survivor's guilt that Ramsay couldn't stomach himself? Or does he let Carver do what he would do, stay behind and be the protector for once, knowing exactly what that kind of loss would do to Marsali?
I have an idea of what I'd do, but it's still percolating. I think for this fic I'd do an even split in POV specifically to show the depth of their sibling relationships so that bit in the Fade with the Nightmare feels incredibly fraught and tense.
#bog post#my writing#my ocs#dragon age#hawke#the inquisitor#Trevelyan#ramsay trevelyan#marsali hawke#oh i could do a thing with hawke's narrative#where she only uses her first name when carver is around#bc obviously he doesn't call her 'hawke' and that's an extra layer of guard between her and others#only letting carver - not even varric just carver - use her given name#acting as head of the family (what's left of it) by using her surname with everyone else#while ramsay uses his given name for everyone#but his nickname - ram - with his sister and close friends#because ramsay is more community-minded and more open to building found family#and marsali thinks of family as a vulnerable and finite resource to be treated with special caution
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trying to force myself to write more so here’s a little sebhawke fic i wrote:
The first time Sebastian saw Marian Hawke, he remembered her as striking; like a flash of lightning streaking across an overcast sky, she stood vivid and dangerous, and his eyes had been drawn to her immediately.
She looked comically out of place in the chantry, with its robed sisters and quiet solemnity; she wore a low-cut tunic that drew a side-eye from many, the fur around her collar betraying her Ferelden origins. A large halberd was strapped to her back, candlelight glinting off its fine blade. Her hair, cut short and choppy, framed her petite face, looking for all the world like she’d shorn it off herself in a hurry. A slash of red across her pointed nose matched the shade of her lips.
But what he remembered most were her eyes. The brightest shade of blue, he’d been immediately reminded of the Minanter River in the summer. Instead of its tranquil waters, however, her eyes were more akin to a raging torrent, wild and ravenous. Like she was a flood that would devour everything in her path, and anything less would not satisfy her. He had a feeling she could’ve laid waste to everyone and everything in the city, had she the inclination.
Yet, despite the power and tension that radiated off her in equal measure, this mysterious woman did not disrupt the service she’d unceremoniously walked in the middle of. Instead she waited by the door, ignoring the looks of concern that some of the other sisters were giving her. Sebastian, from his place up by the altar, saw Sister Lorena approach the wild stranger, speaking in low tones so as not to disrupt the service.
He couldn’t hear them, but he’d guessed that Lorena was attempting to persuade her to leave, her presence distracting the chantry’s patrons. But her attempts failed as the woman shook her head, and she said something that made Lorena frown. Then, the sister looked up, her bony fingers pointed towards the altar. The woman’s eyes followed, those stormy blue depths suddenly focused on him.
For the rest of the service, though Sebastian tried to pay attention, he couldn’t shake the feeling of those eyes on him. Finally, as the grand cleric drew things to a close and the patrons began to filter out, Sister Lorena approached him, informing him that a woman was here to see him. From the wary look on her face, she probably believed her to be some kind of lady caller, a remnant of his womanizing days that everyone in the Kirkwall chantry seemed to know about. Lorena was one of the few who didn’t believe he’d truly changed his ways. Spoiled types like him never did, according to her.
Eager to be away from her scrutiny, and curious about the stranger, he thanked her for the information and quickly walked away. The woman was still standing by the front doors, her narrowed eyes trained on him. He felt like she was sizing him up. As he approached, he realized she was much shorter than him, reaching not much higher than his shoulders; that did not serve to make her any less intimidating.
When he was within earshot, she wasted no time.
Her voice was surprisingly delicate. “Prince Sebastian Vael?”
At his formal title, Sebastian tensed. “Er, yes? How may I help you?”
The woman dug into a pouch that hung low off her hip, then held out her closed fist towards him. He raised a brow but extended his own hand, and let her drop whatever it was into his palm. They were still safely in the chantry, so he wasn’t afraid; after all, who would attempt brazen violence in the home of the Maker?
The clink of metal was heard, and when Sebastian pulled his hand back to get a closer look, his breath caught in his throat. Nestled in his palm was a familiar gold chain and locket. Its surface was engraved with the three encircling dragons that made up the Vael family crest.
He knew this locket. Trembling, he closed his fingers around it and looked up at the woman. Her expression remained intense, but somehow, he thought her eyes had softened.
“Where…?” His voice was a rasp.
“The mercenaries who killed your family are all dead,” she informed him. “I found that on one of them.”
“The mercenaries…?”
At once, the memory came rushing back to him. Spurred by anger and grief, the notice he’d pinned to the chanter’s board was a cry for blood. Completely understandable for a bereaved man, suddenly the last of his line, but absolutely unacceptable for a brother of the faith. Elthina’s disappointed face haunted him nearly as much as the ghosts of his slain family.
And apparently, this woman had avenged them.
He remembered speaking more with the woman — Marian Hawke, as he’d learned — and paying her the amount she was due for her hard work. It was a pittance, not nearly worth his brothers’ and parents’ lives, not to mention the niece and nephews he never got to meet. But when he promised her more, she shook her head, and finally, he saw her red lips tilt up in a smile.
“Live well for them,” was all she had said, before turning and marching out of the chantry. Sebastian stared after her, utterly transfixed.
That night, as he sat on his threadbare bed in his tiny little room at the chantry, he’d taken the locket out and stared at it. The last time he’d seen it, it sat at the hollow of his grandmother’s throat. She regaled a younger Sebastian with stories from her youth, speaking of how his grandfather won her heart with his roguish, yet sincere ways, of how he’d commissioned the locket for her as a wedding gift. She promised Sebastian, her little dove, that the locket would be his, one day.
Then she died, and the locket sat in his father’s study for months… until his oldest brother’s bride-to-be demanded it for her wedding attire. By that point, Sebastian had exhausted his parents’ goodwill, and he found himself shipped off to Kirkwall, so he couldn’t protest the decision. He was the chantry’s now, he had no claim to earthly possessions, no matter how long ago they’d been promised to him.
And now, despite everything, it sat there, in his hands.
Fingers still trembling, he pried open the locket. On one side, protected by a thin pane of glass, was a single dried thistle. The plant was a symbol of Starkhaven, apparently, even though Sebastian had always found it harsh and unattractive. Then his grandmother told him what the thistle represented; devotion, strength, overcoming adversity.
He brushed his thumb against the glass, and looked at the other side. Engraved in an elegant script, meant to evoke his grandfather’s handwriting, was a quote from the Canticle of Trials.
“In the long hours of the night
When hope has abandoned me,
I will see the stars and know
Your Light remains.”
Rereading those words, Sebastian felt his eyes burn. For the first time in months since he’d learned of their deaths, he wept for his family. He fell asleep clutching the locket to his chest, and spent every day after wearing it underneath his armor, his determination to reclaim his family’s legacy now stronger than ever.
And when he met with Marian Hawke again and again, with increasing familiarity, he could swear the locket radiated warmth against his chest.
#my fic#sebhawke#i really like this one actually but it feels too short to post to ao3 lol#sebastian vael#marian hawke#female hawke#spoilers he gives marian the locket as his proposal uwu#anyway my headcanon is that sebastian 100% waxes poetic in his head all the damn time#and it he ever wrote a book of love poems he'd outsell varric in a day#also it's dumb but i really like the idea that seb's childhood nickname was little dove shgjksf#be...because his wife is a hawke#get it
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I hate that the DAI phoenixes are the way that they are. Mostly because going by the classic description "Phoenix" would be the perfect nickname for Varric to bestow on Alaris but because they are the way that they are it just doesn't work, and as far as I'm aware Thedas doesn't have any sort of similar firebird creature. Terribly annoying.
#dragon age inquisition#alaris lavellan#i know i COULD just keep using 'quiz' but that feels lazy#...and i know that varric's nicknames sometimes are quite lazy. but that's not the point
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i still just think...varric calling elspeth “poppy” bc of her hair.
#anyone calling els ''poppy'' would be cute tbh#but i like to think it'd be varric's nickname for her#like he has one for (almost) everyone else in the squad#ooc. ( off questing )#v; upon the precipice of change. ( da2 )
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is it “inquisitor snappy” or “inquisitor’s nappy”?
it's inquisitor snappy
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Daisy on da tent, what she goin' do?
#daisy is the horse#i named her that without knowing about varrics nickname#so#daisy the horse#daisy the bog unicorn#bog unicorn#tw horror#a bit#deshan lavellan
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