#Dascha/Blackwall
Note
Happy Friday, I would love to see something cute! Dascha Cadash/Blackwall - "we’ll survive, you and i. "
Cuteness occurs! I'm incapable of pure fluff, but it's more cute than not so we're going with it.
@dadrunkwriting
Word count: 986
Pairing: Blackwall/Dascha Cadash
Content warnings: mentions of theoretical child death??
Timeline: Post Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts but before Here Lies the Abyss (and thus pre-Blackwall Plot Twists)
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“We’ll survive, you and I,” Blackwall assured her one night in camp. His sword was laid out on his knees as he ran an oil cloth over it while Dascha checked the fletching on her arrows as they kept watch.
Technically it was just Blackwall’s watch, but everyone had long since come to accept that Dascha would sit it on as many watches as she could to avoid sleeping. And hopefully they’d be joining the host of the Inquisition’s forces soon to take down the attempt at a demon army the wardens were brewing, which meant none of Dascha's companions would need to take a watch again for a while.
"What brought that on?" Dascha didn't stop her fussing with feathers, and Blackwall didn't stop the long slow sweeps of his oilcloth. "Are you getting maudlin in your old age?"
"Cute," Blackwall snorted, and she could see the twitch of his mustache in the firelight that showed he meant it. "No, I only wanted to say it. You've been tense lately, more than usual."
"Right because there's nothing to be tense about," Dascha barked a laugh, probably sounding half manic. "I put a warmonger on the throne, we killed a dragon yesterday, and when the army gets here we get to march on wardens, your brethren. Nothing to be tense about."
"I didn't say there was no reason." Apparently doubting his sincerity was what it took to get Blackwall to set down his sword. He wrapped it lightly in the cloth kit he'd had splayed in his lap and laid it gently in the sand before he approached her.
Soon she was tucked up against his side on the same side of the fire facing out past the cliffs and dunes. Less than the blazing heat of the fire before her, but Blackwall's warmth was better certainly, especially without his gambeson or any armor plating getting in the way. Dascha set her arrows down on the other side and leaned into him.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, only the crackling fire, Bull's snores, and some squabbling phoenixes in the distance to break the night's quiet. If Dascha weren't nightblind already she imagined the stars might be pretty.
"You aren't going to lull me to sleep," she grumbled after a while, ignoring how her eyes wanted to droop, instead nuzzling her head into his side.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he assured her. "I only thought you deserved a moment of peace. You've more than earned it, and more than most."
"Sweet talker." And he was. You wouldn't think it, big hulking hairy man with a sword and a thick marcher accent, but Dascha had never heard half the sweet nothings he whispered to her in their brief moments before a kiss was stolen and they each went back to their own duties. "So. We both survive. What then?"
"Kill Corypheus, I should hope. Then whatever else the Inquisition needs done."
"And you with the wardens? Once this calling thing stops." Alistair hadn't said much to her about it, said it was Blackwall's place since they were together, but it didn't sound good, not if it could scare all the wardens in the south to succumb to demons.
"Perhaps. But I would hardly be the first warden to take a step back. Move on from being a wandering recruiter and start training the young upstarts instead, or desk work. Every organization has desk work, even the wardens."
"We could have rooms in a warden keep then?" That didn't sound too bad, truth be told. She was kind of used to living in a keep now anyway, and the Inquisition wouldn't go on forever. Even if it did, she could pass the reins to someone else once the current crisis was past; what use was she in dealing with all this Andrastian nonsense? Once the rifts were all dealt with and Corypheus was dead, Dascha could quit. They only needed her for her arm anyway.
“Or a cottage near one. It’d be warmer, and there’d be more room.”
“Room? What would we need room for?” Dascha had slept in Carta boltholes ever since leaving Orzammar; her cabin in Haven had already seemed huge by comparison, and her quarters in Skyhold were ridiculously opulent. What would she ever need more room for?
“Whatever we want, I suppose. Things. A dog. Children.”
Children. Ancestors that was a possibility wasn’t it? If they were serious. Dascha tried to laugh it off anyway. Dascha could only see Blackwall’s face a little by peeking up through her lashes, but he looked just as queasy to say it as she did to hear it. How did people even raise children? Not like she’d been raised, certainly.
“That would involve actually having sex, Warden.” Which they hadn’t done, not for lack of trying. It was just impossible to have more than a few seconds to themselves with the Inquisition it seemed, everything always on the edge of collapsing. “And dwarves aren’t known for our, ah, fertility as is. I should tell you about Orzammar sometime, and the noble chasers.”
“But if it happened, would you be opposed?”
“Would you?”
Blackwall had a rather visceral reaction to children screaming she’d learned, even though the children in Skyhold only did so for fun while playing. But his hackles rose and if it happened suddenly he was liable to spin around with his sword drawn; there was something there. Had he been a father before the Wardens? Or had he simply seen one too many kids killed by darkspawn in the Blight?
“I’m not. Opposed, I mean. If you wanted children, I’d want them too.” Not that he did for certain want them now, but not that he didn't, either.
“We’ll see. After we finally have the chance to knock boots, then you can think about all the fat hairy babies we’re gonna have, okay?”
#dadwc#Dascha/Blackwall#Dascha Cadash#oh god what do I tag things I haven't done a fill in over a month
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Hiya Kia,
For Dascha and Blackwall, from the 'Language of flowers' prompts:
oak (strength) — “you’re stronger than you think.”
Thank you!!! here's some pre-Dascha/Blackwall (set nebulously before the battle of Haven).
@dadrunkwriting
Warnings: none? unless you're afraid of whittling
Blackwall was halfway through carving it before he knew what he was carving, or why, or who for. It was a simple, pensive task for him, carving. It kept his hands busy, so the rest of him could keep awake for his watch.
The shape in his hand, when he finally though to examine it, was simple yet. A bulky torso, a blocky head, and thick stubby legs, waiting for him to pay more attention to the finer details. The pile pile of shavings at his feet gave lie to the size of the piece of wood it once had been, a small block of oak he'd picked up a ways back without any intent.
It could be a dog with enough time. Haven was technically in Ferelden, and the children in the village would likely enjoy a little mabari.
But it wasn’t a toy in the same sense of the others he’d made for them. Children wanted toys big enough to hold in both hands, sturdy enough to throw without breaking, and this could never be that. It hadn’t been a large piece of wood to begin with, and his whittling had only made it smaller.
Not a toy then. A token. A paper weight, at most.
He turned it in his hands, and determind it wouldn’t be a mabari either. The ears were too round, and he was loathe to clip them. His idle hands had rounded them well. A bear.
With a direction chosen, he turned his attention back to the night as his hands worked.
Come morning, long after he had passed the watch over to Cassandra, Blackwall left his tent to a bright morning, and the sight of the Herald hunched grumpily over the stew pot filled with their breakfast. Staring into the void that was porridge, the bags under her eyes heavier than they had been even at dinner the night before.
Likely, she hadn’t slept at all. Blackwall found she rarely did.
He was beside her before he thought to do it, taking the ladle from her and pressing a small wooden bear into her hands in its place.
“What’s this?” She looked suspicious as she eyed it.
“A bear.” Small, yes, but sturdy. Strong. Like her. She was so much stronger than she knew.
She didn’t say much else that morning, only worried the bear with her thumbs over breakfast and tucked it in her pack before they set out. She clearly didn’t consider it anything other than the gift it was, didn’t try to return it, and the embers her flirtations had sparked over the past weeks flared a little brighter in Blackwall’s heart.
That day on the road, when Dascha stumbled he calmly took her elbow and steady her, and when she started to flag as the day wore on, he stepped in with conversation to rouse her from the walking slumber. And when he took first watch she sat with him, her hands idly stroking the little bear as his worked a new piece of wood, a new small creature to keep him busy as he fought to keep his eyes on the night and off of her.
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It's Friday, Kia! I am super interested in "sitting in their lap" from the Intimacy prompts – for your Inquisitor and a character of your choice? :D Have fun!
@dadrunkwriting
Wound up going for platonic cuddles with Dorian & Cadash.
The library at Skyhold would never live up to its true potential, considering the Inquisition was technically associated with the Southern Chantry. Never mind that the Inquisitor herself was an agnostic dwarf, or that half of her chosen associates would under any other circumstances certainly be persona non grata to the Chantry, because ultimately they would answer to the next Divine.
Of course, without any candidates even selected yet that should have been a moot point, but Dorian found that the organization was quite staunch in ignoring that.
With a huff, Dorian gave up on finding any reputable works on magical resonance to different materials and resigned himself to writing down what he remembered from his studies so long ago and working from that. Perhaps if he wrote Maevaris she could send him something worth reading, but she was so busy with her own affairs in Minrathous it was hardly fair of him to ask her for such a small favor.
In the rotunda below, the first of Solas’ murals was taking shape. There was something familiar about the style, but Dorian couldn’t think of precisely why. Perhaps some street art, or something he had seen in a museum once? Still, it was better than the broken stained glass and utter lack of art currently on display in the castle.
Perhaps he would ask. Likely he wouldn’t.
“There you are!” the Herald, or rather, the Inquisitor’s voice pulled his attention back to the current floor as he rounded back to the little nook he had claimed as his own workspace.
“Dascha, welcome as always,” Dorian twitched a small smile. She was a curious little thing. A dwarf with a connection to the Fade, forced by the Anchor embedded in her hand, the very reason for his frustrated studies. “What can you do for you?”
“I just wanted to hang out.” She was already nestled into the one free portion of the couch, the rest piled with books and scrolls.
“I see. Would you prefer to take this to the pub? I’m afraid I’m rather lacking in seating at the moment.” He should probably do something about that, or else procure an extra chair. That would certainly be the easier option, as he was actively using most of those books for references any given day. He could hardly put them away when he would inevitably want them again later that same day!
“Here’s fine, I don’t want to interrupt your work. Come on over.” And then she patted her leg.
Dorian could hardly help his snort. “I’m hardly a dog to call to heel, Inquisitor.”
“Cute. Just sit, yeah?”
“You don’t mean on your lap?”
“I do. It’s not a big deal Dorian, I’ve cuddled up with half the Inquisition at this point.” An exaggeration of course. Dorian had seen her getting rather close with Blackwall on the trek through the mountains, but beyond that? “Quit overthinking it. Grab your book and take a seat. I just- I’m used to being closer to people than this. It’s a friend thing, that’s it.”
He would find that Dascha did indeed make for a fine seat, a nice layer of squish around a squat muscular frame, if a bit of a higher seat and lower back than he was accustomed. For her part, Dascha seemed content that way, just being close to another person as he read through treatises, so much so that she nearly feel asleep that way.
It did make things a bit awkward when Leliana came looking for her, but Dascha acted as if it was completely normal and so Dorian would too.
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Figured I'd mix it up this Friday for DADWC. Perhaps: trembling hands and running your finger down their spine and “You said you trusted me. What changed?” (A little something from all the bits and bobs. Happy Friday!)
@dadrunkwriting
I opted to go Blackwall/Cadash for this prompt.
Skyhold had become alien in the brief weeks since he stole away, finally revealing himself for the coward he had always been.
When he left, there had been revelry. The Empress lived, the Wardens were no longer under Corypheus’ thrall, temporarily exiled north until their continued freedom could be guaranteed, all the major plans of the enemy were thwarted. And Das- Inquisitor Cadash had spent the night in the hayloft with him.
He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have done a lot of things. Most things.
“Leave us.”
The Commander had made it no secret on the return journey just how many strings Lady Josephine had pulled to have him remanded into their custody. How much damage he was doing to the Inquisition by existing, and how much more he had done with his relationship with the Inquisitor, the Warden treaties, everything.
“Blackwall.”
He didn’t look up. She was not meant for his eyes. He had spent months wondering, and a night drinking her in, and abandoned her.
“Blackwall, please.”
He fixed his eyes to the ground, to her boots. He couldn’t. His hands were clasped in front of him to still the trembling. It had been bad enough to see her horror in Val Royeaux, he could not bear it again.
“Thom Rainier!”
He could not still his flinch when she spoke that name - his name. The Inquisitor did not allow him to retreat further, her fingers catching him under the chin. Fingers he knew to be rough, though through his beard they could have been anything.
“Is that it, then?” The harshness bled out of her voice, only resignation remained. She looked a decade older than she had in Val Royeaux. She was losing sleep because of him, and she got precious little as it was.
Dwarves were not meant to dream, she had confided in him months before. And though he had always known that intellectually, until she spoke to him he had never truly considered it. But the Anchor had changed her. When she closed her eyes at night she did not open them to morning but to thoughts, strange hallucinations, memories, all combined. It was harrowing for a mind not meant to handle it.
Before they went to sleep, that final night, she said she was looking forward to dreaming beside him. And he left.
“As Your Worship wills it,” he said instead. Her fingers tightened on his chin and let go.
“Don’t call me that, not you,” she breathed. She slumped onto the narrow bench beside him and kicked the manacles chaining his legs. “Please.”
“Dascha.” Her name was a prayer. She hated it, Dascha Cadash, but it was the only name he was permitted to call her. Not Inquisitor, never Herald, only Dascha. “I never meant for you to know.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that out.” She learned against his side, her hand running up and down his back. She couldn’t mean to, it was simply habit. She couldn’t want anything to do with him any longer. “You… you said you trusted me. What changed?”
“Nothing my la- Dascha.” He held himself still as a statue. “Nothing changed. I trust you still.”
“Not with this.” He didn’t have a response for her. There was nothing he could muster to refute her. He had trusted her with everything but his past. It simply hadn’t been enough.
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Prompt List
Open
When prompts are open, I’ll do prompts from these lists. Please provide the full prompt text, not just a number, and feel free to combine prompts.
Currently I’m only taking prompts for the Dragon Age fandom (games)
Pairings: I’ll give anything a try within reason.
Vibes: bolded stuff, either very romantic or very platonic stuff
Prompt lists:
101 Ways to Say I Love You With Actions by emswritingprompts
f scott fitzgerald prompts by nirikeehan
Angsty Poem Prompts by nirikeehan
Margaret Atwood Poetry Prompts by nirikeehan
Love Confession Prompts by creativepromptsforwriting
Symbolism of Flowers by novlr
Charles Dickens prompts by theluckywizard
The Dear Hunter lyrics prompts by me
DA Codex prompts by nirikeehan
Serault Prompts by dreadfutures
Dramatic & Protective Relationship Prompts by mcflymemes
Budding Romance Prompts by mcflymemes
Medieval & Fantasy Sentence Starters by nightprompts
Some existing characters available for requests (or just give me a class/race combo and I’ll make someone up on the fly):
Hero of Ferelden:
Leda Aeducan (canon romance Zevran) - rogue archer (ranger)
Robin Amell (canon romance Alistair) - mage (healer)
Talin Mahariel (canon romance Morrigan) - warrior (champion)
Hawkes:
Anthony Hawke (canon romance Anders) - mage (force/elemental)
Inquisitors:
Dascha Cadash (canon romance Blackwall) - rogue archer (tempest)
Moreadhiel Lavellan (canon romance Solas) - mage (knight enchanter)
Atrian Lavellan (canon romance Dorian) - mage (rift mage)
Karsi Trevelyan (canon romance Cullen) - dagger rogue (tempest)
Other OCs:
Hamin Surana (Inquisition requisition agent) - mage/hunter (arcane rogue)
June (Human MCIT Inquisitor, canon romance Solas) - mage (”creative”)
Random AUs I apparently have now:
Mage!Cullen AU (after Uldred’s assault on the Circle Tower, Cullen manifests as a mage)
Warden!Fenris AU (Fenris fled to Ferelden instead of Kirkwall and joins the Grey Wardens. Leda Aeducan/Fenris)
Vampire!Merrill (the spirit helping her with the eluvian was Hunger, and the side effects are... a bit much)
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Dwarves are not Meant for Dreaming (Dragon Age Inquisition One-Shot)
Summary: Dwarves are not meant for dreaming, but maybe Dascha wasn't meant for dwarfing.
Pairing: minor Blackwall/Cadash
AO3 Link
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