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sulky-valkyrie · 3 months

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Hey Sulky! I'd love to see something with the Origins crew for the prompt "They all have different drinks in the morning, and all of them know by heart what and how the others like to drink theirs (for example coffee, tea and energy drink, coffee with milk, tea with a tiny bit sugar, and a very specific brand and sort of energy drink)" in 600 words or less!

Happy Friday, Lucky! Have 600 words on the nose of a slice of life of the DAO crew's morning drink habits for @dadrunkwriting

The door handle rattled loudly. “Breakfast!”

Ris groaned and rolled to her back. Leliana was always too chipper in the mornings, but this time she seemed particularly grating. It made sense, and she’d regret it if she didn’t take advantage of it: real food, not a cookpot of whatever oats and barley and bits of dried meat they’d scraped together. The arl’s estate in Denerim was by far the nicest place they’d slept, even if the arl himself left a great deal to be desired.

As she sat up, Alistair grumbled sleepily and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Five more minutes.”

Five would turn into ten, then twenty, then an hour, and breakfast would be cold or gone before they made it down. “Now,” she yawned firmly. “Bacon, Alistair. Bacon and real bread and tea. With milk.”

That got his attention. “You think?”

“We’ll never know if we don’t go down there.” She slipped out of his grasp and tugged one of his shirts on. "Come on.”

He sat up, stared blearily at her – his – clothes, then handed her the belt from his trousers. “Dress fit for a queen.” It practically was, minus the ‘queen’ bit. With the belt around her waist, it bunched and flared out almost like a dress should. Alistair was big, even for a human, and though Ris had the height to look most elven men in the face, she was still slender.

A quick kiss later, and they headed downstairs and found Zevran and Leliana already eating, while Morrigan stirred her usual strange herb concoction in a wooden cup - not quite tea, because it dissolved instead of steeped, but something like it. “Thought you'd be in bed at least until lunchtime,” she muttered.

Alistair blushed as he sat down as far from Morrigan as the table allowed. Leliana passed him a mug of tea, and he frowned at it, then her. “Did you –”

“It's got all the milk you want,” she interrupted as she offered a different to Ris as while she grabbed a plate. “And none of it for you.”

Ris smiled in thanks as Sten appeared in the doorway holding a tankard. “The brewmaster was reluctant to part with ale this early, but I prevailed.” He put it down at an empty seat, then walked around to the coffee pot.

Zevran grinned and slid a cup in front of him. “No need, my good Sten. I have yours right here, and with enough sugar that the spoon stood at attention, as befits a warrior of the Beresaad.”

“Your attention to my preferences will not make you any safer when my people return to conquer these lands.”

“Ah, but they will make me safer now, will they not?” Zevran replied cheekily. “If I please you now, will you hold the line more firmly? Turn a blade meant for my back?”

Sten rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. Ris had sampled it once, and had found it so painfully sweet she thought her tongue might shrivel up and die, like a slug that had been salted.

Wynne, Shale, and Ohgren were still missing, but that wasn't much of a surprise. Ohgren was likely sleeping off a hangover, and Wynne had probably awoken hours ago and gone to Eamon's library. Even as she wondered, Shale came in from the kitchen holding a steaming bowl and followed by a prancing wagging Borkin.

Alistair took a curious sniff as she put it down on the floor. “Chicken broth?”

“The furry squishy one deserves a treat as much as the rest of you.”

#da drunk writing circle #dragon age #dragon age origins #prompt fills #warden x alistair #leliana #zevran arainai #morrigan #sten #shale #mabari #ris

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shivunin · 10 months

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✨Self-Rec Tag Game ✨

Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made. I’ve put categories below, but they’re more guidelines than rules. 1. Something you absolutely adore 2. Something that was challenging to create 3. Something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably) 4. Something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.) 5. Something you want other people to see

@gaysebastianvael and @dungeons-and-dragon-age tagged me back to do this; thank you both! c:

Tidal Lock (T, 20k words, Cullavellan): This fic is the first finished thing I posted to AO3. It's a pretty different style from the other things I've written, but it's my comfort read for myself. I love stories that loop in on themselves, so have a big ol soft spot for it c: Writing Cullen as a kid was so fun and I fully intend to do it again sometime.

My Fenris scarf. My hands are a bit shaky, so I have a hard time drawing things. Unfortunately, I needed to draw the lyrium brand design straight onto the yarn (not a great surface for drawing things, btw) before I could embroider them into it with the glow-in-the-dark yarn. It turned out really well, but just putting the design down with chalk paint took at least three hours (only a little less than doing all of the embroidery)

3. Ohhh man, I'm having trouble deciding! Here are three options:

This ficlet about Elowen and Cullen after they almost kiss. They are both such an absolute mess, this conversation is even messier, and every time I think about it I get the giggles c:

This ficlet about Hawke producing most of a deck of cards from her and Fenris's person after a night at the Hanged Man (I just...think it's funny to imagine her sticking them into his belt during a card game and Fenris fully knows, but pretends he doesn't. for the bit)

This fic on AO3 (explicit) with Arianwen and Zevran; specifically the part after the smut things are done, when they're dusting each other off and lightly arguing about their little competition. They're just...such dorks sometimes.

4. Search Your Hands (E, 13,581 words), easy. I actually had this most of the way finished six months before I finished it, but I was convinced it was too silly to post (and thankfully @star--nymph convinced me that it was worth finishing <3).

One of my favorite things about writing Cullavellan is exploring the funky little miscommunications that happen with you're in a multicultural relationship and this fic was inspired by that. There's just a mismatch between Cullen (who, having very few personal possessions, is almost certainly inexperienced at receiving gifts) and a cultural tradition involving gift-giving as an expression of Serious Romantic Intent. I did not expect it to be as well-loved as it is, but it has (by a dramatic margin) the highest kudos to bookmarks ratio of all my stories (at ~1/3) and is like...the fifth most-kudo'd thing I have on AO3, which is wild for a one-shot with minimal smut.

5. Wander the Drifting Roads!! (M, 108,331 words)

It is the fic I am most proud of (though I think Palimpsest might be my number two at the moment) and it's also, indirectly, the reason I wound up actually deciding to participate in the Dragon Age fandom. I wouldn't have most of my fandom friends without Wander, so just that would be enough for me to want to share it.

Friendship aside, though, I think it's some of my best writing. Cullen is exposed to red lyrium and loses his memory in between the main game and Trespasser. His Lavellan (Emmaera) has to figure out how to carry on without him as Commander or her lover and they take a very long road back to each other again. If you're okay with some angst before a happy ending (or if you're really into yearning), I think it's a great exploration of what makes someone who they are: is it a formal title or role? is it memory? is it the circumstances they've overcome to get where they are? or is it something less easily-defined than that?

Writing Wander was very challenging (especially towards the end) but so rewarding and worth it. When I want to feel that very particular sort of hurt you get from a sad fic (the kind that twists in your heart), I open up Wander again and put myself through chapter 7.

(I want to stress that it does have a happy ending lol, and a whole anthology of sweet domestic things to follow it up, but I think most people hang onto the hurt part of the hurt/comfort in Wander lol)

I tried to tag most of my mutuals when I made the original post, but: @daggerbean I'd love to see what you've made! and anyone else who wants a reason to show off your fanstuff is welcome to join in c: Tag me so I can see!

#can you tell i am a numbers enthusiast? in the sense that i like tracking and analyzing them #not so much the like. clout or w/e is supposed to come with the Right Numbers #if i missed you in the first one i am so sorry!! i tried to get everyone and it was not on purpose #tag game #self-rec tag game #shivunin scrivening #read wander and tell me what you think!! i really really love it

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heniareth · 7 months

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For the seven characters thing: Zev, Alistair, Morrigan, Wynne, Leliana, Sten, and Ilanlas c:

Ooooh, the core companions!! This is going to be delicious 👀👀👀👀👀 Let's get to it!

I'm going grocery shopping with Alistair

Alistair strikes me as the ultimate roommate. And so I'm taking him grocery shopping! We're going to load the cart full of good food, gawk at exorbitant prices and make fun of weird products in the supermarket. He's going to buy too much food bc he's used to calculating portions for all of the templar recruits and it will be fine because we all eat more than we reasonably should be able to. And careying everything up the stairs won't be a problem bc Alistair's strong and I am... getting there XD XD XD

I'm going to have lunch with Ilanlas

We're going to a steak house. A fancy one. We're going to try a meat platter if they have one. I really really want to know what he thinks of beef and chicken and our modern day meat in general, as well as the preparation modes. He's probably going to descend into a rant at some point. I'll needle him for recipes and I hope he gives me one or two. I would also really want him to try Wagyu meat (hope I spelled that one right), but it's probably over my budget. We'll gaze whistfully at it.

I'm going to have coffee with Zevran

I really wanted to take him as a plus one to the wedding, but I suspect he'll assume I expect some kind of service out of him. And I don't want that. And I want to get him some good food, but Ilanlas is already coming to the steak house. So I'm inviting him out for coffee. My treat. I'll get a bunch of sweet and savory food too to go with it and we'll just eat our way through that. A conversation will surely be struck up, and knowing Zevran, it will flow nicely. I do hope he enjoys the food tho. No idea what he'll make of our coffee. I'm interested in learning.

I'm going to go thrift shopping with Morrigan

I feel like Morrigan would be the most appreciative of thriftstores and would also find stuff she likes in there. I personally don't enjoy thrift shopping so much as thrift looking. I'll be coming with, point out ridiculous outfits, look for stuff that Morrigan might like, give my honest opinion when it's time to try the garments on. Girls' night!

I'm going to explore a aquarium art gallery museum with Sten

Listen. Listen. The personal gifts for this man include art. They're almost all paintings. I'm taking him to a classic art museum. We're gonna walk around for hours while he looks at the paintings, makes vague noises and I try to strike up a conversation. It will devolve into a philosoohical debate that will end up going in circles. It will be fun and exhausting.

I'm going to a bookstore with Wynne

I want to know what kind of romance novels she reads. I want to maybe leaf through one, and maybe be a little bit surprised by the things she likes to read. I'm also imagining her walking into a bookstore with So Many Books and going all O.O Books can't be that common in Thedas, and they certainly don't look like ours. I bet Wynne has never heard of a paperback.

I'm going to take Leliana as my plus one to a wedding

Since Zevran is not coming with me, Leliana is! We can dress up fancy, and you know Leliana would love that. We can cheer for the bride and groom, eat lovely food, dance, talk with and about the guest... I think ot would be a lot of fun!

Thank you for the ask!!! I tell you, this was the most welcome distraction today. Hope you're having a lovely day!!

(Here's the seven characters thing)

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inquisimer · 2 years

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happy friday!! how does 'Reading a book together' sound for Mahariel and anyone of your choice?

happy happy friday, anything mahariel always sounds perfect because i love her<3

this has been marinating in my head for a bit and i finally found some motivation to actually type it out this week so have a lil bit of fluff

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

“Did you know, rumor holds that when the last Ferelden king dies, the Dragon’s Peak will erupt in ash and fire?”

Alistair scowled. “Yes. Do you have to read that wretched thing when I’m around?”

“When else am I supposed to read it?” Sari gave him an impish grin over the faded maroon tome. “You’re always around.”

“Maybe we should split up,” he grumbled.

The Compleat Geneaology of the Kyngs of Ferelden was imprinted on the cover in peeling gold paint, and on the spine in smaller filigree of the same shade. Bodahn had practically fallen over when she offered to take it off his hands—“not sure why we kept lugging that brick around to be honest”—though not quite excited enough to offer her more than the usual discount. He was a businessman after all.

“Ostensibly, that means Cailan couldn’t have been the last Ferelden king. Seeing how the only impending world disaster is the Blight.”

“Or maybe it’s a ridiculous rumor, started by the royal advisors, in a propaganda-fueled scheme designed to cement their hold on the throne.”

“The best rumors have a kernel of truth to them.”

Alistair glared at the book with such force that Sari was surprised it didn’t burst into flame. She pulled it back slightly toward her chest, just to be sure it was out of his arm’s reach. She wouldn’t put it past him to ‘accidentally’ knock it into their little fire.

Sari knew that her experiences weren’t universal, but Alistair’s apparent indifference to his lineage irked her. For her part, she’d pestered Ashalle and the Keeper, Ilen and hahren Paivel for hours, begging for even a scrap of her personal history. When her old guardian finally relented, not even a day before they found the eluvian, Sari had taken the story into her heart and looped the necklace around her wrist, where it still firmly clung.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious where you come from?”

“I know where I come from,” he insisted. “Eamon gave me my childhood. Duncan gave me the only part of adulthood worth remembering. The Theirins have given me nothing.”

Sari hummed. She was pushing his buttons, she knew, but they hadn’t really gotten into it much last time around, because he’d put off telling her about his lineage as long as possible.

“Don’t the shems say, ‘blood is thicker than water’?” she asked. To her surprise, Alistair actually smiled at that.

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” he corrected with a snort. “They used to say that to templar recruits who were homesick. I always thought it was fitting for the Wardens, all things considered.”

“No kidding.”

“Regardless,” he said, giving her a sardonic look down his nose, “I’ve never been a Theirin. Their history holds as much interest for me as Morrigan’s sweaty boots.”

Sari shrugged with calculated nonchalance. “Whatever you say. I’d have thought you’d be more concerned about what the book implies about Theirins in general, that less discerning readers might extrapolate to you.”

“What, flowing locks and charismatic leadership?” Alistair scoffed. “There’s nothing in that book anyone would be foolish enough to think applies to me.”

“Oh?” A wicked grin snuck across Sari’s face, which she quickly hid by raising the tome. Years of deceptive antics with Tamlen went into her ability to keep her voice level now. “So you don’t have a birthmark shaped like Lake Calenhad on your—”

His blush rose high in his cheeks faster than the sparks off the fire, and just as red too. Sari didn’t bother hiding her laughter—neither did Leliana or Zevran, who’d been at least pretending they weren’t eavesdropping from where they were keeping watch.

“It does not say that!” Alistair scrambled around the fire, but Sari deftly rolled beyond his reach and danced backward to keep the tome that way as well.

The tome didn’t have a single sentence about birthmarks, of course. It was a dry, dull ode to the monarchy written by an author who was at least a little bit in love with Brandel the Defeated, judging by the apologist rhetoric. But Sari had seen the birthmark for herself—on Alistair, at least. It wasn’t actually a family trait as far as she was aware.

But Alistair didn’t know that for sure and it was going to stay that way, as long as she could keep the tome out of his hands.

She led him on a merry chase around the campsite, weaving between the tents and storage crates and various patches their companions had claimed. Her nimbleness and dexterity gave her the early advantage, but his legs were far longer and he was rapidly gaining on her. In a last, desperate bid, she shoved the tome down her shirt and hugged it tight to keep it from slipping out as Alistair tackled her to the ground behind Bodahn’s wagon.

A fresh blush quickly chased away his look of triumph when he realized where his prize lay. It wasn’t as though the tome was well concealed—it was almost wider than Sari herself—but the thin layer of her tunic was more than his Chantry-ingrained sensibilities could overcome. It probably didn’t help that they were both knocked prone and panting from their little jaunt. Sari could practically see his thought process: from the initial desire to the obvious implication to the Andrastian inhibition. He huffed out a breath and sat back on his haunches, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, keep the bloody book! Let all of Thedas know I have a geographically specific birthmark where the sun don’t shine!”

“Is than an offer of demonstration?” called Zevran.

Alistair made a crass gesture—definitely offending those Chantry sensibilities—in the elf’s direction.

“You know, this book ends with Maric.” Sari had propped herself against one of Bodahn’s wagon wheels and was flipping through the tome once more, toward the back this time. “The author bound a bunch of blank pages after that.”

“He was a little over-optimistic about the Theirin line,” muttered Alistair. Sari looked up at him through her lashes, gauging his mood.

“We could fill it in, after we follow up on Elric’s lead about Ostagar,” she said cautiously. As she expected, Alistair stiffened. He still wasn’t processing his grief properly. She bit back a sigh.

“If you want.” She shrugged, then grinned deviously. “I’ll also gladly include an affidavit that bastards don’t get the birthmark, so you’ll be excluded from the legend.”

“That would just feed the garbage and you know it,” he grumbled. But his eyes and voice were soft when he finally looked over at her.

“I would like that. For Cailan,” he clarified. He cleared his throat and looked away again—the blush was back full force. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said lightly. She stood and allowed herself to casually brush her knuckles across the back of his hand, then went to relieve Leliana from her watch.

#dadwc #my writing #oc: sari mahariel #sari x alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x mahariel #dao #dragon age #gotta make a feastday pranks prompt list bc thats some good material hmmm

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syrupwit · 2 years

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Hi! Welcome to the writing circle!! I’d love to see

“Character Eats An Orange While The Drama They Orchestrated Ruins Everyone's Night” for f!Brosca/Zevran!

hey, thank you so much!! this was my very first prompt :) 438 words of f!Brosca/Zevran for @dadrunkwriting under the cut.

Good oranges were rare south of the Vimmarks, and rarer still underground, but the elite of Orzammar could afford a great many things. Just not peace and quiet, Zevran reflected, allowing himself a small smile as the nobles locked within the darkness of the royal dining-chamber switched from wails and cries to shouts and accusations. He eased another plump segment of the orange from its fellows, coaxed a tender string of pith from its back, and popped it into his mouth. Delicious. Like sunshine on the tongue.

"Eurgk," said Natia, squirming under his arm and turning her screwed-up face aside as if that could make her stop smelling the orange. She mistrusted anything that needed light to grow. Luckily, this category did not include Zevran, who was a sneaker, a lurker, and a natural elf of the shadows. It was why the two of them fit so perfectly together, everything else about them notwithstanding.

Visits to Orzammar were never something he looked forward to. This latest trip, however, had brought forth an unforeseen parade of indignities, slights, and fine dwarven-crafted trespasses against his Warden. She could do nothing; he could do nothing; her sister and the infant nephew on whom the hopes of House Brosca rested could do nothing. The king was... busy. So Natia endured. She had endured all she could at this ridiculous dinner, and when she could endure no more, Zevran had acted.

Clanging sounded from the dining-chamber. Lord Such-and-Such was yelling that Lady So-and-So had always wanted his gravel pit. It was all a plot! A terrible plot! It was Bhelen's fault! It was assassins! Zevran ate orange segment after orange segment, thinking with satisfaction of the dinner guests' sneering faces, their uncomprehending arrogance. He planned to let them out in an hour or so, or whenever it would be least convenient. He hadn't thought of a cover story yet for why the lights had suddenly gone out and the Warden disappeared in the middle of Lady Whatshername's facetious praises of the casteless, but Natia had hinted that she had some ideas.

Natia surprised him by intercepting the second-to-last piece of orange on its way to his mouth. While he watched, heart curiously sticky (or was that his chin?), she chewed, made a face, and swallowed.

"It smells worse than it tastes," she told him. She reached for the last piece almost before he offered it. It was all right; he had three more oranges in his pocket, juicy and full by the heft of them, their skins just the right thickness. Plenty to tide them over until the optimal moment of chaos arrived.

#dadwc #anders-did-nothing-wrong #dadwc fill

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grimweaver · 1 year

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"Meravas: Wynne's Lecture"

How Sten and Aithne Cousland spend a lot of their moments of rest and relaxation together is learned by the other members of their party. It can only be presumed at this point that most are either supportive or indifferent about it, since there are only hints about what they know with winks or jokes so far, if they bother drawing attention to it at all. Leliana is the first to be direct about what she has witnessed, teasing Sten about picking flowers and giving them to Cousland. This prompts Wynne to be the second... but she does not have a lot of good things to say about it.

~*~

The fact that Sten and Aithne continued to steam up almost every night was not meant to be a secret that they had to guard with their lives. Aithne was firm in her belief that it was not offending the Maker in any way. Since His opinion of it was the only one that mattered to her, it goes without saying that she did not let herself be discouraged by what the world might say about them, even Chantry officials. As it was established before, “seeking release” with bas was not considered wrong in the sight of the qunari peoples either, so long as they adhered to what the Qun states about their limits and how they must conduct themselves in front of other people–that there is to be no public displays of affections or commitments outside what is appropriate between comrades and friends.

“Any sin a person commits does not make the truth they speak a lie,” Sten had said to Aithne, when they were able to discuss it further. “I am as good as dead according to the Qun, but its wisdom is not dead to me. I will continue to follow it... all of it . You have said that you understood and respected this– I hope that is true… and that it will stay true.”

“It is… and it will,” Aithne replied, sincere in her willingness to abandon much of what was expected of an average non-qunari woman to experience in the realm of love and romance, because it was only fair for Sten to be as comfortable as she was about their “not-relationship”.

They fared well in not wittingly doing or saying anything that would draw outside attention to what was meant to remain between just the two of them, and within the confines of strict seclusion. But, despite all their efforts, the inevitable could not be avoided. Suspicion arose in each one of their companions, sensing the sizzling tension that was neither hate nor fear, and so thick that not even a Crow Assassin blade could cut through it.

The way Aithne and Sten would eat breakfast like they hadn’t eaten for two weeks was as telling as the claw marks on Aithne’s belts that were never worn into battle. Try as they did to keep it quiet, the faintest sounds of movement and contact had reached Zevran’s sharp elven ears, and Aithne was not as quiet as she thought she was when she had made the joke “Oh! I think I found your sword, Sten! You didn’t drop it on the battlefield! You dropped it in your pants! Wait-ha-haa! No! Nevermind… sorry… that’s just you!”

But no one had confronted either Sten or Aithne about it–only throwing out hints every now and then of what was either suspected or known– until the seventh night that followed their departure from Denerim, in the middle of their search for Brother Genitivi and the knights that had accompanied him, bound for the Lake Calenhad Docks on the North Road.

It was an hour before sunset, where they had made camp by the River Dane. Aithne had just returned to her alchemy station, carrying a bucket filled with a couple gallons of water she had boiled over the campfire, to begin replenishing the party’s supply of healing remedies. She noticed that– next to stacks of elfroot on the table– there was an assortment of flowers she did not recall harvesting earlier. She was delighted but not at all surprised by this, because Sten kept in the habit of putting together a fresh bouquet for her whenever it was possible. He would either give them to her directly when he felt sure they were alone, or leave them somewhere he knew she would discover them before they started wilting.

The qunari– in the middle of his morning exercises– caught Aithne peering over him while she picked up the bouquet and breathed their perfumes in deep. Without breaking the smooth, strong, steady swings of the sword in his hands, Sten snuck a reflection of Cousland's grin and glance from across the wide clearing.

But then Sten’s motion was halted abruptly by the giggling of Leliana close behind him. “Aaw-hehehehehe! How sweet! ” she squealed.

“Bard!!” Sten shot as he pointed the business end of the sword to the ground, turned around, and glared down at her. “You should know better than to sneak up behind me and shriek like that! You could have been seriously hurt!”

“I am well out of range, Sten. Te-hee-hee,” Leliana replied.

Sten growled low as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, then asked Leliana in a long sigh “ What are you giggling about anyway ?”

“I saw what you were doing back there!” Leliana answered.

Sten’s face contorted again, reflecting the sudden explosion of alarm and disgust inside of himself when his thoughts went to many things he had done with Aithne that Leliana could have been referring to. What exactly did she see? How much of it?? he wondered, and made a note to himself to check Aithne’s tent for holes. "What are you talking about?" Sten asked, trying to level his volume and tone.

Aithne, who was close enough to hear what Leliana had said, kept her instinctive response in her mind, which was “ Oh, Leliana! Really?? I never took you fer a peeper!!”

“Don’t play innocent with me. I saw you picking flowers… for Cousland,” Leliana teased with another giggle. “Who’d have thought that deep beneath that stoic, surface of cold stone there is a big softie that plays with animals and gives a lady flowers!”

“Of course I picked flowers for Cousland!” Sten admitted, but gave the truth a little twist. “She is an herbalist! She needed certain plants for medicinal purposes, and I was all to happy to gather them for her!”

“Oh, I’m sure you were ,” Leliana chuckled, then scampered away as she chanted in a melodic tone “ Softie-Softie-Softie! Softie-Softie-SOFTIE! ”

Sten grumbled some curses into the dampened towel he used to wash off the sweat from his face, then walked down to the river to find a place he can begin his daily meditation in undisturbed peace.

Wynne, the only other person to witness Leliana's relentless, child-like pestering, seized the opportunity to have a private discussion with Aithne about the subject. She had contemplated doing so for quite some time, always telling herself that it’s not her place to tell another adult woman who she should and should not bring into her bed, but grew concerned when it became apparent to her that they were more to each other than a nightly dosage of carnal gratification. She saw in them what she had seen before in others who had pursued a faithful, committed relationship, and what she experienced before many years ago. She could see the beauty in it, but not without seeing all of the possible tragic roads that lay ahead of them. ((Continued at A03--->))

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Origins #qunari #dragon age fic #sten of the beresaad #sten x warden #headcanon

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rosella-writes · 1 year

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OTP Asks - Hawke x Merrill: 2, 17, 18. Zev x Alistair x Mahariel: 6, 24, 32

OHO intricate intricate thank you 💚

Hawke x Merrill:

2. Any sleep habits either had to get used to? Emrys is a heavy sleeper who doesn't dream much or move around in his sleep, while Merrill can be up all hours, snap awake from a nightmare, or just not go to bed at all. When she does come to bed, she moves around, and it's not uncommon for Emrys to wake up with her glommed on to him or upside down under the covers. Sometimes he'll wake up to a cold, empty room, head out to the library, and carry her on back to bed after she's fallen asleep at the desk or curled up by the fire.

17. Who fell in love first? Emrys. Merrill charmed him with her earnest nature, and they were close friends first and foremost. He's drawn to her outlook on the world, refreshed by her optimism and curiosity despite everything she's gone through, and just finds her homey and sweet and kinda soul-affirming to be around. Merrill had reservations for years, and while she admires Hawke and maybe idealises him a little bit, Isabela keeps her head on straight. She goes into a romance with Emrys with good intentions and more sense than she might have if not for her piratey friend.

18. What song fits them perfectly? Oh oofta SO. Emrys has gone through a lot of metamorphoses so it's funny to think that the song that sparked his concept matches who he ultimately becomes with Merrill, despite being very very different in the end. It's Light My Love by Greta Van Fleet. I just think it's got the sweet I associate with Merrill along with the more gritty stuff that matches Emrys.

Zevran x Alistair x Mahariel:

6. When did they realize they loved each other? These idiots are a mess. Rhiannon and Alistair loved each other hard and quick, and burnt out just as fast — Rhiannon dumped Alistair after getting chewed out by Wynne and realising that she did resent Alistair for insisting she take the lead. Then they recruited Zevran and he was such a welcome distraction... then more. Rhiannon realised she loved Zevran as they were helping the Denerim alienage — he stopped her as they were leaving the orphanage and gave her his earring as if he couldn't wait another damn minute, covered in gore and stumbling his way through what should have been a smooth one-liner. They were both idiots, messy idiots, and she knew then and there that he wasn't just her bed warmer. All throughout, Rhiannon encouraged Zevran's interest in any of their other companions. Still, she was surprised when Zevran guiltily admitted he'd been flirting with Alistair, wondering if of all of them that one was off limits. She pretended not to care. My timeline for Zev and Alistair's relationship is wibbledy wobbledy, but they really don't come into their own as a fully realised triad until well after the archdemon's defeat. In the end, Alistair has kinda always loved both of them — it's just a matter of Zevran and Rhiannon both coming to terms with and accepting it. I've explored some of it in this lil fic right here.

24. Which of them is the most competitive? Rhiannon, definitely. She's the one hollering out her kill count as she goes while the others try to just do their jobs lol. Zevran finds it a bit adorable and tries to humour her, knowing he has her beat on both talent and aptitude but usually letting her win anyway, while Alistair takes it a bit personally.

32. How do they resolve their arguments? So the triad can be... very dysfunctional, easily one of the hardest of my ships to navigate lol. Zevran winds up being the glue that keeps Alistair and Rhiannon together and softens arguments — he usually has no stake in the fight anyway, and just tries to act as a mediator where he can. Without him, Alistair and Rhiannon would not be happy together long term.

#WHEW #thank youuuuuuu #hawke x merrill #alistair x mahariel x zevran #rhiannon mahariel #emrys hawke

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faerune · 2 years

Text

i’ll crawl home to her

[read on ao3]

pairing: zevran arainai x f!elf!mage!warden [nelia surana]

summary: zevran decides to surprise his warden at vigil’s keep for the first time since he’s been away. takes place ~a few weeks after the ending of awakening

warnings: implied and mentioned naughtiness but nothing explicit

Zevran’s first visit to Vigil’s Keep began with him on his knees, soaking the very fine red rug with dripping wet hair. The rain was supposed to have made his entrance unnoticeable but his clever girl switched the damned guards on him. Now, his black leathers stuck to his skin uncomfortably. He made sure to voice his complaint to the guards while they waited.

When his lover made her appearance from one of the doors leading off the main hall, he couldn’t help but lose his breath. Perhaps it was true what they said about absences and fonder hearts. He wasn’t sure she could be more beautiful than he remembered her but there she stood in the dim glow of the hearth.

Messy, flaming hair cradled her delicate face - small pieces falling from the leather she’d tied her hair up with. Her face was riddled with sleep though her icy eyes were sharp. A billowing silk robe hung on her small figure, hiding the soft pale curves of her body he knew lay underneath.

Oh, he’d enjoy unwrapping her.

He gave her a wicked grin, soaked blonde hair hanging in his eyes.

“Your guards ruined quite an entrance, my love.”

“Zev!” she cried, eyes warming. Her body couldn’t seem to move fast enough before she was kneeling down and pressing her warmth against him. Soft lips brushed against his own then made their way over his nose, his cheeks, his eyes. Her fingers grasped at his leathers and when she didn’t feel his own needy hands on her body her brows furrowed and she pulled back.

“Leave us,” Nelia snapped at the three Wardens looking quite baffled at their Commander on her knees for this intruder.

Still, they saluted and bowed out of the room.

She beamed a smile so bright it surely would have lit all his days.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she let out a happy, heavy breath. Nelia reached a hand down and grabbed the dagger she knew he kept in his boot. She made a mental note to chide the Warden who let that slip through.

“I wanted to surprise you. All your talk of rain and darkspawn made me miss Ferelden,” he grinned wryly as she pressed herself against him and sliced the rope binding his wrists behind his back.

“You didn’t miss me?” she asked coyly.

Her eyes burned with want. Perhaps, this wasn’t such a bad entrance after all.

Zevran took her right there, under the watchful eye of a dragon skull.

“I’m forbidding you to leave again,” Nelia said quietly with her ear to his heart hours later after Zevran had loved her once, twice and a third time just to make sure she remembered his name.

She knew it was impossible but it was easier to imagine him as a permanent fixture in the glow he’d brought her.

Her fingers traced over his chest. Zevran caught her hand and bundled it up in his own, pressing soft kisses to the tips of her fingers.

“I wish I didn’t have to deny you. It’s not nearly half as fun as indulging you,” he teased but his heart ached all the same. Nelia caught his eyes when he turned his head to judge her features. Her bottom lip stuck out pitifully.

“Ah but the pout is very cute,” he cooed jokingly, smirking as he pecked her lips.

“I could command you to stay,” Nelia told him reasonably against his insistent kisses. “I’m an arlessa now, haven’t you heard?”

“Are you going to order to have me locked up?” Zevran questioned curiously.

“It’s a possibility,” Nelia quipped back, wriggling out from his grasp to sit on the edge of her very large, canopied bed. She had occupied the largest room at the top of Vigil’s Keep. It was foreign to her, to not only have this authority — to be greeted (however reluctantly) by man, elf and dwarf alike as Arlessa or Commander — but to have a space of her own. Privacy was not something she had ever been accustomed to and until Zevran had arrived tonight she had loathed the silent isolation.

Nelia slipped back into her robe, if only to ward off the chill that seemed to reside in every stone of the Keep.

She bent to toss a long into the fire that had dimmed in the hearth, flooding a bit of it with her magic to quicken it. Nelia shivered as the little crawl of mana slipped up her spine — like an icicle struck up her back.

“While I’m here, do you need any assassinating done?” Zevran asked quite seriously, having draped lazily back amongst the sheets, flipping through the book she had been reading before bed tonight.

It was because he was serious that Nelia flashed him a look.

Zevran merely chuckled and decided the book on magical theory was nothing of interest to him and set it back on the table. He opened his arms for her once she had set a kettle on the grate amidst the fire. Nelia smiled and slid back into his arms, his hands insistently wrapping them up in the plush blankets and furs on her bed.

Their bed, Nelia realized with an ache in her heart. This was to be their home, once his business was done. She pressed her face into his neck and wrapped her arm once more around his middle, squeezing him tightly. Zevran’s fingers tangled through her hair, pulled from the leather band that usually held it back while she slept.

“It is a nice keep,” Zevran hummed thoughtfully, almost putting words to her thoughts.

“Isn’t it?” Nelia replied enthusiastically, smiling against his skin.

Zevran pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I’ll have to give you a tour tomorrow,” she yawned, thumb rubbing idly at the warm skin of his hip.

“But of course. Does this make me an arl?”

“We’d have to be married first,” Nelia told him matter-of-factly, even if just saying the words made her heart flutter in her chest.

“Certainly give your substituents something to gossip about. The first elven Arlessa as well as a mage marries yet another elf and an Antivan Crow at that!”

The pair dissolved into soft laughter between soft kisses.

“It has been a bit boring around here.”

“I doubt that,” Zevran said idly against her hair. “I’m sure you’ll have much to tell me once you get some sleep.”

“Before that, do you need anyone set aflame?” Nelia asked, far more teasingly than his own proposed question. She relished in the rumble of his soft chuckle against her cheek as she laid her head down on Zevran’s warm chest.

“Sleep,” he chided fondly, adjusting her in the tight embrace of his arms. A blanket was tucked, a last small kiss shared.

After months of near-sleepless nights, Nelia drifted off into an easy, restful sleep.

#zevran x warden #zevran arainai #dragon age #never knowing how to end things is my perpetual struggle as a writer but i like the rest of this #ship: caged birds #writing*

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wild-houseplant · 3 years

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I can never bring myself to kill off any love interest of Zevran’s. What becomes of him in the epilogue is always too crushing for me to subject that precious little bundle of pixels to. However it ends for him has far more bitter than sweet. Initially I was complaining about why I wouldn’t do it, and then it ended up turning into a miserable headcanon that I needed half an hour of intensive hugs to come back from. You’ve been warned.

Zevran falls into a year of surprise when he meets the Warden. First because they don’t kill him, next because they make it clear to him he’s not the property of anyone any more. He’s his own person. Then they show him kindness and affection- things that might only seem basic decency to most are as indulgent to him as being fed grapes on a chaise longue while being fanned with a palm frond.

And he sucks it up like a sponge for reasons he can’t comprehend, and it somehow gives him just enough energy to take the Warden’s proffered hand and let them help him heal. He has nothing to offer them but his time and devotion, and he is forever astonished that that’s all the Warden ever asks of him. He grows, he thrives, and then he does think of something he could give-- that earring. Precious, precious little thing that embellished him, embellished his life, and-- after a little misunderstanding at first-- they accept it, and their future together is sealed. Perfect. He couldn’t have been happier if he tried.

And then a handful of days later, he’s at his knees by the Warden’s body, that heart that the Warden had fed and coaxed into flourishing with kind words and loving touches-- shattered.

Not that you’d know it to look at him. After a few months in Denerim where he settles into the horror and panic of the very long, empty, miserable future awaiting him, he’s back in Antiva, bringing down and dismantling guild after guild. Every bit a success, a triumph of skill, cleverness, and determination. His wry smiles and witty commentary are the talk of the nation. Grandmaster Zevran Arainai, lusted after by many, admired by even more.

But it’s all a front. A time-consuming, most impressive palisade, but nothing more. Oh, he might feel some satisfaction from time to time when he sees the way the children are treated under his rule. Educated, cared for, sure of their personhood and shocked at the idea of being considered a commodity. Exactly the sort of privilege he wanted for them.

But it was such a far cry from the life he wanted for himself. What he dared to hope for once lies peacefully (he hopes) in a magnificent sepulchre. And even though he knows he could, in theory, start anew, get another lover, have another try at building it all up again, he just doesn’t have it in him. The will, the energy, the interest-- gone. And he doesn’t care to try and resurrect it. As far as he is concerned, whatever he does in this life is merely marking time until he sees his Warden again.

And so the years pass-- agonisingly slowly, he would think to himself. His heart’s still in pieces the entire way, but he becomes cleverer at concealing it, finding smarter ways to hide his grief until he’s alone and can crumble in private. His skin begins to sag, his aching joints protest too loudly for him to ignore when he tries to do the things he once could, eyesight and hearing slowly but surely going. Every day he spends alive exceeds his expectations for himself, and he feels more weary with each passing moment. But of course, even for a Crow whose earlier days would have guaranteed a short life, the Grandmaster is afforded every care to keep him functioning. And function he does, if only externally.

Eventually, Zevran is old. By anyone’s standards, but especially his own. Revered by so many, called a father and grandfather to the nation. He gives his practiced, winsome smile, eyes as sparkling as ever, and says nothing. In his heart, he is nothing to anyone except the Warden’s beloved. A father only to whatever children they might have had. But he likes to keep people happy, and denying the title granted to him by the Antivans would be churlish beyond measure. And so the lie continues, gives them the comfort of his presence when in reality, he was utterly desolate. Distant from everyone, never in anyone’s bed except his own, and that too remained-- empty except for the nights where the Warden popped up in his dreams and took the unoccupied side. That was the friend and lover he wanted to see. The only one. So very, very welcome in the space that he kept empty for them, scrupulously guarding it like a snake guarding an egg.

And then, his body starts the true decline. He tires easily now, which pleases him. More naps means more time with his Warden. Whoever said old age was cruel had no idea what they were talking about, because he knows it is far more merciful than his youth ever was. Well, except that one shining, precious year that he keeps locked away in silent, ceaseless reverence.

And finally, in the small hours of the morning, the end comes, though Zevran doesn’t know it as he lies fast asleep. He doesn’t notice the way his breathing becomes laboured, or the way his heart slows down so dangerously that he slips into progressively deeper levels of unconsciousness. All he knows is what he sees in front of him-- not a dream. No, this is far too vivid. This is reality, and even if he fell asleep to get there, he is certain he doesn’t want to wake up from it.

They’re standing there in front of him-- his Warden, right there, smiling broadly. Exactly as he remembered them, eyes regarding him so lovingly as they hold out a hand to him. His body is young and spry; he hurries to them easily and takes it, lets them pull him into an embrace. Body so warm against his, he savours the contact like a starved man at a feast as he clutches them to him. He can scarcely believe it. A thrill goes through him as he kneads his fingers into their back, the relief of familiarity, tangible at last, almost enough to make him howl.

Their hand brushes against his cheek. His heart swells fit to bursting as he feels their mouth-- not a feeble iteration, but his Warden’s actual mouth-- on his, and he kisses back desperately. Same soft lips, same generous tongue, all for him. His body shudders in delight.

“You were gone,” he whispers as the kiss tapers off. He shakes his head. “But it must have been a nightmare.”

The Warden chuckles softly, nodding. “Must have been.”

“It was so long, though, amore,” he chokes, letting his forehead rest on theirs. So giddy with pleasure that it hurts to think of that miserable, long stretch of whatever he had just been through. The ache is fierce but diminishes just as rapidly as it came on as their lips meet his again, the kiss brief but laden with affection.

“Don’t trouble yourself over it, my love,” they soothe, tapping the ear his earring is affixed to. It winks so invitingly in the sunlight; he smiles. “I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere. Come back to bed and we’ll start the day right, hmm?”

He nods and lets them lead him away, hand slipping so naturally into his. A perfect fit, my Warden. Oh, this was going to be the best day of his life so far.

And that same day, Antiva collectively descends into loud, anguished mourning that lasts for weeks as the reports from the masters announce the departure of Grandmaster Arainai, who went gently in his sleep. A most fitting exit for someone so widely adored. It remains a secret between the masters and the servant who sounded the alarm that Zevran’s cheeks were wet when they found him, and impossible though it was, it almost looked like he was smiling.

#misery business #zevran #zevran arainai #death cw

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shivunin · 9 months

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✨9 Ship Songs✨

Rules: List nine songs for one of your ships

Tagged by @brother-genitivi---Thank you so much! I am always delighted by any opportunity to talk music c:

I didn't want to pick one ship, so here are three songs for each of my canon DA ships instead (I have great playlists for all of them that I want to show off haha), so nine total split across the three.

So:

Arianwen/Zevran

The Killing Kind by Marianas Trench (YT link)

The ghost in me was true but you were haunted too just didn't see it all along. Nevermore to leave here, nevermore to leave here You should never be here I know, I know, I know, I know, I know I know my love can be the killing kind.

Howl by Florence + The Machine (YT Link)

If you could only see The beast you've made of me I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free Screaming in the dark I howl when we're apart Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your bleeding heart

Got Weird by dodie (YT Link)

I got weird when we made out What a goddamn kiss to think about Poured a drink all over my wiring Short a fuse, all cylinders firing It got weird when we made out Clearly I've got shit to figure out Baby, baby, please don't hate me Call me up again, I won't get weird

Maria/Fenris

Francesca by Hozier (YT Link)

Now that it's done there's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm since I was born How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'd tell them "put me back in it." ... I would still be surprised I could find you, Darling, in any life

reckless driving by Lizzy McAlpine (YT Link) (with Maria singing the man's part)

Now we're at 180 and I can finally see but then it's over in a second, crashed the car into the tree Yeah, I can see it all happen You'd rather die than take your eyes off me

Lose Myself by Lera Lynn (YT Link)

Don't want to talk Don't want to listen You'll just convince me That you're what I'm missing If I stay longer, I know what I'll do I'll lose myself in you

Emmaera/Cullen

Dark Doo Wop by MS MR (YT Link)

The world is gonna burn, burn, burn, burn As long as we're going down Baby you should stick around It's all gone to shit; it's out of our hands Baby if you could, I know: you would hatch a plan That's my, that's my man

You and Me on the Rock by Brandi Carlile (YT Link)

I'll build my house up on this rock, baby, every day with you There's nothin in that town I need after everything we've been through. Me out in my garden And you out on your walk Is all the distance this poor girl can take without listening to you talk I don't need their money, baby Just you and me on the rock

Photograph by Cody Fry (YT Link)

If I wished myself a superpower I would make this moment last for hours If I had my will, time would just stand still Wait for me until I find some magic film To take a photograph and live inside I need some way to prove that this was real A memory is not enough I'm scared that I'll forget the way it feels To be young and in love Let me stay right here---just a moment longer The picture is so clear Please let this last forever

Tagging (no pressure): @greypetrel @demandthedoodles @star--nymph @vakarians-babe @scribbledquillz @zenstrike @gaysebastianvael @transprincecaspian @ndostairlyrium @gvnseylike @idolsgf @layalu @bitchesofostwick @jtownnn and YOU

Tell me what music you like for your fellas!!

#music #tag game #zevwen #maria/fenris #cullemma #arianwen tabris #maria hawke #emmaera lavellan #this took me longer than it should have lol. like which songs best exemplify them? there are sixty some songs on the maria one #had to discard three songs about devouring your lover in favor of howl for wen #also man. i need a better ship name for maria and fenris :/#i just hate throwing these things in the main tag you know?

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fairfaxleasee · 3 years

Text

"Corset"

For @dadrunkwriting (based on a prompt for Stories of Thedas 3 on Twitter)

Pairing: Zevran x f!Tabris

"Zevran, what exactly are you doing back there?" Avalonne Tabris tried to turn around to get a better look at whatever her lover was currently up to, but the corset that he was supposed to be helping her into made the movement difficult (despite the fact that he didn't seem to be making any actual progress in cinching it up).

"Now, rosa bianca, you would not force me to reveal my surprise before it is ready, would you?"

"...yes. Yes I would."

"Avalonne, cara, I am beginning to think that perhaps you do not trust me implicitly!"

"I trust you implicitly to get yourself into as much trouble as you can when I'm not keeping a very close eye on you."

"Ah, cara! You wound me! You would not be seeing any other extremely handsome Antivans while I am away, are you? Could you perhaps be confusing me with one of them?"

Avalonne tried to elbow him in the ribs, but once again the corset was cutting off her movements.

"I shall take that as a 'no,' then. Not that I was at all worried. I am confident that there is no one who would be a match for my skill."

"That skill being not realizing just how deep the hole you're in is and digging away anyway?"

"Avalonne! The idea that I would be reduced to such manual labor! Well, unless we are speaking of digging graves, in which case -"

She finally managed to grab the man (although that was probably because Zevran allowed it) and dragged him in front of her. "Zevran, would you please just focus on what you're supposed to be doing? Just finish putting the corset on so I'm not late!" Avalonne wasn't overly interested in going to the ball, but as good as Amelia was, the Queen couldn't keep an eye on both her husband and her father at the same time when Orlesian diplomats were on the guest list.

"Very well. But would you like to see your surprise first?"

"Is my surprise you actually did what you were supposed to have done?"

"That would be very surprising, no? But, no. I do, however, hope you will like this."

He turned her slightly so she could see some of her back in the mirror. He hadn't done a thing to put the corset on, but he had woven her hair into a very elaborate series of braids accentuated with white roses.

He tucked a final rose behind her ear and whispered, "I would not want you getting ideas that Ferelden men are the only ones who can shower their women with flowers."

Avalonne pushed a few loose strands of her chestnut brown hair into place. She had always been a bit jealous watching Alistair surprise Amelia with flowers for her hair (she had no interest in flowers from Alistair, of course, but these flowers from Zevran were lovely...).

...But they were not lovely enough to let him entirely off the hook! "Well, the flowers are nice, but tell me - can Ferelden men follow instructions?"

"From what I have seen? No, they cannot. They are, if anything, worse than even exquisitely handsome Antivans in that regard."

She ran a hand along the side of his face, "Hmm... lucky for you then. Now will you get back there and finish lacing the corset like I told you to an hour ago?"

"That, cara, depends." He took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. She tried her best to keep from rising to the man's obvious bait, but based on his soft chuckle she didn't manage it. "If I lace the corset for you, do you promise you will let me unlace it tonight? I admit, I find that activity, infinitely more enjoyable."

#da drunk writing circle #dragon age fanfic #fanfic #zevran x tabris #zevran x f!tabris #zevran #dragon age zevran #zevran ariani #zevran arainai #banter #zevran/f!tabris #zevran/warden #zevran x warden

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heniareth · 2 years

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @siriskulksnerding and @bumblerhizal-art!! Since I treated poor Zevran so roughly last time, here comes a nicer snippet featuring him and Astala:

Finally, he stood up and walked over to the Warden. Before he realized what he was doing, before he could think it through (but when had he ever thought anything through in his life?), he had stretched out his hand towards the Warden and spoken words he only recognized upon hearing them:

“Dance with me.”

Surely he had meant to phrase it as a polite offer, not as a request. Or he might not have meant to say it at all, but it was too late. The Warden was looking at him, surprise written in those dark eyes, and then the most brilliant smile stretched over her face. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her up.

“I don’t know this dance,” she said, and her smile turned bashful.

“Do not worry,” Zevran heard himself say. “I know it for the both of us.”

One hand on his shoulder, the other in his right. His left on her waist. Zevran found himself almost reluctant to place it there. They started slowly, swaying in the rhythm of the music, before Zevran started dancing through the steps he had learned long ago. Astala allowed herself to be led, and it didn’t take long for her to get a hang of it. She wore a look of intense concentration. The hand on his shoulder rested there carefully, as if unsure it was allowed to be where it was. And those eyes, while still, contained currents of emotions far deeper and stronger than Zevran would’ve ever imagined but a few months ago. That step she missed was as clearly written in them as the satisfaction when she got a turn right. Delight made creases of a smile appear around them as Leliana smoothly played out a complex sequence of notes; then they grew wide in a spike of alarm as she caught him watching her. Everything came and went steadily and unceasingly like waves rushing towards the shore. Zevran could’ve watched for hours. He almost missed his cue to send her out in a spin. Just in time, he remembered, and watched as she laughed and took the sudden change in the steps in stride. Her hair flared out, the glow of the fire caught in her curls as a flickering shine, and the moonlight crowned her with silver. Then she spun back to him, still laughing and laying her arm back on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. This time, it snuck all the way across so that her hand came to rest almost on his neck. For a moment, Zevran wondered what it would be like to have her wrap her arms around him, and to hold her in return. He immediately snapped himself out of it.

She is seducing me, he thought. But then he shook his head at himself. As if such a thing would ever occur to her.

Slow dancing is good. Slow dancing is great. I love it. I hope you liked this as well.

I’m going to tag you all back if I may, as well as @badartxd @wild-houseplant @oxygenforthewicked @castlecousland @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas and @yukichouji (for when you’d like to and have something to post ^^) Have a lovely day all of you!

#zevran arainai #zevran #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran x tabris #zevran x female tabris #warden tabris #female tabris #astala tabris #my writings #wip wednesday #fluff #slow dancing

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hoochieblues · 3 years

Note

For DADWC: “making them food they like” for Zevran/whoever you like!

Thank you! I started filling this one before I got this ask too, so you get two (2) food-based prompt fills, and I should have an early dinner bc now I'm hungry.

for @dadrunkwriting

I give you a Ferelden take on a northeast US/military classic, and some Zevran/Nikir Tabris. Nik started out as a side character in my Merien Tabris backstory fic, All But Name, but I love him so he gets to be a Warden and (an honorary) Tabris in his own AU.

T | ~1700 words

_________________________________________

“Psst!”

Zevran woke in the dark, blood pumping and senses alert from the first moment his eyes opened. Such was the price of a life lived on the edge, after all, kept in suspension by that very ability to react to danger in an instant.

Still, just once it would have been nice to wake up slowly, without counting the threats in a room that—wait, though, no. No threats now, just Nikir’s hand on his shoulder, warm through the fine linen shirt he wore. And the bed—soft, vast, even princely—of which they had made such a mess last night.

He smiled into the shadows. Ah, yes. Last night. Except then his recollections were rudely interrupted by his beloved shaking him again. Zevran lifted a hand, batting the pest away.

“I’m awake, I’m awake… what is it, mi amor? The archdemon is here already? Ugh, if it is, it keeps unsociable hours.”

The mattress dipped as Nikir sat down—threw himself down, more like, the accursed bundle of energy—and thumped Zevran’s leg through the blanket. He wrinkled his nose. Something smelled of garlic.

“Nah, but you’ve gotta come with me. It’s a surprise. Nothin’ bad, honest. Everyone’s busy with all that political shit, and you don’t get to stay in an arl’s estate often, right? So if we’re up early we can make the most of it. Come on.”

Zevran squinted, picking out the gleam of two wide green eyes in the dark, and a smile fairly vibrating with excitement. He sighed, and gave Nik a half-hearted kick in the ribs as he sat up.

“You are insufferable. I do not know what I did to deserve this.”

“Shut that bloody bellyachin’ and come on. It’ll get cold.”

“What…?”

Zevran slipped on a pair of breeches and soft leather shoes, and allowed himself to be dragged through the cold stone hallways of Arl Eamon’s estate. Nikir was correct: the impending Landsmeet had dragged every bann and freeholder out of the countryside, and they infested the capital like lice. So intense too was the focus of every human in the estate on the political struggle ahead, that the pre-dawn comings and goings of two elves—even two such illustrious heroes as themselves—attracted no attention.

As Nik led him down to the small day kitchen, they saw only chambermaids, scullery servants, and a bleary-eyed kennelman preparing to let the arl’s mabaris out for their exercise.

“It doesn’t bother you, being back in a place like this?”

Zevran wasn’t sure why he asked. Something about the way Nikir navigated the corridors, clinging to the walls like a rat, his feet soundless on the stones. He looked back over his shoulder and grinned, making the bottle scar on his upper lip tug upward like a second smile. A few sconces were lit in the hallways, and the dim glow of candlelight burnished his dark skin to bronze, picking out the lines of his more recent scars as if they were ornaments upon his sharp, handsome face.

“Me? Garrn,” he said, with what Zevran had learned was the most distinctive of Denerim’s flattened vowels. “Last time I was in a place like this, I cut every shem I seen from gizzard to bollocks. Don’t scare me. I just think we’re owed a bit of their luxury.”

He reached down, grabbing hold of Zevran’s hand—such an easy gesture, yet it still made so many complicated things twist in his chest—and dragged him onward.

The day kitchen was not seeing much use, the main kitchens being needed to service so many guests and staff, yet someone had clearly been busy.

Zevran stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. There was a large table to the left of the room, worn down with years of use for chopping, kneading, and sundry acts of food preparation that Zevran was used to other people doing. Yet it had been laid with candles in fancy holders and two places, neatly set with fine napkins and silverware. By the fire, which slumbered in a low flame in the grate, a vast iron skillet seemed to be the source of the onion-and-garlic smell clinging to Nikir’s shirt, and someone had been hacking great slices off a loaf of rich man’s soft, white bread. Through a window at the far end of the kitchen, a gentle pink-tinged grey dawn appeared to be beginning.

The whole thing was really too romantic and ridiculous for words, yet when he turned to say something glib to Nikir, Zevran found him just watching, smiling with a softness on his face that was usually only there when they made love.

“You… wanted to make me breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Nik winked, the dreamy look in his eyes flicking away like a bird disappearing into brush. “Thought it’s about time you practised staying around the morning after. Not to mention patriotism. I’m bloody sick of you whining about Fereldan food and pining for fish soup ‘n’ all that foreign muck. This is gonna change your tune.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. C’mon, sit down before I knock you on your arse and tie you to a chair.”

Zevran raised an eyebrow. “Well, if that was an option, you should have said so. I would have—”

“Sit,” Nik snapped, crossing to the hearth and picking up a bread knife, which he pointed at Zevran. He did look damnably pretty with a blade in his hand. “You’re getting a traditional Denerim delicacy, my friend.”

“Oh?” Zevran slipped into a chair, propping his chin on his hand as he watched Nik work. The candle holders clearly didn’t belong in the kitchen. He wondered where the little beast had lifted them from, and if he intended to put them back. They looked like solid silver.

“Yeah. Spiced it up for you, but you’ll like it. Salt beef, onions, garlic, all frizzled up on toast.”

He hacked off another couple of slices of bread, slotted them onto a toasting fork, and propped it over the fire, before returning to the skillet and dumping in a pile of torn herbs.

Zevran’s stomach clenched lazily on the promise of hunger. It did smell good, he admitted, though he had suffered through too many Fereldan interpretations of ‘food’ to trust readily. Hunger might be the best sauce for any meal, but it could do little to mitigate dishes so hearty they made you feel as if you’d never move again.

“That sounds—”

“We call it shit on a shingle,” Nik announced, shooting him a proud and knowing grin as the skillet popped and spat over the fire.

“—distressing,” Zevran finished smoothly. “And yet I have complete confidence in you, bello.”

“You better. I’m a bleedin’ miracle, I swear. Hand to Andraste’s right tit.” Nik sucked a greasy smear of butter and flour off his thumb, and splashed milk from a stone bottle into the pan. “Look at this. Fresh milk! Ain’t had that since that farm west of… wherever it was.”

He scraped the mess around the pan, then plucked the toast from the fire, juggling it from hand to hand and shaking his fingers from the heat. Zevran watched, wondering exactly when it was he had become so entranced by this hard-edged, sharp-scarred boy with the bright eyes and dirty mouth. A man who could have killed him but didn’t, who could have treated him like the indentured servant he had been his whole life and yet made him an equal… a friend, and more. A man who had grown up in the gutter, staring at the stars with the belief he deserved to be among them. A man who—Zevran thumbed the candleholder thoughtfully, a surge of affection loosening the last remaining walls around his heart—was almost certainly going to rob Arl Eamon blind on principle. Brasca, but if this was what love was, it was worth it.

“Here. Get your gear around that.” Nikir set the plates down, dropping a kiss to Zevran’s temple as he sat down, grinning. “And don’t make that face. You’re gonna love it.”

Zevran was not convinced of this. The plate held two slices of bread, loaded with a fried hash of meat, herbs, garlic and onions, held together with a whitish sauce. He poked at it, then decided it couldn’t be worse than lamb and pea stew, and took a bite.

Nik watched, eyebrows raised. “Well?”

It was… good. Salty, smoky, packed full of flavours that were at least a little familiar. No Antivan zarzuela, but tasty enough. More than that, in fact, not that he was going to inflate Nikir’s ego with overly extravagant praise. Zevran preferred to restrict those encouragements to the bedroom: a plan that had worked exceedingly well so far.

“It’s tolerable, mi amor, yes.”

“Tolerable,” Nik repeated, mimicking his accent. “Eet ees more than zat, no?”

Despite himself, Zevran laughed and shook his head. “All right, all right. It is, you beastly creature. As are you. Wonderful, and more than I deserve.”

He took Nik’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the strong, lean fingers. They were rough with work and scented with cooking smells, the scars on his knuckles strung together like stars. And, on his middle finger, the earring Zevran had given him glinted, a promise that Nikir had dragged from him like a rotten tooth, and yet a vow he would rather die than ever think of breaking.

“Yeah, well….” Nik’s voice was low, his eyes soft. He traced Zevran’s mouth with one fingertip. “Better eat up. Rest of today’s going to be shems yelling at each other and posturing. Dunno about you, but I need a full belly to face that.”

“A good point. Do you still intend to get Alistair drunk before the Landsmeet begins?”

Nik shrugged, chewing on a mouthful of the… unfortunately named dish. “Might be the kindest thing. Dunno if he’s got the balls to go against Eamon, but I still put my money on Anora having the support to carry the vote. Unless you think we ought to threaten anyone?”

Zevran tutted. “Mi amor! For shame. This is not an occasion for such brutish shows of force.”

“No?”

“No! This… is the time for blackmail. I have a list prepared. There are… six more banns whose votes are yet unaccounted for?”

Nikir grinned, bright and wonderful. “Knew I could count on you, darlin’.”

Zevran smiled, and took another forkful of his briny, smoky, savoury breakfast. Yes, perhaps there were many things he could grow to love about Ferelden… and her intractable, difficult people.

#dadwc #juliafied #dragon age fanfiction #da fanfic #zevran x warden #zevran arainai #tabris #inveterate scribbler

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pinkafropuff · 3 years

Text

A Few Hundred Fairy Stories

It rolled around in her mind for hours and then days, all the way until the next time they shared a tent; inevitably, her gaze grew hard, and she flipped them both over, the knots in her braids tangling and untangling as she righted herself to see him clearly. When she spoke, it was only a word- a name- and though it was posed as a question, it was rough and more like an accusation. “Zevran.”

“Yes?”

She paused for a moment too long, struck by the unbridled honesty in the brown of his eyes, frowning before she said, “What did you mean by never leaving my side?” Almost childishly, she reiterated, “The meaning. Not the words. Why would you say them?” The journey they were on was already dangerous; whether by death or happenstance, the two would inevitably separate. After all, good things always come to an end. After all, she could not be happy for very long.

Zevran seemed surprised by this to the point of amusement, though she did not miss a gleam of innocence in his eyes- of vulnerability, of an openness that she knew she lacked. Of years upon years of what was lost between the two of them, before they’d ever met. How he had found it again, she did not know. “It is something you say, yes? When you’re in love?” He sat up as well, his bare chest only concealed by the thinnest of blankets between them. “Are you not familiar with it?”

Falda’s mind reached back to her mother, to the hovel she was born in. Fingers brushed against the casteless brand on her cheek; her sister, Rica, had wanted her to become a Warden only by the persuasion of a patron that may or may not be real. There was value in power as there was value in money and status. Love could not pay bills or protect her sister when she needed it most, could not keep her father alive, nor her mother from drinking herself to death.

Love did not win the Proving for her, either.

“I’m not.” She wanted to say more about it- how she hadn’t had the luxury to learn fancy poems or have romantic nights with a lover- but the words would be hollow. All that he had he had taken, just like her.

...but not just like her. Or maybe exactly like her, in a way she could not understand.

“Love doesn’t exist.” She said, although this time it came with a sigh. If only she could have been soft, like Rica. If only she had more compassion or faith in something. By the Stone, she was no more than a mercenary who had wanted an easy out- not a Grey Warden candidate, and certainly not an ideal partner.

“That may be true,” he said, surprising her a little, shifting from where he lay on the sleeping bag, “but life is a little bit more worthwhile with a few hundred fairy stories, no?”

Falda’s head drooped low enough to speak into his ear, though she stopped short of his face, averting her eyes. How shameful. Such an eloquent response from him made it hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to say anything to him, even two simple words that she ached to give him most. Instead, she touched her forehead to his. Instead she held her breath and closed her eyes. After what felt like an eternity, the words tumbled out, cracking and breaking like old crumbling roads, “Do you think believing something hard enough makes it real?”

His fingers caught hold of one of her braids to tuck behind her ear, the tips of his calloused knuckles brushing past the brand on her left cheek.

“I do,” he said, and for the first time in a very long time, she wished she could dream, to see the world as he could.

#dao #i made a new character #a dwarf commoner #and im enjoying it so far #shes so rough....and like. mean?? actually???#goes thru some character development bc u Get that way from surviving #anyway this is. something. but #i kinda enjoyed writing it #Falda Brosca #dragon age

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