#cordkitty-ish

[musingmycelium]

DWC: "words never said", for Solas and Lavellan? all the angst for me :) if you would like.

for @dadrunkwriting

Solas has never been good at this. Too thick words dying on his tongue, a fullness in his chest he can neither name nor ignore.  So Solas does what he does best and he buries the way her smiles cause him to float and to fall in the same breath. A fool's errand. But Solas has always known he's a fool. 

 Nights spent in the company of another. Distractions and conversations, lingering glances and small touches. Words loosening in the darkness they share. Weeks bleeding into months, veilfire dancing in her eyes and Solas wants to tell her everything. 

Instead, he tells her she is everything.

It is close enough to the truth is it not? A performance of a relationship, a role Solas slips into and forgets he is to be acting. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. He has never been good at this after all. Meanings and words and they're all too big, all too soft. Most of all they're too hidden. 

Solas swallows the desperation on his tongue. It shouldn't be there anyway. His duty lies not with her. With all her strong lines and curves, with how her smiles turn from sharp to sweet, with all the ways her eyes light up when she speaks. It is not his place and he doesn't tell her the lie it never was. 

There is a grove by a waterfall and Solas tells her a partial truth. Not the one he wanted to tell her. Heart in his chest beating and bleeding in time with hers and Solas only wanted to tell her she was still everything. How could she be anything but everything? 

Instead, he tells her she should harden her heart.

Nights spent alone. Thick tomes and dusty torchlight, tired eyes and cold hands. Solas never told her why she was everything. Words locked away inside him, never to see the light of day. Leaking from him and leaving trails of salt down his cheeks.

Victory is hers and Solas holds broken pieces of himself in his hands. Nothing is left for him. Only a fool could have ever hoped for more. Her hands on his shoulder, the first time she has touched him since he walked away. "I'm sorry." She says, words heavy and Solas knows she is not talking about just the orb.

Solas says nothing. Idrilla walks away from him without turning back and Solas knows it for a goodbye. She always was too clever. Words left unspoken between them, sitting in the air as they part. A weight Solas carries in his chest and he knows she does too.

If he could have told her. If he had been foolish or courageous enough to tell her she was everything and why. If he could have...

Ifs don't matter now. They never did. Solas rebuilds and he waits and he watches her inquisition grow and flourish as he never expected. A danger he never considered. Something in how he always thought her sharpest smiles could never have harbored real teeth and Solas thinks, perhaps, he was more a fool than he ever thought.

They meet again. Two years and countless unspoken words. Secrets and spies and Solas doesn't know why his tongue feels thick enough to fumble over his words. Or he tells himself he doesn't. But her eyes are sharp and a pain lingers in their brilliant depths and Solas knows it is not only the fault of his anchor. 

He tells her all he's kept hidden. Surprise blooming, a pride in his chest where there should be nothing, when she's figured out most for herself. But then again she's always been too clever. Bright eyes, gaze calm and sweeping and far too knowing, a Keeper's eyes. 

He tells her all his secrets except for one. 

"Var lath vir suledin." 

"I wish it could vhenan."

One truth, one lie. Solas takes Idrilla's hand as the anchor flairs, soothing the raging magic with a touch. Tips his head and almost reaches out to cradle her face but remembers what he cannot tell her and stops himself before he can ruin everything. 

Because she is still everything. Solas can feel the shape of those words on his tongue, the memory of them lingering in his dreams and waking thoughts. "Ar lath ma, vhenan." Words he spoke, and words he kept hidden. A knowledge in the heart of him, the power she has over him.

It is a fool's errand to name or to ignore the way her eyes falling shut as his touch causes him to float and to fall. Dangerous. Insistent. Solas pulls the anchor free from her and knows he'll never be able to do the same with himself. But he doesn't tell her this either. 

#solavellan #dragon age #dai #solas #oooohh #thank youuuuuu! i love angsty stuff #i hope you like it! #my writing #idrilla lavellan #cordkitty-ish

[thevikingwoman]

Hey you :) a prompt for you! I was thinking smut (as you saw) and I'm also thinking... in a forest? An old forest? I have vague ideas about light through leaves and the earthy smells of trees and moss and warm sun. If you can work with that?

Thank you so much @cordkitty-ish​. This was a fantastic prompt. It took an unexpected turn, and I hope it works. 

for @dadrunkwriting​

Iwyn Lavellan x Solas | during What Pride Had Wrought | angst, romance

rating: explicit, sex with clothes on, outdoor sex, discussions of family

First We Win

The last light of sun filters through the leaves of the treesabove. Lazy dust motes drifts in the warm breeze, the night chill still faraway. Iwyn’s footsteps are silent, the rustling of the leaves is all him.

“Come walk with me,” shehad asked, and he went willingly.

The whole day they have been battling red templars, sweatand blood and lyrium. Then Iwyn had been pulled into the command tent as soonas the camp was up, cooped up with Cassandra and Cullen, with the KnightCaptain, Celene and Fiona, all of them planning the assault as best they can.

They’d left the busy camp behind, and now they walk hand inhand between the tall trees. The forest is old and quiet, and it’s almost enoughto forget the war. The ground is soft with old leaves, and the air smells richand earthy, the leaves dying and turning to dirt. Things that die. He doesn’tthink of the crumbled Temple that lies ahead, the ruins of what was.

 She pulls him against her at the other side of an ancientoak, its mossy trunk framing her red hair. He kisses her easily, slowly.

“Solas,” she says. “Thank you. This day has been… very long.”

“Vhenan.”

He kisses her again, and this time she grabs the collar ofhis jacket and she doesn’t let go. She kisses with determined desperation, herneed searing him. Tomorrow they may find Corypheus, the Well and their ends, orworse. Right now they are here, alive. He can’t help but press close, to seekfriction against his growing hardness.

He wants to erase the weary day and the uncertain tomorrow,he wants to live in her now, her sighs and moans as his hand find its way underher coat and her shirt to touch her skin, herskin. She kisses his throat, and she bites, a light nip that goes straightto his cock. A loud moan escapes him, and he bucks into her. More, he needsmore.

“Solas,” she says again, and she tears at his laces as he pushesher pants down. His fingers find her hot and slick and he doesn’t want to wait,but her pants are stuck, so he drops to his knees to remove one of her boots. Sheis right in front of him, coarse hair and soft folds and he has to taste her,so he does. She gasps and lifts her free leg around his shoulder, opening up tohim.  He licks and sucks, the pressure inhis cock mounting, and he needs, he needs something, he needs more.

“I need you inside,” she gasps, and yes, that is what he needs.

He stands and lifts her legs a little, bringing them close. Sheis flushed and beautiful. He buries himself within her in one deep stroke. Hefucks her against the tree, slowly at first, but his patience is long gone, andhe fucks her faster and harder, until they both tumble over the edge.

After, they slide down the tree, and they lie panting beneathit. Iwyn pulls on her pants, and her hand reaches his and she squeezes it.

“Ar lath ma, Solas. Thank you. Ineeded that.”

“Ar lath ma, Iwyn.Me too.” He raises himself up on one elbow, and he removes a leaf stuck in herhair. He kisses her softly. He did need that, and the intensity frightens him.

He thinks of the ancient trees and the crumbling temple andthe dead leaves decaying under his hands. He thinks of things he wants andshould not have, of wishes and dreams. Of early ends and too long lives.

“Have you ever wanted children?” Iwyn asks, startling him.

His surprise must show on his face, because she continues.

“I didn’t ask if youwanted kids right now, Solas.  Or my kids.Just in general. We’re in the middle of a war anyway.”

“I… not exactly? It wasn’t… the opportunity never presenteditself.” He wonders, then, of tiny children and whether they would have hereyes or his, if their hair would be bright red or deep auburn, or maybe hismother’s curls. If a girl would look more like her, or perhaps have his sister’snarrower face. He swallows. “Have you?”

“I’ve always known I’dlike kids, but now… I’d have to survive first.”

She is rarely this vulnerable, even with him, and the truthof him burns his tongue.

“I’ll do everything I can to protect you, vhenan,” he says instead. It is still atruth.

“I know, ma lath,”she says. She leans over and kisses him, and she puts her head on his chest, on top of his beating, foolish heart. “And don’t worry about children. I’m sorry – I just… It’snonsense. First we win.”

His arms fold around her, and maybe there is some wayforward, some hope for him and for them. Some way he could tell her everything.Soon.

#solavellan #solavellan fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #iwyn x solas #lavellan x solas #I feel my smut is rusty so i apologize #also Iwyn insisted #on bringing up the future #and more #viking writes #published 11/16/2018 #cordkitty-ish

[ladylike-foxes]

prompt for the dwc: Halesta and “The poor fools don’t hear their echo in each other.” If you like ♥

If I like? I love!! ily ❤︎ ❤︎  @dadrunkwriting​ I tried from Dorian’s POV.... I hope I do him justice *flinch

             Dorian had been surprised to find friends in the Inquisition. Even beyond his immediate connection with the Inquisitor, wrought in the battle of another future and tempered in that intimate experience. He had found some fashionable kinship in Vivienne and Josephine, common care for Halesta amongst many of their companions, sarcasm shared with Varric and Solas, and even love(to some slight chagrin) with Bull. He hadn’t felt so at home since he was too young to know himself.

            Josephine had thrown a small party for the Champion and his friends; the Pirate Queen, Isabela, taking full advantage of the free-flowing alcohol as she danced with the adorably intoxicated Dalish BloodMage. Now he sat with Varric, Cullen, and the handsome Tevene free elf, watching from a distance as the Inquisitor danced with her Apostate Fade Expert, even as they argued quietly. He chuckled into his goblet, drawing a curious hum from Master Tethras.

“Those two, right?” Varric cocked a brow; Cullen pretended (poorly) not to eavesdrop.

“Mhm,” Tilting his cup as the dwarf tilted the carafe to refill it.

“They’re something else. Why do you think they fight so much?” Varric refilled Cullen and the Lyrium Elf’s cups before emptying the rest into his own mug, “To, ha, make up’? Ha!”

            The elf huffed, and Cullen turned crimson, rubbing the back of his neck. Precious. Dorian smiled at Varric as he took another long drink from his glass.

“No. Well, not just that,” He hummed, warm and content to his core, “They’re drawn to each other, but they don’t see why. It’s not about being elves––”

            He raised his hand before anyone could interject with accusations; no one understood the dynamic between the Inquisitor and her “Vhenan” more than he, and he would not stand for the Tevene stereotype.

“Their souls echo in the same places,” Voice drifting off dreamily, “They just don’t hear their response in the other. Probably due to all the arguing.”

            Halie and Solas had stopped dancing; she poked her finger into her partner’s chest, steel brows knitted in aggravation. Dorian couldn’t help but laugh, his little dove was so fiery. His chest bloomed with pride.

“She’s so strong, the little thing,” He beamed at his tablemates.

“You tell ‘im, Inquisitor!” Master Tethras cupped his hands around his mouth; Halie noticed the scene she caused with a blush, and Cullen snorted into his cup.

             The couple started dancing again, though Halesta pointedly stepped on Solas’s toes. Dorian laughed, taking another deep swig from his goblet. The silent elf beside him chuckled softly, and Dorian felt a small victory, though he wasn’t sure why. Cullen remained crimson, wringing his ungloved hands.  Hawke spun Cassandra out before taking an abrupt seat beside Cullen.

“Are we laughing at M’lady and baldy?”             The small group erupted in laughter, and Dorian caught a attempted scowl from Halie as he wiped a tear from his eye.

#dadwc #dwc #dadrunkwriting #cordkitty-ish #vague prompt #filled prompts #solavellan fanfic #dragon age fanfic #Solavellan fluff #Dorian POV #Solavellan hell #Dorian Pavus #Dorian is F!Lavellan’s platonic soulmate no apologies #my writing #my OCs #Halesta Lavellan #Filled Prompts: Halesta #Tracking the Wolf verse #answered asks

[fenxshiral]

Awooo! :) I have a question. I've been reading your chapters on elvhen grammar, the lexicon, phonetics, all of it. I think it's brilliant and thank you so much for taking the time and putting in the work! Question: Do you know of any word that might mean something like centre, middle, core? I'm looking fore something that coud be described as a person's 'psychological' core, rather than a physical one, if that makes any sense ^.^ Kinda hard to describe. Didn't find anything in your lexicon, tho.

If by psychological core, you mean either a spiritual or emotional core, then they would use the same word as for the conceptual heart: vhen’an. 

If, by psychological core, you mean their mind or intellect, they would use the same word for either soul, or mind, depending on in what context. Sal would be the conceptual or spiritual soul, sal’in would be the physical mind or head, and sil would be the conceptual mind, or thought.

If you just mean someone’s unspecified psychological center, the Elvhen word for core, middle or center is baran.

#bigbadanswers #project elvhen #thedas language project #dragon age #elvhen #conlang #translation #cordkitty-ish

[shift-shaping]

dwc: 📚 library sex for Solas and Surana :)

Glimpses: A Quiet Evening Alone

@dadrunkwriting

Rating: M

Genre: Romance

Verse: Confessions of a Teacher’s Pet

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Teacher x student, age gap

Lonely, emotionally conflicted, and chronically anxious, Eirwen hides away deep in the recesses of her school’s library. But her own thoughts invade her privacy, and she finds herself unable to resist testing the boundaries of her relationship with the professor she’s pining over. 

Eirwen stretched back over the armrest of the old leather chair and yawned deeply. The arms were too high for her to sit on it naturally, so she laid across it lengthwise like a bed. As her back straightened, the pile of books and papers in her lap fell to the floor in a heap. She groaned and sank back into the chair, glaring at her fallen study material as if it had betrayed her.

She’d been reading for hours, trying to get as much information into her brain as possible before her test in two days. It seemed so close, uncomfortably close, and her quiz grades left her feeling unprepared. As a mage and an elf, she was on a short leash at the university, and her athletic scholarship was dependent on her maintaining a 3.7 GPA or above -essentially all As, with only a few very minor mistakes allowed.

As of last semester she had a 3.9, but doing poorly in her Genetics class could put her in serious jeopardy. She was an excellent student, she knew that, but every good grade she had was earned after dealing with anti-mage and anti-elf prejudice from almost every professor she had. 

It had been a long time since she took a break, though. She sat in the depths of the library, tucked away into a corner she was confident few knew about. If she could muster up the motivation she could go get something to eat, but she was too anxious and too tired for that.

With a soft grunt she reached down and pulled her phone from her pile of things on the floor. The little blue light blinked incessantly, and when she woke it up she saw she had a new text. 

[4:14pm] Hahren: I prefer bodyweight work. It requires little space and minimal equipment.

She raised an eyebrow, scrolling up briefly to remember how they got on to this discussion. That naturally made her recall what she’d been thinking about before she buried herself in her work: her philosophy professor’s incredible arms. 

Earlier that day he’d worn a button-down shirt and pulled up the sleeves, revealing his tight, well-muscled forearms. Eirwen couldn’t take her eyes off them, thoroughly distracting her from whatever the lesson was supposed to be. They were already more than just a teacher and student -they messaged each other frequently, spent over an hour in his office most afternoons, and often went out for lunch or coffee together. He even helped her calm down when she was having a panic or anxiety attack. 

Whatever they were, it only made her attraction to him worse.

She shifted in her seat and looked around, a horrible idea worming its way into her head. She really was alone here, and it was so quiet in the library. Maybe she could use a quick distraction, just something to satiate her mind for a couple of minutes before returning to work.

Since realizing her attraction to him, Eirwen had developed a neat and tidy string of content for her horribly inappropriate mind. First there were pictures, mostly men in dress shirts and women in schoolgirl outfits. Stupid, but it helped. She had a folder of pictures on her phone that went from vaguely sexual to fully nude and definitively pornography. This time she only intended to look at the less explicit shots, the ones that could hopefully feed her curiosity without requiring her to take action. 

If only she had pictures of him. That would be creepy, super creepy, but Maker she would love being able to look at him whenever she wanted. He was so handsome, so frustratingly kind and wise and sweet that she found herself longing for him far more often than she should. She could almost picture him right now, walking toward her, finding her in this quiet corner of the library and just kissing her when she least expected it.

Thinking about him like that was so wrong. So inappropriate. No matter how much time they spent together, no matter how many times he complimented her hair or gulped when he saw her in a short skirt or held her gaze for just a second too long, he was still ultimately her teacher.

But he was so handsome. And his arms looked so strong. She imagined him pinning her to her seat, muscles flexing as he looked deep into her eyes. Then he would crash his lips into hers, his free hand moving under her back to hold her close to him. 

She imagined his fingers, soft and strong, sliding up her back to unhook her bra. His lips looked so kissable, so warm and inviting, and feeling them on the bare skin of her neck would surely drive her wild. She’d have to be quiet, even as he slipped his tongue against her neck, his voice low and teasing as he reminded her where they were.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let her head roll back, feeling her nipples harden in her shirt and wetness surge between her legs. Damn her imagination. She couldn’t do this here, not where someone could theoretically walk in on her. 

She covered her warm face and groaned inwardly, her ears drooping in frustration. This was a disaster -she was a disaster. She had to decide whether she wanted to do something or nothing, whether she would let this burn or fade away. No matter what, it couldn’t simmer like this.

So she took a deep breath and made a bad decision.

[7:38pm] Me: Are you busy tonight?

[7:43pm] Hahren: Is something wrong?

She frowned -why did he have to be so sweet all the time?

[7:44pm] Me: Not exactly. I could just use some company and a study break. Have you eaten dinner yet?

[7:45pm] Hahren: No. Why?

[7:46pm] Me: Want to get something quick with me? I can buy it.

It was a long time before he answered her, long enough that she put her phone down and, defeated, went back to her work. She could hardly concentrate though, and only got through two sentences before her phone buzzed again. Naturally, she picked it up so fast she almost dropped her books again.

[8:03pm] Hahren: No need. They don’t pay us so little I cannot afford a meal. Should we meet somewhere?

Her heart almost stopped, and she had to read the message at least three times before she could process it. She didn’t know what she was expecting with that, but it definitely wasn’t this. If she had to bet on this exchange she would have expected a shaky no, something that suggested he wanted to but also knew he couldn’t. 

But this was entirely out of her realm of possibility. She had to answer him; she didn’t think she’d get this far. 

[8:06pm] Me: How close are you to campus? I’m at the library.

[8:08pm] Hahren: Not far. I can pick you up. Do you have a restaurant in mind?

She wracked her brain for an answer that wasn’t embarrassing. Most of the places she ate at were mostly vegetarian, if not entirely, and they were probably pretentious enough for him.

[8:10pm] Me: There’s a place on Piroette that makes incredible veggie burgers. They put eggplant in them. Any interest?

[8:11pm] Hahren: Sure, sounds good. I’ll be outside the library in about twenty minutes. Will you be ready by then?

[8:11pm] Me: Mind if I bring my books?

[8:12pm] Hahren: Hah, what kind of teacher would I be if I did?

Her heart skipped and she sank down in her chair again, eyes wide. This was really happening. She swallowed hard and typed up a quick response, trying to keep herself from panicking.

[8:13pm] Me: A shit one. I’ll see you soon then, hahren.

[8:14pm] Hahren: See you soon, Ms. Surana.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Eirwen put the phone down on top of her backpack and crossed her arms over her lap. This was really happening. It was just a quick dinner, just burgers and fries, but it was still dinner and he was going to pick her up. 

As she shifted to pack her things, she realized with an annoyed frown that her fantasies earlier had made her far more aroused than intended. Fantastic. She was meeting her professor for dinner while absolutely drenched from thoughts of him making out with her. This could only go well. 

if you enjoyed this fic, please hit the reblog button on this post. comments are cool but not necessary -you can leave no tags, a keysmash, or even just 'nice' if you'd like! thanks for your support -arden

#glimpses #dwc #teacher x student #professor solas #solasmance #solas rarepair #solrana #verse: confessions of a teacher's pet #cordkitty-ish #teacher crush #surana is a disaster #she has such a crush on him omg

[talesfromthefade]

"Don’t you dare come near me!" for the dwc. Me, I'm always in for Solavellan, but please pick your favourite pairing to write for :) And welcome!!!

I don’t think I could pick a favorite pairing if I tried, I love exploring all manner of dynamics between the fantastic characters DA has given us, but this idea has been knocking around in my head for awhile now, so I figured I’d finally try to put some of it down in words. Hope you enjoy.

Fenris & Anders (Wings AU) for @dadrunkwriting

“Your coat,” Fenris blurts out suddenly after several minutes of silence pass between them while the pair makes their way back up the hill towards their respective beds after a night with Hawke and the rest of their band at the Hanged Man. “Where did you come by it?” Anders, surprised by the sudden address startles a little, coughing and shaking his head, before clearing his throat.

“I don’t recall exactly.”

“It doesn’t seem particularly practical,” the elf continues, as the mage wonders just who or what exactly has suddenly made Fenris the guardian of good taste or fashion. “What function could all those feathers possibly serve,” the warrior mumbled. “It must have been a tedium to produce.”

“Yes,” Anders agrees distractedly. “I’m sure you’re right.” Fenris stumbles, stopping to stare for a moment at the blonde supporting him, not yet nearly drunk enough to miss the fact the mage has just agreed with him, even if it is something as simple as the coat he wears. Something is wrong, and the elf is suddenly seized by a need to be certain, his left hand flying up from where it was resting on the other’s hip to run over his shoulder blades before the mage can stop him and feeling the truth of it as his companion spins away from him and takes on a defensive stance, reaching on instinct for his staff.

“It’s true,” the elf whispers breathlessly in shock. “I thought it must have been some kind of hallucination, a fever dream, but it’s true,” he continues eyes blown wide in awe, shaking his head. “I felt them. Saw them that night when you healed me. But then I forgot… You,” Fenris growls suddenly, pointing an accusatory clawed finger from beneath his gauntlets at the mage where he still stands, staff in hand, back to the nearest wall to protect his secret, his wings, Fenris thinks. “You did something. You made me forget.”

….

It was an accident, and in retrospect, Anders spends many nights thereafter going over it all again and again in his mind until he is certain he has memorized every possible detail. He’d been careless. Let down his guard in a way he has not done in years, perhaps ever. He let himself become just a little too comfortable, too complacent being counted among the Champion of Kirkwall’s friends. Oh, he is aware of the plight of mages well enough, it’s not something he has ever been able to entirely turn a blind eye to before and certainly not now he’s invited Justice to share his body. But somehow, some small, traitorous part of him was beginning to think that maybe, just possibly he was- if not safe, then at least not required to look over his shoulder quite so often as he once was. And in that brief moment, he’d risked and potentially lost everything he’s fought so hard to protect. He should have seen this coming. He was never as good at remaining free as he was breaking his chains. All those careful escape attempts from the Circle… And that it would be the warrior elf of their company, Fenris, who hates him and everything that he is and in his bitter mind represents as one who possesses magic…

Anders flirts and charms well enough, one has to be charming in order to sway or obtain the good opinion of others when you are on the run from the Circle, the Templars, the Grey Wardens, Maker’s breath but he does seem to leave a trail in his wake, doesn’t he? But he has always been equally skilled keeping others at arm’s length, going out of his way to avoid sentiment and attachment as much as possible, and always avoiding any kind of touch. Such things were simply too dangerous to be had, no matter how much the mage may crave- and in Karl’s absence- miss them.

But Fenris is injured, quite badly though the elf is doing his utmost to pretend otherwise.

By the end of their excursion and subsequent fighting that afternoon, they all are weary, battered and bruised, but Fenris is easily the worst. Anders having fought most of his opponents from a distance, and provided wards and healing for their party is low on Mana, but otherwise in the best shape to carry and care for the injured warrior. A lyrium potion or two will sort the healer easily enough. He pauses to readjust his grip on the other to help relieve some of the weight on the elf’s injured side when he feels it. Fenris’ fingers grasping at his shoulder for support feel the truth of Anders carefully maintained glamours, the elf’s eyes widening in surprise and confusion as what appeared to be the feathered collar and pauldrons of his cloak give way to something that feels and shifts in a way that is distinctly warmer, more like flesh and bone beneath the feathers rather than cloth.

Anders doesn’t know who or what he has to thank for the fact the injured man doesn’t immediately start peppering him with questions or demand to know what’s going on while the rest of the group is still within earshot. It’s not as if they have ever been anything close to resembling fond of each other, so he doubts it’s anything resembling loyalty or friendship, but he’s grateful for whatever it is that’s intervened on his behalf all the same. They make their way back to Danarius’ mansion where the elf has been squatting since they’ve still got the cover of night on their side and it is far closer than the mage’s clinic in Darktown. There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, Anders thinks as he lays the now weaker body of the elf on a table, sweat shining on Fenris’ brow while he fights the poison speeding through his veins, he could simply leave him, could tell the others he did his best, but was too late, and reclaim his secret for himself. It would be easier… But Fenris’ wide pupils meet his, as he coughs a breathy offer of ‘thanks,’ and Anders shoves the thought away. He can’t.

Fenris watches through heavy eyelids as Anders’ hands flare with magic, sweeping a few inches above his clothes and armor over the expanse of his wound. He doesn’t see, but already knows and feels the way his markings, the Lyrium branded into him will glow a little reacting to the other’s spells. It doesn’t hurt, not that he would probably notice with his body already fighting the toxins coursing through his blood, more of a strange kind of tingling sensation of electricity just beneath the skin. Anders continues a few sort of gestures, before taking a step back with an exhausted, somewhat pained expression on his face, drawing in a deep steadying breath from the effort. Fenris wonders for a moment if perhaps part of the healing process means that the mage absorbs something of the pain he is relieving. He’s never bothered to ask or think about it before, he realizes before suddenly remembering his earlier discovery.

Anders has helped him to remove what remained of his plates, leaving him in the simple undershirt and leggings beneath. Another time perhaps, if he weren’t so tired, Fenris would resent this, being so exposed, vulnerable and around the sort that he trusts the least, but the mage has just healed him, and Fenris has a greater preoccupation at the moment. Long, thin fingers stretch from the bed Anders helped him to when he finished with his spells while the healer is busy on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. The feathers feel… warm, shift a little under his touch, before Anders’ whole body tenses, head whipping around angrily as he pulls away from him.

“You have wings,” the elf whispers in awe, the glamour surrounding the mage shimmering before falling away, there being little point in maintaining the illusion any longer. “Why do you hide them? …You could be a God,” Fenris continues distrustfully, even as he fights his body’s exhaustion and struggles to stay awake, thinking of what the mages in Tevinter would do to have such a thing at their disposal.

“Or a freak,” Anders snaps back icily, before softening a little and shaking his head at him. “Get some rest,” he instructs pushing him back down onto the bed with a hand on the elf’s shoulder.

“Don’t tell me what to-” but Fenris doesn’t manage to finish the thought before he finds himself complying with the order.

Anders is gone when he wakes again. The elf supposes the mage is an experienced enough healer to have been able to tell when he was out of any kind of danger and no longer in need of his attention before he took his leave of him, besides it is hardly as though he is unaccustomed to being alone. Still, he feels a brief, inexplicable spike of anger the mage has abandoned his patient. Fenris supposes with the life he has led he is used to, even expects others to judge him to be of lesser value, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it, or take it lying down anymore. Did he even say anything before leaving, or did he simply steal away at the earliest opportunity once sleep overtook him? Fenris does his best to recall, but the evening’s events after they parted Hawke’s company are lost in a kind of fog. The effects of the poison, perhaps, he thinks.

…

“Fenris, don’t-” Anders says softly, shaking his head, worried amber eyes watching the elf carefully, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“Yes, do tell me what to do. Give me an order Mage, see how well it works out for you,” Fenris snarls savagely, looking every bit the wolf that gave him his name.

“Fenris, please. I didn’t-” the healer pleas softly, expression softening, apologetic in a way that only serves to make the elf somehow angrier still.

“Save it,” Fenris snaps, cutting him off. “You altered my memories somehow. Made me forget what I saw, what I knew. Do you deny it?” Anders mouth opens to speak, pausing a moment too long. “Yes or no,” the elf spits.

“Yes,” Anders admits softly, dropping his head to stare at his boots. “But-”

“You dare to lecture me on my prejudice against mages? You are just as guilty as the rest of them. Using and abusing your powers, manipulating those who have none or any knowledge of yours,” Fenris accuses, the words burning and shaming the other man where he stands before him. “You are no better than Danarius,” the elf hisses, fists clenching and unclenching, only sheer force of will, the determination that Anders isn’t worth it, preventing him from lighting up his markings and coming after him. “Keep away from me mage.” Fenris thinks perhaps he hears a soft, half-hearted attempt from Anders to call after him as he pushes angrily past, storming back to his mansion, but he doesn’t stop or look back.

#dadrunkwriting #fenders #fenris #anders #dragon age #dragon age 2 #cordkitty-ish #da2 #wings!au

[befooled]

for the turn-on meme: the other person having some snark when talking to you and smelling of incense :)

having some snark when talking to you:NO WAY | MEH | NOT BAD | MMM | YEAH BABY | FUCK YES RIGHT NOW 

smelling of incense NO WAY | MEH | NOT BAD | MMM | YEAH BABY | FUCK YES RIGHT NOW 

hehe thank you for the ask, sweet one!

#turn-on meme #cerise lavellan #cordkitty-ish

[fatale-distraction]

1, 22, 60, 65, 73 please!

1: If you had a patronus, what would it be?I think I got a field mouse in that new patronus test? Which, like...accurate. But If I had to choose, I’d say capybara. They’re like a mouse, but more like a giant fucking guinea pig, they’re friend-shaped, and they squish

22: When you go to the zoo, what exhibit do you most look forward to?KITTIES!!!!!!! Or anything interactive! I love interacting with animals!

60: Do you sleep well?meh. Sometimes.

65: Do you like being outside in the wilderness?Yes! When the wilderness is a forest or something instead of a fucking HELLSCAPE DESERT

73: Who is your favorite anti-hero?Deadpool hands down.

#cordkitty-ish

[5ftgarden]

8,16,27 for the identity ask! if you like of course!

8. What musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime.

This is going to sound horrifically boring, but I really like a lot of classical composers? Ravel, Vivaldi, and Bach are a few of my favorites. For modern musicians, I really love The Wailin Jennys,  Nickel Creek, Tryhardninja, and I Fight Dragons.

16. If you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same?

Absolutely not. My parents were incredibly supportive of my endeavors, be they artistic. I also would not be nearly as geeky as I am (blame the hours of british television, and dungeons and dragons at an early age)

27. Do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”?

I’m.... working on it. Between getting on my meds, and slowly transforming myself into “me”. Financially, it’s a little hard to achieve, since oodles of tattoos cost a lot of time and money. But, I’ve definitely made some progress.

#about me #it me #cordkitty-ish

[thevikingwoman]

hey you! I just came back to tumblr after quite a long hiatus. How are you doing? The writing going good? Just wanted to say 'hi' and also mention I just saw the dwc post about the active/inactive lists. I might come back to posting my stuff again maybe over the course of the next 2 to 3 months, so I'm going to let you know. Also wanted to say thanks for explicitly mentioning in that post that this isn't about excluding anyone, that's really nice :) I'd love to hear from you again! cheers! xxx

Hey hi! Welcome back!!!

just let us know if you want to be back on the active list! 

I am good, thank you! writing is slow as always, lol. I have too many ideas and too little time energy, so I continue on my path with random drabbles. 

I am glad to hear from you again! How are you? 

#cordkitty-ish

[superfluouskeys]

for the dwc: 50. In the afterlife, please :) any pairing you like!

Wheeeee I hoard prompts sometimes, sorry!  But I’m actually very happy with this one.  I haven’t written for my Solavellan babies in too long!  Annngggsssttt  @dadrunkwriting

There is a place that exists outside of time and space,somewhere between one life and the next. How long one tarries there is somewhat irrelevant, and depends on anynumber of things.  Perhaps another lifecalls to her, or perhaps she has tired of the limits of corporeal forms.  Perhaps she clings to a past that is longlost to her, or perhaps nothing at all strikes her fancy now, and she will waithere in between until something does, or until she gradually fades away intonothingness.

One might not know why she is waiting at all, only thatsomething, or someone, retains its hold on her, preventing her from movingforward.

She was called Elonaya in her last life, and the name clingsto her still.  She remembers the name onthe lips of her clanmates who told her how her mother had insisted on the namebefore she died.  She remembers the nameangry on the lips of her Keeper, imploring her to see reason where there islittle.  She remembers the name hesitantand kind on the lips of new friends who smiled at her, perhaps only becausethey believed she was their only hope. She remembers it soft and low on the lips of a lover who dared tooutshine the rest even in his infinite treachery.

She lived briefly and marvelously, and like a dying star,she went out in flames.  She stillremembers the pain of it, even though the experience seems an eternityaway.  She remembers the strangeness of themark on her hand and the way it slowly fed poison into her magic.  She remembers the haunted look in his eyes ashe tried to save her by removing the source–his source.

Like a dying star, too, she did not die entirely invain.  She halted countless horrors inher meager handful of days.  She did notleave the world a better place, perhaps, but she left it alive, and with thecapacity to rebuild.

There’s a vague thought somewhere, that perhaps she willawaken in a kinder world.  But thosewords are too familiar to be believable, and it’s the familiarity that tugs ather ankles, beckons her to linger awhile. What can await her, after all?

She feels the atmosphere change when he draws near.

This place is like the Fade to her, and its properties seemequally familiar, in that thoughts and emotions seem much more real andimmediate than more tangible matters. Perhaps it is the Fade.  Acomforting thought, that the lost never truly leave the parts of the universewe recognize.  Then again, she remembershow he spoke of his spirit friend, how Wisdom would disperse and rematerializesome other time, similar but not the same, and thinks that perhaps it is lesscomforting than she wishes it were.

But the fact remains that she can feel him here, and withthe feeling comes the name, and with the name comes the person.

“Solas.”

His head is bowed as he moves towards her.  Perhaps he has felt her, too.  Perhaps, Fadewalker that he is, he has comehere intentionally.

“My heart,” he says.

She doesn’t merely remember this feeling.  It returns to her in full force.  It rends her heart afresh, as though yearshadn’t passed since last she heard him say it. Once she used to go out of her way to walk past him, hoping only that hemight utter this simple phrase in passing.

She’d thought herself foolish for doing this, yet it wasn’tonly the sweetness of it that appealed to her. Elves did not throw around the word vhenan.  The weight of the phrase whispered to her ofancient mysteries just beyond her grasp, things she could not quite understand,but might if only she listened closely enough.

Now, somewhere outside of the physical limitations of beingyoung and impatient, she still isn’t sure she completely understands.  There is so much of her history, her people,that has been denied her.  There is somuch of Solas she may never fully understand. For want of context, for want of time, for want of the strength to bearit.

“Please,” he utters.  "Say something.“  The last time she saw him, he seemed largerthan life.  Truly a man who had beenelevated to the status of a god.  Now heseems so much smaller.

"I was thinking,” says Elonaya slowly, and findsher voice unburdened by the pain of the last few years of her life, “ofhow I once felt I knew you so well, even though I didn’t know very much atall.”

Solas’s brow knits. He remains ever burdened.  "You knew me better than anyone.“

"For a time,” says Elonaya.

“Ever,” Solas replies severely.

Elonaya shakes her head, almost amused.  "For a time, you knew me better thananyone, too,“ she says.

Solas’s face twists into something like sadhalf-amusement.  "I hope youreplaced me with better confidantes.”

Elonaya considers them, the people who never quite knew whatto do with her, who did their best to comfort her when she didn’t want to admitthat she was hurt.  She remembers theache in her heart for what she lost when Solas left–like a vital piece ofherself had been removed.  Even thefeeling of losing her arm had not compared to it.  She remained complete without her arm.  Without her heart, well.  She was much changed, at the very best.

“Never better,” she says at last.  "But we learned to understand oneanother well enough to get by.“

Solas bows his head again. "Well,” he says quietly. “That is…often the best we can hope for.”

“Solas?”

He looks up.  Sheremembers the way his eyes used to reflect stormy skies and raging seas.

“How did you find me here?”

He opens his mouth as though to speak, but nothingfollows.  He averts his eyes for amoment, but then focuses squarely upon her once more.  "Forgive me, vhenan,“ hebreathes.  It’s little more than abreeze, little more than distant thunder, yet she feels it more clearly thananything else in this place where she lingers without knowing why.

"It was…selfish of me,” Solas continues after atime.  "I shouldn’t have held ontoyou any longer.  I…“

Impulsive.  Sheremembers suddenly the way she used to be ruled by impulses and recklessbehaviour.  This is the first impulse shehas felt since she found herself here. She moves forward and takes Solas’s hand from where it is balled into afist at his side.

His eyes are wide, alarmed, shining as though with unshedtears, and his face is gradually contorting with the effort of holding themback.

"I was afraid,” he whispers.

“Of what?”

“Dying alone.”

#solavellan #da drunk writing circle #solas #elonaya #dragon age #exciting tag for writing things #cordkitty ish #exciting tag for answered asks

[talesfromthefade]

Aaaaand, because I couldn't make up my mind: "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Any pairing!

Thanks for the prompt. This didn’t go anywhere like I was expecting when I first saw it on the prompt list, but I really had a lot of fun with this one. Hope you enjoy some early pre-relationship Cullen Rutherford and Orana ^_^ (@dadrunkwriting)

"What in the name of Andraste are you doing," he asks sounding equal parts confused and fearful taking in the young elf perched up on a corner of scaffolding and hammering away at a board beside her. Orana resists the instinct to jump or arm herself with the little blades she always keeps strapped to the inside of her boots. She had not expected him back so soon. She had not, in fact, intended to be there at all when the Commander returned. They are- at least she thinks- becoming far more friendly with one another than they had been in the beginning, but it seems safer, wiser, perhaps to avoid him at least until she can truly let go of the possibility of anything more between them.

"Cullen," she exclaims a little surprised, setting down her tools and looking a little bit sheepish. "Was I bothering you? I'm sorry. I meant to be finished by the time you made it back from the valley," she offers guiltily. The Commander has not made any complaints lately, but she's not missed the way he'd been rubbing his temples and often closing his eyes for short periods at breakfast this morning- probably suffering another headache, his body protesting the lack of Lyrium after years of use. A constant hammering while he was already struggling to sift through reports would certainly not help.

With that thought in mind, while she was loathe to leave the job unfinished, it seemed now was as good a time as any to take a break. Dusting herself off the young else swings around, hanging for a moment from the scaffolding she'd just been perched on before dropping down with feline-like grace beside him.

"No," Cullen manages finally still staring between her and the now significantly smaller hole in the roof. "That is- you weren't bothering me. I've only just returned. But you still haven't answered my question."

"I should think the answer to that would be obvious," she smiles softly in amusement, looking up to the small patch of sky above them. "I was fixing your roof. I could probably requisition some panes of glass for the job though, if you've a fond attachment to the idea of having a skylight," the elf jokes.

"But why-" Cullen begins shaking his head, still confused.

"Because you have books down there beside your desk," the elf replies cutting him off. "A rather nice library of them, in fact, that are going to suffer the next time we get any rain or snow. You've hundreds of important reports and dispatches about your desk and office, and you've got a giant hole in your roof above the place you work and sleep. Just because you happen to be a native of Ferelden does not make you immune to the cold," she continues, more seriously with a stern look that dares him to challenge her on this. "You are the Commander of the Inquisition. I realize you chose the space for its location and access, but you haven't made a single requisition for someone to see to these repairs. We have more than secured enough lumber outposts now," she points out. "And-" she interrupts as he opens his mouth to protest. "You are worth the time and resources."

"But not your time," Cullen manages to get out finally, shaking his head. "I am the Commander, sure, but you are our Inquisitor. You have far better uses for your time than-"

"No, Scout Harding is working on restocking our supplies and everyone else is getting some well-deserved rest before we head out again. I've already checked-in and talked with Josephine and Leliana, so I can't think of any better use for my time than to take care of someone who's done so much to help and look out for me," she offers patiently in a tone that brooks little room for argument.

The Commander blushes, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of pink, before he frowns, suddenly becoming quite interested in examining his boots in order to avoid her gaze. He hasn't been all that good at taking care of her though, he thinks regretfully.

"You have to forgive yourself for Haven," she whispers softly, startling him a little when she gently takes on of his hands within hers where she stands at his side, lacing their fingers and offering him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "What happened there was Corephyus' fault, not yours. That we managed to save so many of our people as we did is a miracle, and in no small part because of you." He doesn't look very much convinced, but she hadn't really expected it would be so easy to coax him into letting go of his guilt and regrets about the loss of their former stronghold.

"Cullen, I-" she begins, a little more nervous, and less certain now, enough so that the Commander finally pulls his head up to meet her gaze with attentive and concerned interest. "I know you believe, and I don't wish to compromise whatever gives you comfort and strength, but even if I am meant to be 'the Herald of Andraste,' I'm still just as flawed and fallible as anyone else. I enjoy our talks and your company, and I like to think perhaps you see me as more- as both the Inquisitor, and perhaps a little of the person I am beyond that, the one I was before all of this started..."

"I do," Cullen nods fervently, and she smiles softly.

"Then, please, let me do this for you. I'm actually quite good at fixing things."

"Alright, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You let me help you with it."

"Deal," she grins brightly.

#cordkitty-ish #dadrunkwriting #tales:orana #cullen rutherford #orana #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition

[fadewalking-archived]

Friendship level for Dorian Pavus!

Drop me a character name and I’ll reveal my muses’ heart. // Accepting.

Just the friendship level? Nah, I’ll give u all of them. Again, for canons it’ll vary based on which Dorian. But just in general..

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗💗(purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗(how close a friend they consider them)

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗💗(wanting to have sex with them)

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💔(hoping for a romantic relationship)

#cordkittyish #asks #he's racist but he can appreciate a good looking man #cordkitty-ish

[dadrunkwriting]

DWC Team Europe Headcount

@starsandskies

@pixiedurango

@princessvicky01

@sephiratales

@uriellactaea

@cordkitty-ish

@dartheames

@bi-otic

@fenharel-ar-halam

@laurelsofhighever

@suzumicchi

@x-elfled-x

@sternenstaub28

@fire-is-her-water

@jirelle

PLEASE REBLOG/COMMENT ON THIS POST WITH YOUR PROMPT LIST IF YOU’RE IN TONIGHT OR SEND IT TO ADMIN @princessvicky01

#team europe headcount

[galadrieljones]

I was tagged by @cordkitty-ish and @thevikingwoman to post some of the first “drabbles” I ever wrote. Tbh, the first things I ever wrote are probably from 25 years ago, hidden deep in notebooks lost to another time. So I will stick to my fandom writing, which didn’t really begin until 2016, with Solavellan.

The Dead Season, my Solavellan longfic, actually began as just a collection of vignettes. That’s all it was ever going to be, with the expressed purpose of exploring what happened off screen during the romance. Obviously, it...evolved. Lol. But here is first “drabble” or vignette I ever wrote for Sene and Solas, which I titled The Arrow of a Dead Season and wrote in June 2016. If you’ve read TDS, you might recognize the general setting and scenario here, but not much else. The saga changed course completely, but I repurposed and adapted Solas visiting a young Sene in the Fade multiple times throughout the story.

The Arrow of a Dead Season

Tonight, he enters one of her memories from childhood. The small girl, maybe ten years old, red and freckled, like a peach, her vallaslin just a green streak across her cheeks. She is with friends. She has a bow. She shoots an arrow into the tree to his right, nearly kissing his shoulder. He ducks in time then removes the arrow from the bark and waits as the little red-haired Dalish girl comes over, as a seed, on her lonesome.

“Savhalla, ha’hren,” she says. “Ir abellas.” The kids behind her scatter in all directions, playing hide and seek.

“Savhalla, da’len,” he says. He crouches down to hand her the arrow, meets her at eye level. The green there, of summer grass and sky. Familiar, and yet, not. “Or should I call you da’assan?”

“Everyone does,” she says, shrugging. “Have I met you?”

“No. I’m just walking.”

“You don’t have a vallaslin.”

“I’m not Dalish, da’assan,” he says.

“What are you then?”

He laughs. “I must be lost,” he says.

“Do you need help getting home?”

“I believe I’ll find the way.”

Then she holds out her hand, brave and bright and true. “I’m Sene,” she says. “We are Clan Lavellan.”

He shakes her hand. “I’m Solas,” he says.

“Vhallan na, Solas.”

“Me serannas, da’assan.”

He looks down at her freckled hand. Small. A child’s. He feels angst from a life before. He closes his eyes. The temperature changes, and on his face, there is a new heat.

When he opens his eyes again, she is there, as he knows her, grown up. Her face naked and open to him, her eyes green, not as the sky, but as the hole there, the accident that drew him to her the day his loneliness found a resting place but would not die.

Something was wrong. Things had changed. How did he get here?

“Ara vhenan,” she says and smiles. The teeth he used to kiss in places no one saw. Her voice, the song of his whole dead life, asleep in a tomb of darkness and unbeing. He smells her. Her scent is so familiar. To be a man. The feeling is so easy, as it once was. A thousand years could pass. She, this, it would be forever like breathing, and that was the trouble. “Vhenan,” she breathes into his ear, “will you take me?”

He doesn’t know how he got here. Her question takes him by surprise, and yet he knows he’s heard it before.

“Yes,” he says.

“Even after all this time?”

“What time, vhenan?” he says. “I feel no time, no pain.”

“I do,” she says. He can hear it, the crack in her heart.

“No,” he says. “Vhenan?”

“I have felt it for both of us. You have not felt—have you felt?”

He places his hand on her chest, in the hollow there. She is wearing nothing but a slip made of cotton. “I do now,” he says.

“Fix me,” she says, placing her hand on his face. Her left hand. It is whole. When are they now? He’s lost track. But the warmth is a drug. They are animals.

“I have walked all night to find you,” he says. “I thought I’d lost your scent.”

“I found you,” she says.

“Where?” he says.

“I want you to take me,” she says. “Please?”

He seems to forget now. Confusion comes and goes. He kisses her. She tastes of trees and sun. Salt of the ocean. Where are they? Skyhold. He can feel it. The weight and regularity, the strength, the old magic, the everything. The bricks speak to him in their ancient tongues. He has her now, arms pinned above her head with her back to the wall across from the fire. In one movement, he pulls her into his chest, and then, there is the bed. The smells, again. They flood him. He loses control, his hand up her thigh, to the hip, brings her legs open, and then.

Every time they did this, always it was real. Sometimes, she talked like maybe he had taken them to the Fade, that he would trick her like that. Never, he said. He told her this again and again. He remembers now. He hasn’t thought of it in so long.

I’ll tag @buttsonthebeach @ellstersmash @ladylike-foxes @wrenbee @bearlytolerablethethird @princessvicky01 @roguelioness @ma-sulevin @ladydracarysao3 @kaoruyogi and anyone else who’d like to show some of your first drabbles, either ever, or for the dragon age fandom <3

#first drabbles meme #solavellan #sene and solas #sene lavellan #solas

[musingmycelium]

first drabbles

@cordkitty-ish tagged me in a post about our first ever drabbles. i only started writing in any regular capacity just maybe two years ago. and i originally wrote penumbra podcast fanfic because i love juno steel and peter nureyev so much, just so much. so, without me continuing to blather this is the opening of my first ever fic.

Juno coughed, hard, hard enough it felt like his lungs were finally falling apart in his chest. The morning sun was trying it’s hardest to filter in the slightly dingy window blinds. Juno groaned aloud, he’d never liked mornings in general, couldn’t trust anyone who could communicate in full sentences before at least three cups of coffee that could have passed for tar, especially if they were chipper about it. This morning was turning out to be a real piece of work, not only had he woken up three hours later than he should have to a slightly more distressed than usual Rita, his lungs and eye were filling with gunk. He could barely see, and even the dim light in the office was starting to drive needles into his brain via his eye.

looking back on it now, comparing it to some of my recent pieces i feel i’ve grown more than i realized i had. which makes me feel kinda weird and a little nice lmao. it also makes me curious to see how well i’ll be writing next year, and the year after that, and so on and so forth. because i don’t want to stop writing, and i know however much i may dislike my own writing style it’ll get better and better if i keep at it. 

which i suppose goes for everyone who practices at something they want to be good at. and for all you other writers out there who aren’t satisfied with your style or feel there isn’t anyone interested in your work, it sucks but keep at it! i believe in you! 

i’ll tag @buttsonthebeach , @allisondraste , @dalish-ish , @fen-harel , and @veridium-bye and if anyone of y’all don’t want to share there’s no obligation as always!

#thanks for the tag! #i haven't read or thought about fever dreams [this fic lmao] in quite some time actually #maybe four or five ish months ago i decided i wanted to radically change my writing style #so i did #and its still a work in progress but i want to think it's better now #and that it will keep getting better #/shrug #its been a long time since i was proud of something i wrote #i was really disheartened about my writing for awhile actually #but i'm getting better about staying and being positive about it #thanks to some good friends #ANYWAYS #i always end up rambling lmao