#dadwc fill

[syrupwit]

hi hi hi happy friday! Can I get "Neediness and feeling embarrassed about it" or "Everybody wants to know how we fucked on the bathroom sink" (which banger song!!!) for Anders/Fenris or Alistair/Zevran? Also throwing in that I've really been enjoying your fics 🥺

Hello, thank you! I considered mashing all these request components together into a Frankenfill, but, alas, it was not to be.

Under the cut, please find ~1700-1800ish words of neediness, and feeling embarrassed about it, for Anders/Fenris for @dadrunkwriting. This is a follow-up to this fill from last week. CW: sexual content.

ETA: I did not mean to post this so soon, I'm sorry! It was meant to go in the queue for this evening. /o\

-

Anders had learned a long time ago, longer than he preferred to admit, that it wasn’t safe to let anyone know he wanted something. They would take it, or use it against him, or parade it around in front of his face until he begged for it. Even kind people who treated others well did this. Even people who had professed to care for him. 

The safest thing was to pretend that he had no desires, or to lie and mask them with something adjacent—“I’m horny, not lonely; I drank to drink, not to weep”—that kind of silly, facile thing, or in recent years something more complicated. Occasionally he could succeed at hiding his desires perfectly behind another person’s, making them believe that he was just doing what they wanted, and how could they blame him for trying to please them? 

Unfortunately, that strategy didn’t always work. Especially with Fenris.

“We need to be on our way, mage.” Fenris’s voice, impatient but not yet flat with irritation, cut into Anders’ contemplation.

“Right, sure,” said Anders, and went back to packing up the campsite.

The journey so far had been long, and there was still much ground to cover before they met with Hawke. Anders dreaded it. A week ago, he would’ve said it was because he was afraid of himself; could not bear what he had done, despite or perhaps because of the fact that he believed it had been necessary; and no longer saw any reason to live.

Less weighty concerns preoccupied him now.

Fenris was busy with the tent, so Anders could stare at him. His hair had been growing. He was wearing it up and pulled back hard, in a way that looked painful and emphasized the sharpness of his thin face. If Anders ran a finger along the edge of that jaw, he was sure it would make him bleed.

He shook his head to disperse his thoughts. They had run across a lot of elfroot the other day, had managed to gather more of it than space was budgeted for, and the pack with healing supplies needed to be carefully organized if Anders was to carry it without tiring or losing anything.

He devoted himself to this task so thoroughly that he didn’t notice Fenris’s approach. Well, he noticed that Fenris was near, because he always did—the lyrium brands called to the spirit, or demon, inside him who had lain sleeping since their exit from Kirkwall, melodic and impossible to ignore—but it startled him when arms wrapped around him and a sharp-chinned face pressed to his back.

“You smell good,” said Fenris, sounding surprised. 

“I need a bath,” said Anders, because he did.

“Hah.” Fenris did something with his face that—yes, that was nuzzling. A week ago, Anders might’ve thought him incapable of even conceiving of such an action. “You do.”

Anders held his breath. He didn’t shrink or make himself stiff, as that might make Fenris pull away, but he didn’t do what he wanted either, which was to lean back against Fenris and bring his arms around him tighter. Then start begging. 

“Is it that I smell like elfroot?” he said.

“No, you smell like human.”

“No need to sound so disgusted, elf.” 

“If you disgusted me, I would not be touching you. We will bathe tonight,” Fenris announced, and released him. “At the inn.”

“The inn?” said Anders. No inn had been mentioned to him before. They hadn’t slept under a roof in weeks, unless caves counted, and to Anders they didn’t.

“There is a certain spring, supposedly not far from here, where an inn serves those desiring to take the waters. Hawke has a contact there.”

“Well, I can’t say a bed won’t be a welcome change of pace,” said Anders. “But…”

“You can work through your doubts on the road,” said Fenris. “Now, finish your task.”

“You were the one who interrupted me!” Anders protested, and went back to arranging the healing supplies. He could still feel the warmth of Fenris’s body, and it made his chest ache. His mind turned, as it had many times in the past week, to thoughts and urges he’d hoped he would never have again.

-

There was an inn. Just as Fenris had said, Hawke had a contact there: the owner, a very small, very bright-eyed old Fereldan woman who retained her hulking nephew as the sole employee. The inn didn’t get many visitors this time of year, so they were free to take their pick of the rooms.

It had been a long day. After they ate and drank, the nephew brought up water for the bath. Anders bathed first, as he suspected Fenris would goad him into it otherwise. 

Fenris occupied himself with laying out clothes for the morning, his back to Anders. Anders dampened a rag and wiped off the worst of the grime on him before getting into the bath. Soaking in the water made him feel loose and tired, and soothed cramps and pains he hadn’t realized he had. 

When he was done, the water was cold, so he heated it. He didn’t realize what he’d done—he was too focused, perhaps, on trying not to look at Fenris, or see if Fenris was looking at him—until they switched places and he heard Fenris exclaim.

Surreal, Anders thought. A week ago, would he have cared if Fenris drowned? (Answer: Yes, he would have, but that care would’ve had nowhere to go.) Now here he was, leaping across the room like an anxious young mother to make sure the water wasn’t too hot.

“That was careless of you,” said Fenris. His face was flushed, hair a little wavy with steam. Anders couldn’t bear to regard him for long, but instead chose to aim his attention slightly off, so he got blurry flashes of elf out of the side of his vision. “Someone could have noticed the use of magic.”

“The innkeeper’s nephew carried my staff upstairs.”

“He might have really thought it was a walking stick,” Fenris grumbled.

“It’ll be fine,” said Anders. “It’s Hawke’s contact.” He turned away, but a wet hand caught his wrist. He glanced at Fenris in fear, finding a grim look in his eyes. Then another hand grabbed the front of his nightshirt—rude!—and pulled him down into a hot, damp kiss.

“You have a water thing,” he accused breathlessly, when he was let up.

Fenris’s brow wrinkled. As he remembered what Anders was referring to, he smirked. “This is coincidence.”

“If it happens a third time, you have to admit that I’m right.”

“I have to admit nothing.” He pulled Anders down again. There was sweat involved at this point, and tongue. A lot of water got on Anders’ nightshirt.

Anders tore himself away, and Fenris didn’t pursue him. “I have to wear this to bed,” he complained, trying to wring out the nightshirt.

“Not necessarily.”

“Well, aren’t you smooth,” said Anders, but panic was coiling inside him. If what was between them was only flirtation, and Fenris tired of him after one try, or if Fenris discovered how much he wanted and was threatened or repulsed by it… “Some other time, maybe. I’m tired.”

He wasn’t lying. He managed to fall asleep before Fenris could join him in the bed. 

-

Anders awoke mid-scream from a nightmare about the Mother. Hadn’t had one of those in a while. He gulped in air, trying to stagger his breaths enough to slow his racing heart.

“Mage? Are you yourself?” Fenris stood on the other side of the bed. His markings gleamed in the darkness, not lit but singing with potential, and he held his hands up in a defensive posture. 

Anders realized that he had been glowing. As soon as he noticed, the glow faded out.

“Uh,” he said. “I think so.”

He felt Fenris watching him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down.

The elf’s weight hit the bed. “Anders,” he said, and Anders felt him crawl tentatively towards him.

“I had a nightmare,” he explained. “It’s just one of those Grey Warden things. You must have heard me having one before.”

“Not so loudly before.” Fenris moved closer. His bare knee brushed Anders’ leg.

“Did you sleep naked?” said Anders, cracking an eye.

“Yes,” said Fenris, unnecessarily, with what sounded like a deliberate lack of embarrassment. “I… had hopes for the morning. But you need not concern yourself with that.”

“Ah.”

“You would prefer that I were dressed.”

“No, I,” Anders took in a breath. “Can you hold me? Just hold me. You don’t have to do anything else.” He turned on his side so that he didn’t have to see Fenris’s expression, as little as could be made out in the darkness. 

There was a moment of silence from Fenris, during which Anders resigned himself to the literal or figurative tearing out of his heart; and then a strong, wiry body was carefully pressed to his back.

“Like this?” said Fenris, draping an arm over his waist.

“Fuck,” said Anders, and made himself relax.

He had wanted to keep it at that, but his body was restless and greedy, made bold by the press of skin and the tangling of bare legs. His nightshirt was cool with sweat and Fenris felt so warm.

He shifted and felt Fenris harden, cock just grazing his ass.

Anders rolled his hips back.

Fenris froze. Anders pushed back against him, harder.

"Changed my mind," he said. Before he could think twice, he took hold of Fenris's hand and moved it under the hem of his nightshirt.

Fenris sucked in a breath. He ran his hand over Anders' torso, up over his chest, and then down to his stomach, hips, thighs. His fingers curled around Anders and stroked, the friction already eased by his arousal.

"You want me." Fenris sounded uncertain and a little confused.

Anders squeezed his eyes shut. "I do."

He reached behind himself, awkwardly, and found Fenris's other hand. Lips were pressed to his shoulder through the nightshirt; he would have preferred to feel them on bare skin, but didn't want to push it. Then Fenris tugged the collar of the nightshirt aside to bite him, and his surprised gasp quickly became a moan.

There was clearly more to be said. Anders decided to put it off for as long as he could manage, as Fenris pressed against him and continued to touch him, giving him, for the moment at least, anything he might think to ask for.

#realace #dadwc #dadwc fill

[spicywarl0ck]

Happy Friday! How about “You’re breathtaking” for Fenhawke?

Thank you so very much for this ask x3 I had something romantic in my mind, but when I started writing, I remembered the first time I encountered Fenris in DA2, so this came out instead. @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Fenris/male Hawke Rated: T (only because of blood) Length: 519

There could have been many words he could’ve uttered when he watched the blood-covered elf step down the stairs, but he never knew why the following sentence had escaped his lips instead.

“You’re breathtaking.” Hawke couldn’t pry his eyes from the still faintly glowing eyes. He didn’t even notice the baffled faces of his companions as they looked at him in disbelief from behind him.

What he noticed, however, was the slight arch in the elf’s dark brows when he came to a halt before him, cocking his head to the side in slight irritation. 

“I apologise.” He chose to ignore the strange remark obviously as he paced around them. “When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so numerous.” the elf added, his voice so smooth it baffled Hawke.

By the Maker, he had just watched this man tearing a heart out of a chest. That act alone should alert all his senses.

But he was a Hawke, and all he could think about was how beautiful the elf’s skin looked as the moonlight fell onto it and how the white hair fell so smoothly into his face. Not to mention the graceful way he moved around Hawke and his party.

“I…” he coughed as his voice gave way. “I take it they were looking for you?” 

“Correct.” The elf’s green eyes studied him as he turned around. There didn’t seem to be any more hidden hunters waiting to ambush them. “My name is Fenris. These men were imperial bounty hunters. Hired to reclaim a Magister’s lost property. Namely myself.” 

Hawke took only half the words in as he studied Fenris, getting lost in the green eyes and smooth lips as they moved.

He had never seen a man more beautiful or terrifying, but he couldn’t betray the fast pace his heartbeat took upon as it threatened to burst through his ribcage. There just was something about him.

“So, you needed help taking them out, I take it? So you hired Anso, who hired us?” Varric concluded since Hawke hadn’t been moving, the mage's lips moving like a fish gasping for water.

“Correct. I couldn’t face them alone, and thankfully, Anso chose wisely.” Fenris's lips twitched as he spoke his praise.

It wasn’t truly a smile, but enough to take Hawke’s breath away again. He realised it might have been that infamous love at first sight, which probably was a bit strange, considering the elf was still covered in his enemy's blood.

But honestly, that wouldn’t be the first strange thing Hawke ever felt or did.

“If they were slavers, then they deserve their fate.” Hawke tried to sound smooth but failed. At least Varric’s face told him so. “So what happens now?”

“They’re not the only ones in town. There will be more. Besides, ” Fenris ducked beside one of the corpses, face turning into a sneer. “It’s as I thought. Their Master accompanied them. I need to confront him before he finds me first.”

Fenris paused for a moment, eyes studying Hawke.

“And I could use some help.”

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #prompt #writing #fenhawke #dadrunkwriting #my writing #prompt fill #dadwc #fenris #hawke #Fenris/male Hawke #male Hawke/Fenris #first time meeting #Hawke is a dork #this was my reaction to meeting Fenris okay? #don't take this too serious

[kiastirling-fanfic]

Happy Friday, I would love to see something cute! Dascha Cadash/Blackwall - "we’ll survive, you and i. "

Cuteness occurs! I'm incapable of pure fluff, but it's more cute than not so we're going with it.

@dadrunkwriting

Word count: 986 Pairing: Blackwall/Dascha Cadash Content warnings: mentions of theoretical child death?? Timeline: Post Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts but before Here Lies the Abyss (and thus pre-Blackwall Plot Twists)

-

“We’ll survive, you and I,” Blackwall assured her one night in camp. His sword was laid out on his knees as he ran an oil cloth over it while Dascha checked the fletching on her arrows as they kept watch.

Technically it was just Blackwall’s watch, but everyone had long since come to accept that Dascha would sit it on as many watches as she could to avoid sleeping. And hopefully they’d be joining the host of the Inquisition’s forces soon to take down the attempt at a demon army the wardens were brewing, which meant none of Dascha's companions would need to take a watch again for a while.

"What brought that on?" Dascha didn't stop her fussing with feathers, and Blackwall didn't stop the long slow sweeps of his oilcloth. "Are you getting maudlin in your old age?"

"Cute," Blackwall snorted, and she could see the twitch of his mustache in the firelight that showed he meant it. "No, I only wanted to say it. You've been tense lately, more than usual."

"Right because there's nothing to be tense about," Dascha barked a laugh, probably sounding half manic. "I put a warmonger on the throne, we killed a dragon yesterday, and when the army gets here we get to march on wardens, your brethren. Nothing to be tense about."

"I didn't say there was no reason." Apparently doubting his sincerity was what it took to get Blackwall to set down his sword. He wrapped it lightly in the cloth kit he'd had splayed in his lap and laid it gently in the sand before he approached her.

Soon she was tucked up against his side on the same side of the fire facing out past the cliffs and dunes. Less than the blazing heat of the fire before her, but Blackwall's warmth was better certainly, especially without his gambeson or any armor plating getting in the way. Dascha set her arrows down on the other side and leaned into him.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, only the crackling fire, Bull's snores, and some squabbling phoenixes in the distance to break the night's quiet. If Dascha weren't nightblind already she imagined the stars might be pretty.

"You aren't going to lull me to sleep," she grumbled after a while, ignoring how her eyes wanted to droop, instead nuzzling her head into his side.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he assured her. "I only thought you deserved a moment of peace. You've more than earned it, and more than most."

"Sweet talker." And he was. You wouldn't think it, big hulking hairy man with a sword and a thick marcher accent, but Dascha had never heard half the sweet nothings he whispered to her in their brief moments before a kiss was stolen and they each went back to their own duties. "So. We both survive. What then?" 

"Kill Corypheus, I should hope. Then whatever else the Inquisition needs done."

"And you with the wardens? Once this calling thing stops." Alistair hadn't said much to her about it, said it was Blackwall's place since they were together, but it didn't sound good, not if it could scare all the wardens in the south to succumb to demons.

"Perhaps. But I would hardly be the first warden to take a step back. Move on from being a wandering recruiter and start training the young upstarts instead, or desk work. Every organization has desk work, even the wardens."

"We could have rooms in a warden keep then?" That didn't sound too bad, truth be told. She was kind of used to living in a keep now anyway, and the Inquisition wouldn't go on forever. Even if it did, she could pass the reins to someone else once the current crisis was past; what use was she in dealing with all this Andrastian nonsense? Once the rifts were all dealt with and Corypheus was dead, Dascha could quit. They only needed her for her arm anyway.

“Or a cottage near one. It’d be warmer, and there’d be more room.”

“Room? What would we need room for?” Dascha had slept in Carta boltholes ever since leaving Orzammar; her cabin in Haven had already seemed huge by comparison, and her quarters in Skyhold were ridiculously opulent. What would she ever need more room for?

“Whatever we want, I suppose. Things. A dog. Children.”

Children. Ancestors that was a possibility wasn’t it? If they were serious. Dascha tried to laugh it off anyway. Dascha could only see Blackwall’s face a little by peeking up through her lashes, but he looked just as queasy to say it as she did to hear it. How did people even raise children? Not like she’d been raised, certainly.

“That would involve actually having sex, Warden.” Which they hadn’t done, not for lack of trying. It was just impossible to have more than a few seconds to themselves with the Inquisition it seemed, everything always on the edge of collapsing. “And dwarves aren’t known for our, ah, fertility as is. I should tell you about Orzammar sometime, and the noble chasers.”

“But if it happened, would you be opposed?”

“Would you?”

Blackwall had a rather visceral reaction to children screaming she’d learned, even though the children in Skyhold only did so for fun while playing. But his hackles rose and if it happened suddenly he was liable to spin around with his sword drawn; there was something there. Had he been a father before the Wardens? Or had he simply seen one too many kids killed by darkspawn in the Blight?

“I’m not. Opposed, I mean. If you wanted children, I’d want them too.” Not that he did for certain want them now, but not that he didn't, either.

“We’ll see. After we finally have the chance to knock boots, then you can think about all the fat hairy babies we’re gonna have, okay?”

#dadwc #Dascha/Blackwall #Dascha Cadash #oh god what do I tag things I haven't done a fill in over a month

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

Hi happy Friday!!!! Can I please see Cullen/OC + “The smell of ozone during a storm” from the sensory prompts? ✨

It's been forever! Thank you so much for this prompt Rowan <3 It hurts so good. @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Cullen/Amaryllis (OC) Rating: T WC: 386 ---

She’s soaked when he finds her: on her knees in the pouring rain. Her eyes are closed, her pale face turned to the weeping skies. There’s blood in the water that streams down her neck, staining the collars of her robes. Her staff lies broken beside her. The piece of her father’s blanket is gone.

Cullen doesn’t stop until he’s taken to his knee at her side. From here, he can smell it. Ozone. He can taste it in the air around her, feel it spilling from the scorched earth beneath them.

“Amaryllis.” He isn’t sure what to say. There is nothing that could comfort her, now. 

He can see the way her skin has split along her chin and up, across her cheek. Her left eye is swollen and black. 

He reaches for the elfroot potion at his side and her hand grips his wrist: tight, but not enough to hurt. 

“Please.” Her voice is hoarse–a croaking whisper, barely heard over the downpour. She does not open her eyes. “I can’t.”

There is a fury rising within him. He can’t stop. “What happened?” Her other hand scrambles for purchase, and she tries to grip his chestplate, but her palm slides across its surface. Instead, she falls forward, her hand fisted in the soiled grass. Her other still grips his wrist.

At first, there’s nothing. She is still. Then, her shoulders begin to shake, and out of her mouth spills a harrowing cry. She lets go of him to pound her fists into the ground, once, and he realizes with horror that she has frozen the mud beneath her–her hands spill fresh blood upon the ice. 

“Fuck,” Amaryllis sobs. “Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!”

“Amaryllis.” He pulls her into him quickly, holding her tightly against him though the armor is uncomfortable for them both. With a shaking hand, he pushes the hair out of her eyes, and feels his own heart sink at what he finds. There is an unfathomable sorrow in her gaze. “What happened?” She doesn’t fight him. Amaryllis lets go. Falls against him. She seems to forget how to breathe for a moment, and then takes in a sharp, hitching gasp of air. 

“She’s gone. Ellana’s gone.”

Cullen’s own breath leaves him in a sudden punch.  He curls himself around her, and doesn’t let go.

#dadwc #dragon age drunk writing circle #cullen rutherford #cullen x oc #original female character #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #prompt fill #daff

[realace]

For DADWC fenders "I have no money for Wicked Grace this week, please help me cheat at cards!"

@dadrunkwriting It's Fenders but mostly Anders being drunk :)

"Fenris," Anders whispered. "Fenris!" Though whether he was actually whispering was a mystery. Anders had learned very early in the Wardens that when he drank he lost control over his speaking volume. Fenris wasn't paying attention to him though, so maybe he just had to whisper louder. Justice was saying something in the back of his head, something perhaps about it being a bad idea? But this was a wonderful idea, so that was probably what Justice was saying instead. Thanks for being such a good friend, Justice. The fuzzy grumbling that came back wasn't too positive but Justice had terrible communication skills regardless, so he probably just had to learn how to properly take a compliment.

And moving closer was probably a good idea. That alongside whispering louder would simply be a fool-proof way of getting Fenris' attention. He scooted his way on the couch to sit right next to Fenris, his body heat sinking into Anders' side as he leaned over to whisper. "Fenris!" This seemed to get a response as the body underneath him was shaking. Was Fenris laughing? What was the joke? Anders also wanted to be in on the joke. He would find out after, first - "Fenris, I have no money for Wicked Grace, please help me cheat at cards!" This time Anders was sure Fenris was chuckling. He pouted before reaching up to whisper directly into his left ear. "I'll make it up to you, promise," he whined. Suddenly there was a hand petting his hair, that was nice. So nice. Getting drunk was so nice. Was Fenris going to help him cheat? He was still laughing. Anders wanted in on the joke. "What's so funny?" Anders nuzzled into Fenris' shoulders. He really was a very comfortable person to lean into. Fenris pulled him upright, and Anders was temporarily awestruck by just how beautiful Fenris was. That was before he realized that Fenris had been talking and decided to pay proper attention. "Anders, everyone has gone home." Fenris pointed at the empty couch across from them and the deck of cards that had been neatly assembled into a pile. So what? "You could still help me cheat." Anders pouted, his face back on Fenris' shoulder. Fenris chuckled once more, Anders' body shaking alongside him. "Perhaps next time, Amatus." His hand was back in Anders' hair. Anders fell asleep feeling certain that there was no way he was going to lose at Wicked Grace next time.

#my writing #alice writes words #dadwc #prompt fill #fenders #i had fun with this one #they are boyfriends #and in love #and losers

[plisuu]

Welcome to DADWC! I’d love to see “ There’s only one bed… ” for Cassandra/Varric!

Ohhh, thank you for the warm welcome and prompt!!! @dadrunkwriting 154: “There’s only one bed… ”

Cassandra let out a huff, hip cocked to the side and arms folded in frustration as she glared at the over-embroidered, gold-gilded mess that Orlesians considered bedding. The room was certainly luxurious, she’d give them that. “It looks like Ruffles’s legendary charm really did those nobles in. Do you think I could get them to do some favors for me if I worked the dwarfish magic a little bit? Maybe I should work the “famous author” angle more often,” Varric joked, sweeping his gaze over the expensive decor with an appreciative gaze. “I think that the only thing your dwarfish magic would gain you is much less pleasant,” Cassandra scoffed. She looked over the room again, committing its details to memory. A balcony to the south with elaborate railing could invite an assassin, but the foot of the bed faced the double-doors so the sleeper would be able to see out without much trouble… The foot of the single, massive bed in the center of the room... “There’s only one bed!” She exclaimed, and the realization caused her to flush red. “Maybe we should have asked her to work the charm a little harder,” Varric chuckled. When the Inquisition had reached their generous lodging in Orlais, the news was broken to them by Josephine. “Due to the limited number of rooms that we’ve managed to acquire, we will need to share many of the accommodations,” the ambassador had informed them. Unfortunately, Varric had offered to take any spot left open, and no one had volunteered to subject themselves to Cassandra’s snoring. They weren’t exactly told that the bed was part of the accommodation they would be expected to share. “I will sleep on the floor,” the Seeker announced abruptly, marching to the far side of the room and dropping her belongings. “Oh, come on Seeker. What, worried I’ll spend all night whispering sweet nothings? Don’t think I can keep my hands to myself?” he goaded, tugging off his leather gloves and wiggling his fingers at her. “Really, you don’t give me enough credit.” A frown formed on Cassandra’s lips and she furrowed her brows. “There will not be room for both of us. And besides, It wouldn’t be appropriate.” “This bed is big enough to fit half of the Inquisition’s troops, and you’re worried about that?” Cassandra’s frown deepened. She had shared tents before without trouble, even with Varric, but something about sharing a bed was intimate. “Are you blushing?” Varric laughed, turning to the freshly filled water basin to start cleaning off the grime from traveling. “I am not!” Varric laughed again, and Cassandra marched up to grab him by the scruff of the shirt. “Whoa there, we haven’t even gotten to the bed part yet,” he teased. “You could at least treat me to dinner first.” “Ugh!” She shoved him away from the basin and splashed her face, hoping to cool down the furious heat that prickled there. When she turned back around, Varric had taken the far side of the bed, causing the frame to creak. She eyed the mattress again. It was quite large. There would be at least 3 feet between herself and the dwarf, if he managed to stay on his side. She let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. But if you touch me, I will strangle you in your sleep, dwarf.” Varric let out a drowsy chuckle. “Is that a threat, or a promise, Seeker?”

#dadwc #varric x cassandra #Varric Tethras #Cassandra Pentaghast #my writing #first prompt fill!!!!!

[inquisimer]

hello fellow cullen trash I am dying for more cullen x inquisitor... how about: L’appel du vide (French): Literally translated to “the call of the void”; contextually used to describe the instinctive urge to jump from high places.? Happy writing :)

i've found my people HELLO ask and ye shall receive

@dadrunkwriting

If Neria had stopped to think about how jumping off a turret would look, she probably wouldn’t have done it. She would have thought about how it might falter the hopes of the Inquisition forces, spark rumors among the dubious nobility, foster concern among her companions. She would have realized that it would inevitably lead to an extensive lecture from Josephine about implications and appearances.

But, as in so many things, she didn’t think. And now she was sitting in the to-be clinic, conjured ice pressed against her knee, and facing a stoic Commander.

Stoic Cullen was the worst—the man wore his heart on his sleeve and, as many hands of Wicked Grace had proved—had no poker face. So to see him, arms crossed and face carefully blank…well, she was in as much trouble as she’d ever been. She’d had an apology on the tip of her tongue since he’d first stormed the courtyard, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to utter it.

She hadn’t done anything wrong. Technically.

She fed a whisper of mana to keep the ice solid and his façade finally broke. He crossed the room in two strides, stopping just short of her cot.

“What were you thinking—”

“Solas said it was safe!” She cut him off before he could get started, because no one could lecture and guilt like an Andrastian who thought they were in the right. “That’s why I did it! He told me—Skyhold would catch me.”

“Skyhold would—Maker’s breath, it’s a building!”

“It is,” she agreed. “But it’s more than that. Don’t you feel the magic in the stones? Don’t you feel it when you walk the battlements? Doesn’t it just make you want to…jump?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Neria sighed. How did she explain the tugging on her heart, the way that Skyhold was already the closest she’d felt to home in her life, even though they’d only been there a few weeks? She could feel the heart of the building as surely as the pulse of the anchor in her hand; and it felt her, and cradled her like the mother she’d never known. Even if Solas hadn’t told her what he’d seen in the Fade, she would have felt safe making such a jump. Skyhold wouldn’t let her fall, and it knew how she wanted to fly.

“I should have told you,” she allowed. Cullen huffed, but his posture loosened and she knew she was forgiven. He knelt and took the ice from her, pressing it against her bruised knee, perhaps a bit harder than was strictly necessary. She winced, then tucked her chilled hand under his mantle in retribution.

“Just think,” she said, wicked smirk curving the corner of her mouth. “I’ll never have to use the stairs from the rookery again.”

“Maker preserve me,” Cullen muttered.  

#dadwc #my writing #dragon age #dai #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #oc: neria surana lavellan #filled prompts #yes this is my headcanon about the no fall damage in skyhold

[highwayphantoms]

Happy Friday Jay! I am currently feeling some Carver (in the Inquisition hunts Hawke AU maybe??) + ❝ keep your eyes on me— just focus on me. we’re gonna be okay. ❞ from the Emotionally Charged Sentence Starters list! HAVE FUN :D

yesssssssssss okay as usual I took some liberties with the prompt phrase but. IT'S FINE IT'S FOR FUN. tho a couple of Hawkes aren't having fun. hehe.

oops forgot to tag @dadrunkwriting

Warnings: uhhh casual anti-mage sentiment mostly? implied violence in the background Rating: T Word Count: 1311 words

If you missed the first installment in the Inquisition hunts Hawke AU, it's right here!

-

Being with the Wardens meant that news was sometimes slow to reach them. Between excursions to the Deep Roads and a general avoidance of settlements, it was a full six months before Carver heard of the uproar in Kirkwall. The city’s Knight-Commander, murdered in her own bed barely three years after the Viscount had died under similarly mysterious circumstances.

He didn’t need to listen to his fellow Wardens trading rumors with the merchants to know who had likely done it.

What have you gotten yourself into, Sister?

Still, nothing he could do from here. Even if he knew where to look—surely she had fled Kirkwall—the odds that the Senior Warden would let him leave on family business were exactly zero. Wardens weren’t supposed to keep ties with family, after all. There were a few rare exceptions, the Hero of Ferelden being one, but she’d killed an Archdemon and lived to tell of it. She’d earned the exception.

Carver very definitely had not. Sure, he’d done what was asked of him. Investigated reports of darkspawn all across the Free Marches, trekked through the Deep Roads to refresh and expand their maps, endured the wariness of villagers who were convinced Grey Wardens were themselves darkspawn. (They… weren’t wrong, if his suspicions were accurate.) But there was a vast difference between a Warden whose only accomplishment thus far had been surviving the Joining and a Warden who’d ended a Blight.

Within a year, it wasn’t just rumor. In a village a few days north of Ostwick, a farmer told them that the Chantry was hunting an apostate believed to have murdered the Knight-Commander. On the road to Markham, an innkeep mentioned that the Divine had re-established the Inquisition of old.

Its mission?

I hope they brand that witch, the innkeep had muttered. Brand her. Make her Tranquil.

Serafina, Tranquil? Unimaginable.

Carver didn’t bother to ask permission. In the middle of the night, he slipped out of the inn with no one the wiser, and started walking.

Most people would seek familiar territory to hide in. For his sister, that would be Kirkwall or Ferelden, and he was fairly certain she wasn’t quite so reckless as to have gone back to Kirkwall. But then, she wasn’t most people. Neither was he.

If her goal was to simply evade the Chantry, that would be easy enough. The Orlesian Chantry had no pull in the Tevinter Imperium, or at least not enough that its new Inquisition could march across the border uncontested. But she’d never been one to run. When they were children in the hills outside Lothering, she’d stood up to an older boy who stood head and shoulders above her, and probably would have given him a reason to fear the entire Hawke household if Carver hadn’t stopped her. Serafina didn’t run.

If this Inquisition tried to corner her, though, it wouldn’t end well for anyone.

As he came upon the city of Ostwick once more, two days later, there was a great clamor spilling out of the city. He passed people fleeing with their children, most of whom barely spared him more than a glance. Under normal circumstances, a Grey Warden was an oddity—but they had passed through Ostwick barely a few days ago, and these were clearly not normal circumstances.

A single city guard stood by the gate into the city. He barely even glanced at Carver before he shrugged and said, “If you’re of a mind, Warden, there’s… well, something’s happening in the Circle. It was on fire last I saw it. Can’t miss it.”

It was entirely possible that Serafina had absolutely nothing to do with this. She could easily be on the other side of the continent for all he knew—but it would be just like her to dig herself in deeper.

If his sister was anything, she was definitely stubborn.

Indeed, Carver had no trouble finding the Circle. It appeared to be burning, despite being clearly made of stone, but the fire was green rather than red and orange. He’d heard of things that naturally burned different colors, but he’d grown up with mages for siblings. He knew magical fire when he saw it. There were several clusters of city guards and templars alike gathered around the burning building, many of the latter stained with soot. No one, he noted, appeared to be going in or coming out.

“—too dangerous, I’m not sending any of my men in there,” a man said nearby. He wore the same armor as the rest of the city guard, but his hair was solid gray and Carver got the impression he’d been serving in the city guard for decades. “Apologies, ser, but I think it’s safest just to let it burn.”

A templar standing opposite the guard shook their head, as non-descript as any other templar with helmet on. “The mages are our responsibility. We can’t just leave them to die,” she said. Then she paused, glancing over the guard’s shoulder and directly at Carver. “You, Grey Warden.”

Reluctantly, Carver acknowledged her with a stiff nod.

“I am Knight-Captain Elisa. We arrested an apostate this morning, whom I believe is responsible for the fire currently consuming the building. If you are willing to join a unit of several of my templars to find and deal with her, I will reward you handsomely. What say you?”

Maker’s fucking tears, Serafina. What are you trying to do? Aloud, he replied, “If she’s capable of this,” he said, gesturing at the burning building, “what makes you think she won’t simply kill us?”

The Knight-Captain audibly sighed. “True. I would promise to send your reward to your family, but Wardens don’t have family, do you?”

If he was right, if this was his sister, he was in no danger from her. Rather, he was concerned he might have to kill the templars—and even a layperson would be able to tell that they were killed by a blade rather than magic. “I’m not concerned about the reward,” he said finally. “Just tell me where to go. Can’t be as bad as the Deep Roads.”

And so he found himself perhaps ten minutes later, utterly alone in a maze of a building. The fire, as it turned out, only surrounded the exterior of the building, leaving the inside untouched. Of the four templars who had entered with him, two were dead and the other two had simply vanished—but that was a problem for later. First priority: where the fuck was Serafina?

The answer, as he soon discovered, was in the cellar.

He found her sitting with her back to the wall, knees pulled to her chest and muttering inaudibly to herself. She didn’t react to the sound of his footsteps, nor the way his armor creaked as he crouched down in front of her. “Hey,” he said, “Serafina. Let’s get out of here.”

She stopped muttering, but otherwise didn’t move for several seconds. Then she glanced up—and he realized with a start that her eyes were a vivid yellow.

Not gray. His sister’s eyes were gray. Always had been, as long as he could remember.

Then she blinked, and the eerie color was gone. “Carv,” she murmured.

“What’s going on?”

Serafina quirked a wry smile at him. “Made a deal. I—” She stopped, then inhaled sharply. Yellow flickered in her eyes again, and she gritted out, “I have—some control. Not enough.”

A demon. She’d cut a deal with a demon, he realized.

Right, because things weren’t fucked enough already.

“Okay, you know what?” he said, grabbing her by the forearms and hauling her upright. “Look at me. Focus on me, okay? We’re gonna be okay, but we have to get out of here first.”

She laughed, the sound just off enough to be unnerving. “Out. Right. Lead the way, little brother.”

#jay writes #dadwc #dragon age #da fic #alternate title for this fill: #Started Bad Got Worse #serafina hawke #inquisition hunts hawke au #carver hawke

[anatidae-dragonage]

Happy Friday! How about "Trying not to laugh in a meeting" for The Iron Bull/f!Adaar? 👀

Thank you!! Terrible puns lie below:

Word Count: 547

Rating: G

Pairing: f!Adaar/The Iron Bull

@dadrunkwriting

“Two hours,” is what Josephine had promised with a heavy sigh, but by the view of the sun sinking through the window, it was pushing on four.

It was sort of important—a negotiation about the troops an Orlesian noble would be supplying them—but so many times now the conversation had dipped into topics Josephine was so desperately trying to steer them away from: religion, yes, but also napkins and sea glass and Phoenix quills.

When Bull’s knee bumped Adaar’s under the table, her eyes flicked from the Marquis to him. He glanced down pointedly, then nudged her again. He held a slip of paper between them beneath the table’s edge. Eyes back on the Marquis, she took it. He was rambling on about sheep now while Cullen fidgeted impatiently beside him. She glanced back down.

On the slip of paper, Bull had drawn a ram in the Marquis’ jacket, above the line “This is baaa-ed.”

She was good at keeping a straight face by now, but his knowing grin as he watched her from the corner of his eye was almost enough to make her break. She slipped the page between the contract and the sheet she was taking notes on to scribble along the bottom edge, “Ewe said it.” She doodled a sheep in a Chantry Mother’s hat, and when she thought no one was looking, passed it back.

And so it went back and forth. I want to abandon sheep! with a lamb in a pirates hat.You herd the man. A grouchy sheep and a smiling one. We’ll be done soon; shear up!

“Speaking of the eastern border,” Josephine cut in, tapping the Marquis’ map, “We have troops stationed here and here, but we need a stronger presence in the area. Would you be willing to assist us?”

“My cousin Leanne has a house near there,” the Marquis sighed wistfully. “On the lake.”

“Might she help as well?”

“You’d have to ask her. We haven’t spoken since a rather unfortunate debacle at a party six years ago.”

“Yes, then….”

Bull elbowed her.

What a ca-lamb-nity. Think Josephine can re-ewe-nite them?

It was so stupid that she had to cover her snort with a cough.

“Are you alright, Lady Herald?”

Her eyes snapped to the Marquis.

“I am. My apologies.”

Ram it! she wrote back.

Another hour passed of intermittent doodling and attempted negotiation.

Udder-ly boring.

I’d rather be bleat-ing out

Then I’d have to heal ewe.

That one was a reach. Pasture prime?

And the drawings grew more irreverent. The sheep Marquis was joined by sheep Cullen and a distinguished sheep Josephine, as well as a sheep composed mostly of genitals. (What a dick. No pun, just the truth.) Bull coughed unconvincingly when she added him to the list.

An elbow hit her right side. Biting her lip, Adaar turned enough to see Leliana glowering at her from the corner of her eye. She held a hand out palm-up. Cheeks flushed, Adaar snatched the page from Bull and passed it to her. Leliana tucked it neatly in her bag.

Adaar looked back to the Marquis and paid attention to the end of the meeting.

“Sorry,” Adaar said when the session finally ended and Leliana returned their doodles. Leliana sighed.

“All’s wool that ends wool.”

#dadwc #f!adaar/the iron bull #my writing #prompt fill #rated g

[syrupwit]

hi i'm baaaaaaaack for more Alistair/Zevran? The NSFW prompt "Rough sex as an effective form of emotional coping or trauma recovery" particularly called out to me for them.

Hello, good evening, thank you very much for this! I've been struggling with various little drafts of this fill for weeks, but here it is, dammit.

Under the cut, please find exactly 400 words of Alistair/Zevran for @dadrunkwriting. CW: sexual content, implied past noncon (not between main pairing).

-

Alistair didn't like pain. Taking it, inflicting it—there was little draw for him there, not even enough revulsion to be provoked and coaxed around to attraction. What he did like was making people happy, and feeling that he'd been indulged, given a special treat. There were many things he could be persuaded into enjoying if they were framed the right way.

Currently he was enjoying sitting on top of Zevran, if the obvious physical excitement and heavy breathing were any indication. Zevran attempted to turn his face around so that he could kiss Alistair, and was instead pushed down so that his cheek mashed into the mattress, his wrists twisted further behind his back. 

Alistair leaned over and ran his tongue around the outside of Zevran’s ear that was accessible to him.

Zevran thrashed, a little theatrically. Alistair released his wrists and pressed him down like a seal, weighing him in place, his bare chest on Zevran’s bare back. Zevran could have slipped from under him at any moment, of course, but the point for him wasn’t to be truly physically overpowered; it was to reach a state of mind where he no longer thought of escaping. 

Zevran liked pain. Sometimes. Not for its own sake. When he had a choice, he preferred pain as a seasoning more than a main ingredient, a breeze that refreshed rather than a tempest that had to be navigated. When he had no choice, he would make do, and find sensual enjoyment and interest where he could. He preferred to have a choice.

Alistair liked giving him a lot of choices.

“Mleh,” said Alistair, apparently having dried out his tongue already. Amateur (Zevran thought fondly). “Is this something like what you wanted? This position?” He rolled his hips against Zevran’s ass.

“If you could hold me down just a tad harder,” said Zevran, the picture of courtesy. “And bite my neck a little. Ah, there we are.”

Alistair rolled his hips again, with more force this time, and mumbled an unfortunately phrased but kindly meant obscenity into Zevran’s skin. It was going to be so lovely, Zevran thought, when he actually fucked him. So, so lovely, no matter how long it lasted. He gave a pleasured sigh that made Alistair stutter in concern for a moment, though it was quickly forgotten when Zevran turned his neck against him, seeking to be bitten again.

#rosella-writes #dadwc #dadwc fill

[spicywarl0ck]

Hello! How about “sleepy kisses” from the kiss prompts for anyone you’re feeling tonight?

Happy Friday x3 Thank you for the lovely prompt. I know it's short but I felt it was the right point to end it there x3 @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Fenris/male Hawke Rating: G Lenght: 453

The sunlight was warm as it fell through the curtains and grazed his skin.

He stirred in his sleep, stifling a yawn as his eyes remained closed. He wasn’t ready to get up yet, the soft and warm body beside him offering him the comfort he’d needed for a long time. 

Hawke's breathing beside him was even, accompanied by the occasional snore, which made him chuckle.

His eyes dared to open just slightly before they took in the body beside him. Hawke’s black hair was ruffled, his bearded cheek red from where he’d pressed it against the pillow for too long. He looked peaceful.

Mornings like these had been rare, and Fenris was thankful for every second he could spend with the Champion of Kirkwall.

It hadn’t been too long ago that he’d been scared to get too close to someone. Even today, he couldn’t say if that was because he’d never thought anyone could be capable of loving him or if he’d been too scared to lose or hurt them.

He still didn’t know, but Hawke was patient, giving him all the time he needed to figure it out.

It still amazed him that Hawke had been willing enough to take him back after he abandoned him that one night. He still regretted leaving. It had been the toughest choice he’d ever have to make apart from moving in with the ridiculous mage.

But now, he couldn’t be happier to spend the mornings and nights underneath the same sheets.

If only they could lay here for a bit longer. 

“Hawke.” Fenris touched the arm of the sleeping man next to him. “Wake up. We have to leave.”

“Hmmm, five more minutes,” Hawke mumbled as he turned in the opposite direction, pulling the bedsheet higher up.

“Oh, No you don’t.” Fenris shook him firmly, going as far as to apply a small smack onto the mage’s cheek to wake him up. This man truly had all the time in the world besides them being on the run ever since unleashing the chaos in Kirkwall.

“You slept long enough, you oaf,” he added firmly as he pulled the sheets away from Hawke’s body.

“Urgh, fine,” Hawke grunted, his voice still sounding sleepy as he turned toward the annoyed elf. But instead of getting up, he reached out with his arms to pull Fenris closer to him, ignoring the snort escaping the elf's lips as their noses touched.

“Just two more minutes then,” Hawke mumbled softly as tired amber eyes opened to look at him fondly. “We can spare two more minutes.”

“Fine.” Fenris harrumphed, his expression soft at the very moment their lips touched sleepily. Maybe they could spare two minutes after all. 

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #prompt #writing #my writing #dragon age2 #fenhawke #Fenris #Male Hawke #Fenris/male hawke #male Hawke/Fenris #dadrunkwriting #dadwc #prompt fill

[hunnybadgerv]

Tracker: 50 Types of Kisses

Adapted from the original list of 50 Types of Kisses by @kashimalin-fanfiction.

Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.

A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.

French kisses where they trace every tooth with their tongues as though trying to memorize them.

Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.

A kiss that lasts so long, they are sharing each other’s breaths.

A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

Butterfly kisses against the other’s cheeks.

A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.

A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.

One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

Teasing kisses where one person blows air into the other’s mouth and runs away.

One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

A chaste kiss given to each other because they are in mixed company.

A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.

Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.

Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

Brushing a kiss along the shell of the other person’s ear.

Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force.

Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.

Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.

An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.

An awkward kiss given after a first date.

Starting with bunny kisses before moving on to soft kisses.

Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.

Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.

Kissing tears from the other’s face.

A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

Kisses shared under an umbrella.

Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.

A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Tentative kisses given in the dark.

Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

A lingering kiss before a long trip apart.

A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.

One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

Short and sweet kiss after meeting up for a date.

A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

Adapted from Kissing Starter prompt list originally posted by screnwriter-deactivated20220724

“ kiss me. ”

“ can’t we just… make out, or something? “

“ i really want to kiss you right now. “

“ just one more… “

“ it was more of a peck… “

“ kiss me and you’ll find out. “

“ i’m here for business, not pleasure. “

“ so you don’t want me to kiss you? “

“ i could kiss you for hours. “

“ how about a good night kiss? “

“ you may now kiss the bride. “

“ permission to lean in? “ “ permission granted. “

“ you, me, bed, now. “

“ i fell asleep before i could kiss you. “

“ we didn’t kiss each other good morning. “

“ i’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while. “

“ kiss me, i’m miserable. “

“ who was your first kiss? “

“ did you do the laundry? “ “ yes, now where’s my kiss? “

“ if you want me to kiss you, all you have to do is ask. “

“ with your mouth on mine, there’s less bullshit coming out of it. “

“ can i get another one? “

“ every time you kiss me, i swear i’m falling even more in love with you. “

“ kiss the pain away. “

“ with your lips on mine… “

“ is there such a thing as love at first kiss? “

“ if i were to kiss someone, it would be you. “

“ you’re irresistible. ”

“ you said i had nice lips. who says that? “

“ kiss me again, but don’t stop this time. “

“ i love it when you kiss me. “

“ your kisses mean the world to me. “

“ i want you to kiss me. for real, this time. “

“ one last kiss is worth being late to work for. “

“ if you kiss me, we’re not getting out of bed today… “

“ you kissed me last night. “ “ and you didn’t stop me. “

“ no more kisses! i need to get ready for work. “

“ i really want to kiss you. “

“ it’s cute, this thing you’re doing. “ “ being all nervous? “

“ you’re going to have to guide me through this. “

“ i kissed you. “ “ i know, i… was there. “

“ you just can’t help yourself, can you? “

“ i’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you. “

“ it’s just an innocent kiss. “

“ we’re friends, right? friends kiss each other all the time. “

“ people kiss each other all the time. doesn’t mean there’s feelings involved. “

“ i’m sorry for bringing it up. “ “ actually, i would love to kiss you. “

“ you mean, you and me? kissing? “

“ you’ve seriously never thought about [us kissing]? “ “ maybe once or twice. “

“ you mean us, kissing? “ “ can’t say it never crossed my mind… “

“ of course i’m a little curious. i’ve heard great things about you. “

“ all i want to do is kiss you. all day, every day. “

“ well, if anybody were to kiss me, i would want that person to be you. “

“ you just can’t get enough of me, can you? “

“ and right now, i think you should kiss me. “

“ i’ll kiss you right now to prove i don’t feel something for you. “

“ you kissed me first. “ “ i definitely didn’t. “ “ you were literallyall over me. “

“ did you just kiss me? “

“ you’re so full of shit… [if you think the kiss didn’t mean something] “

“ did we just kiss? “

“ your kiss already gave you away. “

“ we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. “

“ don’t speak. just kiss me. “

“ come kiss me. “

#DADWC Prompts #Prompt Fill Tracking

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

HmmmMMMMMM solavellan PAIRHAPS for [ hand kiss ]  –  for the sender’s muse to kiss the back of the receiver’s hand.

And welcome Cully! Happy Friday!

I think we were all probably expecting something cute. Aaaaand that's now what we got lmfao Thank you for the prompt @rosella-writes <3 <3 <3 <3 For those who don't know--Ellana and Amaryllis gave each other tattoos on the inside of their left biceps... hehe For @dadrunkwriting Rating: T WC: 346 - Things had changed, Ellana knew. She had felt it in the way he had looked at her after she had chosen to drink from the well. How he had looked at her when he had admitted she had given him hope. How he had looked at her inside the Wyvern cave. 

She had become restless. There had been desperation in the nervous rolling of her stomach. She had found herself speechless in the wake of his admission, in what he was offering her. In how his lips had twisted, wistful. Ellana had searched his gaze for an answer, wanting–hoping–that this decision would not be hers. That Solas would tell her what she should do. She hadn’t wanted to believe that this–that any part of her life–could have been a lie. That the image of her father’s face would now forever be marred by the knowledge that he had died bearing the markings of a slave. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

She remembered crying. She remembered steeling herself, giving him her answer. Closing her eyes. The feel of his lips against the back of her marked hand, petal-soft; the brush of warmth as he exhaled against her skin. “You are free.”

She remembered opening her tearful eyes. Meeting his tender gaze. The way they had both leaned in–things had changed. There had been desperation in the rolling of her stomach. Her fingers had trembled where they were twisted in the front of his shirt. She wouldn’t let go. Not yet. 

Most of all, she remembered the way he had pulled back, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed, his gaze distant; the way he had gently pried her hands from his tunic while she scrambled for purchase, already pleading–

“It will never happen again.”

Ellana looked into the mirror above her wash basin and touched the skin below her eyes. 

Her naked face felt no different.

She pulled her tunic over her head. Stared at her heaving chest briefly, lifted her left arm, and prayed, for just a moment, that this hadn’t changed. 

But it was gone.

#solavellan #dadwc #prompt fill #dragon age drunk writing circle #angst #vallaslin #Ellana's were a cute lil forest green #matched her sunflower eyes #sorry Ellana #solas

[realace]

Happy Friday! Here is an angsty song lyric prompt for you: “If they want you they’re gonna have to fight me” from Night Terror by Laura Marling for Fenders, or anyone else you feel like writing ✨

@dadrunkwriting It's Fenders :) might upload to AO3 later?? It was difficult, life in Tevinter. Injustice was in every crevice and nook, demons in every magister and slavery as usual as bath houses or mansions. But after so much time on the run Fenris had wanted answers about his past, and Anders was his way in as a mage. Granted, there was no blood magic or slavery to be found anywhere near him but Fenris had assured him that Justice would be enough fascination for magisters to give him the time of day. So they'd moved to Tevinter in a desperate bid to find some answers.

Anders' had hoped that he would find answers sooner than later just by existing, preferably without going to the Magisterium. 

But even two days in every interaction with blood magic had started to make Justice flicker to the surface and Anders grew more and more weary. He was not meant for this kind of work. He was also not meant for constant hot weather and sweating. 

Tevinter had enough blood magic and hot weather to spare.

So after they had managed to find a spot for the clinic to be set up. Fenris had urged him to go out to the Magisterium, so they could spend the remaining days healing and finalizing their research before they left for good. ["Anders, I do not wish to engage with the Magisters either. But there is no other way at this juncture." Fenris was serious, though he was wearing the playful smile that always came out when Anders pouted. And Anders did - pout that is. "Fenris~," he whined. "There's blood magic and Justice doesn't like it. Aren't we doing great work here at the clinic?" He put on his best puppy dog eyes. "It is up to you, Amatus." Fenris' hand was soft as he caressed Anders'. "I do not wish to stay in Tevinter any longer. However, I have no desire to pressure you either. It is your choice." Well, what was a man to say to that? Anders made plans to go early in the morning the next day.] "So you're seeking information on Fenris, slave of Danarius?" The clerk in front of him was clearly looking down onto Anders though whether that was due to the height difference or disdain of Anders' outfit remained to be seen. Anders thought he cleaned up rather well. Fenris had even complimented him! Granted, Fenris had picked out the clothes from a distance as Anders bought them because you cannot be trusted to dress yourself, but the point remained: Dirty Sewer Apostate was out. New, clean, possessed Anderfels mage was in. Anders resolutely ignored the fact that Fenris would say he looked good in anything as his lover.

"Yes, and his history if possible," Anders replied. Justice was rumbling around in his head, mostly unintelligible words and feelings but in between there Anders caught a fragment of he is not a slave. "And who is requesting these documents?" The clerk continued looking bored as he held his writing utensil in his hand. "That would be -" Anders cleared his throat. "My name is Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall." Justice did not like that response either but Anders told him very politely to shut up.

The clerk rolled his eyes before handing Anders a stack of papers. "Alright Ser Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall," the title was said with disdain as the papers were transferred. "Fill these forms in and then ask for documents in the documents hall." Without even looking at Anders he yelled "Next!" the person next in line moving forward. Anders filled the forms with nonsense, Hawke was clearly born in Antive, definitely nearing his sixties with residency right here in Tevinter. By the time they checked these forms he and Fenris would be long gone, and the less trouble he got Hawke into the better. So he took his forms and got Fenris' documentation and got out of there as fast as he could. ---------

When he got back to the clinic he was the first one home He started rifling through the documents lightly. Fenris might not know his past but it still felt like an invasion of privacy to know more of Fenris' history than he did. He started with the latest information, that was safe. Danarius death was on the top, a newspaper clippings of his death and funeral. 

'Tevinter would miss one it's great experimental magisters' phfaugh. Anders called flame into his palm and set the paper in front of him aflame, Fenris did not deserve to have to read through other fools giving praise and acclaim to his previous master. Anders had already burnt a corner when a piece of text caught his eye, attached to the top on a note with handwriting. 'Magister Ahriman is still seeking his property, please send word when this file is requested." Maker's arse. Were they in trouble now? That's when the layers of locks to their clinic started rustling. Fenris had insisted on the complicated mechanism but it took them forever to get in and out. Tevinter had been Fenris' home however, so Anders allowed him to do as he pleased. After all, Fenris was the one risking it all by being here. As soon as white hair stepped through the door, Anders stood up to hug Fenris. "Welcome home, love." His arms wrapped around his back as Fenris was now busy locking the mechanisms on the inside. "Anders," Fenris replied as soon as he was done, turning around to face him. He placed his hand on Anders' face before pulling him in for a kiss. Anders' indulged the both of them, kissing softly against the door.

Anders pulled back to run his hand through Fenris' hair. Fenris pulled back as well, walking towards where he could hang up his armor. "All went well?" he asked, unbuckling his right gauntlet. "Mostly," Anders replied, reaching to help with the other gauntlet. "Mostly? What happened, Amatus?" Gauntlets removed, Fenris started unbuckling his chestplate. Anders still never got the buckles and straps right after the years so he left Fenris to remove his armor while he went back to where the papers were. "Well, I may have accidentally put a magister on our trail." Anders smiled at Fenris, hoping the smile came out reasurringly,  though it didn't reach his eyes. "Venhedis, am I doomed to never have peace?" Fenris threw his chestplate to the floor with more force than required, the sound echoing through the small clinic. "You will." Anders reached out to cup Fenris' face, Justice rumbling in agreement in the back of his mind. "I will make it so, Fenris. If they want you they’re gonna have to fight me. And I won't lose.” Fenris pulled Anders' close, his hands wrapped around him in an embrace. His voice was full of sentimentality when he spoke: "Foolish mage."

#prompt fill #dadwc #alice writes words #my writing #fenders #i had fun it's a nice post canon look #i hope you like it as well

[contreparry]

For DADWC! "Cuddling under far too many blankets"

I thought this would be a cute friendship fill for Merrill and Fenris for @dadrunkwriting !

He was freezing. It was obvious. Anyone could look at Fenris, with his exposed arms and thin clothing, and see that he wasn’t prepared for the mountain’s chill. And beyond that Merrill saw how he shivered at the edge of the dying ring of firelight when the wind picked up, and the hair along his arms rose up alongside the goose flesh. Poor Fenris was cold, but he was so stubborn he would never admit to it. They would share this watch until dawn, and Fenris wouldn’t say a word to her all the while as they kept guard over the other members of their party. He was simply too obstinate to ever admit to being cold!

Or, perhaps, he didn’t think he was permitted to complain. That was a worse and sadder possibility than mere pride. Fenris was so aloof and dignified that Merrill often thought it was pride that motivated his standoffishness, but he was so… so very…

Guarded! That was the proper word, guarded. Sometimes that caution was funny, like whenever he pushed against doors he just locked or when he kicked an extra bit of dirt over the soaking wet charcoal of a doused campfire. He was always so very careful about everything, so very particular. But other times his caution wasn’t funny, like when he scanned every room for exits, or how he endured hardship without complaint even while he suffered-

Well, there wouldn’t be any suffering tonight! Not while she was around. Merrill gathered up the blankets of her bedroll and carried them over to where Fenris set up his watch for the night, his back turned away from the embers of the campfire to watch the forest.

“What is it?” Fenris asked gruffly. Merrill held out the blanket pile towards him

“In the clan-“ Merrill began.

“I am not Dalish,” Fenris interrupted, turning his head sharply away from her in clear dismissal.

“In the clan,” Merrill repeated. “On cold nights like this, we’d share blankets and furs.”

“I presume this comment has a point?” Fenris asked testily. Merrill sat down beside him and swiftly flung a blanket over his shoulders before wrapping the other around her.

“We’re… companions. And I’d like to think we’re friends. That’s somewhat like a clan. So we ought to share, don’t you think?” Merrill noted that Fenris had ceased shivering, even though he held himself stiffly and away from her. The silence stretched out between them like the hours before dawn. It could have lasted forever. But then Fenris’ shoulders slumped, and he released a sigh that shattered the quiet.

“There is no point in discouraging you,” Fenris finally said, and when Merrill scooted closer towards him he did not push her away.

“There really isn’t,” Merrill replied with a smile. “I can be quite stubborn!”

Even in the dim light of the fire and the waning moon, Merrill saw how Fenris’ mouth twisted up into a wry smile.

#my writing #da drunk writing circle

[inquisimer]

❛ don’t look at me like that. ❜ for perhaps your Cousland? for dadwc

honestly thank you SO MUCH for this prompt bc I haven't written Cousland in a hot second and I almost forgot how much I love her

anyway, have some cousland x alistair fluff, in my queen!Ember verse

for @dadrunkwriting

“You’re not supposed to be here,” hissed Ember, swatting in Alistair’s direction. She was hindered by the long train of her dress, which put off her usual sense of balance. The lace was beautiful, far more than anything she’d every imagined, especially since she joined the Wardens. At this point she supposed she was lucky to be married at all, much less married to a prince, awaiting the king’s crown.

Her mother would be proud.

She faltered in her assault at the thought, and Alistair seemed to follow her exact train of thought, just as he always had. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, so she was enveloped in the smell of his freshly pressed tuxedo and the hair product Zevran had no doubt forced upon him. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his shoulder, makeup be damned. Wynne could fix it with magic, probably, otherwise Leliana could redo it to be passable.

Maker, but she wished it could have stayed this simple. She wished that Cailan had survived Ostagar, that Maric had borne more than two children, that Anora had been less of a self-serving shrew. She’d never dreamed of the crown for herself, though perhaps her mother had had such aspirations. Regardless, she’d never expected to find herself here, as she suspected Alistair hadn’t, and the nerves were certainly getting the better of her now.

He seemed to understand, her mood if not the underlying cause, and he wrapped his arms around her and gently stroked along her shoulder blades. He pressed his lips to the crown of braid that Leliana and the handmaidens had worked on painstakingly and didn’t ask her to explain her melancholy in the face of what should have been the happiest day of their lives.

She finally pulled back and drew her hands up to cup his face, which was soft and regretful and full of both love and remorse.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, brushing her thumb underneath his eyes. “Like any of this is your fault.”

“Maybe not fault,” he conceded, “but if I were anyone else…”

“I don’t love anyone else.”

“Well I certainly can’t be held responsible for your lapse in judgment,” he said, pressing his own grin against her lips. They were both lost in the touch, in the taste of each other, in the casual freedom with which they embraced. To join without fear of the future, without the impending threat of the archdemon—it was a state they’d hardly let themselves dream to be real.

“Get out!” Leliana’s screech comingled with the slamming of the door, and Alistair released his love as if she burned the way her name implied, stumbling back toward the window. Ember barely retained enough of her senses to turn and place herself between her fiancée and the bard, protecting him from her wrath so they would both live to see the altar.

“Don’t you know it’s horrible luck to see the bride on the wedding day?”

“I think we’re past the influence of bad luck, no?” Ember drew her dear friend toward the vanity—conveniently placed against the wall furthest from the window. Leliana’s gaze scoured her from head to toe, evaluating the condition of her hair and her dress and her makeup. She tutted, one finger coming up to flick at a stray eyelash that was clinging to Ember’s skin.

“I’ll have to redo your eyes,” she fretted. Ember brushed a hand across her shoulders, soothing

“There’s plenty of time,” she reassured her friend, glancing toward the window to ensure Alistair had made his escape. He’d face his own recompence, but she had a feeling his would be more pleasurable and involve far more liquor than her own.

“Sit,” declared Leliana, confirming Ember’s suspicions. “We’ll be lucky if I can get this eyeshadow back to what it should be in time.”

#dadwc #my writing #oc: ember cousland #queen ember #cousland #alistair #leliana #dao #filled prompts #alistair x cousland