dadrunkwriting

[dadrunkwriting]

hello, happy friday!! i like the idea of solas/lavellan/felassan and thought “I won’t pretend to know what you’ve been through. You should know, I wish it was me, not you.” would work really well!!

Title: The Moon & The Arrow Pairing: Felassan x Fen'aslan, Mentions of Solas x Fen'aslan x Felassan Rating: Teen Word Count: 1087 @dadrunkwriting Veilguard

Silence.

That never boded well in this forest, the Tirashan always made some kind of noise. The hair along the back of his neck prickled, the air grew heavy as an iridescent fog surrounded him. His violet eyes narrowed, holding his staff out in front of him he used it as a guide, testing where the ground was waking and were it was not. A sickening crackle filled his ears and the deafening pop followed, the magic of his home bled into the world. His lips thinned and his brows pulled tight into a scowl.

Sileal...no not anymore. Solas.

What once would have taken him a few hours had turned into a multiple day trip. Euvinala would have been heartbroken to see her beloved forest turn into this, and the fact Solas had come to claw at the veil, his mistake. If only the fool had listened to him. His hands tightened along the staff as he crested a hill, that should lead him down into the temple complex. All week had the veil strained against the assault, but it had not just been Solas' magic, the unmistakable geas of Mythal had filled the air but it had not lingered. Pressing himself against the three, the former sentinel watched a few patrolled the courtyard. One he did recognize, another who deserved his fury as much as Solas.

Rashale.

Carefully he made his way down the hill, remembering the old pathways. Euvinala's laughter, a phantom in his ear, and Solas' joy. His heart twisted, and the spot in the middle of his back burned. As angry as he was at their third, he was still beloved. Hurt and twisted and he had no way of knowing if Sileal, could come back from that. Salt burned his eyes as he squeezed them shut. He would find away, he owed it Euvinala, where ever her spirit was.

Carefully he climbed up onto the roof with a groan. A millennia old, and the fate that wove them all together, could not see to give him an easy path into the temple. The assault on the veil had subsided, but something he had overheard Rashale pass on to another sentinel, left him confused.

Our lady is whole again, she rests now.

Crawling along the roof, his mind turned it over in his head. Euvinala had been their lady, they where her sworn guard after Andruil's attack. His brows knitted as he chewed on his lip. Before that though they had served with him under Mythal. As unlikely as it seemed, he had wandered into a few shemlen women who felt like her over the many ages. It was more likely her than his beloved. Reaching one of the sky lights he grabbed a hold of the grating and lowered himself down in.

His feet hit the smooth tile, and he felt the flare of the wards around him, the magic was newer. His staff held in front of him, he carefully made his way into the chambers that would have been Euvinala's living quarters. Pushing against the door, he winced as it squealed against the title.

He felt the pull of the fade and it felt familiar but it was not Solas. How. By the stars. How had she survived. "I know you are there, come out, the Sentinels will be here shortly, and I am much kinder." He sucked a breath in, it did sound like her. He glanced down the hall and he stepped around the door lowering his staff. "My apologies, I had thought you anothe--" His voiced stopped dead, he did recongize the soul, the opal like eyes and the fiery hair. Tears started to run down his cheeks.

Her brows had knitted as she watched him with all the judgement of one of Mythal's senior priestesses. "Fel..assan" she barely whispered, tears clinging to her lashes and he offered her a smile. Magic crackled around them and it was then he noticed, her left arm. It had been formed of magic. Magic that had not entirely been of her soul but she made it apart of her. Her staff clattered to the ground and she threw herself into him. Sliding a foot back he managed to keep them both upright as she sobbed. His fingers found her hair as he held her.

"Oh Euvinala..." he murmured softly "I will not pretend to know what you have been through Vhenan." He kept his voice gentle as he carried her back to the couch. "You should know, I wish it had been me to walk this journey and not you." He settled against the arm of the couch pulling her into his lap.

"He..." she started, her voice choking with sobs. "told me." He pressed a kiss to her crown with a soft whisper. "Who told you what, vhenan?" he hated pressing her, but something told him he needed to know. The sob that left her cut him like a knife, they had all known back then despair had sank into Hope, to hear it though, it was an anguish he wished on none of them.

"Com...passion" she had managed and he gently hummed continuing to stroke her hair. "His friend had to die..." he took a slow breath, so Compassion had been there. "cause... h-he thought they w-were people." He closed his eyes, his fingers moving down her back and slowly rubbing circles. "A...a slow arrow b-breaks in the sad wolf's j-jaws." Her sobs were slowing and he opened his eyes, bringing his fingers around and cupping her cheek.

"Euvinala...beloved moon. Look at me." his voice rough with his own pain. Sileal still was in there for compassion to be so...violent about cutting to the core. "I am here beloved, with you." he murmured once those beautiful eyes met his. "So...Sileal?" she whispered he gently pressed a kiss to her temple. "Sileal...we will find him and save him. I have a long lecture planned for that stubborn ass." he growled softly, the sound of armor catching his attention.

Rashale... Their gazes met and the Sentinel tipped his head to him before closing the door. His attention turned back to the almost goddess in his arms. Her head laying on his shoulder, eyes closed listening to him and the fire in the hearth. Sileal hurt and he hurt those he loved in his wake, it would be hard to shake him from his pain but perhaps both of them could this time.

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy Friday! For Teigue X Lucanis: " 🌀 when they wake up from a nap, they immediately reach out for you, pulling you close again like it’s the most natural thing in the world."

Title: Coffee, Later Pairing: Teigue de Riva x Lucanis Dellamorte Rating: Teen Word Count: 211

@dadrunkwriting Veilguard

Coffee.Teigue

His lips curved into a smirk as he opened his eyes, a yawn slipping out. One of the many things he and Spite had agreed upon. Making coffee in the evening or early morning depending on the day and what contracts they carried. Carefully he pulled his arms out from under Teigue, pulling the blanket up over his piccola volpe.

Ours

His dark eyes filled with a deep purple as he made sure the blanket was snug. Trailing a hand along his sleeping love's cheek he leaned down pressing slight kiss. A hand wrapped around his wrist, as he pulled back his gaze met sleep heavy stormy eyes. "Vitamio." he murmured slurring the words together gently pulling him back towards the bed.

"If I do not get up amor, you will not have any coffee." His voice filled with a warm laughter as Teigue managed to pull him close enough to wrap both his arms around him. "Mhmm donotcare." he yawned and as if it was like breathing, he let himself be pulled back into bed and pulled closer. Their bodies fitting together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bossy.Coffee.Later.

Even Spite found it natural to be pulled closer to the smaller mage.

[dadrunkwriting]

happy DADWC! for either of your Rooks, from things said in an adventuring party: who in the fuck authorized this?

Quick little fill for @dadrunkwriting - Veilguard spoilers!

Spoilers for a side quest in the Hossberg Wetlands ahead :) Here's some Aquile, Davrin, and Harding!

-

The Hossberg Wetlands were awful. Cold, wet, and blighted—it couldn’t really get much worse. Except it did, because of course it could get worse. “Why,” Aquile grumbled as they stepped over a Venatori corpse, “did these idiots think there was anything worth their while in a crumbling mansion in a blighted swamp?”

“I think you’ve answered your own question there, Rook,” Davrin said from where he stood several paces away, cleaning congealed blood from his sword. Somehow, he looked as if they’d done nothing more difficult than cut down a couple of Venatori, like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Nevermind the big, powerful demon they’d spent the better part of an hour fighting, after dealing with a couple dozen Venatori.

Aquile was exhausted, for lack of a better word—and the eluvian back to the Lighthouse was still a long way off. What they wouldn’t do for a little bit of whatever ceaseless energy Davrin had…

“Did you still want to go look for that missing family?” Harding asked.

Aquile laughed humorlessly. “Not in the slightest. But I said I’d look for them.”

“You look like a stiff breeze is going to knock you over.” Davrin said it without judgment or pity, but they still scowled at him.

“We don’t have to go right now,” Harding said. “We can head back to Lavendel and catch our breath before we head out that way.”

Aquile shook their head. “I’d rather get it done with. Besides, if any of them are still alive, the longer we put this off, the less likely they’ll still be alive when we get there.”

“True enough,” Davrin agreed. “Though, Rook, if you actually got a full night’s rest once in a while…”

“Who in the fuck authorized this–this nannying?” Aquile retorted with mock offense. “Besides, you try falling asleep when your thoughts won’t shut up and leave you be.”

Davrin chuckled and offered them a fond smile. “Try falling asleep when a baby griffon won’t leave you be.”

“I think I would actually prefer that, actually,” Aquile replied, and they started trudging across the manor yard in the direction of Lavendel and the adjacent farmlands.

[dadrunkwriting]

From the "sleepy moments" prompts: "their head rests on your lap as they doze, and when you run your fingers through their hair, a small, contented hum escapes them." with Rook x Lucanis?

Title: A Stolen Hour Pairing: Teigue de Riva x Lucanis Dellamorte Rating: Teen Word Count: 189 @dadrunkwriting veilguard

The coffee and a long abandoned romance novel sat on the table behind them, as thin rays of the sun struggled against the thick heavy curtains. His fingers trailed along his temple where just the faintest hint of silver was starting to show. Teigue's lips curved in a smile as he gently hummed an all to familiar song.

They had locked the doors of the villa, and turned the Eluvian to open up on the wall. It was the first time since Elgar'nan had fallen, that they had both managed to find a moment for each other. Leather jackets and shirts tossed haphazardly by the door along with their boots. His fingers creeped into his dark hair starting to stroke it with a gentle hum.

The hand resting on his thigh tightened for a moment, and he felt the fade shift as a familiar spirit took a peek in the waking world. He did not linger and the hand released, looking down he expected to see brown eyes looking back at him. Instead his lover, his life laid finally relaxed, a soft hum escaping his lips.

[dadrunkwriting]

Hi, happy Friday and thank you for the welcome! Arlow de Riva/Lucanis with “I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m just really tired.” - Anonymous-Inquisitor

ty for the prompt!! Mostly fluff with some hurt/comfort (?) and subtle pining for flavor :3 for @dadrunkwriting - mild da4 spoilers, just Arlow and Lucanis being somft workaholics.

-

“Rook?”

Arlow started, blotting the parchment with the bead of ink that had been waiting too long for her to keep writing. Cursing under her breath, she set the unfinished letter aside and laid down her quill.

“Yes?” she asked, without looking up, or even really registering who had called her name. “What’s happening?”

“Arlow.” The same voice, but quieter, firmer. Finally, her brain caught up to her ears and she sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“Lucanis. What do you need? Must be serious, to get you out of the pantry.”

“If it were truly serious, I wouldn’t have waited as long as I did for you to respond to your name.” Lucanis perched on the edge of her desk and folded his arms. His brow knit together, concerned. “You need to rest.”

“Hypocrite.”

“My reasons are a little more tangible than yours.”

“Are they?” Arlow challenged. “Tell that to D’Meta’s crossing. Or—“

She broke off, glancing over to where Varric was sleeping. The steady rise and fall of his chest did nothing to ease the guilty ache in her heart.

“You cannot help anyone if you are exhausted beyond reason,” Lucanis said gently. “And what would Viago say, if he saw you so unaware of your surroundings?”

“Viago would clock me upside the head and knock me out to teach me a lesson.”

“Is that a request?”

“You can certainly try.” Her words were snippy, but they lacked their usual bite. She didn’t remember the last time she’d properly slept. Before the Crows kicked her out of Antiva, probably. With a sigh, she picked up her quill and took a fresh sheet of parchment.

“Arlow—“

“Someone has to answer Strife and Irelin,” she snapped. “Unless you have someone else that’s interested in the job, let me handle it.”

Her quill was halfway into the inkpot when Lucanis laid his hand over hers, trapping it there. She clenched her fist, irritated.

“Take a break,” he said firmly, in the voice of the First Talon’s grandson, the one that was used to deference. It made Arlow want to buck on instinct. But there was a weariness in her bones, an exhaustion in her soul that wanted to agree.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I blink, and the world falls apart, Lucanis. I look away, and every crisis redoubles.”

She closed her eyes and steadied herself with a breath. He was close enough that she smelled coffee and cinnamon, and the odd tangle of herbs that were always drying over his cot. “This is my contract,” she said. “Could you rest until it was completed?”

He pulled the quill up between her fingers and set it aside, cupping her now empty hand in his and gently massaging the cramps she hadn’t even felt forming. “Of course not. But I would at least break for coffee.”

“Is that an offer?”

“It always was,” he said softly. His fingers stilled against hers and it took all of Arlow’s willpower to keep her hand from twitching, lacing their fingers together. She wanted that comfort. But it wasn’t something she could take so easily anymore.

“Are you brewing from your supply, or ours?” she asked, teasing. Lucanis raised a brow.

“Would you even know the difference?”

“I would,” Arlow said, affronted. “Or do you think Viago didn’t drill us in palate sensitivity?”

“There is a difference in tasting for poisons and knowing a quality brew.”

“The two have a surprising amount of overlap. Just because I’m not a snob—“

“The word you’re looking for is connoisseur.”

“Sure it is.” Arlow rolled her eyes. She capped the inkpot and stood, regretting the chill that took her hand when it slipped from Lucanis’ grasp. “Well, if you’re taking me from work, it better be from your stash.”

“It will be,” Lucanis assured her, holding the infirmary door open. “Someone has to save you and Neve from yourselves.”

“I might be at the point of saving. Neve, on the other hand—“

Lucanis laughed, a low, quiet chuckle that warmed Arlow better than any cup of coffee he promised. He slipped past her to lead the way to the kitchen, the silky samite of his vest brushing against her knuckles. She clenched her fist to keep from chasing after it.

“Let’s get something in you before you’re beyond hope, then,” he murmured, eyes twinkling. The corner of Arlow’s mouth quirked. As long as he looked at her like that, she thought, she wouldn’t be beyond anything. But she didn’t say that.

She gestured across the courtyard with her chin. “Lead the way.”

[dadrunkwriting]

Hello! For DWC let's do Lavellan x Solas x Felassan with “I want to hold your hand.”. - Anonymous-Inquisitor

Title: Under the Willows Pairing: Solas x Fen'aslan x Felassan Rating: Teen Word Count: 417 @dadrunkwriting Veilguard

The willows swayed in the breeze, the great song of the magic filled the air they breathed, and the moon cast the little glade in silver. She perched on the desk, her laughter ringing through the glade. Her opaline gaze landing on a pair of great wolves wrestling, work long forgotten. The breeze caught the star like fabric of her dress.

Two pairs of eyes turned and looked at her, violet and the blue of the titans. She raised her hands to them with a smile, tossing her copper hair over her shoulder.

"Come here, both of you. I want to hold your hands." she did not raise her voice above a whisper. Leaning back, she pushed the papers and books off the desk. The rush of magic that filled the clearing was wholly Felassan, along with his laughter. The gentle jingle of bronzed leaves and calloused hands wrapping around her shoulders and waist.

"Oh if the vibrant priestess of Hope desires, I must answer!" She smiled at his exclamation, his lips kissed along the tips of her ears while her fingers undid the bun that held his dark hair back. His violet eyes met hers as they silently conspired for the undoing of their third.

"That is my desk you two." The words filled their minds yet he had not changed shape and Euvinala stuck her tongue out at the great wolf. Her fingers found the clasps for Felassan's heavy armor carefully undoing them. His hands had busied removing her cloak. "I did not know that Solas, would you come show me where it says that it belongs to you?" She snickered a Felassan's quip as the wolf levied a long sigh out to them. Another rush of magic filled the clearing and Felassan just smirked at her. How long had it been since she held both her partners in her arms? The war had raged too long, but now it was over they had forever.

"You two are incorrigible." The grumble was half hearted as he joined them on the table, his armor lighter than Felassan. "Though I do share Felassan's sentiment." His tone had deepened with a hint of a growl. "What our priestess desires, is ours to grant." There was threat and a promise to those words as she took their hands in her hers. Both of them wrapping around her and each other.

"I missed you both...Never again." She whispered pressing kisses to both of them, and melting under their kisses.

[dadrunkwriting]

Hi, happy dadwc! For a prompt, for Leliana/Morrigan, may I submit from the eerie loneliness prompts: wandosia [ a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there ]

love this one uwu took me a bit to figure out my direction with it, but i quite enjoyed writing it tonight <3 @dadrunkwriting - (mild) veilguard spoilers! 216 words cws: none

She disliked this tendency.

The Veil Jumper camp had grown quite familiar to her, even that she experienced the same wary reception here that she had in Orlais. Seen in those halls as a frightful apostate from the wilds.

Curious, then, that even in Arlathan forest—in the wildest part of Thedas, magical distortions creating impossible conditions all over—she was viewed as an outlier. A disruption, exactly where the nobility of Orlais clearly thought she belonged.

However, that was not the issue. It was a much simpler matter. A much more personal one, as well.

She searched. Everywhere, all the time, unaware she was doing it until the disappointment bloomed with its subtle and familiar ache. Absurd, really. Bard, Chantry sister, spymaster, would-be Divine… Leliana had always been drawn to duty, in whatever form it took.

All they'd had—too little, by far—were stolen moments. Sweet, ephemeral, impossible; like a dream that made you want to sleep again, so desperate to chase its end. But somehow, she seemed to expect Leliana to show up out of the blue. The fact that they'd crossed paths so many times was already improbable, and logically, she knew better than to hope for their paths to cross once more.

Logically, she knew. Logically.

Not all things were logical.

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy Friday and welcome to DADWC!! :D perhaps for Solavellan, “i cannot stand you, and yet i also cannot stand to be away from you.” would be interesting?

Thank you for the welcome! I love this, actually. It fits in with how I see the relationship between Solas and Ellana in Ir Asha’bellanar, especially with a budding but begrudging attraction.

@dadrunkwriting — WC: 626

The respect between them often came at her own deference to the Fade expert. Yet, they would often butt heads.

Solas spoke of things he knew through the Fade and Ellana spoke of knowledge given to her by Asha’bellanar— not that anyone would know that but her. Solas seemed skeptical at the vast amount of knowledge she held and the ease at which she spoke Elvhen.

“You’re surprisingly fluent, da’len. Most of the Dalish I have met only hold a small vocabulary, piecing together what they might in hopes of reclaiming what was lost.” He said once.

Ellana smiled simply and inclined her head. She could see the twitch of annoyance at the corner of his lips— he was trying not to let it be seen. “I’m not like most Dalish.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she reminded him.

It was a push and pull between them. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“You’re wrong, da’len.” Solas insisted heatedly, and Ellana could only laugh at the response.

“I’m not. Unless you saw it in a dream, hahren?” She drove the blade in beneath the chink in the armor of indifference he held, twisting it deeper with her mocking deference.

“I— Yes. I did.” He stumbled.

She won this round.

Laughter echoed out from the rotunda, “Well, I didn’t. I’ll inform the Inquisitor that we should go with my suggestion.”

His eyes seemed even more intense, a vibrant yet brilliant blue. He looked like he was searching into her soul, but he didn’t argue further as she left the room. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This level of distraction was never good for anyone.

Why did she try to prove herself so foolishly? She knew that the ritual was nothing to scoff at, nothing to take so flippantly. She had been taught better. You follow each step down to the slightest of breaths because it was ancient magic.

But she wanted to prove she wasn’t a child.

Why did it matter that he thought of her as one?

Maybe she wanted his respect.

She couldn’t afford this.

It wasn’t her purpose.

“You are incredibly insufferable, Lavellan. Why do you have to insist you know everything? These ruins are dangerous; you could have been hurt. Or worse, if I had not been quicker or prepared to throw myself into the pit after you.” Solas’ voice broke through the silence as he set the splint on her broken ankle.

Her eyes burned with tears. Not because it hurt. She was being stupid.

“I can’t stand you.” She hissed.

“I can’t stand how you make me feel small, how you make me feel like I don’t know anything. You treat me like a child who knows nothing. Haven’t I proved myself? Haven’t I shown that I know what I’m doing and that I know these ruins as much as you?” The words spilled out before she could stop herself.

Months of frustrations came undone in a moment of weakness.

She knew better.

She was better.

But she wasn’t.

“You make me feel like this but I want nothing more than to be around you and I hate it.”

“Oh.”

Solas seemed not to know what to say. He stared at her, eyes bright and confused and something else. She couldn’t place the emotion.

It made her feel smaller.

He let out a breath and cast his gaze back down to her ankle.

He was going to ignore it. She shouldn’t have—

“Let us speak on this later. Somewhere safer and where the Inquisitor will not question what is taking us so long.”

He paused.

“Ir abelas, lethallan.”

[dadrunkwriting]

HAPPY FRIDAY! For Arden: ❛  well, getting there is one thing. getting back's the problem.  ❜

Thank you for this @dadrunkwriting prompt! It was a nice fun one for Arden Trevelyan & Lace Harding.

WC: 800

The Inquisition had requisitioned hundreds of horses; Scout Harding prided herself on knowing all three of the Inquisitor’s favorite mounts by their hoof prints alone.

Stranger, his black warhorse, dug the deepest tracks across the Hinterlands. Her iron-shod feet were the friendliest thing about her.

Mercy, his grey mare, barely left a trace on the golden sands of the Western Approach. Sleek and beautiful, she had outrun a wyvern.

She would have been relieved to see the Inquisitor coming through the shadowed trees astride any horse, but there was a special comfort when she recognized the long face and longer ears of Bunny the Mule. The old molly, her coat a thick mix of burnt honey and cream, had the slowest tracks of any mount in Skyhold’s stable. With her strong and careful steps, Bunny had helped Harding deliver the Inquisitor to Skyhold all those moons ago. He’d arrived half-dead, sagging over her saddle with a busted-up leg and a bleeding heart. The Venatori had broken his bones – it was Harding who’d put the arrow in his chest.

Of course, he hadn’t been the Inquisitor when she’d taken the shot. She’d seen a lunatic; only when he had started speaking through the blood had she heard a father. Harding wondered if those were the same thing sometimes.

Anyway, he had to be some type of crazy to come riding over the mountains of Emprise Du Lion on a plow mule to fetch a late scout. Harding cracked a smile she could barely feel on her frozen cheeks and tried to limp faster through the snow to meet them.

Steamy breath pooled out of Bunny’s nose when she came to a halt in front of Harding, and she blew out a snort like a dragon when the Inquisitor swung down from her back. Snow crunched beneath his fine black boots as he came to tower over her.

“You alright?”

“Yes, Your Worship,” she answered. “Better now. I wasn’t really looking forward to spending the night out here – there’s a lot of demons.”

She’d meant to sound cheeky and brave – after all, she’d been in plenty of tighter spaces for the Inquisition before – but the cold made her voice rattle. Instead of smiling, the Inquisitor looked down at her with a frown and stern eyes to match. Harding knew she must look a mess; her clothes were stiff with snow and she was sure her braid was held together by ice.

“Is the Herald okay?” she asked, trying to stand up straighter. Her ankle screamed in protest.

“Celeste – yeah.” He turned back to Bunny and began to take things out of the saddlebags. “She’s worried – she knows it’s not like you to be late, Harding.”

Harding felt a twinge of guilt. She didn’t know how the Inquisitor could tell his daughter was worried; to Harding, Celeste Trevelyan always looked worried. The girl listened to her reports with wide eyes and a permanently creased brow.

“I was looking for an easier way down the Eastern passage. Commander Cullen isn’t happy about the slow supply chain. Well, I found one way down.”

Harding shivered. There was no sunset in these mountains. The color just slowly left the world until everything was dark or red.

The Inquisitor came and swept not one, but two blankets around her shoulders – first heavy wool, then a fur. He stuck a potion vial in her hands, and, even through her gloves, she instantly she felt a tingling heat in her frozen fingers. The mages did work wonders, sometimes.

“Can you put any weight on it?”

Harding hesitated to complain. She was grateful for the cold and her well-fitting boots; they’d kept her ankle from ballooning into a swollen mess. But even with her toes numb, every step closer to a warm fire came with a deep stabbing pain.

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

Not satisfied, the Inquisitor crouched down for a closer look. She feared he would try to move her boot, but he only pulled up the leg of her breeches. He wasn’t wearing gloves, Harding realized. Whatever strange dragon magic had kept him alive as she hauled him through the Frostbacks must still be burning. At another time, she might have recognized the warmth in his touch, but now she flinched in pain.

“Sorry.” The Inquisitor rocked back on his heels. “Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch?”

“Yes. A little.”

He clucked out of the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, with that bruising, it’s broken.”

One bad step – a step she should’ve seen coming – had been enough to send her sliding down the gully. Harding had thought she was finding a way around red lyrium; now all she’d done was put herself out of commission. And the Inquisitor had ridden out to see her failure firsthand.

“Inquisitor, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I should’ve -”

He cut her off, calm. “Harding, I like your initiative. It’ll take you places.”

“Well, getting places is easy, Your Worship,” she huffed. “Getting back’s more my problem.”

That time she did sound cheeky. The Inquisitor’s mouth twisted sideways into a smile.

“Let’s get going then. You’re cold.”

[dadrunkwriting]

My not-so-secret favorite ship is Dorian x Anders and I adore hurt/comfort (Anders is just so good for it)! So, with that in mind, I’ll suggest “It would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.” For Dorian x Anders, if you’re up for it!

Thank you so much for this prompt!! Dorian/Anders is ALSO one of my secret favorite ships (although tbh I just love anyone with Anders don't at me... LOL)

Written for @dadrunkwriting featuring Inquisitor Anders, hurt/comfort, getting together

“Gods damn it, Dorian,” Anders grits through clenched teeth. He winces as Dorian slides out of his pants fully. Normally, the sight of an attractive man getting naked would bring Anders to his knees. 

Dorian makes a broken noise, sitting down on the bench, carefully pulling the front of his shirt down to cover his dick while giving Anders the full view of his upper thigh. They’d just gotten back from that cursed swampy marsh. He’s not sure his boots will ever be dry again. 

Apparently, Dorian took a knife to the upper thigh and instead of telling Anders about it straight away, the handsome mage decided it was fine and would heal on it’s own. What’s the point of being the Inquisitor if the people who follow you won’t use your spirit healing for their benefit?

Anders sighs, poking and prodding at the wound. It’s clearly infected. Probably a mix of undead grossness, swampy muck, and sweat being pressed into the wound inside Dorian’s tight pants. He’s not sure he can use his magic to pull the infection out. He’ll need to use herbs and once the infection is gone, he’ll be able to close it up with his magic. 

“See,” Dorian says, his voice clearly strained as he puts on an easy smile. “It doesn’t look all that bad.”

“Not that bad? Are you trying to convince yourself?”

Dorian lets out an awkward chuckle. What is it with Anders falling for men who can’t seem to take care of themselves? Something like this could be deadly if they’re not careful. Blood poisoning is no laughing matter. 

“This would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.”

Dorian’s eyes dart away. “I didn’t want to be a bother, darling. You were so busy with,” Dorian flicks his wrist in a circle, gesturing around them. “You’re saving the world. Every day you’re on a new mission, saving lives, healing every soldier you can get your hands on. You deplete your mana until you’re glowing with Justice’s juices. I didn’t want to add anything more to your plate.”

Oh. 

Anders’ heart skips a beat at the idea of Dorian caring for him. He wanted to protect Anders, even if the idea of hiding an injury is stupid in Anders’ book. It’s the thought that counts. 

Anders hums softly, reaching into his bag and bringing out a jar of poultice. “This is going to hurt,” he says softly before putting a large amount directly into the wound. Dorian whimpers but Anders is careful and uses a tiny bit of magic to soothe the inflammation. Then he wraps up the wound with clean bandages. 

Sweat drips down the side of Dorian’s brow, his eyes glued to Anders’ face. 

“I’ll need to change these every morning and as soon as the infection has run its course, I’ll be able to properly seal and heal.”

Dorian’s hand touches Anders’ wrist, stopping him from pulling away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to be just another burden.”

“Dorian,” Anders breathes out. He’s still on his knees, between Dorian’s legs. They’re so close, achingly close, yet at the same time Anders wishes they were closer. “I’m not upset. I was worried. If anything happened to you--” Anders has lost too many people that he loves. He doesn’t think he’ll survive going through that yet again. 

It would be better to put distance between them. He can’t get hurt if he doesn’t love again. 

Unfortunately, it’s too late for that. 

“Nothing is going to happen to me. Do you really think a little flesh wound could stop the evil magister from Tevinter who surely does blood magic while he’s reading those evil books all night?”

Anders’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, unable to stop the surprised chuckle that leaves him. “Is that the current rumor?”

“Yes,” Dorian says, raising his nose in the air. “There’s also a rumor about how I’m corrupting the Inquisitor.”

“Really? If anything, the abomination is corrupting the mages.”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen my fair share of abominations and none of them hold a candle to you. A handsome renegade if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Don’t let Varric hear you say that,” Anders says with a smile.

The hand on his wrist moves up to his face, gently cupping his face. “You have everything on your shoulders, Anders. You do so much for everyone. Who takes care of you?” Anders can’t meet Dorian’s eyes. “Ah, as I suspected.”

Dorian cups his chin, forcing him to raise his face. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that agreeable?”

“Is that? By the Maker, Dorian. Yes.” 

They lean into each other, their lips meeting. Anders doesn’t remember the last time he did something just for him, but this kiss? This is just for him. The world fades away. There’s no anchor running up his arm, there’s no Corypheus, there’s no demon army. There’s just Dorian and Anders. 

“Every time I love, it ends in disaster,” Anders whispers against Dorian’s lips. Despite how perfect this moment is, he feels like he has to warn Dorian. 

Dorian huffs against his lips. “We’ve only just started and you’re already planning on it ending?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay if you do. You’re the best healer I know. Let yourself have this. Let me have this. You’re not the only one who hasn’t let himself imagine love.”

Anders wants to fight against this but he can’t. Dorian is right. There’s no guarantee of tomorrow, so why not embrace the here and now. This might not last but that’s no reason to cut it off before it even has time to bloom. 

Instead of fighting, Anders embraces these feelings welling up inside his chest. He grabs the back of Dorian’s neck and kisses him again. 

[dadrunkwriting]

Hi my dragony writing friend, 👋

I know it's too early but what about "High Pain Tolerance" or "Until it sleeps" prompt for DADWC today, whichever you're more inclined to (or even both) for fenders, please? 😍 (Vulnerable/angsty Fenris if you feel comfortable with that ❤️)

Happy writing!

Did you know that loving with chronic osin can really mess up a persons sensory processing when it comes to pain? Serious injuries can go unnoticed, gentle touches can feel like flesh being torn, signals can become confused and crossed. In short a person can become a very unreliable judge of the state of their own body.

Some early relationship fenders for @dadrunkwriting

"You’re bleeding."

Fenris froze, his body tensing involuntarily at the sound of the voice—too familiar, too close. He hadn’t heard the door creak open, hadn’t sensed Anders arrive.

Careless.

The mage stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. He had the same expression he always did when he found Fenris in the middle of one of his post-battle rituals: frustration mixed with something Fenris had yet to identify. "You didn’t feel it?"

Fenris glared at the healer, but the irritation quickly dissipated, "No," he answered, his voice low, "You are aware that I do not always feel damage."

Anders was already moving toward him, his long strides bringing him closer in mere moments. His eyes darted briefly over Fenris’s exposed chest, scanning it for any further signs of injury, before they focused on the deep, jagged wound near his shoulder. The blood had begun to clot, but the edges of the cut were still raw, the skin red and irritated.

He flinched as Anders reached out, his touch light but purposeful, as if testing the area for any further damage. The healer’s fingers were gentle, but even that small amount of contact sent a shock of pain through Fenris’s body. The injury itself barely registered to him, a dull throb at worst, but the sensation of Anders’s touch - his fingertips brushing against his skin - was almost unbearable. It was ridiculous, really. He could be cut, stabbed, or struck in a dozen places and feel nothing, but a mere brush against his skin, the slightest contact, burned like fire.

Anders had tried to explain it before, that the constant ache from the lyrium had altered how Fenris’s body processed pain. Something about the way the persistent pain disrupted his nervous system, making it less capable of registering the usual signals from injuries. But no matter how many times Anders explained, it still failed to make much sense.

"You should have let me heal you immediately," Anders muttered under his breath, his voice soft but filled with that unrelenting concern. His hands were still hovering over the wound, not quite touching it but not quite pulling away either.

He looked away, clenching his jaw. "I did not notice," he repeated, quieter this time. The truth felt like a confession, something weak, something that made him uncomfortable. How many times had he ignored injuries because they didn’t feel real? How many times had he ignored pain because it paled in comparison to the constant gnawing ache of the lyrium?

"I know," Anders said gently, "can I heal it now?"

Fenris hesitated, his gaze drifting down to the blood staining his skin. It wasn't that he didn't trust Anders - he trusted him more than he ever thought would be possible a year ago. But there was something about being so vulnerable, about letting someone see the damage that his own body had failed to recognise, that unsettled him.

"Just because you can't feel it right now doesn't mean you won't feel it later," Anders pressed, "and doesn't mean that it doesn't need treating."

Fenris’s gaze flickered toward the floor, any words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. He hated this. But Anders wouldn't back down - that lesson has been learnt the hard way. He would never force Fenris to accept his healing, his help. But he'd also refuse to simply walk away.

"Fine," he said quietly, already bracing himself for the incoming discomfort of magic, "heal it."

Anders didn’t hesitate. Magic flared to life in a rush of warmth, the glow surrounding his hands as they hovered over Fenris’s shoulder. The moment the magic touched him, Fenris felt it - heat blooming under his skin, spreading like an electric current. It wasn’t painful, not really, but it felt wrong in a way he couldn’t explain. A raw electric feeling that hummed and vibrated is way through the lyrium.

"Relax," Anders coaxed.

Fenris felt his body tremble slightly, his chest tightening, but he forced himself to stay still.

When Anders finally pulled his hands away, the wound was sealed, the bleeding stopped. Anders wiped away the blood, his touch almost reflexive, as if he'd done this a thousand times. "Turn around, I want to make sure there’s nothing else."

"I can do this myself," Fenris protested, but his body moved before the words were fully out. He turned, his back to Anders, but his skin still burned with the after effects of the healing magic, still humming with the sensation of being touched.

"You can," Anders agreed, his voice light. "But it’ll be quicker this way. And besides..." He let the sentence hang in the air, and Fenris could hear the teasing grin in his tone. "It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before."

Fenris stiffened at the playful tone, his shoulders drawing tight as the teasing slid past his defenses. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the mischief in Anders’s eyes. "That is different," he muttered, looking away again, the slight heat in his cheeks betraying him.

Anders chuckled, but it faded quickly as he continued his work. His touch was light as he worked over Fenris’s back, but even the gentlest brush of his fingers made the muscles in Fenris’s back tense. It was impossible to fully relax, not with this—this warmth, this proximity. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away either.

"There. Done," Anders said, finishing with a soft touch at the base of Fenris’s spine. "I told you it would be quicker with my help. And now we can go to bed without me worrying about you bleeding all over everything."

For a long moment, Fenris said nothing. He stared at the floor, there was a sudden tightness in his chest, something raw, something fragile. And then, with a voice softer than he intended, “You are not returning to the clinic tonight?”

Anders’s smile faltered, his gaze searching Fenris’s face as if looking for something. “I can leave if you’d prefer.”

Fenris’s breath caught, the unexpected hollow ache spreading through his chest. His throat tightened, and before he could stop it, the words came out softer than he intended. "No." His gaze flickered away, the small flicker of vulnerability passing quickly. "I would not prefer that."

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy friday! "Can you walk? I'd be happy to carry you" for Rook/Davrin!

Thank you for the prompt! Had some fun with this one, hehe.

For @dadrunkwriting (VEILGUARD FIC)!

Slight spoilers for the middle of the game, but nothing that spoilery lol.

-

A nice walk in Arlathan Forest with Davrin and Assan. It should have been the easiest, calmest hour of the whole week.

And then they’d taken one wrong step. It was a familiar sequence of events: their ankle went sideways, Aquile collapsed into an awkward heap, and grumbled a halfhearted curse. To add insult to (mild) injury, Davrin had seen the whole thing. Before Aquile could even begin to get back up off the ground, he asked, “You okay, Rook?”

Aquile sighed, exasperated. “Yeah, I’m fine,” they said.

He did not look convinced. “Do you usually fall over for no apparent reason?”

“Just twisted my ankle,” they replied. Not entirely true, but easier than trying to explain that their ankles were wobbly pieces of shit. “Mind giving me a hand up?”

As Davrin stepped closer, Assan dropped from the sky with an inquisitive chirp. The griffon peered at them for a moment, as if assessing whether his presence was needed, then evidently decided it was, as he planted his butt on the ground to watch while Davrin offered Aquile his hand. Aquile took it, and Davrin promptly hauled them back to their feet.

Much to Aquile’s irritation, the ankle that had folded under them twinged painfully as they put weight on it again. “Great,” they muttered under their breath.

“Rook…”

“I might have done slightly more than twisted it.” That was new—in all the times they had rolled an ankle, it had never done any real damage—but then they realized one critical factor. It was the same ankle they’d broken at Weisshaupt. Though they’d fought a fucking Archdemon on it while broken, they thought it had healed up nicely afterwards. Clearly not.

“Can you walk on it?” Davrin asked, his expression entirely too sympathetic for their tastes. “I’d be happy to carry you.”

Their cheeks burning, Aquile glanced away from him. It was ridiculous, really. He was just being nice. There was no reason to be embarrassed. And while Aquile was quite certain they could walk on it—it would just hurt the rest of the way—some part of them very much wanted to take him up on that offer.

Well, fuck. When did that happen?

Not that it was unusual for Wardens to get together. It happened all the time—after all, it was hard to have a relationship with someone who wasn’t privy to the countless secrets you were obligated to protect. Still, that didn’t make it a good idea. Wardens, after all, have a marked tendency to die.

“Uh,” they said, as eloquent as ever. “I mean, I survived Weisshaupt with a broken ankle—”

“And multiple broken ribs, a concussion, and more bruises than Assan has feathers,” Davrin said, deadpan. “None of which you told anyone about. All due respect, Rook, but I think it would be best to head back to the Lighthouse.”

They scowled at him. “And, what, you’re going to carry me halfway across Arlathan Forest?”

“Guess so.” A beat passed, then Davrin shot them a smirk that quite plainly said you don’t fool me.

“Well, if you insist,” Aquile replied with mock offense. “My knight in shining armor, and all that.”

He chuckled and took another step towards them, closing the distance between them to mere inches. Aquile was not that much shorter than he was, and yet he picked them up as easily as if they weighed nothing more than a sack of flour. They made a small, surprised sound, and as undignified as it was to be draped across someone’s shoulders like a hunter’s prize catch, Aquile was far more interested in how warm Davrin was. Feeling rather like a spoiled cat, they settled in for the walk back to the eluvian.Of course, being a healer, Aquile could have fixed their own ankle with a little delicate spellwork, but if it meant getting such dotingon from the big, scary monster hunter, well… who were they to complain?

[dadrunkwriting]

FOR VIAGO AND ARLOW "keep it. i have more where that came from." (in my head it is a POISON)

of COURSE it is a poison, it was either a poison or a Real Live Snake and I simply couldn't think of a good premise for the latter so here we are.

for @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers, some pre-canon Crow Dad

-

“If you’re looking for something a little more subtle, I’d go three vials over. That one leaves a distinctly bitter aftertaste that will clash with the chowder Teia is having catered.”

Arlow flinched, rattling the cabinet of neatly labeled vials. When she turned around, Viago was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and brow raised. Her fingers closed around the vial in her palm.

“Who said it was going in the soup?”

“If you were planning on putting it anywhere else, I’ll have you back in lessons with Heir for the next six months.”

Arlow rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to poison anyone. Not tonight, anyway. And not without reason.”

“I’m sure you have a reason.” Viago beckoned her forward and she went, expecting him to hold out a hand for the vial she’d nicked. Instead, his gloved fingers caught her chin and tilted it back, inspecting her face. Whatever he saw made him frown.

“What is it for, then?”

“An insurance policy,” Arlow said lightly. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

She knew she sounded like a liar, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about much, these days, not since confirmation had come down from Caterina.

Lucanis. Dead. Even thinking it made her eyes burn with unshed tears; she forced them to stay open, even as Viago’s harsh stare blurred before her. She knew better than to admit such open weakness to his face. Not that he wouldn’t see it anyway; but admitting it would be a mistake nonetheless.

Viago released her chin and wiped an escaping tear from her cheek. “You cannot go like this,” he said lowly, holding his finger so that her tear glinted the torchlight. “You know that they will use it against us.”

“I don’t care,” Arlow snarled, looking away. “Let them play their games; I am allowed to miss my friend.”

“You are. But it changes nothing. If you cannot keep composure, I will lock you in the villa with Emil.”

“At least I’m allowed to call him a snake to his face,” Arlow muttered. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her free hand, careful not to smudge the eyeliner Teia had painstakingly painted on as she willed her tears to dry and forced her sorrow back into the tight knot it had kept in her gut since the announcement. “Better?”

Viago glanced her up and down, and Arlow forced herself not to stiffen. Crows of House de Riva did not squirm under inspection unless they wanted a half dozen lashes and a mild paralytic under the tongue. She was better than that.

“Passable.” Viago stepped back. “You must keep your head tonight. Grief is a heavy thing, and I do not hold yours against you. But the other houses will.”

“It’s his funeral,” Arlow whispered. “Is nothing sacred?”

“You know the answer to that.”

She did. It didn’t lessen the sting, or the twist of bitterness in her throat. The Crows were too familiar with death for grief or mourning to be left in peace. Arlow took a deep breath.

“I won’t do anything rash,” she promised. The look Viago gave her said enough to make her roll her eyes. “I won’t ruin this for Teia. I know how long she spent planning.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Viago sighed. He gestured for Arlow to go ahead of him, and she cocked her head curiously.

“Aren’t you going to make me put it back?”

“I have more.”

“You’re not worried about what I’ll do with it?”

“Do I need to be?”

Arlow snorted. “I think we have different measures of what you do and don’t need to be worried about.”

“Without a doubt.” Viago turned the lock of his study door, scraping the metal pointedly as he placed the key back in his pocket. Arlow kept her face perfectly blank; her picks were well hidden, and she knew she hadn’t left any scratches. What he knew and what he could prove were different things, as he’d been the one to teach her. She slipped the vial into her hip pouch.

“I trust your judgment,” he said, sending her down the stairs with a jerk of his chin. “Do not make me regret it.”

[dadrunkwriting]

happy dadwc friday! for Rookanis: “I’m looking in your eyes, I’m ready to be hurt again.”

-inquisimer

Title: Cut Away the Pain Pairing: Teigue de Riva x Lucanis Dellamorte Rating: Mature Word Count: Warnings: Sparring, PTSD Flashback, Choking @dadrunkwriting Veilguard

Footsteps down the hall...

He inhaled pushing the knife blade between his fingers, pale eyes trained on the training dummy.

A pair of footsteps and Viago was muttering...

The blade left his fingers, hurtling towards the dummy on the exhale. His hand went to his rapier, it left the sheath. In nearly a singular moment he lunged forward.

"No..., will ... be necess...."

His shoulders drew tight as he furrowed his brow looking towards the door of the training hall. His fingers reached up plucking the dagger from the dummy. His curiosity starting to fray his focus from the drills as he carefully crept towards the door.

"He...work...me... must...alert"

The voice was familiar, but he could not fully place where he knew it from. Pulling his gaze away from the door he looked back toward the training target. He had drills that he needed to master. There was no inhale as the blade left his fingers, silverite glinting briefly before connecting with the dummy.

The door protested as it was opened. His foot pivoted, turning to the sound as he brought his rapier across his body. Silverite clashing echoed around the hall and his eyes met dark ones, there was slight upturn of his lips a smirk. Behind him he could see Viago standing by the door for a moment watching with his own critical gaze.

"Good, you were paying attention." Lucanis Dellamorte. He inhaled, fingers finding a dagger again. If he lunged back without breaking the guard, the heir of the first talon could just advance and catch him off guard. Exhaling the dagger thrust forward only to be met with a dagger of Lucanis'. "Well Teigue, try not to resort to biting this time."

His eyes narrowed at the taunt another inhale and this time it was met with a shove that pushed him back away from the older crow. His jaw tightened and he felt the fade along his senses. "You say that like, last time was a proper spar. Master Lucanis." He offered raising his brow with his own smirk, sarcasm dripped through his voice.

There was a moment where they both stood; rapiers pointed towards the other, and daggers hidden behind their body. Time seem to stand still as they both waited. Though he had never been the most patient crow, he broke the standoff with a burst forward. Metal scraping against metal rang against his ears.

"Reckless, Teigue." There was something in the tone as he struggled against the clash, this close he could smell the leather of his coat, and look for any tells. It was single motion, a grunt left his lips as his back connected with the floor. "Again." The order was punctuated by a dagger hitting the floor next to head.

"Vaffanculo!" he hissed pushing himself up to his knees. He had caught the movement and ducked under the attack. He swore he saw a smirk. His dagger barely whistled as he threw it, the dull thump of it hitting the dummy barely served as warning as a rapier nicked his shoulder. His foot pivoted and he came face to face with a dagger, and Lucanis Dellamorte, and the templar that haunted his nightmares.

He sucked in a breath he was home, the Trevisan country side. His eyes glanced at the room, drapes over the windows replaced by dark heavy iron chains, instead of the marble, stormy grey stones of the gallows. His throat tightened a hand around it. He squeezed his eyes closed, he could hear the laughter and feel the hands. His chest felt too tight as he struggled to breath, and the fade felt like elastic. He needed to keep them away. Ice coated his rapier and his feet, then the sudden snap as it spread in a decent radius around him.

Ice not a silence but ice. His eyes opened meeting dark eyes and no dagger or rapier. The realization dawned on him, it had not been a spar. It had been a means to find that sore spot, the reason his last contract had nearly failed. He inhaled, slow and stuttering, he was a crow, not the scared fledgling stolen all those years ago. He raised his rapier holding Lucanis' gaze.

"I am looking in your eyes, I am ready to be hurt again." His voice calm, he needed to work it out. It could exist but it could not hinder him in a fight. There was no hesitation as ice cracked and silverite clanging against each other echoed in the hall. Like the poison being pulled from a wound, it had to be merciless. He had to fight through it all. No matter the concerned gaze, and the furrowed brow, it would keep going.

[dadrunkwriting]

hello, happy dadwc! For a prompt, for your Aldwir, may I submit from the vague eerie prompts: Seeking revenge for denial of flesh

this was SO much fun and super interesting ��� thank you! @dadrunkwriting - veilguard spoilers! kinda au tho 471 words

cws: idk how to explain exactly... insects; insect preservation (pinnning); vaguely described penetrating wounds; body horror

"You were meant to be mine." The voice reveberated through Daw's body and they felt horribly fragile before the writhing mass that was Ghilan'nain. To think, her ancestors had called this woman a god. They had worshipped her. Daw, having received Mythal's vallaslin, slightly envied those who had received Ghilan'nain's. Her vallaslin was applied to those who would guide the clan, or to those with a special connection to the natural world and natural order. They had always found those to be admirable traits.

She was bound for the moment. A trap, set and sprung, but no trap could contain a god… or the nearest thing to one. Horrible to see her up close like this, though. Terrifying. "You were all meant to be mine! You will be mine!" Daw stared into what should have been her eyes, transfixed by the pulsating flesh there. Awfully, they wanted to remove the mask. Wanted to see what lay beneath.

Ghilan'nain was monstrous. Her body, her will, her brutal, unyielding obsession with creation—a devastating creation, one that sowed death and cultivated its remains—all of it was monstrous. But to see her pinned like this…

Ludicrously, a memory sprang to mind. With their first clan, they had encountered a group of humans. Although the Dalish and the humans had been wary at first, neither attacked the other, and instead they ended up traveling together for a few days before their paths diverged. In that time, Daw—quite young—had gotten along well with a man about their own age, and they had shared many stories of the strange things they'd seen. He described having visited an estate in Orlais where insects were preserved under glass, wings and bodies pinned and immobile.

Daw had been fascinated and repulsed. Naturally, given their age, they had pressed for more information, and naturally, given his age, the young man had been happy to supply. He described the delicate way the needles had pulled open the insect's wings to display them, the curve of their fragile bodies in death, the precise suspension of their forms.

They had never seen this practice. They were not even entirely sure it was real. But looking at Ghilan'nain now, looking at her serpentine form speared through repeatedly, they could not stop thinking of it. An insect, shaped with needles and preserved under glass.

If possible, Daw would end it now. But it was not possible. Ghilan'nain's dragon, her archdemon, still existed beyond their reach. This trap would be destroyed by the woman's—this monster's—unconscionable might. This only served to buy them some time, and to enrage Ghilan'nain.

Daw took one step back, then another. Then they turned. Then they ran, Ghilan'nain's shriek echoing behind them along with the whine of the metallic frame protesting as she struggled.

They would be killed if they remained. Killed and transformed. They had taken too much from Ghilan'nain already, and knew that, if possible, she would have her vengeance.

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy DADWC! If inspiration strikes how about this one for whichever character comes to mind: falling asleep to the sound of the other’s heartbeat? Happy writing!

Absolutely! Here’s some Leliana x Josephine for @dadrunkwriting !

Leliana kept late hours by necessity. There was always work, and incoming information did not keep to a proper schedule. And as she established herself as the Inquisition’s Spymaster (or coordinator of information), Leliana often found herself waking up early, turning in late, and taking short naps whenever she could manage it.

But tonight she retired early. It would be an early start tomorrow, after all, and she needed her energy. So Leliana undressed, crawled into bed, and fell into a light slumber.

She woke when her door creaked open. She listened to the pattering of feet on stone- slippers, well-worn, soft soles. She caught the faintest scent of jasmine perfume- no, not perfume, hair wash- and heard the softest click of the door closing. Bad form, that. No assassin worth their salt wore scents on a job that required stealth. But she knew exactly who used jasmine hair wash, and that person was always welcome.

Leliana’s guest padded across the floor towards the bed, lifted the covers and heavy quilt, and wriggled underneath them before curling up into Leliana’s side. Her curly dark hair brushed against Leliana’s neck and earlobe, and it tickled. She rested her head on Leliana’s breast, ear directly above her heart, and Leliana pretended to sleep through it all as Josephine cuddled her. Her love was already falling asleep, and even though she tucked her half-frozen feet between Leliana’s bare calves she couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed.

“Couldn’t sleep, dear heart?” Leliana asked softly, and Josephine’s mumbled “of course not,” made her smile.

[dadrunkwriting]

How about "Comfort after a nightmare" for any veilguard pairing of your choosing?

Thank you for the prompt!! I went with Davrin and Senna for this one. They are my favorite ship among my Rooks. For @dadrunkwriting

Content Warning: angst, mentions of darkspawn, broodmother mentioned, potential spoilers but the game has been out for almost a month Length: ~900 words

She woke in a cold sweat despite the bone chilling fear that gripped her throat.  Senna slammed her feet onto the stone floor, desperate for any type of grounding.  She ran a hand over her face as she forced the images from her mind.  She found it hard.  Was it because Ghilan’nain was messing with the blight somehow?  Is that what caused her to have one of the old vivid nightmares again?  Her archdemon was dead but Elgar’nan’s was not.  Yet it wasn’t an archdemon that had her heart firmly lodged up in her throat.  She clamped down on that line of thinking, she did not need to dwell on that image.

Instead, she made her way out to the kitchen.  Senna fully expected to see Lucanis or Neve in the kitchen, perhaps even Harding, as all of them had unusual sleeping habits.  Instead, she spotted Davrin sitting at the table with Assan at his feet.  He looked up as the door opened rising as he saw her.  She waved him back down and padded over to the coffee maker.

“I made a fresh pot.”  Senna grinned as she heard Lucanis from the pantry.  She still didn’t understand why he preferred to stay there but it was his choice.

“Thanks Lucanis.”  Senna poured herself a cup and sat down next to Davrin.  “So, why are you up this late?”

“Couldn’t sleep.  Been difficult since Weisshaupt.”  She heard the grief in his voice and knew it reflected her own.  So many of their friends and family were gone.  Wiped off with a snap of one ancient elven god’s fingers.  Senna fought back the bitterness threatening to coat her tongue like bile.  “What about you?”

“Something similar.”  Senna couldn’t shake the image from her mind.  An awful ending for a Warden, but only those that were female.  Broodmothers.

“Something?  What happened?” Davrin asked immediately latching onto her words.  Senna stared down into the coffee cup as she thought about how to explain it.

“Davrin, do you know what happens to women that are kidnapped by the darkspawn or are blighted?  Sometimes, even Wardens.”  Senna spoke quietly with her fingers tight around the coffee cup.

“I know that most people who are taken by the darkspawn become darkspawn or are killed.”  Senna shook her head.

“I asked if you knew what happened to women.”  Davrin paused and shook his head.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Senna released a shaky breath.  She knew that First Warden hated that it got out in the first place and placed a harsh penalty on anyone speaking about it.  Eventually, it became whispers to new recruits from older ones.  Only the women.  No one wanted First Warden to know they were speaking of it.

“Have you ever fought a broodmother?” Senna asked quietly and Davrin shuddered at the name.  Her lips thinned as she guessed his answer before he said it.

“I have.  Only once.  They’re not the kind of darkspawn I want to encounter on a regular basis.  Why?” Davrin paused before his eyes widened in horror.  “No.”  Senna nodded.

“Yes.  Broodmothers are born from women that are blighted.  It isn’t one hundred percent proof that a woman will turn into one, but only women are broodmothers.”  Senna shook her head.  “Weisshaupt brought this to my mind again.  We’d all made a pact, to not let the darkspawn take us.  If one of us was captured, it was up to the other three to kill her.  Kill her so her body wouldn’t be used like that,” Senna whispered as the tears trailed down her face.

“Senna.” Davrin leaned over and simply brought her over onto his lap, wrapped his arms around her and hugging tight.

“I made sure they didn’t go.”  The words were softly spoken but he still heard her and the raw grief in her throat.  “I heard them in my dreams.  Why didn’t you save us?  But I did.  At least, I thought I did.  None of us wanted to suffer that fate.  So why?  Why do I hear them at night?” Senna asked curling her fingers into his shirt and burying her face against his shoulder.

Davrin ran his hand over her back as he struggled to come up with any soothing words.  He never knew this was a fear she faced.  That any female Warden faced.  Why didn’t everyone know?  Those were questions for later.  For now, he focused on the strong woman crumbling under the weight of her grief.  “Because the doubt will always be there.  The doubt of wondering if you could have saved them.  If only you’d been faster, stronger, or used a better strategy.” Davrin spoke softly against her temple as she struggled to keep her sobs inside.  “That’s your guilt talking.  Guilt for surviving when others didn’t.”

“It’s too much sometimes,” Senna whispered and Davrin hugged her close.

“It is, but it doesn’t have to be you alone to grieve.  I’m here.  Evka’s there as I’m sure she’s aware of the whole thing.  Everyone here has your back Senna, even when we’re dealing with our own problems, we’re here for you.”  Senna nodded and seemed to relax against him.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?  I.  I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“Of course.”