dadrunkwriting

[dadrunkwriting]

happy friday! very intrigued by rook x the viper! how about "the sun's coming up." for those two?

Title: A Dawn for the Shadow Pairing: Rook x Viper (Vipcar, Vipook) Rating: T Warning: Veilguard Post Act 1 Word Count: 587 - @dadrunkwriting Veilguard

The rain silenced his footsteps.

It was late enough that as he crossed the gardens, no one should be in the chapel. Slipping behind a statue he stopped and listened, templars down in the lower courtyard gossiping. Pulling the collar of his jacket up, he waited until he could no longer hear their voices. Pushing off the statue he made his way up the stairs.

Lights filtered into his line of sight and he paused looking towards the wall with a soft sigh, bowing his head. "Lux in aeternum, may you find peace always beloved." His voice barely whispered yet raw from unshed tears of the day. Turning back towards the entrance of the chapel he quietly let himself.

Praying to Silence for the souls lost and would be lost didn't seem right. It was a blighted dragon and his decision after all. They were mostly worshippers of Andraste too from what he understood. His boots squeaked along the polished stone as he made his way to a pew. He mimicked the behaviors he had seen of friends more devoted to her than he could ever claim to be.

Kneeling down he reached into his bag pulling out small copy of the Southern Chant, his fingers trailing over the worn cover. It had been a gift from Varric when he mentioned having a hard time understanding the South. He quietly opened the book flipping through the canticles. Even as his mind tried to focus on the canticle he was looking for. It wandered to that song Ashur sang sometimes when the situation for the Lucerni turned Shadows looked bleak.

"Shadows fall and hope has fled..." The words slid out in his soft voice unaware of a pair of concerned eyes watching as for the first time in his life he prayed to a god he didn't wholly believe in. At some point the scent of the candles and myrrh filled the air of the chapel. His gaze lifted from his hands to see the previously unlit candles now flickering.

His shoulders tightened as he stayed kneeling, though a hand fell to a familiar abyss soaked dagger. A rustle of robes, and his eyes narrows as someone entered the pew.

"Let me join you?" For once. It was unsaid and his hand fell away from his dagger as he met those too teal eyes. "I don't know what I am doing." he admitted weakly and there was a warm reassurance. "It differs." He offered. Admittedly as much as Athras had hoped to do this alone, it was comforting that Ashur had found him even here. The one place he didn't go aside from work. He slowly started again and on the second verse his heart joined in with him a hand held out. He took it squeezing it as salt burned his eyes.

It had been longer and at some point he leaned against Ashur, as complicated as it all was, he was familiar. "The sun's coming up Athras, tomorrow will be a better day. Why don't you go rest in the apartment, Benefaris misses you." He might have had a quip but the idea of curling up in a familiar bed, and with Ashur's hound...it did make things feel a little more in his realm of problem solving.

"...maybe you can come check on me after services..." he offered to Ashur weakly, rising catching the concerned look and very quiet. I will.

Stepping out onto the throughfare he could see the sun rising. Dawn had come.

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy Friday! "I don't want to sleep without you." For Lucanis/Rook

Title: A Contract of Sleep Pairing: Rookanis Rating: T Warnings: Post Veilguard Word Count: 397 - @dadrunkwriting - Veilguard

It was over

They were both home in Treviso, but his capture in the fade and Lucanis' schedule as first talon meant neither of them were sleeping like they had wanted after everything was over. Even though they had promised each other. His steps were silent, though the blanket trailing with him was not as he made his way through the empty halls. He carried a small overnight bag packed with his and Lucanis' necessities. He was going to sleep in the arms of his husband tonight and tomorrow. In Luca's old apartment.

His fingers wrapped around the handle and as it was turned he head the tired groan. "Please tell--Teigue?" He offered his husband a tired smile, shuffling over to him. "I have a contract only the first talon can fulfill." he murmured leaning over to kiss him slowly. "The target is a bed located in an apartment across town. The contracts last for two days and two nights." He murmured against his skin. "Is that so?" His husband rumbled gently cupping his chin and claiming a kiss.

"Hm yes, I don't want to sleep without you anymore." He grabbed Lucanis' hand pulling him from a chair with a tug. "Are you taking the blanket with us mio amor?" His lips quirked into a smirk and Teigue leaned in pressing a soft kiss to them. "Yes mio vita." he hummed. Their hands intertwined as they left the Villa from the balcony.

The sun long set, and the stars glittered on the water as they made their way into town, strolling along the rooftops until they found the apartment. Lucanis dropped down onto balcony first before reaching up and pulling him down. "Charmer~" He pushed up on his toes giving his husband a kiss. Slipping into the apartment his shoulders relaxed and Teigue cast his blanket over on the bed. Reaching into his bag he pulled out a book. Shedding the clothes he laid on the bed, it did not take long for his talon to join him. He shifted so he was laying on Lucanis' chest a soft hum slipped through his lips as he started reading from the book for Luca, whose fingers combed through his hair. Slowly his breathing evened and Teigue closed the book curling against his husband, as his arms wrapped around him. Sleep creeping in as he closed his own eyes.

[dadrunkwriting]

happy friday! how about ❛ you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜ for connor/solas?

Thank you!! The prompt kind of got away from me, so here is Solas trying to convince himself that he's not as attached to Connor as he actually is. Something something strangers something something Connor is a big ol sweetheart and Solas is Solas about it.

wc: 1090 @dadrunkwriting

To say that they were little more than strangers was an understatement. The Herald of Andraste, in the wake of freshly broken Tranquility, was little more than a stranger to any of the inner circle, save perhaps the commander.

For Solas, to say they were strangers would have been extraordinarily generous. An apostate, an elven wanderer with nothing more than the knowledge of the Fade, meant little to someone now raised as a figurehead of the Chantry. They had fought—if one could call an interaction with the Tranquil a fight—about religion, about spirits, about magic, and yet…

And yet, Solas found himself at the Herald’s side with increasing frequency over the days in Haven, found himself searching the Fade in the face of death and bitter chill, found himself directing the scraps of the Inquisition to what was once his place of former glory, a thrill of pride and something else blossoming in his chest at the Herald’s look of awe as they stood at the precipice of change.

But still, they were strangers at best.

Every moment they spent in each other’s presence was a moment of confusion, of learning magic and unlearning biases, and every time Solas thought he discovered something about the newly-titled Inquisitor, he found that very discovery dashed. The man was unpredictable, always forming and reforming opinions, absorbing new information like parched soil drinks down water, unquenchable, constantly seeking more, constantly changing. Every time they met for scheduled lessons, the Inquisitor was different in ways that Solas could not fathom nor keep up with. The only certainties were his thirst for knowledge and quiet stoicism that hid a tumultuous current of emotion behind it. He knew little more about the Inquisitor than he did the first day they met, when he lay unconscious beneath Haven’s chantry, unaware of the depth of mistakes he bore in his palm.

That is what Solas told himself, at least. It would be easier, that way. The less involved with the Inquisitor’s personal quirks and inner machinations he was, the better for everyone involved—a sentiment much easier said than done as short magic lessons stretched into afternoons of lengthy explanations and of questions he would have never expected the Inquisitor to ask about the nature of spirits and the Veil.

As it turned out, the Inquisitor was quite complex. He was lost and desperate, forced to make decisions equal to those made in some of history’s greatest moments. He was as afraid of magic as he was interested in learning it… but he was also much simpler. He liked birds. He frowned at the snow and huffed at the prospect of inclement weather. He fidgeted with his sleeves when he was nervous and liked his tea lukewarm.

It grew harder still, as those afternoons stretched into evenings. Questions turned to conversations over small meals, conversations turned to quiet introspections and moments of vulnerability. But even so, as much as Solas knew, he also knew that he divulged little information about himself. He felt the imbalance, the shift of the scales in his favor.

Evening stretched even further into dreams, and as much as Solas might try to deny it, there was a certain intimacy to dreams that could not be given words in the waking world.

“Does it not bother you, Inquisitor?” Solas ventured to ask one such time, as they walked side-by-side through the Fade, the ground turning to sand beneath their feet, warm as it slipped through their toes.

“Does what bother me, Solas?” Connor stopping to look at him. His gaze was piercing, grey-green, the same color as the sea that lapped against the sandy shore he had conjured. Solas turned away, looking over the expanse of water. Nothing reflected on its surface, an imperfection that reflected the Inquisitor’s lack of practice, through the stretch of rolling waves was ambitious, he would give him that.

“How little you know of me? You are an endless stream of questions, yet you never ask about anything other than what I have seen in the Fade.”

Connor shrugged. “Honestly, I never thought to,” he shook his head, “I figured you would tell me, if you wanted.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Would have even told me if I asked?”

“That is… unlikely.”

“Exactly.”

“Fair enough,” Solas chuckled, and they lapsed back into silence, letting the sound of the waves wash over them.

“Besides, I do know more than you think. Probably,” Connor continued. He paused, looking back at where their footsteps should have been, where, for a moment, only one pair marked their path. Solas raised an eyebrow, but the expression felt forced, stilled to hide the bite of anxiety that rose at the back of his throat.

“Oh?” He tried not to hold his breath, tried to steady himself. Perhaps this had been a mistake after all. The Inquisitor’s pause seemed to last an age.

“It’s nothing so dire. But you’re not as mysterious as you think.” Connor extended his hand, a small gesture that Solas had become strangely accustomed to over the months, and their fingers intertwined as Solas offered his own in return, attempting to relax some of the tension he held.

“Do tell,” Solas pressed, all but choking on the words.

The Inquisitor laughed softly, raising their hands to press his lips against Solas’s. “I know you are an expert on the Fade. I know your past is storied—I hear the way you talk to Blackwall. I know you are passionate about freedom, I know you are friends with many spirits. I know you are good at chess. I know you hate tea.”

He paused again with a warm huff of breath into the skin of Solas’s palm, and Solas watched him curiously. This wasn’t what he expected—he wasn’t sure what he had expected, really.

“That’s not all though,” Connor murmured, as if suddenly shy. He closed his eyes for a moment, before fixing his gaze on Solas again. “I know you are wise. I know you are kind, and that you care deeply about people. I know that you’re my friend. I don’t need to ask about you to know the things that matter.”

Solas simply blinked, unsure how to respond as the sand beneath them slid back into the stone floors of the rotunda, the walls of fresco rising around then once again.

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” he sighed, slowly pulling his hand back, and turning into one of the arched doorways as the Fade began to slip away. “You are too kind.”

[dadrunkwriting]

happy DADWC Grey! for Emmrich/Laidir: You are my quest.

Thanks for the prompt, Kestrel! You get some corny pick-up lines??

for @dadrunkwriting (veilguard)

wc: ~350

cw: mildly suggestive

It was late. They’d switched from tea to a bottle of sherry Emmrich had brought back from Nevarra, which he’d opened with a celebratory flourish, the golden bangles on his wrists chiming merrily. From his seat on the sofa, Rook tried to look encouraging. If any other man had presented him with such a thimbleful of liquor, Rook would have downed it in one gulp and then tossed the tiny glass to the floor. When Emmrich handed him the drink, Rook balanced it in his thick fingers, vaguely uncomfortable with his own politeness.

Emmrich returned to his seat next to him, crossing his long legs and settling into the cushions closer than he had when they had held teacups. Rook had never expected a necromancer to smell good. To Rook, Emmrich had a distant floral scent, like a vase of tall flowers standing near an open window. He smelled classy.

“Now.” After a sip of his sherry, Emmrich leaned in closer. “Do tell me another of your stories.”

After holding his chin in a moment of false indecision, Rook launched into the Afsaana job. That story had everything: pirates, an old map, a double-crossing damsel, and lots of gold. Whenever he told it in the grungy smuggler’s ports or dockside bars, Rook rarely spent the night alone. Emmrich, however, followed along with an unmatched delight. He interjected periodically with an ‘oh my!’ or a ‘he didn’t!’ When Rook reached the part when the vault door closed behind him, surely sealing him in to a dark end, Emmrich nearly tipped his glass over, as if he was unaware that Rook sat safely before him.

“It is remarkable that you are still alive!” he sighed, sinking against the back of the sofa when Rook was finished.

Rook found himself grinning. “I’m a lucky guy.”

“All those close calls – and by a hair’s margin! All your quests and adventures,” Emmrich went on. “No, I believe you possess more than simple luck.”

The praise was genuine, ringing true like silver against silver. What Rook said next sounded dull in comparison, but he said it with all the confidence of a peddler selling glass jewels.

“Tonight, you’re my quest.”

The sparkle in Emmrich’s eyes sharpened. Under his gaze, Rook did, in fact, feel very lucky.

“Rook, darling, you do say the most delightful things.”

[dadrunkwriting]

hiii and happy friday! "Pick a sin we can both live with, is what I ask." from the horror lit list forrr thea/leliana?

ty for the prompt!!! behold, some sort-of-not-quite-breakup angst with cataclysmic political implications :) the quote's not in here but the VIBES are there.

words: 972 | @dadrunkwriting

“You’re not leaving,” Thea says, and it’s not a command at all. Rather, it’s a declaration of fact. Something that must be true. Something that cannot be otherwise.

Leliana smiles. She can’t entirely help it, if it is a little bitter.

“I am,” she insists, gesturing at the piles of notes laid out in a far more orderly manner than they have been in months. “As you can see, I’ve made certain my replacement will be well prepared to take on the role, however.”

“Take on the—” Thea shakes her head, looking stunned. It’s hard to blame her for that, when Leliana had deliberately concealed her plans.

Thea steps in closer, and Leliana, sentimental fool that she is, lets her close that distance, one step after another, she reaches for Leliana’s hands, taking them in her own.

This is precisely why it was a foolish choice, of course. It’s much harder to maintain an appearance of neutrality now with the touch of warm hands cutting through the cold that permeates the rookery, with fawn brown eyes turned pleading, soft lips curving into a frown.

“Please, don’t do this,” Thea says, a tremor in her voice that’s rarely heard, even by Leliana. “We can’t— I can’t do it without you. Don’t…”

Here, Thea’s gaze cuts away, fixing on the glow of a candle. It wavers wildly, as though aware of her attention. In Thea’s eyes, she watches the flame curl, then bend towards her as though paying its own courtesies to Andraste’s Herald.

It is, of course, only a trick of the wind as it whips through the cracks.

In spite of everything, it’s all to easy to ascribe the trappings of divinity to each act of man and nature around this woman who has saved so many of their lives, and will doubtlessly continue to do as much in spite of all she faces.

Yet with her lip caught between her teeth as she tries to collect her breath, her shoulders curling in on themselves, she looks so little like the Inquisitor, and so much like the frightened woman who they’d begun interrogating before she could get her bearings.

It’s the terrible truth of their situation that she is both ��� that Leliana has loved both — and now leaves both. The Maker’s chosen who will surely withstand these trials as long as He wills it, and the tired, frightened woman who feels, who hurts so deeply through it all are one and the same.

It’s not a comfortable thought, yet it would be more unkind still to offer some false comfort.

Instead, Leliana holds her breath, and patiently waits for her to finish, even knowing the next words will be likely be damning for the both of them.

She does not release her breath until she sees Thea’s shoulders draw back up, her eyes meeting Leliana’s once more.

“Don’t leave me, please.”

Leliana feels her throat constrict around nothing, feels hollowed out entirely.

It is good, at least, that they can be honest with one another on occasion. She was beginning to have serious doubts.

“You know it is not because of you that must I leave,” she says, as earnestly as she can afford to. It is, at least, true in part if not whole.

The furrow of Thea's brows tells her she's not unaware of the partiality of this truth.

Leliana barrels through this time, leaving no space for an interjection before she lets letting the practiced words carry her through, telling her, “I can neither act against my conscience nor the Maker, and both tell me I have fulfilled my purpose here.”

She catches a glimpse of hurt, then anger, then fear before Thea's expression shutters entirely.

She has to hold back the instinct to reach back out, to comfort, as Thea releases her hands, letting one fall, instead, on the desk beside Leliana.

Her left. Leliana eyes fall to it on instinct, but if it pains her, Thea shows no outward sign of it.

“Go,” she says, at last, the word soft as a sigh. “I would not have you carry the weight of new sins, simply to lighten my own burden.”

Leliana frowns.

“Thea, you—”

“Have asked all that and more,” she insists. The candle's flame dances at the edge of her eyes once more, as if punctuating the point, turning warm brown to molten gold.

“We have each done what we felt must be done,” Leliana insists. “I do not condemn you, I have not.”

Thea's grimace evokes a memory so sharp, she half expects to see blood staining Thea's teeth, her lips, pouring sluggishly from a cut above her brow.

“I am not leaving because that—”

“You are leaving,” Thea interrupts, “because we will each have to tally our sins the day we set our swords down.”

This is, and isn't the crux of it.

“And we will each have marks against our names. It is the Maker who will forgive, or condemn,” she returns, letting herself fall back into the well-worn arguement in spite of herself.

The familiar parry does not come.

Thea smiles.

It is not the warm, familiar smile whose shape she had memorised beneath her lips, but neither is it cruel. It is wry, and far too knowing for comfort, all of a sudden. Leliana swallows hard as it pulls at the cut that lingers on her bottom lip, a pinprick of blood welling atop it as she parts her lips once more.

“And the Most Holy,” she intones, as crisp and unyielding as though she were passing down a judgement from the sunburst throne, “who passes earthly judgement on in His name.”

The words seem to echo in the emptiness of the space around them, Leliana's heartbeat ringing her ears in their shadow.

Her silence is all the confirmation Thea needs.

[dadrunkwriting]

DADWC time!!! How about for Rook/Lucanis “You want me to give you your book/phone/item (coffee???) back? Make me.” from the smut prompt list :)

Title: A Crow's Coffee Pairing: Rookanis Rating: M Word Count: 699 Warning: Post Veilguard, 18+, FTM Rook, Edging, Impact Play, Denial @dadrunkwriting - Veilguard

"Teigue"

A chuckle left his lips at the growl from his lover as he ducked under his arms with the precious cup. His eyes bright as he danced back towards the exit of the kitchen. "Give that back." There was a purple sheen to his eyes and that growl raced down his spine.

"You want your coffee back?" He edged out the door, his smirk turning into a grin. "Make me il mio vità." He challenged before tearing down the hallway. He caught the sound of his lover's groan as he raced past marble pillars with care to not spill the precious liquid. "Damnit Teigue" He glanced behind him rounding the counter and squeak left his lips as he dodged Lucanis' hand, he quickly put his hand over the cup as he took the carpeted stairs two at a time. "Try harder First Talon~" His voice was light sing song as he sprinted down the hallway to their room. He slowed about halfway to the room. He didn't hear his lover, looking over his shoulder he did not see him either. His lips thinned into a purse as he cautiously made his way to their door listening for a moment. He didn't hear anything that sounded like Lucanis. Tucking the coffee cup behind his back he opened the door, squinting at the empty room. There was a window and balcony that Luca could have come through. Cautiously he stepped through the door, the balcony doors looked undisturbed, as did the window. Though that meant very little with their shared training, another step and he squinted at the rugs trying to find footprints. Another step and he pivoted behind him as the door slammed shut. His eyes came face to face with brown eyes that were trying very hard to not be amused.

"Il mio stéƚa. Be a good boy and give me my coffee back." He stared at his husband and flashed him a grin before looking at the cup. Maintaining eye contact he gulped down the coffee. His husband's growling laughter filled the room. Teigue offered him the cup with a smile as the man crossed the room. "Such a little brat." His husband's arm wrapped around his waist pulling him close. "You have my attention now mio amor."

Clothes fell to the floor, and his husband pulled him over his lap. "Stealing my coffee, and than drinking it all." The growl contained the edge of danger, and mirth. The first kiss of his hand against his ass was sudden and a yelp slipped past his lips. Fingers caressed the tender skin. "Had you given me my coffee back, il mio stéƚa you could have gotten a reward instead." The purr pooled in him and another smack landed, the dichotomy of the caresses and the impacts of his husbands hand was a tease. Those caresses turned into fingers dipping between his legs teasing his cunt and dick. A soft whimper left his throat.

The kisses of his husband's hand turned to teasing, and fingering. At some point Lucanis got him draped over the couch. He started with kisses to his inner thigh, tickled by the beard. "Lucaa~" The name left his lips as his lover made his way up, kisses turned to nips and than devouring him. His toes curled against his husband's back as he tried to rock against him. "No sliding over that edge amor." The growl reverberated through his core and he whined in response. As his husband feasted, his fingers dug into the couch, and his legs shook. A chuckle left his husbands lips as he pulled back.

"I have a meeting with the Talons in the Diamond il mio stéƚa, you are going to stay home and behave for me." His fingers grabbed his chin pulling him in for a kiss where he could taste himself on his husband's lip. "You will get a reward, if you do." A frustrated ground left his lips as Lucanis pulled away. "No touching or finishing amor." He stood up and straightened his vest grabbing a coat from the closet heading out. Leaving him there wanting. "Bastard." He whispered with a soft laugh collapsing against the couch.

[dadrunkwriting]

I'm in the walls of your ask box, begging for more Talaeris 😌💜 How about "you're very distracting, you know" for the Emerald Knight AU? >:]

hehehehehe okay so this didn't end up being AS spicy as I intended it to be but its still a fun little look into their life after theyve begun their established love affair, and I like to think that this is probably a semi-frequent occurrence XD

For @dadrunkwriting

Rated M: mature and sexual themes, slice of life, ~600 words

The Duty of Distractions | By Exalted_Dawn

For the third time since starting this missive, she was forced to scrap her parchment. Any angry bolt of obsidian black was scratched along the width of the sheet, striking through policy and political pomp until it was all but illegible. 

Talenna let out a long and slow breath through her nose and set aside the quill. Pushing back from her desk, she took Saeris’ chin in hand and pulled him away from the sensitive meat of her inner thigh. “You’re very distracting, you know?”

Her knight was on his knees, supplicant and ruffled still from having just rolled from her bed. He looked sleep-warmed; his bare skin flushed, eyes all darkened with wanting and veiled behind a curtain of unruly hair that fell over one side of his face. It was a dangerously tempting sight, which was why she had woken early to try and get some paperwork done before he had stirred beside her. 

It was a choice he had reacted to with petulance instead of patience.

He grunted and took her hand, choosing to lavish her palm with his attentions in place of her still-exposed thigh. “Good. You work too much, already.” 

“I work as much as is needed,” she corrected, once again pulling away from his mouthing to tilt his head back further. Her thumb and forefinger gripped his chin tight and forced his face up, until his storm silver met her rather unimpressed gold. “And if I recall, is it not your duty to ensure that I can continue to do so?” 

“As your guard, it is my duty to keep you safe,” he corrected quietly, taking gentle hold of her wrist. His thumb was like rose petals as it traced down her arm, skirting tendon and tender veins. “And as your lover, it is my duty to keep you satisfied. A difficult enough thing to do as it is without you sneaking from bed after promising last night that I could return your favor come morning.” 

“I would have already been done by now had you left me alone,” she pointed out. 

Hungrily, his eyes danced across her form, long hair unbound and body draped still in her sleepwear: nothing but a whisper thin gown of sheer linen. She knew how she must have looked to him, but still she held her ground, her gaze, and was not entirely displeased by the look of yearning she saw. 

“You ask an impossible task of me,” he murmured, voice thick. She grinned. 

Stooping, she stole a gooseberry kiss from his lips, and then another when she couldn’t resist the sweetness of him. “But I ask it regardless,” she whispered. “Return to your post, Captain Lavellan. I promise I will be along shortly, and from there you can attempt to satisfy me to your heart's content as promised. Otherwise, I will need to order you from this room.” 

His eyes flashed dangerously with her promise. “I would like to see you try it.” Still, he stood and went, and Talenna took plenty of joy in watching him go. He really was such a distraction to her. But even so, she would need to convince him to go about naked more often. It was a very good look for him. 

With a satisfied hum, Talenna set aside her ruined paper and pulled out a fresh, new leaf. Effective distraction though he was, he was an even better motivation to see this done soon. Setting quill to paper and mind to the elf waiting in her bed, she began to write again.

[dadrunkwriting]

Sorry, band AU? Sounds awesome. How about the band experiencing some technical difficulties in the middle of a performance and having to style it out? Happy Friday!

fdsxlakjfad i saw this prompt and HAD to write it. it's not quite "technical" difficulties, but difficulties nonetheless.

i owe many thanks to many people who listened to my drunk rambling as i tried to figure this out, but most notably, @mxssful's partner, who gave us an extended list of things that could go wrong.

for @dadrunkwriting - veilguard modern AU

526 words, no specific pairings, but i promise you they're all going off stage to fuck about this later. (gods i love these polyamourous weirdos.)

Calling it a stage is possibly being generous. It's elevated maybe two steps off the ground, set towards the back of the venue. Still, it's a decent crowd for a Thursday night, and they're getting paid in more than bad pizza and beer. Small victories.

The set's been going well so far, and Vero is feeling it – there are a handful of people in the audience singing along, and fuck if that isn't a good feeling. Lucanis catches their eye over the cymbals, and he's got that brightness in his eyes that Vero can make out even under the lights. Even Viago seems to be feeling the glow – not smiling, not exactly, but there's that quirk at the corner of his mouth as he plays, and when Rosa leans in against him, he goes with it, moving with her. Teia's voice lifts, clear and strong and beautiful, over the swell of sound. For one perfect moment, Vero feels triumphant.

And then some drunk asshole wanders onto the stage.

He's holding a beer bottle, sloppy and stumbling, and the first thing he does is crash into Lucanis's keyboard. Lucanis has to lunge forward to stabilize the instrument, to keep it from crashing to the floor. The guy leans forward – he yells something, Vero sees his mouth move, but they can't make it out over the din of their drums. But Lucanis's eyes flash violet, and it's not just the stage lights. Lucanis – or Spite, fuck, it's Spite – hits a sour note.

They catch sight of Viago, who is receding toward the back of the stage, his posture tense in a way that is both familiar and awful.

Fuck, Vero thinks, but they are helpless to do anything. They can't just abandon their kit, as much as they want to lunge onto centre stage and deal with the situation.

Just as the guy starts heading towards Teia, there's Rosa, lurching forward towards the secondary mic, setting herself between the singer and the interloper.

"Though all before me is shadow," Rosa half-sings as she slings the guitar around her back and pulls the microphone from its stand, "yet shall the Maker be my guide." Her voice is raspy and strained. Beautiful, Vero thinks, beautiful and perfect and Rosa.

She flings her other arm around the drunk guy's shoulders, reciting as she goes: "I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond."

And so Vero adapts, following the rhythm of her words – the song is forgotten, they're just riffing. They change the beat to something steady and a little somber, and Viago catches it, his fingers moving to new chords. And Spite, or Lucanis, or maybe it's both of them, follow along.

Teia is laughing, grinning, her hair a halo as she tosses her head. "Behold our Maker, in all our glory," she says into her own microphone, "guiding our new friend off-stage."

And Viago – Viago is smiling, wild and proud, as Rosa hands the guy off to security.

Rosa skips ahead a few lines. "Rest at the Maker's right hand," she says, as a bouncer pulls their unwanted guest from the riser. "And be forgiven."

[dadrunkwriting]

hihi, happy friday, and welcome to dadwc!!! maybeee a bdsm or soulmates au for oliver/cullen?

Thank you! Ooh, I love this prompt! For @dadrunkwriting — have some pre-Skyhold Oliver Trevelyan x Cullen BDSM AU! 18+ only, please.

Naked, Cullen sank to his knees in the middle of the Herald’s cabin, hands clasped behind his back, eyes closed.

It was foolish. A stupid idea, really, to seduce the Herald of Andraste. Cullen didn’t know how to go about seducing anyone, let alone Oliver Trevelyan, the man who they would name Lord Inquisitor.

But he didn’t know what else to do, how else to make his desires, known. He wasn’t worthy of the Herald, Cullen knew that, but perhaps Lord Trevelyan would have mercy on him.

Perhaps he would be what Cullen needed.

He shivered in the cold, wishing he’d thought to stoke the fire before he stripped, but it was too late now. He was already slipping down, just at the thought of what Lord Trevelyan might to do him. He’d barely been able to concentrate since he’d met Oliver, felt his presence, known that he was a dominant.

It had been so long since he’d been allowed to properly submit. Not since Kirkwall, since his times in the Gallows, before everything came to bear. And even that had been a sterile, nonsexual thing.

Not what Cullen needed, not what he desired, at all.

Had he imagined the heated looks from Oliver? The way the dominant looked at him as if he was already on his knees for him, even as he was treated as an equal?

Cullen didn’t think so.

And Oliver must be under such strain, as the Herald. Surely, he needed this as much as Cullen did.

The door opened, and Cullen jumped, but kept his head bowed, facing the bed. His heart pounded as he heard the sound of a single pair of footsteps stomping off loose snow, a man, muttering under his breath — and then Lord Trevelyan saw him. He knew by the way he stopped breathing for just a moment, before cursing, quietly. The door was shut, then locked.

“Oh, Cullen,” he sighed, moving to stand in front of him. “What are you doing?”

It wasn’t the response Cullen had hoped for.

“Please,” he said, nearly whispering, head still bowed. “Please, my lord, allow me to serve you. I —”

He stopped, not sure if he should continue.

“What is it, Cullen?” Oliver asked, almost blessedly gentle.

“I need it, sir. I need a dominant. Please,” he said, begging, near tears. “All right. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Lord Trevelyan said. “May I touch you, Cullen?”

Cullen’s heart soared.

“Yes, please, sir.”

He felt Oliver’s fingers thread through his hair, stroking him gently, before tilting his head up so that he was looking at him.

“Why me?” he asked. “Tell me why you chose me as your dominant.” Cullen hesitated for a moment, struggling to find the right words.

“You look at me like I’m worth something,” he finally said. “Even though… I did what I did. And I trust you.”

“Really? It’s not because I’m the Herald of Andraste?”

“No, sir. I know I’m not worthy to be your submissive, but please, give me a chance,” Cullen rushed out, lowering his gaze. “I can… I can be whatever you want.”

“Shh,” Lord Trevelyan said, letting go of his hair before brushing it back, gently. “You’re already half under, aren’t you? Just at the idea of it.”

“Please, sir.”

Gently, Oliver nudged at Cullen’s inner thighs, and he willingly spread his legs, his already half-hard length on display for his dominant.

Oliver put one booted foot forward, pressing it underneath Cullen’s cock, rubbing it with the toe of his shoe gently.

“Do you want to come, boy?” Oliver asked, something new in his tone. Something dark and dominant and altogether unlike his usual demeanor.

“Y-yes, please, sir.”

“You will come against my boot, like the dog you are,” Oliver said, nudging him. “Or you will not come at all.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cullen breathed, leaning forward to bow his head. He jerked his hips, hissing at the feel of the cold, still snow-covered boot against his cock. He did it again, and again, moaning and pressing his face against Oliver’s thighs, clutching at him as he rutted against his proffered boot like an animal.

“Good boy,” Oliver growled. “That’s it, take your pleasure. You belong there, don’t you? On your knees, at my feet.”

“Yes sir,” Cullen moaned. “Fuck, Cullen, I’m going to keep you,” he said. “I’m going to make you mine.” “Please, master, I want — I want to be yours,” Cullen stuttered, closer and closer to reaching orgasm. “May I — please let me come, please!”

Oliver chuckled.

“Come for me, boy,” he said, and Cullen did, with a shout, his hot seed splattering over Oliver’s boot.

“That’s it,” Oliver crooned, kneeling down so that he was next to Cullen on the floor. “You did so well, didn’t you?”

"I — did I?” Cullen asked, dazed and sated all at once.

“Yes. You’re so obedient, such a good boy for me, hmm?”

Oliver gathered Cullen closed to his chest, and Cullen pressed his face to Lord Trevelyan’s neck, sighing.

“Thank you, sir,” Cullen sighed,cletting the other man help him to his feet.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Oliver asked, stroking his blond hair. “Sleep in my bed?”

“Please, may I, sir?”

“Of course. Come on, under the covers you go.”

But Cullen was resistant.

“I made a mess…. I should clean it up,” he said groggily, pushing a little at Oliver’s hands.

“No, not tonight,” Lord Trevelyan said. “Tonight I need you in my bed, keeping me warm and comfortable, all right? You my polish my boots in the morning.”

The next thing Cullen knew, Oliver was seated on the bed next to him, kicking off his boots. He climbed underneath the blankets, and pulled Cullen close.

[dadrunkwriting]

For Meira x Lucanis: [ BLADE ] : Character A, having been enemies with Character B, places a knife to their throat, but does nothing else. and A Crow’s dagger, sticky with drying blood

WELP YOU AND @monocytogenes SURE CREATED A MONSTER. Looks like I'm taking Tevinter Nights era Lucanis and bringing him to his weirdest logistical conclusion. Jailbreak scene incoming.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2312

---

She peeked in every door she passed. Some cells were empty; others contained huddled husks deep in shadowed corners. She turned a corner, kept looking — and at the end of the hall a door stood open, spilling light from the circular room therein. 

Meira halted in the doorway. At the center of the rotunda was a man, stripped to the waist and barefoot. He hung spread eagle from his wrists, a curtain of jet black hair obscuring his face. His arms and torso were covered in bruises, cuts and dried blood. 

“Sweet Andraste.” Meira rushed to his side. She pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse — that’s what they’d taught her in the field healer course. “Lucanis? Is that you? Can you hear me?” 

The man roused, letting out a weak cough. Reddened, feverish eyes rose to meet hers through the tangle of hair. He had a coarse beard along a narrow jaw, slightly crooked aquiline nose, chapped lips. 

“I can hear you,” he said faintly. His words were flavored with the lilt of the Antivan tongue.

Breathless, Meira asked, “Lucanis Dellamorte?”

A small nod. 

“Thank the Maker!” Relief made her knees wobble. “Am I glad to see you. My name is Meira Van Morovich; I’m here to rescue you. I was so worried you were dead, or worse.” 

He stared at her as she babbled. “Little help?” 

“Right, yes.”

Meira grabbed for the shackles, which chafed against his raw wrists. Lucanis hissed in pain. 

“Shite, sorry! Sorry.” She stepped back, cringing. She watched him dangle there. His arms strained, and his chest heaved with deep wheezes. She felt horrible. “Um. Okay. Any idea how to get these off?” There was no keyhole. 

“Some sort of rune.” Lucanis nudged his head toward the nearby wall. “Magic, I think.” 

“Magical Tevinter locks, of course.” Meira bit back a wave of hysterical laughter. “Hold on one second.” 

Meira ran over to the wall, where a glowing rune was inlaid in the masonry. She’d seen Colette fiddle with something similar, shortly before her demise. It had to do with attunement to a resonance of Fade-based energy — which was all fine and good, if you understood anything about the Fade and how it fed its powers to those with the gift. She did not. 

Trying not to cry, Meira raised her palms and held them in front of the rune. She felt a strange heat — not on her skin, but inside her hands, radiating up her arms. She let out a nervous breath, closed her eyes, and tried to let the magic tell her what to do. It took a few tries, and she had to resist pulling away when she thought she might overload the ward and explode her own face, but finally, something gave. 

“Got it!” The rune’s glow faded out. There was a clink of metal unclasping, and the sound of a body falling limp. 

“Fantastic, now we’ve got to get—” 

Meira turned, only to be slammed against the wall. Gasping, she recoiled, but there was nowhere to go. Lucanis had her shoulder pinned with one hand. In the other glinted a piece of jagged metal. It looked homemade. For someone who seemed so emaciated, he was unbelievably strong. 

His long hair cast a pall over his features, contorted with rage. He pressed closer, so that their noses nearly touched. “Who sent you?”

The blade was cold, edged against the soft flesh below her jaw. Great way to slash someone’s throat and watch them bleed out — she’d heard that in training. Meira instantly forgot everything else she’d never learned. “The— the Inquisition!” 

“The Inquisition disbanded six years ago.” The shiv pushed harder. “Try again.” 

Who else was there? Divine Victoria’s secret agents didn’t have the same name recognition. Varric? No, he couldn’t know Varric, could he? No no no, Lucanis was nobility or something close— important Antivans wanted him home. “Your grandmother! Caterina.” 

“Everyone knows who my grandmother is,” Lucanis spat. 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

“Y-your—” She couldn’t remember the name of his cousin for the life of her, couldn’t remember much about him at all, except that they did look a little alike. The man was suave and well-kept but carried himself with a deep sadness. Lucanis was a harder, rearranged version: all angles and dark, soulless eyes, breath foul from too many nights in this godless place. “Cousin.” 

The words came from between gritted teeth. “I have many cousins, little girl.” 

Maker, he was going to kill her, wasn’t he? Because she couldn’t remember his stupid cousin’s name. Even though said cousin stood in the briefing room and spoke for half an hour. stressing the importance of bringing this monster back alive, voice tinged with dismal hope. Meira could see him, the black doublet accented in scarlet, speaking bits of praise for his long-lost relative. Highly skilled, was one. Deadly precise was another. Not easily deceived yet a third. Perhaps prone to overzealous self-protection. Paranoid? Had he been saying Lucanis was paranoid? Maybe likely to slice any would-be rescuer to ribbons? So if you still need to convince him to trust you, just tell him—

“Wyvern’s tooth!” Meira shrieked. 

A code phrase. She’d thought it silly at the time. 

Lucanis blinked once, then several more times. The hard edge of the blade eased, and he stood back, lowering his arms. 

“Illario sent you,” he said softly. 

“Yes! Illario! That is definitely his name!” 

“Illario sent you?” He sounded incredulous now, but the kind of incredulous that struck someone when the wild truth in front of them was yet undeniable. 

The alarm bells were still ringing, louder and more omnipresent than she thought possible. Some bizarre Tevinter magic, no doubt. Lucanis looked to the door, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. “We need to go.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been—” 

Lucanis stepped through the door and into the hallway without waiting for her. 

“—Trying to tell you,” Meira muttered under her breath, hurrying after. 

He was at least a full head taller than her, and she had to run to catch up to his swift, sure strides. “Who else did Illario send?” 

“Er, well, there was a whole team, but then some things happened, and now it’s just me and a Templar.” She was about eye level with his shoulder blades. Pale, raised scars criss-crossed the whole of his muscular back. Repulsed, Meira wondered what exactly they’d been subjecting him to at the Arx Silentium. But some seemed quite old, and only a few were recently scabbed over, not like the various bruises and dried blood that covered his arms and—

“Templar?” Lucanis’s eyes caught hers over his bare shoulder. 

His gaze was unsettling, and Meira sound herself stumbling over her words. “Maybe a former Templar, actually? Not Tevinter. All I know is he drank some lyrium and was able to stop the spells the guards were using.” 

Lucanis nodded. “Good. That means we have a chance of getting out of this alive.” 

They rounded a corner and were greeted by Vernon’s slumped form, propped up against the doorframe. The bodies of guards surrounded him, but his sword lie abandoned at his side, his head lolled forward. 

“Oh fuck.” Meira fell to her knees in front of the grizzled former Templar. The entire front of his tunic was slick with blood. “Vernon? H-hold on, we’re going to get you—”

“No use.” Lucanis loomed above her, blocking the torchlight. “He’s dead.” 

“How do you know?” Meira snarled. She searched his neck, feeling for the same pulse she’d found so fast on Lucanis. 

“I know.” He crouched down, snatched Vernon’s sword, and kept moving, down the hall and into the guard’s station. His voice carried back: “And we’ll join him soon if we aren’t smart.” 

Meira blinked hard against the hot tears welling, because try as she might, she couldn’t find the heartbeat in Vernon’s neck. His eyes were glassy and still, blood crusted in the corner of his mouth. She hadn’t known him long, but he’d believed in her. 

“Don’t leave,” she whispered miserably. “Don’t leave me alone with him. Please.” 

Vernon didn’t stir. Meira clenched her fists against his chest. The alarms continued to blare. Forcing back a sob, she launched herself to her feet and ran after Lucanis. 

He stood in the corner by the storage lockers, raiding the various shelves. He’d already donned a pair of black boots. He held up one tunic, threw it back, picked up another that seemed closer to his size. He didn’t look up. “Don’t suppose your cavalry had a grand plan to get out again.” 

“Vernon did.” Meira wiped at her face. “There’s a small cove under the cliffs. We sailed in.” 

“In those waters? There’s rocks everywhere.” 

She couldn’t tell if he was impressed or accusing her of lying. 

“Yeah. I sailed around them.” 

“You’re the navigator, then?” 

“Yes.”

He threw a black tunic over his head, pulled it down over his torso, and raked back his hair with one hand. “Boat still there?” 

Meira nodded. “If they haven’t found it.” 

“We’ll just have to hope, then. Where did Illario say he’ll meet us?” Lucanis looked up finally, with a curiosity that clashed with his general cold demeanor. 

Meira frowned. “It’s, um. He’s on a ship. An Orlesian naval vessel.” 

Lucanis let out a low whistle. “He spared no expense, eh?” 

“Well, it’s a long story,” Meira said. “I really do work for the Inquisition. Or its successor, anyway. Divine Victoria’s involved.” 

“You can explain later,” Lucanis said, back to a stoic deadpan. He clipped on a sword belt and slid Vernon’s sword into the sheath. “You’re the navigator. Can you get us back to the ship?” 

Meira bit back a laugh. It was like asking if she could count on her fingers. “If you get me back there, I can get us to Illario, no problem.” 

“Seems fair.” Lucanis went back to rifling through the various trunks, filled with random knickknacks — the forfeited belongings of other prisoners, it looked like. 

When he didn’t let up, she tried to get in his way. “Isn’t — er — time sorta of the essence right now?” 

With minimal effort, he took her by the shoulders and moved her out of the way. “First, I need back two things they stole from me: my prayer rope and my artisanal coffee blend.”

Meira stared. “Are you kidding?” 

“I am not.” 

“You can get those things anywhere!” she cried. 

“This is patently untrue. The prayer rope is an heirloom, and the blend came from the finest coffee house in Vyrantium.” 

Lucanis showed no sign of stopping. She worried what might happened if she protested too much, so she slid in beside him and tried not to scream. “What’s the prayer rope look like?”

“The usual sort.” He paused, casting a sidelong glance at her. “In Antiva. Black, short, four beads for each Canticle, ten knots in between, with a red tassel at the end for the flame of Andras—”

“I know what an Antivan prayer rope is,” Meira cut in, grinding her teeth. 

Lucanis narrowed his eyes, as if finally realizing she was there. He turned back to the trunk he was searching. “You don’t sound Antivan.” 

“I’m not. I’ve just been there a few times, is all.” The locker in front of her had a stuck door, and she had to throw her weight against it to get it to open. “You can buy a prayer rope like that in any of their ports, by the way.” 

“I told you, this one is—” 

“An heirloom. Got it.” She scoured one shelf, then the next. Old clothes, some cheap jewelry, a few coins stamped with an old Tevinter Archon’s face. “So if we die before you can find it...” 

“We won’t. Have a little faith in the Maker’s Bride.” 

She couldn’t decide if he was joking. 

“Ah. The coffee.” Lucanis reached in and pulled out a small burlap sack fastened with a small leather tie. He put it under his nose, took a deep inhale, and held it out to her. “Would you like a sniff?”

“No thanks.” So he wasn’t only dangerous, but insane as well. Meira chewed the inside of her mouth. Her first mission might now very well be her last. 

“Your loss.” He tucked it away inside his tunic. 

The one locker yielded nothing, and Meira moved onto the next. Finally, she shoved aside what looked like an unraveling coin purse and saw it: the black Antivan prayer rope, just as described. She grabbed it and waved it around. “Is this it?” 

Lucanis’s eyes alighted. “Yes, that’s it.” He reached out, then halted. “What did you say your name was? Meira?” 

His accent clung oddly to her name: a slight roll of the r that made her pause, look at him again, past all the matted hair and grime and dried blood. The narrow planes of his face — younger than she’d thought at first glance — and the intensity in his dark eyes were not all-together unhandsome. 

“Yeah?” she asked softly. 

“You ought to duck,” Lucanis said. 

 “What?” She frowned.

“Duck.” 

Meira ducked. Over her head, Lucanis threw half a dozen irregular metal blades from one hand. Behind her came a chorus of shouts and gargles. She turned; four guards crowded in the doorway, grabbing at their necks as blood spurted from between their fingers. 

Meira let out a small scream as they fell. Lucanis grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. He pried the prayer rope from her hand and slipped it onto his wrist. “I think it is time we left.” 

“Y-you—” Meira had a hard time getting words out between her chattering teeth. “Wha— where do you keep getting those?” 

“It is very boring alone in a cell,” Lucanis said, as if that explained anything. 

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy Friday! From the sharing the bed prompts: one talking to the other when they think they’re asleep

I haven’t written this in a bit, so here’s some modern!Thedas Fenders for @dadrunkwriting !

“You are a blanket thief.”

The words were spoken softly, barely above a whisper, but it woke Anders up as surely as a shout. The mattress shifted beneath him, and he felt a hand brush against his jaw, batting away hair with a soft and considerate touch.

“And you sleep like your cat. Like the dead,” Fenris added, and Anders heard the satisfied smile in his voice. A moment later the mattress shifted again, and a warm, lithe body was pressed against him, torso against his arm, legs tangled together, soft breaths playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

“But you do not snore. Much,” Fenris idly remarked. “Unlike your cat.” The comment made Anders want to laugh- Pounce was always “his cat” when Fenris was annoyed, but “our cat” whenever he wanted the snuggles and playtime Pounce provided.

“Anders,” Fenris sighed, and his sigh made Anders tremble. “I have grown far too fond of you and your brashness. Too fond of your loudness and arguments. Whatever will I do without them?” A well muscled arm snaked around Anders’ waist and held him tightly.

“You. You have a terrible sense of humor. Blanket thief. At least you are warm,” Fenris sighed once more, sleep heavy in his voice, and his breathing slowed until Anders was certain that Fenris had fallen asleep once more. Anders slowly reached with his hand and covered Fenris’, and squeezed it softly.

“Charmer,” Anders whispered into the darkness. “At least you’re warm, too.”

Fenris’ midnight love confessions were some of Anders’ favorites.

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy Friday!!!! <3 I'm so sorry if this is Terrible but you said to send you something unhinged and this is all I've got so um. ghost!Ingellvar, but like they're a classic sheet ghost? It's up to you whether it's a costume or if they're literally just like a floating sheet

this prompt had me scream laughing. this is everything I ever could have hoped for.

a silly Veilguard ficlet for @dadrunkwriting

"You're going to get that ghost out of my house, right?" Lord Blythe stared pleadingly up at Emmrich, his mud-brown eyes overbright.

"Yes, my good sir, I shall do my best," Emmrich assured him with a small bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

He didn't voice any of his suspicions to the nervous Lord, though he was almost certain he knew what was happening. The family reported hearing footsteps at night, and then food would be missing the next morning. Only one maid ever laid eyes on the suspected haunting, but her description raised more questions than it answered.

As Emmrich explored the Blythe home, he kept his senses alert for any true spirit activity. "Hello? If you can hear me, you'd best come out." When he didn't hear any kind of response, he pressed on. "I know what it's like to be hungry and desperate, but masquerading as a ghost isn't the answer. I'd like to help you, if you'd let me."

He entered the kitchen and would have kept talking, but movement out of the corner of his eye pulled his attention. He followed the flash of white into the walk-in pantry and found the culprit standing nervously in the middle of the small room. Whoever it was, they'd taken a plain white sheet and draped it over themselves, then convinced the entire household that they were a ghost.

Honestly, it wasn't the worst Emmrich had ever seen.

"Now why don't we take that sheet off, and then we can talk." Though the figure shrunk back, Emmrich pressed forward and got a firm grasp of the sheet, then pulled it free.

But where he expected to see a person, there was nothing but cold air.

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy friday, for DADWC I hope this helps the self indulgence kick Celeste Trevelyan x Lucanis with ❛ you feel like home to me. ❜ from the Soft and Sweet Starters list. Have a good writing night Mythalsknickers

Hey, thank you for fueling my self-indulgence! Celeste and Lucanis are messy (as is my writing tonight), but they work it out!

For @dadrunkwriting (Veilguard)

WC: ~550

Context: Set several years post-game DATV.

On a cold November night, with rain in her hair, Celeste went back to the apartment in Treviso. The tailor, the downstairs tenant, had died years ago; a jeweler had moved into the little storefront. She paused by the window. For a moment, she was sure that she saw the tailor’s old face, wrinkled and spotted, puckered in concentration with pins poking out like thorns between his thin lips. But it was only the moon, reflected in the glass. Inside was empty, except for locked boxes.

Blinking, Celeste focused on the shadows of her own face. The night painted her in broad strokes. There were two big hollows for her eyes, and a small dollop of darkness suggested her mouth. Still, she was indisputable.

The plastered air in the stairwell was warm, and Celeste shivered for the first time as she pushed the door closed. It still sagged on its hinges, making her lift it up by the old brass knob to gently set it back in its frame. Her fingers lingered on the doorknob; hands had burnished it glossy.

Someone had fixed the stairs; a heavy-handed brush had turned them blue, and her first step up was silent. Unnerved, she tried again, pressing down hard with the toe of her boot. Silence. When she stomped on the second step, she was rewarded with a splitting creak. The noise climbed up all the way up the stairs, down the narrow hall, through the first and only door on the left, and into the apartment’s cramped kitchen.

She was sure he’d heard it, from where he was standing at the stove. He must be at the stove, because now, she smelled the roasted squash, sweet with sage and butter.

The plate, decorated with shiny tin flowers, had grown cold where he had set it on the table.

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t like it.”

Golden braised chicken, tender green beans, and stewed tomatoes sat ignored.

“I’m not hungry,” Celeste repeated. She paused over her calculations; he was still looking at her, in that way that made her feel unpredictable. “I’ll eat later.”

“What do you like?”

“Pumpkin,” she answered, surprising herself. “Like, pumpkin soup? I don’t know.”

Celeste followed the smell up the stairs, aware that she was dripping a trail of rain behind her. When she reached the first and only door on the left, she stopped, feet pressed together. There was a lock on this door, made of black metal that stood out against the warm wood.

He was leaving, and he paused with the door open.

“I will get you a new lock,”

“Why?”

“Because this one is broken.”

She shrugged, feeling bold. “Doesn’t really matter.”

His lips pressed, and he tipped his head a little, and she knew he couldn’t decide if her arrogance was an amusement or an annoyance.

“I would like you to have a lock.”

Instinctively, she reached for a key, the one he’d given her, the one she’d kept tucked in her belt. It wasn’t there. It was at the bottom of the canal, right outside the apartment’s window, quiet beneath the ripples of rain. That was where she’d left it, when she had said she was never coming back.

With a delicate certainty, Celeste turned the knob. It was unlocked. She opened the door, and she was home.

[dadrunkwriting]

happy friday! how about “i think we’re always going to end up finding our way back to each other.” “that’s what i’m afraid of.” for lavellan x solas x felassan?

Title: Snares that Bind Ship: Solavelassan Rating: M Word Count: 731 Warnings: 18+, Established Polyam Relationship, Smut, Fade Thigh 2.0, Double Penetration, Solas Cockblocks - @dadrunkwriting - Veilguard

Music swelled

Glittering jewels, and gilded halls filled her line of sight. A warm hand grabbed hers and spun her into embrace, laughter filled her ears briefly, replaced by gentle breathing and a warm kiss along the shell. Her fingers trembled in her partner's as his leg slid between hers.

"Vhenan" He whispered it with a smirk, his long hair plaited back, wearing all the finery of his station as Mythal's most trusted generals. Another chuckle filled her ear as a different hand pressed her closer to him. A soft barely heard moan left her lips, and the Dread wolf claimed them with no hesitation. Her back pressed against firm muscle, the hand that pressed her closer instead ghosted up along her ribs.

"It seems ma lath, we have caught Mythal's priestess." The arrow's voice breathed into her ear, before his teeth, nipped along the rose flushed tip. Solas devoured the whimpers, his tongue sliding in and tasting her, as her own hands clung to Solas, fingers tangled in fur and pushed against hardened leather straps. A voice in the back of her mind reminded her they were at a ball. She broke the kiss, her cheeks warm as her opaline eyes flickered to crowds. It was not unheard of at these balls for pairs and trios to get lost in the passions they all felt. But she had always maintained her duties...

"Not tonight Vhenan." His fingers grasped her chin bringing her eyes to his, there was a spark of a storm and his tone sent a shiver down her spine. "Let them look da'las, marvel in a beauty they can never have." Felassan's fingers slipped past the delicate silk of her dress resting just below her breasts. Solas' forehead pressed against hers. This night they had discussed at length including if she got caught up in her own mind. They both just held her there, the gentle whispers of magic around them dulled the music. Felassan's no doubt as his lips found where her pulse beat against her neck, soft kisses and gentle sucking. Her lips met his as she rejoined them, letting the passion start to kindle.

Felassan's touch was the first of her two generals. His fingers trailed up along one of her breasts, and she whispered a moan against Solas' lips. His teeth caught her bottom lip, another of Felassan's hands worked their love's pants loose, wrapping around his cock. She rocked her hips into his member with a soft whimper. "Be good Ma lath, ma vhenan." his voice stuttered as Felassan's fingers pulled on her nipple. Her cry echoed around them, and the magic shifted. He had asked them to be good, they were but they were going to make him listen for once. His arms found her waist pulling her up onto his cock. One hand pulled on her nipples, while teeth marked her neck, and the wolf started to claim her, another hand ghosted along her legs, barely touching her clit, and slipping in to her warmth working in tandem with their beloved. He ate her moans and whimpers, the smell of elfroot and willows filled the little dome as Felassan's magic wrapped around her encouraging her body to relax further. A second finger slipping in. "That's it Ma lath, you are going to take us both.." his praise warmed her as his fingers were joined by a third. He slipped in along with Solas, his wet fingers brought up, Solas taking them into his mouth, holding her eyes. The fade around them trembled for a moment the gilded jewels faded with chipped paintings as her mind went to the last time all of them were like this clinging to pleasure. "I think we’re destined to always going to end up finding our way back to each other" She whispered against his shoulder and the fade around them shook her lips capturing his as Felassan thrust with him into her. They needed just a moment longer. The kiss broke and his eyes almost seemed too blue.

“That is what I am afraid of, Vhenan." The howl echoed around them as the dream shattered, their spirits slammed into their bodies, aching for his touch and wanting more.

"DAMN IT SILEAL YOU BASTARD!" Her lover growled and she brought the pillow to her head. They had been so close to release and making him listen.

[dadrunkwriting]

Hi Ann! From the nostalgia prompts: "an object thought unimportant kept as a treasure"? Happy writing!

Sure thing! Here's some JosephinexLeliana for @dadrunkwriting!

Josephine had a favorite bookmark.

It was a little scrap of yellow silk carefully glued around a thin piece of wood. Blue forget-me-nots were embroidered down the entire length of the fabric and matched the silken tassel that hung at the top of the bookmark. The tassel was ragged, and the fabric and thread sun faded, but it was Josephine's favorite. And she had somehow misplaced it!

"My. Did a windstorm blow through your office, Josie dear?" Leliana asked. Josephine whirled around to behold Leliana leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest and a smile creeping across her lips.

"In a way, yes," Josephine admitted, and she crossed the room to kiss that smiling mouth. "I lost my bookmark." It sounded rather silly now that she said it out loud, especially as she took in the devastation surrounding her. Papers everywhere. Pillows from her couch lay across the floor. Books were stacked in precarious piles around the room, all in her desperate search for that little slip of silk and wood.

"A bookmark?" Leliana repeated, and she entered the office. Josephine turned away to look at her desk once more. Not there, not on her shelves, not on the fireplace mantle... but books didn't grow legs and walk out of rooms!

"No, my bookmark! It's quite dear to me, you know. I could have sworn it was holding my place in-"

"The Lady's Devastating Duelist?" Leliana suggested dryly, and when Josephine turned back to her, she found the Leliana was holding said book in hand. And there, dangling between the pages, was-

"My bookmark!" Josephine exclaimed, and she darted forward to clasp book and bookmark against her chest.

"I was curious and borrowed your book and was surprised to see that you kept this bookmark after all these years!" Leliana remarked. "It's so old! And tiny. I was certain you lost it!"

"It was the first present you gave me, of course I kept it!" Josephine protested, and she pressed a kiss to Leliana's cheek. "So, how did you enjoy the book? I particularly enjoy the part where-"

"Josie! I haven't finished it!" Leliana laughed, and she pulled Josephine towards her couch. "But if you would be so good as to read it aloud..."

Josephine laughed with her, book and treasured bookmark in hand.

[dadrunkwriting]

Happy Friday! As you're taking prompts tonight, could I get "But who is that on the other side of you?" (from Poetry Prompts) or ❛ here’s a copper for your thoughts. and a silver not to tell them. ❜ (from Medieval Sentence Starters) for your Tabris Cousins? I am intrigued!

HEHEHEHEH THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME EXCUSES TO WRITE THE GIRLS IM SO UNWELL ABOUT THEM. This little snip is mainly focused on my Tabris, Shaesa and my friend @inquisimer's Tabris, Ariya :3 (with slight mention to @rosella-writes's Rosalie) where the cousins decide to have a little chat about love interests :3 Hope you enjoy!

for @dadrunkwriting

Rated T: very slight sexual connotations, but mostly just family fluff and a bit of angst, ~900 Words

Copper For Your Thoughts | By Exalted_Dawn

“Copper for your thoughts?”

A single, glinting bit landed in the lap of Shaesa’s legs, looking almost arrogant as it winked in the firelight. She plucked it up in her fingers, turning it to study the shiny little coin. 

“Mmmm… mostly that we really must be moving up in the world. Look!” She held the coin back up to Ariya, who was standing behind her, head tilted. “There’s barely any rust on this one.”

Her cousin made a disbelieving sort of noise, the sort she always made when Shae refused to acknowledge the point of a conversation, and sat down next to her. “Not the thoughts I was in the market for, actually. I was hoping you’d tell me more about the ones that keep you staring all moon-eyed at Alistair like that.” 

“You’re trying to bribe me for information on my hypothetical love life now?” 

“I doubt you’d ever tell me otherwise.” 

Shaesa grinned broadly, but pocketed the copper piece regardless. “And here I thought I was hiding it so well. Even Rosie hasn’t noticed yet.” 

“Rosie hasn’t noticed because she’s too busy hiding out from the rest of the camp in Leliana’s tent,” Ariya scoffed, stretching her legs out far in front of her so that the fire could warm her feet. “Hate to say it, cousin, but you aren’t really that subtle.” 

Shaesa lifted her brow. “I can be considerably less subtle if you like.” She turned her gaze back to her original point of interest. Alistair was off across the camp, his back turned to them as he chopped wood for the fire. He was in plain clothes, barely visible against the dark woods beyond the glow of the flames. Only the lines of his shoulders, back, and neck were really properly visible, but it was enough to start with. “Let’s seeeeee… Well first, his back muscles make me think things that would probably make Chantry Sister Theohild cry. And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed the shape of his ass when he wears those pants, but-” 

Suddenly, a silver coin hit her square in the eye, and Shaesa yelped. 

“Hey!”

“I changed my mind,” Ariya huffed. “Have your thoughts back, I don’t want them anymore.” 

Shaesa snorted disbelievingly. “You’re the one who bribed me for them in the first place, you know.”

“And now I’m paying you not to share them,” she sighed. “Honestly, you couldn’t just be serious about things for just a few minutes, could you? I know that you like him, Shae, but I’m just worried. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Rubbing at her injured eye, Shaesa pocketed the silver coin, slotting it in right next to the copper. “Rich, considering who you’ve been spending your time with lately.”

Ariya frowned. “That’s different. You and I both know that Zev is harmless, and if nothing else, at least he’s an elf like us. But Alistair-”

“You think I don’t know that?” Shaesa cut in, and this time all pretense of levity and good humor was gone from her tone. For the briefest of moments, her voice was cold and level, a bit angry even. But like ash on the wind, she let it go. Let her expression and anger mellow. Belatedly, she offered Ariya a smile. “I’m not serious about him, Ari, so you don’t need to be worried. We’re at war and he’s cute– that’s the extent of it. I promise. I’m just enjoying the view.” 

However, that response only caused Ariya’s scowl to deepen. She snorted. “Liar.” 

“You did pay me to keep my thoughts to myself,” Shaesa reminded. “But I swear I’ll be careful. I may not be as smart as you, but even I’m not that dumb.” 

From the look of Ariya’s gaze, her cousin wasn’t convinced. 

Shaesa turned her gaze back forward. Back to Alistair. That was fine, though. It didn’t really matter what her cousin thought, because she’d meant what she’d said. Alistair was all kindness and laughter, with his nice smile and big brown eyes, but at the end of the day, there wasn’t really anything she could do about the fact that it just wouldn’t work out. Provided neither of them died on this suicidal mission to try and unite the country and end the Blight, where would they even go from there? They’d have to trek all the way up to Rivain before they wouldn’t be gawked at for holding hands out in the street. 

And Shae was needed here, with her family. 

“You aren’t dumb,” Ariya said at last, sighing as she slumped against Shaesa’s shoulder. “And I suppose, from a certain angle, he doesn’t look terrible.” 

“Better than our old and saggy betrothed that we’d been prepared to marry before leaving Denerim?” Shaesa pressed. 

From the corner of her eye, she could just barely make out the curve of a grin tugging at her cousin’s lips. “I remember mine being rude and smelly, but yes.” 

Shaesa grinned back. “Good. That’s what I thought too.” 

A breathless laugh bubbled up from Ariya, but neither moved from their spot as they settled in to watch the flames and the other warden beyond. Alistair was good-looking, but Shaesa wouldn’t trade this for anything. Never. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve tried having this little chat with Rosie?” 

“And risk getting my head chopped off?” Ariya asked. “Besides, I doubt I could afford her fee anyway.”

[dadrunkwriting]

Kestrel

for DADWC

Can i please have some more Professor Manfred

Does he get tenure

Grey, you just get me. for the uninitiated: I am working on a kidfic involving the adult daughter of Emmrich/Rook, Elannora Volkarin. Manfred is mentioned as being a professor in the Necropolis. a post-Veilguard ficlet for @dadrunkwriting. "Psst. Hey." Nora glanced around to find her neighbor watching her out of the corner of his eye. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "What?" "You wanna trade answers? I have the first half done." He nudged his partially finished assignment across his desk. A quick glance at his work told her everything she needed to know: that he didn't really care about spirits or the Fade, and he likely only signed up for this class for the novelty. "You might want to re-check that." His lips curled into a sneer. "I think I'd know." He pulled his parchment away, as if he actually thought she'd try to copy off of him. Then he took a moment to consider her, his eyes raking over her with obvious judgment. "Which family are you from?" That should have been her cue to leave, but Nora propped her head on her hand and batted her eyelashes at him innocently. "Does that matter?" "I think it says a lot about a person." Before their conversation could continue, the door to the lecture hall swung open, and a skeleton in Mourn Watch robes swept in. Light glinted off a pair of green lenses as he looked over the gathered students, his stride faltering before he reached the lectern. "Nora? What are you doing here?" "Hello, brother," she said with an exaggerated smile as her neighbor gaped at her. "Father sent me with some notes you were looking for." Despite having mastered complex speech, Manfred had a habit of reverting to hissing when he was pleased or annoyed -- as he was now. The guttural sound was a sharp contrast to his otherwise refined manner. "Excellent! Bring them up, if you please." Nora made a show of handing the satchel of notes over and hugging him, then flicked her gaze back to the tool with sawdust for brains. He was staring at her in horror, his face drained of all blood. She gave him her best fake smile, then turned back to Manfred. "Make sure you're extra thorough with that one's grading." In lieu of laughter, Manfred emitted a noise more akin to a death rattle. "I'm always thorough. That's how I earned tenure last year."