#dADWC

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday!! 💚👀

How about: the last thing i want is to see you get hurt. Featuring Arlow and Viago?

thank you for the prompt!! it hit really well, which is to say that it got much longer than I intended 😂 but here we go, from the requisite "Viago routinely poisons Rook de Riva" bit to Angst and Feels and Crow Politics 🤌

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 2035 words | @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers

-

Not for the first time, Arlow hesitated outside Viago’s study door. She knew he was within, but her stomach churned with worry and anticipation. She was happy, unbelievably happy, and he had the power to crush that with a single look.

She unclenched her fist and stared down at the ring. Dragon bone, inlaid on a band of intertwined nevarrite and obsidian. Black and purple and gold—the colors of the Crows. But she had always been a Crow; this represented something so much more.

“I can hear you thinking out there. Come in, or go away—do not linger. It’s rude.”

It was so typical, so normal in a way that things had not been for a very long time, it almost erased Arlow’s concerns. Her fingers closed, hiding the ring from view, and she pushed the door open.

Viago had a spread of vials on his desk, and a tray for checking antidotes in the middle of the array. Emil was curled around his shoulders; his tongue flicked out at Arlow in greeting as she shut the door at her back.

“Hello Emil,” she said dryly. “Viago.”

“Come here.” He beckoned her forward with one hand; the other held a pipette filled with a murky brown-green solution. “Perfect timing. I need to test this.”

Arlow eyed the mixture warily. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d laid her up for days with one of his concoctions. But her constitution was better now, and so was his estimation of what was and wasn’t ready to test. Plus, if he knocked her out and the ring fell loose, she wouldn’t have to explain.

She propped herself on the free corner of his desk and opened her mouth. Viago dropped three precise dots of the solution on her tongue and waited, watching expectantly.

“Oh,” she choked, hand coming up to her throat. “That burns.”

Viago quickly scribbled a few notes in his journal. He set the pipette down and cupped her jaw, prying her eyelids back and turning her face toward the torchlight. He hummed, nodding to himself and making a few more quick notes. Arlow’s fist pressed hard against the polished wood of his desk, but the pressure did little for her—the poison might have burned her throat, but it was numbing her extremities now. It hurt, knowing she couldn’t roll her eyes to tell Viago to hurry up with the antidote.

She focused on her breathing. Despite her joking, she didn’t actually want to pass out in Viago’s study—she’d never hear the end of it.

“Okay, now this.” Viago drew a few drops of a yellowish liquid into a fresh pipette—if she had more control of her facial muscles, Arlow would have eyed it warily. It would not be the first time he fed her piss under this guise. But at the moment, she cared more about regaining her faculties, and she didn’t have the control to close her mouth, anyway.

She couldn’t tell how much he dropped onto her tongue, only that when enough of it hit, her nerves started buzzing like an angry beehive. He followed it with a spritz of something clear and vaguely acidic, then handed her a glass of water. She tossed it back, swished, and spit into the bucket on the edge of his desk.

“Well?”

Arlow flexed her fingers, running her tongue around the still-tingling inside of her mouth. “Assuming you wanted instantaneous numbing, I’d say it needs work. Not that I’d be precise or anything, but I definitely would have been able to haphazardly stab someone for at least the half minute you had me sitting here.

And as they both knew, half a minute was more than enough time to kill someone. Viago pursed his lips, nodding and muttering under his breath as he made more notes. “Good, good. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, um.” Arlow licked her lips, letting him think she was still recovering from the poison’s effects. It wouldn’t alter his results that much. But in truth, the sweat on her palms and the shake in her voice had nothing to do with what he’d given her. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was an adult and this was a choice she was allowed to make. Whatever Viago decided, no matter how much it hurt, would be on him. “I have to tell you something. And also ask a question.”

Her deliberately evasive phrasing drew his shaper attention as he corked one of his vials and set it aside. He folded his arms and raised a brow at her. “Out with it, then.”

Right. She uncurled her fingers and the torchlight caught fetchingly in the metal edges of the band, danced tantalizingly off the angular face of the stone. Viago froze, and she knew he had stopped breathing.

“That is a Dellamorte ring,” he said after a moment. Arlow’s throat constricted; it was both easier, and not, that he recognized it. “The Dellamorte ring, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Lucanis gave it to me,” Arlow said. “When he asked me to marry him.”

Emil’s tongue flicked out in a hiss; it was the only sound. Arlow pinched the ring between her fingers and held it up. It really was beautiful, and there was strength in both that, and the promise it represented. Barely breathing, she slipped it onto her finger and clenched her fist. “I said yes.”

She forced herself to look directly at Viago as she said it. Not defiance—determination, and respect. Her heart cared about what he thought, but as a Crow she owed her Talon at least this much, and she respected that.

“Of course he did,” Viago finally said. Arlow didn’t visibly relax, but her gut unclenched; he didn’t sound angry. “And of course you did. Mierda.”

His brow furrowed as he studied her, silent, and Arlow deeply regretted not doing this when Teia was around. Teia, at least, always knew what to say, and just said it, right away. And she could read Viago better than anyone—Arlow might suspect what the working of his jaw, or his fingers twitching in their gloves meant, but Teia would know for sure. And would say it, even if Viago wouldn’t.

But this was more than a matter of her personal relationship. Because of who Lucanis was, because of who they were, as Crows, this was a matter of politics. And Teia, dear as she was, was the Talon of another House. This was between Arlow and Viago.

“Are you sure?” Viago’s voice cracked, and he covered for it by stepping forward and taking her hand. His gloves were thick enough that she felt no warmth through the leather; she simply watched as he swiped his thumb over the ring. “I know you have been happy. I know he makes you happy. But he is the First Talon. Tying yourself to him in this way will have consequences. Lethal consequences, if you aren’t careful—and I think we both know you’ve struggled with that in the past.”

Arlow couldn’t help but laugh, soft and melancholy. It was so fitting, and she didn’t even cringe when Viago’s concern sharpened into a glare at her amusement.

“I am sure,” she said, curling her fingers around his and squeezing just once before letting go. “More sure than I’ve been of anything in a long time.”

Viago nodded slowly. “Very well. I—well. I suspect you would do what you wished, regardless of my thoughts. As you always have. I simply do not wish to see you hurt.”

A warmth bled through Arlow and the corners of her mouth ticked up in a slight smile. “It’s just a formality, Viago. If anyone plans to leverage me against Lucanis, they will do it whether I wear his ring or not. And if Lucanis hurts me, he will cut off his own hand before you ever get to him.”

“Good.” Viago huffed. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You had a question, as well?”

“I rather thought you would ask it for me.” Arlow bit her lip. “I—well. It’s the matter of Houses, and which one I’ll belong to when this is done.”

Viago’s fingers clenched on the edge of the desk. Around his shoulders, Emil hissed, slithering around his neck in a reaction the distress Viago was holding back. Wordlessly, he removed the snake from his collar and deposited him back in his tank. He stayed there, staring down at the fire rune, back turned to the desk, and to Arlow. “That isn’t a question.”

“Cazza, Viago, do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes!” he snapped, whirling around. “If you are asking permission to leave my House for his, then I would hope you have the decency to say it to my face.”

Okay. So maybe she did need to spell it out for him.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” she said softly. She slipped off the desk and walked to his side. “When you made me a de Riva, you saved my life. You made my life. And you made it one worth living. My heart belongs to that history as much as it does to Lucanis, and I am not so quick to cast it aside.” She took a deep breath. “But—there is only one way in which I truly stay a de Riva, and also marry Lucanis.”

Viago’s lips had parted with surprise as she spoke, an unknowable emotion shining in his eyes. Now, he pursed them, as she led him to the question she was actually asking.

“You want me to give you to him,” her murmured. Arlow nodded.

“But I know what that means,” she added hastily. “I know that it is not a choice, or a promise to be made lightly. If I thought for even a moment that it would be a detriment to our house, I would never ask. But—I do not think it will mean anything that you would not already do.”

She swallowed. “But if you’re not willing… I understand. And I will accept your decision, either way.”

“Well, that would be a first,” Viago snorted. He clasped her by the shoulders, and Arlow was surprised by how clear and certain his gaze seemed. She’d never known Viago to make a decision so swiftly. Usually, there were days of agonizing, debating, considering the angles. But not this time. “Arlow. Pajarito, you think I would let you get away? It was my hand that lifted you into this House, and it was my name that you wore out to change the world. And when I gave it to you—“ he swallowed, throat bobbing awkwardly. Arlow covered his hands with her own, eyes shining. It was the most words she’d ever heard Viago string together at once outside of a lecture and she thought she might be able to live on this forever.

“When I gave it to you, I didn’t know, but I was giving it a life beyond poisons, and scheming, and grief. I would not force it on you now, but de Riva is yours as long as you wish to wear it. And though he is hardly worthy, and it is dangerous, if you are asking, then yes. I will find a pair of gloves suitable to give you to him.”

Arlow threw her arms around his neck, lifting herself up onto tip toes, not caring that he was stiff under her for just a bit too long before he wrapped his arms around her torso and buried his face in her hair.

“Thank you,” she said against his chest. “I—thank you. Thank you.”

Viago drew back, his smile genuine, but worried. “Of course,” he said, even though they both knew no such assurance had ever been real. “Have you told Teia?”

Arlow shook her head, and to her surprise Viago threw back his head and laughed. Then he gestured to the door, grinning a bit too smugly for Arlow’s taste.

“Come,” he said. “I want to see her face when she finds out you told me first.”

[cavka]

Happy Friday! How about "falling asleep with their head laying in the lap of their lover" for Roisin/Lucanis?

@dadrunkwriting - veilguard content warning! thank you for the prompt!!!

It started out as the two of them having a quiet night in. Rook had correspondence to read and plan replies to; Lucanis had a novel he was keen to finish. Getting to spend their time together, tucked up on her chaise, was a welcome respite from the insanity that was their day-to-day life.

Rook noticed the first time Lucanis' grasp on his book faltered. It dipped towards his face as his blinks grew longer and longer. Before his wrist could go entirely limp, he startled himself back to full wakefulness and frowned. It was, though Rook would never say it out loud, adorable.

She continued to watch out of the corner of her eye as it happened again a handful of minutes later. A third time. With a small huff, Lucanis adjusted his position. Instead of laying on his back with his head resting on the pillow he had propped against Rook's hip, he turned over onto his side. The book swapped from one hand to the other, like the fatigue could be fought if he gave his muscles a rest from the very strenuous activity of holding a paperback.

Biting back a smile, Rook shuffled her papers. Wouldn't do to attract attention to the fact that she wasn't reading anymore. Not if--oh! There he went again, slowly blinking at his page as his muscles all relaxed.

With a rogue's swiftness, Rook reached out and snagged Lucanis' book from midair as his grasp on it finally faltered, succumbing to sleep. She placed it on the buffet behind them, her own papers resting on top. They could wait until tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to be able to focus entirely on the man sleeping in her lap. The way his deep breaths caught a little with his broken nose, not quite a snore but not silent either. How his normally furrowed brow eased into something smoother. Lucanis like this was at ease in a way he never was while awake.

A faint purple glow flickered around his shoulder blades, ethereal wings just barely shimmering to life as the barrier between Spite and Lucanis thinned.

"Let him sleep, Spite," Rook whispered. She wanted to run a hand through his hair, but feared it would wake him. Instead, she settled for ghosting a touch over the plane of his forehead. "He needs the rest. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

The wings fluttered, then disappeared. Rook smiled.

"Thank you."

[megthemariner]

Happy Friday! Eliana/Solas with ❛ you’re not at war anymore, you can come home. ❜

Asjfdjksjf this PROMPT!!!! I immediately took psychic damage but also knew exactly what I was going to write for it. So, amazing, thank you so much (genuinely!)

I’m surprised at how short I managed to keep it, but tbf I know I’ll be writing my Rook’s perspective of this scene, or at least parts of it, in my longfic, so maybe that made it easier. (It’s also why there’s no reference to Rook or the rest of the VG in this)

Also like. when they’re speaking and it’s italicised, they’re speaking in elven. I didn’t feel like trying to translate stuff tonight lol

For @dadrunkwriting

———

Audience: General | Pairing: Solas/Eliana Lavellan | WC: ~550 | CW: MAJOR ENDGAME VEILGUARD/SOLAVELLAN SPOILERS, nothing else really

———

He is still reeling from Mythal’s words, his vision blurry with unexpected tears, when Eliana kneels beside him. The faintest trace of citrus wafts through the air; even here, she manages to bring sunlight. He squeezes his eyes shut - he had almost abandoned it all, earlier, at the sight of her - he cannot bear to see her now.

“You’re not at war anymore, my love, you can come home.”

Her voice is quiet, but the elven she speaks sings to his heart in a way he has longed for for ages. The brief image of their little cottage, hidden from the world, flashes through his mind - home. Solas sobs, giving in to the emotion he had been holding back since Mythal had spoken. It is all too much.

Her soft touch on his arm grounds him, pulls him back to his bruised and battered body. He is so tired. But his duty is not over. There are still wrongs that can be righted, impossible as they may seem. Ir abelas, vhenan. I cannot yet return home. Solas straightens, slowly, stiff muscles and bruised ribs protesting the motion. Eliana remains at his side, watching him carefully.

Solas looks at her, one last time, drawing strength from her presence. Then, before he can change his mind, he slashes the ritual dagger across his palm. He turns to face the tear, beginning the ritual he never imagined he would complete.

“My life force now sustains the Veil. With every breath I take, I will protect this world and its peoples.”

He finishes drawing the complicated sigils, and channels his mana - and his blood - into them. They flash brightly for a moment before fading. Solas turns, looking back at Eliana, hoping he can explain - and that she’ll understand. I am leaving you, again, vhenan.

“The Titans’ dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the Blight, but I can help to soothe its anger. I will go and seek atonement.”

Her eyes never leave his. Solas has to tear himself away, desperate to stay resolute in his new goals, despite the pain. He focuses on taking one step after another, making his way towards the now shrinking Fade tear.

“But you do not have to go alone.”

Her words shock him, almost as much as the sight of her, coming to stand behind him, does. He turns to face her, and she takes his hands in her own. Solas almost cannot bear to look at her, even if he knows, somewhere deep in his heart, that she will not leave.

“Where I am going is terrible.”

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me. I fear no fate, for you are my fate, my love.”

“You are my world, my heart. Anywhere I go you go, for you carry my heart with you.”

“We make this journey together, always.”

As the last elven word slips from her lips, she pulls him to her, bringing them to his own. Their kiss lasts only seconds, and yet, it feels like centuries. At last he pulls away, conscious of the slowly shrinking Fade tear. They both turn towards it and - hand in hand - step through, leaving the past behind them; ready to face the future together.

[heylavellan]

Hello and happy Friday! ^^ How about ""I don't want explanations. I want…" 💋" for Neve and Bellara?

did i get carried away? yes! i had so much fun writing from bellara's pov. veilguard spoilers, read at your own discretion! @dadrunkwriting

no takesies-backsies

rating: t

words: 1282

notes: bellara follows in varric's friend fiction footsteps and writes her self insert falling in love with neve's character. wingman lucanis

Maybe Bellara went just a bit toooo far. Sometimes that happened. More than sometimes. This whole writing thing had been Neve's suggestion. Well, Neve and Rook's. It was a nice break from interrogating the Nadas Dirthalen made by Anaris the Forgotten One and trying not to think about the fact her brother was serving said Forgotten One. Also that her gods thought it would be fun to try and Blight the world.

There was a lot going on, and sometimes Bellara would rather distract herself. The serials Neve brought her were great, but she always finished them before the next chapter was ready. Then she'd read the week's assigned reading for the book club and get bored, so she'd try one of those large academic tomes Emmrich brought. Which inevitably brought her back to the Nadas Dirthalen and all those thoughts she was trying to avoid.

So she started writing about the Veilguard! It was really fun at first, but she quickly ran into a problem. She caught up to the present day. Which was good, because it meant that she could write about things as they happened. But bad. Really bad, since it meant she was stuck with the original problem. Nothing to do.

One day when Bellara was complaining to Lace, the dwarf shared what she knew about Varric's books. About how Hard in Hightown was based on some of his friends in Kirkwall. Donnen was Donnic, Belladona was Isabela, and Maysie was Merrill. Friend fiction, he'd called it.

It was then that Bellara had the perfect idea. Neve was always saying that the press was giving her a bad rep in Minrathous. So why not write a story about how awesome she was? The Neve Gallus!

Well, clearly the main character couldn't be Neve Gallus exactly. Varric didn't drop his friends straight into the works. No, he gave them new names. So how about Guinevere? It had "neve" in the name, but it wasn't immediately obvious. She could be called 'Gee' for short! Agent Gee? No, that wasn't right.

Neve was a suave detective, so Gee needed to be too. But what was she sleuthing? Maybe... for stolen elven artifacts? No, that wouldn't sell in Tevinter. Which was where Neve needed to fix her image. No, she could be the Bloodhound of Minrathous, stopping blood rituals just in time and tracking down anything lost.

And every hero needed a sidekick. Lucanis seemed like a good option, but he didn't live in Minrathous. He was the Demon of Vyrantium. But maybe she could work with that. Maybe they were instead rival detectives, who shared a sidekick unknowingly. The Shadow of Vyrantium competing with the Bloodhound of Minrathous. Yes!

But who was the sidekick. Maybe they were telling the story. Maybe it was... her? Hmmm, that could work. Lucine, the elven sidekick who could sneak across the city unnoticed. She ran a repair shop in Dock Town and sold second hand and vintage wares.

As Bellara continued to shape the story and write the first chapters, it became quite clear that Lucine was in love with Guinevere. Which was strange. Because Bellara wasn't in love with Neve, right? She knew she liked women, after all she dated Irelin for a while. But Neve?

She continued to write. Gee was developing a crush on the Shadow, who she would later reveal to be Lucine's younger sibling Dellen. They both continued to solve crime in Minrathous and Vyrantium until Lucine got targeted by a scheme. The Shadow and the Bloodhound work together to retrieve Lucine, where they admit begrudging respect for each other. And Lucine confessed her love for Guinevere. And they lived happily ever after.

That felt like a good place to end the book. Rook helped her find a publisher, and it was out in Minrathous. She thought that was the end of that. She'd put her first book out in the world!

But with Neve Gallus, things weren't so. Publishing might have been the step too far. After an excursion to Arlathan with Rook and Lucanis (who politely informed Bellara that her book was very popular among the residents of Treviso), Neve was waiting in Bellara's room, reading through a copy of her book.

To be honest, she'd been shoving down her feelings for Neve in case they weren't returned. Until the crush went away, the book was a good enough outlet. "Guinevere took Lucine's hand and kissed her knuckles, looking reverently at her sidekick," quoted Neve, placing a ribbon in the passage she was on. "I was wondering why so many people were asking me if my full name was Guinevere recently."

Bellara blushed and stammered, "I'm sorry if I put your real name out there, but I wanted the character to be like you but also not you?"

Neve smiled -- a real smile, not the ones she wore when she was patiently putting up with Bellara's rambles. "No. I just think it's sweet what you think of me," she replied, setting the book down on the table. "I hope I have enough stories to fuel your next book."

If it was possible, she flushed an even brighter red. Neve drew closer, and Bellara became immediately aware of the curve of her body, the click of her shoes. The deep cut of her shirt. She gulped. "I think so? I don't know if I'll write another. I mean, you're awesome and deserve to have another written about you, but um. Only if you want me to. I really should have asked," she said, letting her mouth speak whatever words crossed her mind. Mythal'enaste, she hadn't been this flustered since she first met Irelin!

"I'm honoured that you want to write about me. But I think the one thing that's stumped me is who Lucine is. The Shadow, Dellen. That's like Lucanis. There's Guinevere, me. You even had Inge, that was a slick way to get Ingellvar in there. But Lucine?" Neve dissected the book and placed a hand on Bellara's shoulder.

She knew? She had to know, right? There was no way she didn't. She was a detective and had clearly picked up that she'd used last names to inspire first names. Guinevere - Gallus, Dellamorte - Dellen, Inge - Ingellvar. Leaving Lucine - Lutare. Neve had to know. And if she didn't she'd certainly have it confirmed by her facial expressions.

Before she could stammer out an apology or explain it away as just part of the book, Neve started, "Look, I don't need explanations. I need…"

Well, if the nug was out of the bag... Bellara cut her off by standing on her tiptoes to kiss Neve. It wasn't intense really, just a quick peck. Before she embarrassed herself. She already felt like she did, but... Whatever. Also, if she kissed Neve longer she'd want more. And Neve might not want that. "I'm sorry!" Bellara squeaked.

The second part of her apology was cut off by two warm hands grabbing her cheeks and a long kiss on her lips. It began to heat up, as Neve licked and nipped Bellara's lips. A small gasp left her mouth, allowing Neve to slip her tongue into Bellara's mouth.

Someone coughed at the doorway. "I'll just bring your tea later?" Lucanis asked, slowly backing out of Bellara's room. Bellara darted over, grabbing her tea from Lucanis with a smile. She missed the pointed look Lucanis shot Neve over Bellara's thank you hug.

Neve mouthed a thank you to Lucanis, and picked up the book. "I'll be back later, Bell. I'm certain we can come up with more ideas for the next book," she teased.

Elgar'nan, Neve was going to be the death of her.

[adainesjacket]

Hiiii Happy DADWC!

From the DA Dialogue list for your favorite DA2 pair (platonic or romanticc): “I’m too young to die.” “You have a low-grade fever and a mild infection.” “I can see a spark of light in the dark… this is the end, is it not?”

- asexualtabris 💜

thank you! @inatrice @dadrunkwriting anders/justice/m!hawke (all pre-relationship, fluff and yearning), 899 words

"Did I die?" Anders wondered aloud. His mouth tasted like damp, warm cotton, and his entire body was feverish, yet cooled by the soft dewy grass he was lying on. Lush grass that could never be found in Kirkwall.

"You are asleep," Justice told him, unimpressed. The spirit was sat next to him, cross-legged and equally cross in expression. "You have a low-grade fever and a mild infection, and were too exhausted to heal yourself. I brought you to the Amell Manor where you are now lying in a guest bed."

Anders shot upright and regretted it immediately. Even in the Fade - where he now realised he was - his head spun. "You walked us all the way to Hightown? What if someone had seen?"

"I wore a hood. No one saw."

"That was reckless. You're not usually reckless."

Justice, unimpressed, laid a cool blue hand on Anders's warm brow. "You left me with little choice."

"And you took us to Hawke's? Maker…" A shiver of embarassment made its way through his entire body. "How bad do I look? Am I sweaty?"

"What sort of a question is that? You look like yourself." Justice inclined his head. "Perhaps a little sweaty. As I said, you have a fever."

Anders dropped his head into his hands and mumbled something vicious.

"If it helps," Justice said after a pause, "he does not seem to mind how damp your skin is. His hand is currently on your head."

Peeking through his fingers, Anders asked: "It is? Like he's monitoring the fever?"

"Not exactly." Justice faded a little from view as he made contact with the mortal world, then returned. "Like this." He pushed Anders gently back down on the grass and trailed cool fingers over his scalp.

Anders's breath hitched in his throat. "Are you sure?"

"I am replicating the movements exactly."

"Hawke's stroking my hair." The words sounded ridiculous even as they left his mouth, but Justice would not - could not - lie. "Hawke - Garrett Hawke - 'swing a greatsword and ask questions later' Hawke - is stroking my hair?"

"I would be more surprised if it were Bethany, given her circumstances."

"Hilarious. No, don't stop." Anders nudged Justice's hand with his cheek. "Feels nice."

Justice huffed a sigh, but resumed his clumsy affections without further protest. "It seems your interest in Hawke is returned. Perhaps now you will be less anxious in his presence."

"I'm not - and this proves nothing, except he's… kind to the sick."

"He is also singing."

"He is not."

Anders felt, rather than saw, Justice raise a single eyebrow, and then a voice floated in on the non-existent breeze. A scratchy, gruff voice, belonging to warrior who spoke more eloquently with his fists than with his words, but who was crooning, so softly to be almost inaudible, a Ferelden folk song.

"Die here, huntsman, alone and forgotten…"

The song, which Anders belatedly recognised as Dane and the Werewolf, was not the most comforting of stories. But as it came from Hawke - brusque, shy, stoic Hawke - it felt like the sweetest of lullabies. Anders couldn't recall the last time he'd been sung to sleep. It must have been his mother, a lifetime ago. Had Hawke's mother sung this to him? Had he in turn sung it to the twins he had to help raise, and lose?

Justice resumed petting his hair as the song faded. "When I arrived," he began, " he had no compunctions about taking me in. He ushered us inside with no explanation necessary."

"He wanted you out of sight," Anders offered, cynical. "If someone had seen you-"

"That was not the cause of the urgency," Justice countered, chastising. "He was concerned about your well-being, and immediately offered shelter, as well as dry clothing. I changed our clothes in private," he added quickly, as Anders's mouth immediately opened to protest.

"You almost sound like you approve," Anders remarked, after his racing heart had calmed down. "I thought you weren't keen on my… interest, in him."

"That is not true," Justice corrected. "I disapprove of obsession. Of this anxiety, which takes your focus away from our work. I do not disapprove, in general, of Hawke. He is formidable, and righteous, and a worthy soldier of the cause." Justice's fingers stilled in his hair as he paused, searching for his next words. "He has been good to you. You are my home, Anders. I could not disapprove of anyone who treats you kindly."

Later, Anders would deny there was any kind of lump in his throat as he clambered back up to a sitting position and laid his head on Justice's shoulder. "I assume you're being so nice to me because I am actually dying," he joked.

"As I told you, you have a mild fever-"

"I see a spark of light in the dark…" Anders said, squinting dramatically at the Fade-horizon. "This is the end, is it not?" He stretched out a hand as if to grasp it, and Justice tutted, and dragged him back down.

"I didn't know spirits could tut until I met you," Anders said, once more nestled against his side.

"Your fever has made you ridiculous. Sleep."

"I am sleeping." But Anders closed his eyes, despite arguing, and let his breath even out both in the Fade and in - unbelievably - the Amell Manor, and felt two sets of fingers card through his hair as he slept.

[librivore42]

Hi!!! Welcome to DADWC!!! <3 For Alistair & whoever you feel like writing with him-- “You’re blushing.” “So are you.” (I just feel like that man is a blusher!!)

Once again so many people are on the Alistair/blush prompts train and you are all so, so correct. Thank you for opening this up to whoever, I will abuse this freedom by shoving my own oc in there, because two awkward templar kids being even more awkward friends is hilarious to me. (it started off funny and then drifted itself into sad territory)

For @dadrunkwriting

~~~~~

Alistair didn't really mind having an overly quiet, overly serious girl following him around. It gave him someone to talk to. At, anyway. And they could both probably use the company, what with him not wanting to be here at all and her…

What was her deal, anyway? Had he ever asked? He felt like he must have, and it had, like most other questions, fallen into the cavern of her silent staring, or been handed back with a polite and unhelpful 'I don't know'.

Well that was beside the point. Whatever her deal was, he didn't mind her tagging alone with him. Usually. As of ten minutes ago, he had discovered an issue with having someone quiet and observant following him.

It meant that Lux often Observed things. Such as when he'd fallen over his own feet (which he still needed to grow into) right in the middle of the training ground. She hadn't laughed at all, but he could feel self-consciousness burn its way across his face. Smacked at her hand as she reached forward to help him up, as if she'd been the one to push him over, irrationally angry at himself, at her, at his feet, at the ground.

At all of it. At being here at all.

Regretted it, just a little, when she pulled her hand back, large, confused eyes in a quiet face.

“You’re blushing,” Lux said, her voice unerringly flat, her eyes like a sudden lantern being shone on him in the middle of a midnight sneak-off.

Not that he would know anything about that.

“So are you,” he shot back immediately, his face on fire and his voice not broken enough to sound like anything but a petulant whine. And of course she wasn't, which made it all worse. Already taller than him, forcing him to look up to glare as she blinked in slow confusion.

"I'm not."

Both their hair cut with a rough hand and little care, both their limbs too long and clumsy. Too young. Alone.

Another twinge of regret for pushing away her offer to help. But pushing it away was easier than accepting it and just being disappointed later.

… he didn't like that thought. That was one of those gloomy middle-of-the-night thoughts that made you feel more alone than ever. And made you do stupid things like get angry at people because you fell on your own face like an idiot.

And it made sudden silences fall heavy and stretch too far.

"Do I have dirt on my face?" he asked instead of apologising. It broke the silence, and that was enough.

"Yes." She raised her hand to touch her left cheek, drawing a sharp angle downwards. "There."

It was done with such deadly seriousness, as she did everything, that it made him smile as he scrubbed at his cheek, even if it was just a weak, little thing.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Nobody will ask."

"That's…" Well, it was an answer, in that weird way she had of answering at times. It had the shape of a reassuring answer inside of it. A hand held out, tentative, and this time, he was glad to take it.

[saltyowlets]

happy friday! for your Companion!Cullen AU: “No! Dragon-hunting is not a way to kill time, it’s a way to kill us.”

-inquisimer

Oh this one is going to make me laugh

Ship: Companion!CullenxLavellan ft Dorian, Bull, and Varric (cause I said so)

Word Count: 265

@dadrunkwriting

"For the Maker's sake- why are we entertaining this? There are only five of us and you want us to face a dragon? Are we those kinds of fools?"

Cullen heard a disapproving tut on his left. The Tevintar mage looked as annoyed as he was.

"I can't believe you are making me agree with Cullen of all people. Already killed 3 dragons before, haven't you two brutes had enough?!"

Cullen looked back astonished at Medea and Bull, both with head starts- racing ahead to the the ruins by the lake. Flying ahead, blasting flame at its wake was a sizable dragon. Personally, he had never faced one or even thought about facing one. Yet, the eager looks on Bull and Medea's face surprised him, maybe even scared him. The two of them didn't even let him a moment to ask their plan before they went charging.

Andraste preserve him, what had he gotten into?

"I knew from the reports that your party handled the dragon in the Hinterlands, the Storm Coast and Emerald Graves, but are you telling me you all have been purposely hunting them down? Why?!"

To his right, Varric stepped forward, resting Bianca on his shoulders. He gave the ex-Commander a resigned look.

"They call it their break time." Cullen ran a hand through his hair, before letting out an irritable curse. Adjusting the straps on his armor, he surge forward, racing after the two fools who already started getting the flying beast's attention.

"A DRAGON IS NOT HOW YOU KILL TIME- ITS HOW YOU KILL US, YOU MAKER MADE FOOLS!! "

[virshiral]

Happy Friday!

“I don't love you, I just love the bomb.” From Dance Fever prompts for Solavellan (or whatever pairing you choose!)

Thank you for the prompt! I listened to this song while writing and this is a vibe. Going on my Solavellan playlist for sure.

@dadrunkwriting

--- He doesn't love her, he tells himself.

It is only that he is a coward. He wants an excuse to give up his plans, blow up everything he's worked for. That's what he loves; only that.

They kissed once, that is all. Besides, it was in the Fade. He was not himself. You change everything, he said, but what he meant was that he wanted her to change everything. He clung to her not as a woman but as a punctuation mark – a sign pointing to another possibility, as if there could ever be another possibility.

His body told him something else, but that is immaterial.

They are traveling through the Exalted Plains, and that evening they stop at an abandoned elven bathhouse. The water is still warm, from a spell that his people cast millenia ago. Dorian excitedly chivies the party toward the waters.

'Of course it's always a good idea to go barging right into a centuries-old spell whose nature you don't understand,' Solas says, his voice coming out uncharitably severe.

'Well, you needn't join us if you feel that way,' Dorian says airily, and then looks over at Cole and Eirlan. 'Coming?'

Eirlan and Cole go with him. Solas sits alone, by the unpitched tents. He takes a book out of a bag, but cannot read it. He is so very tired of himself.

He does not love her. The very idea is ridiculous.

It is not planned, but somehow he finds himself putting the book aside and wandering toward the pools. Just to see, he tells himself. Dorian sees him approaching, and arches an eyebrow. 'Are you coming in after all, Solas? Does that tunic actually come off, or did you just sew it on?'

His eyes flicker toward Eirlan. She wears only a wet shirt, and he cannot help but see the way it clings about her, almost translucent. He wants to lay his hand on the curve of her hip. He wants to touch the underside of her breast; the soft and lovely blurring of her edges. What is this tenderness in him? If it were just desire, that would be easier to contend with.

Her eyes meet his. She seems to waver, then she turns her face away, and dives underwater.

Suddenly Solas is all resolution. His chin tilted, challenging, he strips off his tunic, and then his undershirt, and without hesitating a moment he dives into the pool.

When he surfaces he is standing beside her. 'Having fun, lethallin?' he says, standing with his hand on his hip.

He can feel her eyes on him. If he'd had any doubt about her interest, this moment would have dispelled it. That is a blush, there is no doubt about it. He should not feel the way that he does: breathless and wondering, his whole chest cracked wide. He does not love her, absolutely not.

'Indeed,' she murmurs. Steals another glance at him.

'Good,' he says, and then he turns, whip-sharp, and splashes Dorian. The other mage lets out a yelp of protest and tries to reciprocate, and soon enough the four of them are engaged in a vigorous water-fight; even Cole is willingly pitching in, though he seems to have very little idea of what's happening.

Eirlan turns to flee towards the deep end, and Solas pursues her. Without quite intending it his hands close about her waist, and then she's pressed against his body. He can feel everything. His heartbeat is a terrible music in his ears. 'Got you,' he says in a low whisper, and he feels her shiver against him. Feels the response of his own body; his shameful, unforgivable yearning.

Suddenly he realises what he's doing. He lets go and stumbles backwards. 'I – I am sorry – '

She turns to look at him. 'Don't apologize, Solas. I wasn't complaining.'

He looks down, unable to suppress a small smile. 'I – all right.'

Dorian rolls his eyes. 'Will the two of you just kiss, for goodness sake?'

Solas turns to look calmly at him. 'Maybe we already have,' he says, and then immediately regrets it. Hastily he turns away, begins to climb out of the pool.

He doesn't love her. His own voice echoes in his head; wildly unconvincing. What has he done?

[pinkfadespirit]

For DADWC and handers 👀💖

“Let's go home” “I'm already home”

Thank youuuuu, Ghosty 💖💖 💖✨️

Thank you for the prompt Forty! 💖Here's some of our handers housemates AU 🥰

There's some drunk Anders and a little bit of angst, but only because they're being idiots. Mostly there is pining!

776 words - for @dadrunkwriting

Hawke had thought it would be fun. A night out with Anders, a chance to set aside the nagging fears of how long any of this was going to last, since Anders seemed so dead set on moving out at some vague point in the future. Tonight Hawke wasn’t thinking about that. He was just going to enjoy Anders’ company and hope he wouldn’t find some reason to bring the topic up again. Maybe that way he could just pretend that Anders wanted to stay just as much as Hawke wanted him to.

He had forgotten how much of a lightweight Anders could be. He’d been listening to him rant for the best part of an hour. Admittedly captivated by the passion burning behind his tirade against the latest company he’d been boycotting. He’d noticed the way Anders’ face had become flushed, but hadn’t thought too hard about it. Perhaps he’d had a little too much himself.

It was only later, after the conversation had moved on that he noticed the way Anders was drooping a little. He’d shifted closer, turned towards him with his head propped on one hand, elbow against the table.

“Are you all right, Anders?” Hawke asked, thinking he should have been less distracted by trying not to respond to Anders’ proximity the way he’d been aching to for months now, and more and more with how many pints they’d got through between them.

“Mm, just tired,” Anders mumbled, staring straight at him in a way that made feel warm. So much so, he was sure it must be obvious on his face.

“Maybe we should head off.” He felt a little disappointed as he said it, knowing they’d get back to the flat and Anders would disappear into his own room and then tomorrow they’d both go back to remembering that Anders wanted to leave.

“Maybe…” Hawke wondered if the look on Anders’ face meant he was as reluctant as he felt. But he reasoned that if Anders was too drunk, there was no use in staying out anyway.

Hawke sighed and got to his feet. When Anders blinked up at him like he’d already forgotten what they were talking about, Hawke didn’t think before holding out a hand to him. It was only when Anders seemed surprised that he realised what he’d offered. Just as he thought about snatching his hand back, he realised that Anders was reaching out to take it.

Their fingers brushed, and then Anders’ palm slotted against his. Had they ever done this before? Hawke doubted it because he probably would have remembered it if they had. He wouldn’t forget the way his heart was pounding and his face felt hotter than before. For a moment, he stayed like that and then he remembered that he’d offered Anders his hand for a reason.

Anders allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and then he stumbled. Hawke was quick to catch him, once again moving without thinking, and then Anders was in his arms.

He didn’t pull away. Hawke held him long enough to steady him and Anders stayed where he was, with Hawke’s hands on his upper arms, close enough that he felt like the pounding of his heart was far too obvious, even though that hardly made sense in the noisy, crowded space they were in.

“Come on,” Hawke managed eventually. “Let’s go home.”

But all Anders did was rest his head against Hawke’s shoulder. “I’m already home,” Hawke thought he said. The room was far too noisy and Anders’ voice was muffled. He’d probably misheard but… with Anders close like this, didn’t it just feel true?

He couldn’t help but loosen his grip on his arms to slide them around his back instead, so that Anders snuggled in closer.

“What am I going to do with you?” Hawke mumbled, wondering how embarrassed Anders would be if he remembered this in the morning.

He stroked his hair lightly, noting its softness under his fingers, because he couldn't seem to help that either.

Then he dragged his hands back to Anders’ shoulders and helped him back upright. “Come on, I’m getting you home to bed.”

Anders stared back at him dazed for a moment and Hawke couldn't tell if the flush on his cheeks was embarrassment or just from drinking. “Probably a good idea,” he said.

Hawke smiled because what else could he do? He gave his shoulders a light squeeze and then dropped his hands, leaving one at Anders’ back just in case he stumbled again. Like that he steered Anders away and out of the pub, to the home they shared, for now.

[vigilskept]

dadw prompt: falling asleep with their head laying in the lap of their lover (for Chaya Tabris/Loghain) ~ @lordgoretash

ty for the prompt! somehow i took this premise and only managed to get these characters into this configuration after like. 1000 words. whoops. oh well. 8 years post-blight (still 2 years of Yearning ahead of them!) tabris/loghain be upon ye

words: 1093 | @dadrunkwriting

The cold that swept in between the flaps of the tent could not have been less welcome with her cloak unclasped and pooling against her ankles.

If her glare was a little too sharp for the occasion, she should be humoured.

The wry smile Loghain wore was a clear enough indication that his amusement was all at her expense, even before he told her, "You've definitely been in Orlais too long, if that was enough to set you off. You'll be asking the Avvar where they keep their pastries next."

"Va t'faire foutre," she pronounced neatly, reaching down to her cloak.

"And this, the thanks I deserve for coming here to bring you a thoughtful gift?"

The feigned offense in his words was severely undermined by the how little the feeling coloured his tone.

As she righted herself again, she felt rather than saw him draw near, then fall still just behind her, grasping for something that had slipped down to the bottom of his pack if frustrated slide of gauntlet against felt was any indication.

It would have galled her, probably, if someone had suggested to her during the Blight that to be unarmoured and unarmed with Loghain Mac Tir at her back would invite no more trepidation than an pleasant sort of idle curiosity.

If he weren't still armoured himself, she might've even indulged the temptation to lean back just a little further, so she might steal some of the warmth from his body.

He ran hot as a rule, but twice had been enough to learn the lesson that cold leached out of armour much slower than it did out of anything else. She chose instead to wrap her cloak back over her shoulders and wait him out.

It wasn't a long wait, at least, before she heard a soft grunt as he caught his elusive quarry and — a warmth she hadn't felt since she'd last liberated another bottle of aged West Hill Brandy from the Warden-Lieutenant's cellars and shared the spoils over a night of traded stories as they'd passed the bottle back and forth, until they'd reached the bottom.

The source of the warmth this time seemed to be a carved amber pendant hung from a slim leather cord that now fell against her chest.

This was a thoughtful gift. Her last warming charm had snapped off somewhere between Jader and whatever the Avvar called this place Loghain marked on their map with an enviable assurance.

Turning to face it him at last, she made no attempt to conceal her delight. "Where did you find it?"

Toe to toe in the narrow strip of the tent that didn't force one to duck their head, they were close enough that his quiet huff of laughter brushed the stray hairs that had slipped out of her braids since she'd plaited them in the morning.

"We don't all have trinkets throwing themselves in our paths hoping we might trip over them, you know."

"Shame, that," she mused, tucking her lip between her teeth to smother her grin. "I do love to see you get tripped up."

She felt the shape of Loghain's own tired smile brush against her forehead as he tipped his head down, rested it atop her own.

"Such cruelty," he murmured.

"Yes," she agreed easily, sliding her fingertips into the gap beneath his shoulder plates. "I must have learned it from those damned Orlesians."

It was a testament to how often they'd been the ones to strip each other of their armour that his only reaction was to remind her, "I'll be on the next watch."

She continued, unperturbed, tugging free the leather straps securing his breastplate one after another. "I put us both on that watch, I'll wake you with time to spare."

She needn't have voiced the reassurance really, when his was only a token protest. If she let him lean his weight against her much longer, she'd find herself bearing all his weight and — if experience was anything to go by — fighting to keep them both from topping over and bringing the tent down with them.

It had been good for the newer recruits to be able to have a little laugh at the expense of some senior wardens, but she wasn't particularly inclined to relive that experience so soon.

Instead, she tugged off his gauntlets at set them beside the rest of his armour, letting her weight nudge him backwards, step by step, until she had room to kneel and get at his greaves.

With practiced motions, one quickly followed the other, and with her leverage, it was easy enough to tug on the hem of his gambeson until he joined her atop the bedroll, bleary-eyed still but with a lingering softness to his smile she couldn't quite help the urge to catalogue.

It had only been a year back in Ferelden in the end, then half of another in Montsimmard before she'd made her way back to Jader. It shouldn't feel like she'd very nearly lost something, to spend a little time away from a place that wasn't really home. And yet.

She shook off the thought, arranging herself so she could prop her back against the storage chest.

It probably spoke ill of how much of a habit they'd made of this, that Loghain needed no prompting to draw himself up against her side, a head pillowed on her thigh as he closed his eyes for what little time she might be able to scrape away for him.

It was all they could do these days, to reserve for the other some little moments of rest and respite, even as the command found ever more inventive problems to point in their direction.

She eyed her cloak at the side of the tent, now tucked between pieces of Loghain's armour. A lost cause probably.

He was a line of warmth against her side, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the icy cold of the Frostbacks.

The solution, when she thought of it, was simple.

Tugging off her the amulet, she let it hang from her wrist instead, reaching for Loghain's free hand and there — it wasn’t quite as warm as before, but it was just enough to share between them to see them both through.

The response was a tired rumble, muffled against clothes. A thank you, maybe. Or the tired nonsense he was prone to these days.

She squeezed his hand once, lightly, in acknowledgement.

Sleep well was a foolish thing to ask these days, but as long as it was darkspawn disturbing his rest rather than the Calling, that would be enough.

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

Happy DAWC, how does this sound for a prompt? Talenna "Rook" Ethera x Lucanis Dellamorte and "Don't tell me this is the first time you've visited a woman's bedchamber unannounced." from the 8 little talons list sound? Happy Writing Mythalsknickers

HEHEHEHE THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT! I took this one and combined it with the other 8 Little Talons prompt I got from @wishforhome and had a lot of fun with it XD hope you both enjoy!

for @dadrunkwriting Veilguard Content ahoy!

Rated T (maybe M?): for non-explicit tits out and a bit of teasing on Tal's part XD Very, very minor DA4 character and romance spoilers, ~1k words

An Assassin's Pride | By Exalted_Dawn

Talenna could just barely catch a corner of his reflection from the angle of her standing mirror. A flash of dark hair. A hint of equally dark clothing. Quiet as quiet but unfortunately for him, still not invisible. It was a shame– he’d gone through all that effort to enter her rooms unseen. 

With a huff of laughter, she continued to shed her top. 

“You know,” she began, her voice loud enough to carry to the adjoining room. “If you wished to catch me undressed, Lucanis, you could have simply asked.” 

Behind her, there was a sudden and sharp cacophony of metal against stone and the sound of something shattering, followed closely after by a hissed curse in Antivan. Talenna grinned. It must truly be an off night for him, then. 

Making no effort to cover herself, she strode out into the sitting room to investigate, and almost directly stepped into a puddle of sable-dark drink. Coffee, by the smell of it, but she could have guessed as much even without that. It was the clumps of brown, glazed pastry scattered amidst the spill that had her more perplexed. Chocolate? The flavor of the breading was harder to discern, given how much liquid it was soaking up. She supposed it didn’t matter– it was coffee-flavored now.

Lucanis was crouched, kneeling amongst the mess. Shards of violet glass were gathered in a cupped hand as he carefully sifted for more that lay broken up across the tile floor. His favorite coffee cup, it seemed. 

Her smile faltered, feeling slightly guilty to have surprised him. “Ir abelas– I didn’t intend to startle you. Do you need some help?” 

Lucanis sighed sharply. “No. Please, stand back. I haven’t yet gathered the rest of the glass, and-”

He froze, finally looking up at Talenna. So he hadn’t noticed then. 

“I… You are actually undressed,” he stated dumbly, his stare perhaps lower than was strictly proper. Two full seconds of this passed before true recognition set in. Lucanis blushed to his ears and then quickly averted his gaze. Much to her amusement, but with an efficiency that impressed, he cleared his throat and quickly added on, “That is to say, I wasn’t, ah, aware at first that you were here.” 

“I do enjoy defying people’s expectations,” she hummed, unable to fully hide her smirk. “Though, usually when a woman locks her door, it is to prevent this sort of compromising situation. Or is this the first time you've ever visited a woman's bedchamber unannounced?” 

It seemed that her comment was finally the thing that shook him from the rest of his shock. 

Scowling at her as a cat would a rain storm, he muttered another suitably frustrated curse and stood. With deft grace, he set the metal serving tray he’d brought here down on top of the nearest buffet and emptied the contents of his cupped palm out onto it. The broken glass chimed against the silver, falling in a neat little pile of gem-like purple that seemed to wink at her in the lamp light. 

She made a mental note to replace the cup later. 

“How did you even know I was here? I made certain I was not seen or heard as I entered.”

Talenna scoffed. “That’s the part you’re stuck on right now?”

“It’s offensive,” he huffed. “Professionally.” 

“Ah, is that it?” she snorted. 

“Of course.” 

“Then it was because I could feel you and Spite staring at me-” 

Lucanis grunted irritably at that. 

“-and I put wards on the door,” she finished smoothly, settling herself against the wall. Waiting to see how long it would take him to finally turn around and meet her eyes again.

He let her answer hang in the air for a moment– likely considering the workarounds of such a defense for the next time he attempted this, if she had to guess– before finally releasing the tension in his shoulders with a single, prolonged sigh.

“I swear to the Maker, you are going to walk me into an early pyre.” Seeming far more composed now, he turned back towards her, but it was with the weariness of someone who looked like they hadn’t slept in two days. This time, he kept his gaze firmly trained above her neckline. “If there were truly wards on your door, then why did you not stop me from entering?”

Her lips curled up in fox-sly satisfaction. “Perhaps I wanted you to see.”

“And if it was anyone else?” he responded flatly. 

She snickered. “Well why do you think I locked the door?” 

Talenna only allowed herself a single, delicious glimpse of his recognition of her trap, oh so carefully laid, before she spun away and retreated back into her bedroom. With an unceremonious sort of confidence, she continued undressing, first removing her leggings and then her smalls. She did not stop to check if he was still watching her, nor did she listen for the opening and closing of her door. 

Her invitation had been genuine after all– if he wished to join her, he was more than welcome. 

But seconds passed and he did not once move to stop or interrupt her as she changed into fresh sleepwear. Perhaps unsurprisingly, when she had finally finished righting herself, Talenna had turned to find the mess fully cleaned and herself alone in the room once more. Who could say how long Lucanis had stayed to watch, but he’d clearly made a point of leaving unseen. 

She snorted. 

And the team thought she was prideful. 

No matter. Knowing him, he would be back, likely with a way to flaunt her wards. He was not one to be outdone in these matters, both as an assassin and as a chef, and seeing as she hadn’t gotten to try the dessert he’d made, it was really only a matter of time. 

She could only hope that, next time, he didn’t drop the coffee.

[inquisimer]

something loosely inspired by the Rook Codex Prompts by @shivunin - it was an idea I had, but the format didn't come together for me until I saw this list. It also fills multiple possible prompts, but I didn't write it with any specific one in mind? So I'm just posting it like this asldgjlkdfh.

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 449 words | @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers, a letter written before Tearstone Island, for Neve to deliver in the event of Arlow's death

-

A letter written in Antivan, crumpled and smoothed out many times over. It is pinned to the library table by a dagger embossed with the sigil of House de Riva.

Viago, If you knew I was writing this, you’d slap me upside the head. But I’m writing it anyway, because you should hear it from me. It isn’t your fault. Whatever happened, if you’re reading this, it is not your fault I’m gone. And it’s not Lucanis’ either, so don’t blame him. I made my own choices. I hope they were the right ones, and that I’m not gone before the job was done. A Crow always finishes their contracts, right? I hope I didn’t let you down, in the end. (Here’s a break for you to yell at my ghost. Come back when you’ve calmed down.) You saved my life, you know? You didn’t have to. I know you would have made Talon, regardless. But you saved me—changed me, so much I don’t even know who I would have been otherwise. And I’m glad for that. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone other than who you made me. Yes, I mean that. Yes, I’m sure. Don’t argue with me when I’m not there to argue back. Just—believe me, for once. It doesn’t matter how it ended. We had a good run. A really good run. And despite it all, I wouldn’t have changed a thing, except maybe that I’d like to be hearing your lecture in real time right now. Wherever I am, I’m missing you. But don’t spend too much time missing me. The others need you—if the job isn’t done, help them. For my sake—a contract signed with my last breath. You help them save the world, and then you take Teia back to Treviso and you live. Have a really good cup of coffee; watch the sun rise over the canals. Keep going, because even when the world fell apart in my hands, you were the one thing that stayed the same. If there was anything I could leave this world knowing, it’s that that hasn’t changed. So. Keep living. For me? We’re not big on words, and I’ve already used up most of mine. But the seal on this letter wasn’t poisoned—as you undoubtedly tested—and that should tell you all you need to know. I love you, Viago. I’m sorry that I wasn’t good enough to make it back and tell you in person. But I always have. Thank you. For everything. -Arlow de Riva

The loopy signature is blotted with tears. Some smear the ink; others appear to have been left after the letter was opened.

[cavka]

Hi!!! Happy Friday <3 For Lucanis & Roisin, "holding hands under the table" from the holding hands prompts maybe?

aww this is a sweet one. thanks for the prompt!! @dadrunkwriting - veilguard content warning!

Dinner is delicious. It always is when Lucanis cooks. There's something extra special about it tonight, though. Maybe it's the new spices that have shown up in the Lighthouse kitchen. Or maybe it's just the fact that Rook knows he made dessert special, for her.

She tries not to smile to widely or too much. Sure, she's an easy-going person and the good conversation around the table would have her laughing normally. But she feels almost giddy tonight. It's hard to keep it in.

She wants to, though. Wants to hold this little ember of a new... something with Lucanis close to her chest and keep it just between them (and Spite, of course) for a little while. It's taken them a while to get here even if they've known they were headed this way. It makes it feel all the more precious.

As the night goes on, she finds herself cursing the fact that the Lighthouse has actual chairs. If this were more like one of the dining halls in Weisshaupt with bench seating, she could have an excuse to drift a little closer to Lucanis. She could get near enough to feel the heat of him at her side, even if she kept herself from touching. With the chairs, all she can do is lean on the arm rest closest to him and pine for a moment alone.

At least, that's what she thinks until she feels the smallest of touches against her pinky finger, so brief she thinks she almost imagined it. Her hand's under the table, hidden from the sight of the rest of the team. And it's not like they have a table cloth so it had to have been deliberate.

The touch comes again. It stays this time, ghosting up and down her smallest finger. Careful not to react outwardly as she continues chatting with Bellara, Rook extends her pinky finger and loops it around Lucanis'. She gives it a little squeeze.

Warmth blossoms in her chest as his finger tightens its grip in turn. With his other hand, Lucanis takes a drink of his coffee and lets out a contented hum. Ostensibly because of the good roast. But Rook knows better. And she doesn't think she's ever felt so loved.

[megthemariner]

For the DADWC, from the 'budding romance' prompt list: "you're very distracting, you know," perhaps for Solas/Eliana?

This was so fun, omg. I didn’t think I’d really ever write DAI Eliana/Solas but this really sold me on it. They’re just so cute and happy here…. ;A; Thank you for the prompt!

For @dadrunkwriting

———

Audience: General | Pairing: Solas/Eliana Lavellan | WC: ~650 | CW: none

———

Eliana stirs the slowly bubbling stew, musing over the day’s events. They had spent most of it chasing down wild rams, eventually gathering enough to provide food for the refugees for the foreseeable future. It had been a struggle, with only Varric among them really suited to the task, but they managed.

All of this still felt like a bizarre dream - or nightmare, some days - to Eliana. She was regularly surrounded by more shems than she’d seen in her life, by their ‘chant’; isolated from even the non-Dalish elves by the mark on her hand. Her one comfort, so far, had been her talks with Solas. They speak about magic, spirits, the Fade and more, and it’s like she’s back home, listening to Deshanna. As her mind turns to Solas, her eyes do as well, leaving her careful watch of the stew to steal a glance at him. She’s surprised when they make eye contact, quickly looking back at the food. Still, Eliana can’t help but smile. Creators, I hope I’m not blushing.

After a moment, she finds her eyes wandering his direction again, almost as if she can’t help it. He’s leaning against a nearby tree, his sketchbook resting against his legs, and she watches as he adds a few quick, light strokes to the page. Solas’ movements are so gentle, so precise, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s always been an artist, in some way.

Eliana looks back at the fire, adding a little heat when she can be sure the Seeker isn’t watching. The other woman had seemed surprised the first time Eliana suggested using magic to cook. They’ve been making non-magical fires each night since then, but if she doesn’t do something they’re not going to have any cooked food to eat tonight. Thankfully, the Seeker is distracted, pouring over a map of the area in order to decide what to do next. She gives the stew a good stir, then lets it sit and continue cooking, pulling her long braids into her lap. Eliana runs her hands over them, checking for stuck twigs or leaves, but looks up suddenly when she feels eyes on her. She bites back a smile when she finds herself making eye contact with Solas yet again, trying not to laugh, or blush, but ultimately failing at both.

“You’re very distracting, you know,” she says, turning back towards the pot. She smirks at him from over her shoulder. “If this burns, I’m telling Varric it’s your fault.”

He closes his sketchbook, tucking it under his arm as he slowly rises to his feet. Eliana looks away for a moment, tossing her braids over her shoulder - away from the heat of the fire - and is surprised when he speaks from behind her.

“Perhaps I’ll tell the Seeker it burned because you used magic to heat it.” Solas’ voice is low, quiet enough that only she’ll hear it, and has a playful edge to it that delights her.

She whips around to face him. “You wouldn’t!” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, and she’s fighting to hold back the grin that threatens to overtake her face. She checks to make sure neither of their other companions have heard them, feeling like a little kid again, whispering conspiringly with her brothers behind the aravels over some prank they had planned. Solas remains impassive, although the barely noticeable glint in his eye betrays his amusement.

“Then I’ll tell Varric you’ve never heard a single story about the Champion of Kirkwall.” She crosses her arms, playing at seriousness, despite the wide grin on her face and the slowly creeping blush on her ears.

“Hmmm..” Solas’ hands disappear behind his back, undoubtedly interlocked behind him as he pretends to think. After a moment, he makes eye contact with her again, his blue-grey eyes piercing her own. There is a rare smile on his face. “It appears we’re evenly matched. Also, I believe the stew is burning.”

[shouldaspunastory]

For @tevivinter, @lasatfat and @dadrunkwriting

Elgaris 'Elegy' Ingellvar x Lucanis Dellamorte, (SFW, Pining, First date, first kiss) 1651 words.

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It’s not that Elgaris is ashamed of their body. Not anymore. You don’t put that much work into decorating something you don’t care about. Elgaris’s body is a tapestry of careful and purposeful scars artfully recreating the skeletal structure beneath skin, fat, and muscle, a few accidental scars that tell the story of what the battles and close calls they have survived, and the twin pink lines beneath each pectoral- their proudest and hardest earned- the battle for peace in their own body and to live as their most authentic self.

It's still a little surreal, still sometimes finds them lingering a moment longer than necessary in front of the full-length mirror after stepping out of the bath, eyes following the trail of water drops as they slide down their flat chest to their belly. But finally, for the first time in their life everyone else can see the person they always knew was inside. And if they don’t like what they see? Elgaris is secure enough not to be bothered by it.

This, though… it’s different.

Lucanis sees them. Of course he does. He always has, but tonight…

Elgaris can feel their heart hammering against their ribs as they slowly make their way down the hall from their quarters to the library and main living space. They take a slow, trembling breath, steadying themselves, then another. They focus on the cool stone beneath their feet with each step, a soft smile playing at the corners of their mouth as their dress swishes about them, the faintest whisper of the silks with each step.

“Holy crap,” Taash gapes as Elgaris steps out onto the terrace, eyes wide as they take in their new attire. “Lucanis seen that yet,” the qunari asks. Elgaris shakes their head, a gentle blush coloring the tips of their ears where they poke out from beneath their tight blonde spirals which free from any immediate concerns of conflict or work for them to interfere with, aren’t pulled back into their usual ponytail, but instead, hang loosely framing their face and ticking bare shoulders, a simple braid pulling back those few stubborn shorter pieces that would otherwise fall into their eyes.

“Omigosh, Rook, you look so pretty,” Lace exclaims excitedly as she makes her way to the top of the stairs.

“Yeah,” Taash agrees awkwardly. Clearly no better at compliments when the feelings are strickly platonic than they seem to be in what Elgaris has observed lately between them and their dwarven companion, though Lace doesn't seem too troubled by it.

“Thank you,” Elgaris smiles softly, the blush creeping up into their cheeks now, ducking their gaze shyly to their feet and the small, intricately embroidered flowers that adorn the dress- chrysanthemums, poppies, marigolds, dahlias, lilacs, carnations, lilies, roses, forget-me-nots, orchids, and tulips. Delicate, colorful reminders of the fragility and fleeting nature of life, and immortality and legacy of memory. It is a far cry from their Mourn Watcher robes they have continued to wear even after so long away from the Necropolis, and yet their origin and home is handstitched together into every inch of the fabric here too. “You- you don’t think it’s too much,” the elf asks, a little uncertainly.

“No way,” Lace grins, shaking her head. “You look lovely. I’m glad you bought it. You deserve to feel pretty, to take a moment for yourself. We’ve been doing nothing but running ever since the ritual, you especially.”

“Yeah, this is gonna give Lucanis a heart attack,” Taash add with a chuckle. “I mean, in a good way,” they add with a shrug when Lace looks up at them.

“Go get ‘em kid,” Varric chuckles softly, leaning against the wall to the infirmary with a fond grin. “They’re right, you deserve to have something for yourself and a little happiness in all this mess.” Elgaris nods, nerves soothed a little by their companion’s reassurances as they say their goodnights and make their way across the courtyard to find Lucanis.

“Rook, I thought it was my turn to cook, why is Bellara-“ Lucanis says as the elf opens the door to the kitchen and dining area, before the assassin turns to face them and all words seem to leave him, the silence broken only by Bellara’s soft giggles.

“I asked her to,” Elgaris smiles, quietly thrilled with the way his eyes can’t seem to decide quite where to look, but haven’t once left them since they arrived. “I thought perhaps you and I might go out for the night,” the elf says softly. “Have dinner at Café Pierta and maybe wander the markets together afterwards,” they suggest hopefully. “Unless you’d rather stay in,” Elgaris adds after a moment when Lucanis still hasn’t said anything.

“No,” Lucanis replies quickly shaking his head, taking several stumbling steps forward to close the gap between them, the slightest distortion, a chorus of his own voice and Spite’s as they answer them bringing another soft smile to the elf’s face as she watches him. “No,” he repeats as he stops in front of them, dragging his gaze back up from the low plunge of their dress that highlights the skeletal patterned scars over their clavicle, sternum, and ribs to meet their large violet eyes, sparkling with hope, tenderness, and an inescapable partiality that makes Lucanis’s stomach do flips. “A night out with you sounds… perfect,” Lucanis confesses softly with a smile that makes Elgaris feel weak at the knees.

“Meirda,” Lucanis whispers softly, shaking his head softly, still not breaking eye contact with them. “Should I go change? I feel like I should go change. I’m not sure I have anything here that’s-“ the assassin mutters softly.

“Lucanis,” Elgaris interrupts softly, one of their small hands reaching out to clasp his own and offering it a reassuring squeeze. “You look fine,” they reassure him with a fond and patient smile, “handsome as ever.”

“Yes, but you look...“ Lucanis starts to protest, barely registering the compliment in his urgency to somehow prove himself worthy of their company, “like you stepped out of a dream,” the assassin breathes before Elgaris can say anything more, causing the elf to blush furiously.

“Oh,” Elgaris manages softly, briefly registering a stifled, gleeful squeal from behind Bellara’s hand clamped tight over her mouth as she is clearly doing her best trying to pretend to be busy with the dinner preparations for the rest of their companions during this exchange, rather than the reality, which is that the elf is likely taking meticulous notes for their next attempt at a romance serial. “Do you dream of me often,” the elf replies, before immediately kicking themselves for not thinking before opening their mouth. Why in the Fade did they say that?

“YES,” Spite answers before Lucanis can reply or protest, causing the assassin to wince a little in a way that makes the answer clear even to Bellara who doesn’t have the luxury Elgaris does as a skilled Mourn Watcher of being able to hear Spite. Elgaris, at least, has the good grace not to laugh at his expense.

“Never anything as good as this though,” Lucanis says softly, looking down to where their hands still clasp his own with a small smile, his thumb gently rubbing the back of their hand. “Shall we? If you’re sure I’m dressed well enough to be seen with you,” Lucanis says, gesturing towards the door. Elgaris nods, still smiling, still holding his hand as they make their way to the Eluvian that will bear them on to Treviso.

“I’m relatively certain we’re awake,” Elgaris says softly with a smile as they take their seats at the café a short while later.

“Oh? Because of the coffee,” Lucanis asks, taking another slow and grateful sip from his cup. Elgaris waits for him to swallow and set the cup back down on the table before answering with a mischievous smile, emboldened by their date and the way he’s scarcely been able to take his eyes off them since they walked into the dining hall.

“Because in my dreams, we’re usually kissing,” Elgaris whispers. Lucanis inhales sharply, eyes snapping open, pupils blown wide as he stares back at them.

“Rook- Elegy, I-“ Lucanis replies hoarsely, momentarily glancing out towards the canals, looking embarrassed.

“NO,” Spite interrupts. “ROOK OPENS DOORS. STOP CLOSING THEM.”

Elgaris does their best to suppress a smile at the spirit scolding the assassin’s hesitation and self-doubts.

“I’m sorry I ran off,” Lucanis whispers softly, still looking slightly shamed despite his spirit’s dressing down and the elf’s patience.

“It’s alright,” Elgaris replies gently. Of course, it had confused them. Frustrated them. To have come so very close to what the pair of them had seemed to be dancing around for so long, to what Elgaris had scarcely allowed themselves to dream they might have, let alone to find it amid all this. But hearing him speak with some of their other companions, talking to Spite when they had freed them both from the prison of his own mind, they’ve come to understand it. That he might be as unsure, as anxious about irrevocably ruining things between them and losing them as Elgaris is, maybe even more so. The fear lingers, even now. But the hope, the pull around their heart in his direction is stronger. “Stay with me now,” the elf asks hopefully, mindful of their cups as they reach across the table to clasp his hand in theirs as his eyes lift back up to meet theirs.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you see in me,” Lucanis admits shaking his head softly, “but I pray you never stop seeing it.”

“Never,” Elgaris promises fondly, a brilliant smile taking over their face as Lucanis stands and rounds the table, still holding their hand and gently tugging them up to their feet, before pulling them into his arms for a soft, tender kiss.

[plisuu]

Happy DADWC! From the Yearning prompt list: you need someone. let me be that person. let me be what you need. For Connor x Solas. I think it fits given the events of Trespasser and afterwards. If the inspiration strikes though! Happy writing!

Thank you for the prompt! I come bearing some post-Veilguard sad soggy yearning.

wc: 380 @dadrunkwriting - veilguard

“You thought I’d just… let you go? After everything?”

Solas stopped, frozen in his tracks. The Black City was a mere step away.

“You always were stubborn, vhenan,” he murmured.

Behind him, Connor flickered in and out of the Fade, visiting through a dream rather than the physical existence Solas now bore. But he was still there, somehow. Solas anchored himself to where he stood. He could not go back now.

“You want to hide, haggard and hurt—the wolf licks his wounds alone. But you don’t have to be alone.”

“Cole,” Solas sighed. “I told you—”

“I asked him to bring me here. And he’s right. You don’t need to do this alone. You shouldn’t do this alone. I may not be… I know I’m not…” Connor’s voice faltered, just slightly. “I’m just human. I don’t understand it all,” Solas could feel the shift in the Fade as Connor waved his hand behind him, gesturing at the Black City, “But I’m willing to learn. I’ve always been.”

“You know that I cannot—”

“I know that you can’t ask for help. I know that your pride would never let you. But I’m still asking, after all these years. Let me help you. If not with the Blight, or the Veil, or the Fade then… I don’t know. You don’t even have to let me help you,” his tone became more urgent, more desperate with each word. “I have nothing left to lose, Solas. The South is… Cullen is…” his voice cracked this time, a dry sob covered by a quick clearing of his throat. “I’d rather be here, anyways. And I know you. You won’t leave it at this.” He chuckled slightly, a sound devoid of any humor, edged with desperation. Solas still did not turn, did not let his posture slump, did not dare move.

“Vhenan, I—”

“Solas, please. If not for you, then… then for me. Please. Indulge me in this. At least with your company now and then. Something. Anything.”

The Fade echoed his plea, the ragged shudders of breath after battle filling the space between them, Connor’s resilience wavering as his dreaming form did.

“Please, think about it. Don’t suffer alone… don’t let me suffer alone.”

And then he was gone, leaving Solas in heavy silence.