#dadwc prompt fill

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

hello friend!! for dadwc: “❤️ Person A tracing shapes into Person B's skin. (Bonus points if Person B has freckles, scars, etc.)” for fenderrrrrrsssss? 🥺💖

a small Fenders snack for @dadrunkwriting on this Friday eve:

Chilly air wakes Anders, leaving gooseflesh on his arms and making his nipples pebble until he tugs the sheet up to his shoulder. He opens his eyes blearily, sensing that something had changed, and sees Fenris struggling with the same decision he does every time they end up in bed together. To stay, or to go. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on the mattress behind him, head bowed. White hair falls over his face, hiding his expression, but Anders knows it. Conflicted, longing. A crease between his dark eyebrows, doubt in his green eyes. Fenris hasn’t dressed, the full pattern of his lyrium brands exposed in the dim light from the bedside candle. Despite their ethereal beauty when lit, despite the artistry of their making, they are little different from the crosshatch of scars on Anders' back. Anders doesn’t say anything, but he stretches a hand out, lightly brushing fingertips over his lover’s wrist. Fenris doesn’t flinch away from his touch like he once had, anticipating pain. 

Not even when Anders traces the delicate veins of lyrium carved over the bones of Fenris’s hand, along the length of his fingers. It’s a silent reminder of something they have gradually learned—that they could still hurt one another, but not like this. Anders’ magic, the aura he maintains as easily as breathing, lets Fenris leave the pain the brands cause him in the past. 

Anders catches Fenris watching the movement of his fingers, and dares to trace the lines from hand to wrist to arm, and finally tugs at his elbow gently, hoping to coax him down again where it’s warm. To convince him to stay.

There is a moment that feels interminable between the offer and the answer, but in the end, Fenris wilts. He’s been doing it more often lately—giving in, not fighting himself. He lays down, committed now, and he lets Anders pull the sheet over them both, the scars on his back pressed to Anders' chest.

[spicywarl0ck]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only they could lay here for a bit longer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lyntergalactic]

Hey, welcome to DADWC

"Waking Up Not Knowing Where They Are" from the h/c tropes list, for Iris Hawke and whoever you like as a supporting cast.

thank you for the prompt!! i came it from a kind of... sideways direction lkajsdf but twas fun :> (for @dadrunkwriting)

Everything hurts in the way that means whatever scrap Iris was recently in, she very nearly didn't get out of it. There's a line running parallel to her sternum that alternately burns and freezes. Her fingertips throb in time with her heartbeat. The state of her throat is not unlike that of the deserts of western Orlais.

She can taste blood on her lips.

"Shh," a voice comes from above her. It's familiar--makes her think of long summer nights in Lothering--as are the fingers carding through her hair. Iris pries her eyes open to see Bethany smiling softly down at her.

"Not her," Iris croaks, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please, not her."

When she opens them again a moment later, the spirit borrowing her dead sister's face is once again the amorphous, vaguely humanoid shape that she's used to seeing in the Fade. "I thought the face of a loved one might bring you comfort," Devotion says.

"Thank you for trying." Iris tries to reach up to pat the spirit that has been her partner in healing for so many years on it's not-arm, but can't. Not with how the slightest bit of movement sends so much pain along her nerves that it feels as if she's being flayed alive.

Devotion hushes her again and with a touch to her forehead sends cool relief all through Iris' limbs. "You'll not survive this on your own," it says quietly. "There is too much damage. But I can help, if you let me."

Iris swallows hard. She suspects she knows how, and the thought frightens her more than potentially dying does. Still, she doesn't want it to end here. Not when her last memories are of Sebastian begging her to keep breathing and Fenris' hands holding her together as much as they could. Not when Carver's goodbye to her a few hours ago (was it only a few hours?) included him asking her to stay alive.

"If I start to change you, will you leave?" Iris asks.

"If I do, you will die," Devotion says. "But if that is what you want, yes."

Iris nods.

"Close your eyes." Devotion's voice echoes as it places it's almost-hands on her chest.

It feels like stepping into a cool, still pool of water. One breath. Another.

Feeling slowly comes back into her limbs, her torso. It hurts the same as it did in the Fade, but now she can feel the cooling effect of healing salves on her skin and smell the elfroot. Familiar hands hold onto her own, and she opens her eyes to see Anders sitting at her bedside, rumpled, stressed, and clearly not having slept. With more effort than she feels the move should require, she gently squeezes his hands in return.

His head snaps up to look at her. "Hawke!" His relief is obvious in his expression, followed closely after by confusion, realization, and resignation.

"You shouldn't be awake, you're not healed enough for--" He trails off, letting a sliver of his depleted magic slip from his palms to hers, scanning her. He loses what little color exhaustion hadn't taken from his face. "Hawke... what did you do?"

She licks dry lips. "What I had to," she rasps.

[teine-mallaichte]

Filled DADWC asks

My prmpt list can be found here new pieces written every friday.

Demons lure the weak like moths to flame (Anders)

Accidentally triggering a magical trap (Anders)

Hiding blood loss with bandages (pre-Fenders)

Mystery Illness (Fenders)

There always needed to be a reason, an excuse for their bodies to touch (Fenders)

Guarded Heart (Anders)

Bite down on this (Fenders)

Quiet suffering (Fenders)

Don't let anyone see you cry (Fenris)

You did all this for me? (Handers)

Branding (Fenris)

Coughing up blood (Anders)

Coughing up blood (Anders and M!Hakwe)

Trust issues (pre-FenHawke)

Cooking Together (Handers)

Phantom Pain (Anders)

Unable to control unfound powers (Anders)

Needing help but being unable to ask for it (Fenders)

"They say she sold her soul to a dark god" (Amber Hawke)

Taking care of everyone but not themselves (Anders, Aumtum Hawke, and Merrill)

Accidental magic (Anders)

Wait that's mine, you fixed it? (Handers)

Definitely just a cold (pre-FenHawke)

Hiding blood loss with bandages (Fenders)

Will not be a victim (Fenders)

My anxiety's clawing out from deep within me (Pre-Fenders)

"hey hey, stay awake ok? Stay awake" (Fenders)

Dangerously high fever (Fenders)

Whose blood is that? (Fenders)

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s gone. Ellana’s gone.”

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

[realace]

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

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

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

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

[crabs-with-sticks]

For the DADWC, from the "It's all about the YEARNING" prompt list: "Just let me look at you for a little bit."

Tumblr is being a bastard about me posting this rip. But have a whole bunch of solavellan fluff where Solas is definetly NOT pouting. @dadrunkwriting

Respite Ghilara Lavellan x Solas

1375 words, brief suggestive flirting

No matter what Dorian said, Solas wasn’t pouting. And he certainly wasn’t sulking. He wasn’t pouting over studying alone. He wasn’t pouting about the music that was swirling through the gaps in the door to the rotunda. And he most certainly, and most ardently, was not pouting about the fact that Ghilara was busy tonight.

Because that was something that teenagers did the first time they were in an actual relationship. Pouting was for men far less mature than he was, boys with a couple thousand years less experience than he. So he absolutely, very definitely was NOT pouting. Or sulking. Or brooding. Or moping.

He knew that she was a very busy woman. He knew that she was very important and had so much on her plate. He knew that nearly every person in Thedas was watching her to see if she would bring ruin of salvation. He knew that, in the grand scheme of things, the fact that she had to attend a political ball held in her honour, was a very small deal.

But he still found his mind unable to focus on the book in front of him, his thoughts turning to the knowledge of how she felt curled up in his lap. The way her hair smelled like honey and thyme and brushed soft against his nose. The way her hair curled up, tickling him under the chin. The press of her back against him.

And then it was just a simple jump across to thoughts of what she must be doing now. How she would be asked to dance by the swarms of noblemen and women that had wormed into Skyhold for the event. The thought of their hands brushing against her back as they danced, their hands entwined as they tried to rationalise her power with their hatred of her people.

He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t! He was near certain that tomorrow he would have a full cuss filled rundown from her of the event. Complaining about the stuffy nobles, their tedious dances, their boring small talk and their stupid food. But that knowledge did very little to soften the ache in her chest that longed for her.

Okay so maybe he was pouting. But only a little!

He sighed and snapped the tome in front of him closed. He strode over to the wall of the rotunda, eyeing the latest piece of the mural he had been working on. He was still in the early stages of planning it, only having sketched out a few ideas on paper.

He was so focused that he never had a chance to hear the soft slide of the door opening. Or a person slipping through until he felt the brush of a body against his back, and a face slinking up to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned around and nearly took the other person out with him as he moved wildly.

A woman’s chuckle echoed through the rotunda. “I surrender! I surrender!”

Something seemed to settle within Solas’ chest and his entire body relaxed around it, a smile popping up on his face. “Ilara!” He said, catching her in her arms even though she had long since steadied herself.

He pulled her close to him. He pressed his lips to her grinning lips and stepped back until he felt the edge of the couch against the back of his legs. His hands were on her back, feeling the even bumps of vertebrae under the pads of his fingers. Whatever she was wearing it was open backed and his hands slipped down her spine, sliding a fingers length under the fabric, pulling her even closer.

His mouth was still on hers, inhaling her as if she was the oxygen necessary for life. Not breaking their kiss, he pulled her down with him to the couch. He came back up for air, but Ghilara only had time to let out the first melodic notes of a giggle before his mouth was on hers again swallowing the sound.

“So did you miss me?” She asked, her face so close to his own that he could feel her lips moving around the words.

He chuckle, “was it that obvious? But what are you doing here? Don’t you have a ball to attend?”

She pulled back from him, her teeth biting at her lower lip and a blush climbing onto her cheeks. “I may…have gotten bored and snuck away…? I’m hoping nobody will notice.”

His hands were still on her back, and he slipped them further down until he could feel the bony vertebrae give way to softer, fuller flesh. “I doubt they will miss you. There are always so many dark corners for two people to vanish into at events such as these.”

“Solas, are you proposing to ravish me right here and now?” She whispered, waggling her eyebrows with frankly impressive alacrity.

“I do find myself hungry for dessert.”

She grinned, “now, I would normally consider your offer, but unfortunately I think Josie and Leliana might kill me if I ruin any part of this outfit.”

He smiled, the playful lust pulling back from his eyes to be replaced with utter fondness. Pulling her up to sit on his lap he said, “well we couldn’t have that. For I am sure you are most beautiful.”

“You’re sure are you?” She retored, acting haughty and offended, though he could see the playful spark in her eyes.

He could feel the blush spreading across his face and up to the tips of his ears. “I must admit, I have not actually had that much opportunity to admire your appearance this evening. I was missing you and now here you are.”

“Oh yes, Dorian said you were pouting.”

“I was not- anyway, that is besides the point.” He stood the two of them up and took a few steps back so that he could take in her form fully. She started towards him but he reached out, holding his hand out to slow her movement. “Just let me admire you for this moment ma vhenan. I should not ever want to forget this.”

And he did. Her bone white hair had been braided half up from her face, the rest curling in running waves to brush against her shoulders. The braids were woven between antlers- halla he thought- which had been carved with swirling leaves. It was a subtle look, the way the white of her blended with the white of the antler. Similar in colour enough that it did not draw away from her with gaudy colours or metals, but instead allowed her natural beauty to stand on its own.

The curls drew the eye down to her dress, which was a light leaf green, embroided with flowers and leaves of the same colour- giving it texture without it being gaudy. White beads brought out the colour of her hair; settled across the hem like morning dew on grass. The neckline plunged to just below her sternum, showing of the muscles of her body, and the soft hang of her breasts. The dress was loose, with a full skirt made of layer upon layer upon layer of near sheer green fabric. It was freeflowing, rather than the usual fashion for skirts stiffened with layers of petticoats or crinolines, and the sleeves were wide and draped down to her elbows. It reacted with every graceful move she made, the fabric swirling as if caught up in an invisible wind.

Ghilara was blushing, he knew, picking at her fingernails. But she gave him a twirl, and the dress fanned out around her, reminiscent of a swell at sea. The back was open as he had felt earlier, showing off the archer’s muscles she had developed from decades of practice.

Matching her timing her stepped forwards and slowed her spin, stepping behind her and entwining their fingers together. “You like it then?” Ghilara sighed as he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.

“I would love you in anything,” he said against her skin, lips brushing against her as he spoke the words. He tucked his chin up onto her shoulder, leaning his head against her own. “But yes…since you asked.”

AN: For those interested, I based the dress Ghilara is wearing off of this one by Teuta Matoshi (I adore basically every single thing they do and would 100% get one if they weren't a few grand each T-T)

[inquisimer]

Happy Fridayyy for DADWC: "I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes" and/or "going home isn’t an option anymore" for Hawke/Loghain?

thank you for the prompt gin!! I leaned into the first one for @dadrunkwriting tonight :3

-

It had become their spot, this abandoned dock that no one frequented. Sometimes she brought the booze and sometimes he did, or on days when things were particularly bad they both showed up with a bottle.

Today was one of those days.

Siobhan lowered herself to the half-rotted planks with a groan, kicking her boots aside so that she could dip her toes in the murky shallows lapping out of the cove. At her side, Loghain grunted, hand wrapped loosely around a bottle of whiskey almost half-gone. His grip tightened slightly as Siobhan settled in with a sigh.

"Don't worry," she smirked, pulling a paper-wrapped bottle into view. "I brought my own."

Loghain huffed, bringing his bottle to his lips. "It's just like that today, I suppose."

"Maker, it is."

They sat in companionable silence as the sun slunk down below the horizon. Finally, as dusk overtook the docks, Siobhan pressed herself firmly against Loghain's side and leaned back on her palms.

"So. Why are you drinking tonight?" she asked, head tipped back to look up at the stars. Loghain stole a glance sideways, lingering when she made no attempt to meet it. Her cheeks were wine-flushed, her eyes glittering in the moonlight. Her hair was mussed, as was the fur that adorned her neck, both a victim of her carding fingers.

"I spent the day in the alienage," he finally answered, a low, regret-filled rumble. He glanced away as she canted her head to look at him and brought his bottle back to his lips.

"So Merrill told me."

"Oh?" Loghain huffed, almost a hiccup, cleverly concealed against the lip of his whiskey bottle. He pressed his lips together, holding his breath until he trusted himself to speak evenly. "I'm surprised you came here, even so."

Siobhan swung her legs up onto the dock, tiny droplets of water staining the sun-dried planks. She sat crosslegged and stared directly at him, so there was no escaping her scrutiny except by taking another drink.

"Dwelling, then? That's as good a reason as I've ever heard for drinking."

Loghain closed his eyes, ran his teeth over gritty teeth. His regrets from the Blight were numerous, beyond counting. The Warden-Commander had told him to cease lingering on what he could not change.

None of us will ever forgive you, Tabris had said. You cannot live for that. Find a way to live for yourself.

Pretty words. But some days it was hard.

"I know what happened in Denerim, if that's what you're chewing on," Siobhan said casually, tearing at the paper that still encased her wine. "Not much worse you could have done to the alienage, from what I hear."

"No," Loghain grumbled. "There isn't. I thought differently at the time but--I was wrong."

Siobhan smirked, a caustic, cynical expression sharp enough to kill any of the bandits starting to awaken in the shadows. "Aren't we all, at one time or another."

"How can you be so calm?" Loghain challenged. He set his bottle aside with a pointed clink and it wobbled, not enough liquid left in it to immediately stabilize. "You count elves among your friends, the former slave well known for his hatred of Tevinter hunters."

"This is a very good wine," Siobhan offered. "And Fenris is out of town."

Loghain finally caught her cracked-marble eyes and all of the challenge they held within. He opened his mouth to decry her dismissal of his failures--then closed it again, unsure.

"You sold Ferelden citizens into slavery?" Siobhan said, a question that didn't sound questioning at all. "Well, I gave control of the city to a red-lyrium-crazed lunatic and murdered one of my closest friends in a fit of anger. Let's see which of us history remembers as a hero, hm?"

"Neither of us, if we're lucky."

"I'll drink to that," Siobhon snorted, raising her bottle to clink against the last of his whiskey. "I'll drink to that."

[carnalapples]

happy dadwc friday! a kisses prompt for this week: Kisses on the back of their hand

Happy Friday!! And thank you for the prompt 💕 This week I have Sebastian/Templar Hawke for @dadrunkwriting:

When Hawke kneels by her sword and prays, Sebastian burns. His throat burns with something bitter and acrid, like a shot of heavy liquor, and the way it would sit in the mouth after, the regret. His chest burns with a low, slow flame, beginning in the stomach. He is jealous, singularly jealous, of the easy way in which Andraste’s blessing comes to her, fully realized in the glow that comes to her eyes and her sword and lines the air she breathes. 

(When he asked her why she did it, Hawke shrugged. It was efficient, she said. That much power, at a cost. He called her shallow and hypocritical, and she bared those sharp teeth and that sharper wit. Any more so, she asked, than the majority of the Order?

He had kissed her then, nothing to blame it on but his own volition. And her sharp teeth were pressing into his lip for half a second before she kissed him back. He had thought at the time, that it would make it easier for her to be so entwined with it all, his faith and his desire, to break away from her in one go.)

Despite taking on the burden of a templar, she has left behind their calling, and Hawke rarely comes into the Gallows, so Sebastian is alone when he goes to lead service in the chapel, and to meet Bethany, who attended regularly long before he added himself to the roster. He finds himself looking at Bethany on these visits, searching for any trace of resentment in her eyes, any reluctance when she lights the candles. Any hint that she too begrudges Hawke her easy answers.

She turns to him with a question in her eyes, and he looks away, shamed. He clears his throat. 

“Is everything well with you, Miss Hawke?”

“I’m Enchanter now,” she says with a soft smile. “And I cannot complain.”

“I suppose not,” he murmurs, glancing back at the templar behind her, hands twitching at their sides. 

“And you? Is all well?”

“Yes. Elthina has agreed to let me take my vows in the fall.” Bethany’s brows jump at that, and he feels a mild flare of annoyance. 

“Oh,” she says. “I had thought…” But she does not continue the thought, merely stepping aside with a sideways glance for the next penitent in the queue. No matter. They are both capable of filling in the blanks on their own.

When Sebastian becomes a full brother, Hawke comes to see it. He did not expect her to; her own vigil was a solitary thing. When she asks him why he did it, he is silent. How can he distill the essence of the answer? Because it was time. Because when he imagines her, he imagines her as the statue that looms over the chantry, and cold stone can be touched but not loved. It was a mistake, he says instead. He strayed from the path, and now he is where the Maker intended.

When it is her turn in the queue, Hawke brings her dry lips to Sebastian’s hand and places one firm kiss to the skin. And then it’s her open mouth, wet and hot, for one second, before she lets go. He barely avoids yanking his hand back, the flush already settling into his skin, as she smirks softly, out of anyone else’s view, and then straightens, offering him a shallow bow before making her way to the back of the crowd. 

He is invited to her home that evening. He respectfully declines. “You could at least make it a bit more difficult,” she says, that dry humor never leaving her voice. Before he can fully understand her, she is gone. 

She never used to come to service without her mother, but she does now, sitting in the second row, back straight against the wood, long legs slanting down to the floor. Her eyes follow him across the room and back, and every time, she is in line to seek his blessing, and Sebastian begins sweating from the moment he concludes the sermon at the thought of her mouth on his skin.  It keeps him up at night, wondering when Hawke might show up next. In his thin, hard cot, he presses his own lips to his hand and breathes in, low and slow.

Today, Hawke waits at the edge of the room for everyone else to leave. “That was a nice canticle,” she says. “I always liked Exaltations.”

“It’s fallen out of favor,” he says. 

“Yes. Not enough things to exalt.” As banal as if they were discussing the weather. “I’m having a dinner at the estate.” He’s already moving to decline, but she touches a hand to his wrist, and Sebastian falters. “It’s been a year, Sebastian,” she says, softer, dulled. 

He takes her hand and brushes his thumb over it, and she smiles. It has been months since he came to dinner at the Hawke estate. Hawke leaves and he fills the hours with empty actions, mind gone blank until it is time to dress and to make the short walk down to her home. 

It is a small dinner of her closest friends; Hawke takes the seat to the right of the head of the table, conspicuously empty without Leandra’s presence. 

“When Mother met Father,” she begins, “she knew how it would end. That’s what she told me.” She takes a sip from her goblet, engraved in the style Leandra preferred, obscene with imagery. “But how could she have had any idea?” 

They share their memories of Leandra one by one. Fenris tells a charming story about trinkets arriving on his doorstep, Isabella a remark about how well she kept her figure that has Hawke sputtering with laughter. Sebastian remembers her kindness, how she was ready to be a mother to anyone. But as the dinner winds down, all the while he is thinking: that Leandra met Malcolm and knew he would ruin her.

“Help me up, Brother,” Hawke says, and Sebastian feels an acute pain in his head. Her cheeks are flushed from the drink, and still she is sure enough to hit him where it hurts. As the others file out, she slings one arm over his back, and together they navigate up the wide stairs, each of them slowed by the other. They make it to the large doors that haunt Sebastian’s dreams and he deposits her on the bed. She makes no move to undress or to lie down, instead just looking up at him with a curious stare. The hour is too late. It’s too late for them. He should leave, but he doesn’t.

She doesn’t look chosen. She looks tired. She looks lonely. Sebastian smiles. Her hands are still where they lie in her lap. He lifts one, seals his mouth to it, over the back, his pulse strong in his lip, and she curls her fingers. Her cheeks have hollowed out, her stare hot. Even beneath the wine, her mouth tastes of lyrium, dry and bitter.

[broodwolf221]

For the DADWC, from the "people who aren't used to kindness" prompt list: you didn't have to go out of your way to take care of me. For the character of your choice!

oooooh very interesting. since i had just written a morriana fill i had them in my head and this is a bit of a continuation off this post, but can also be read alone :') @dadrunkwriting 498 words cws: mildly nsfw

Later that night, Leliana ended up in her tent, sharing a bedroll. And when they were done for the moment, briefly satisfied with their quiet coupling, Morrigan was relaxing as Leliana stroked through her hair. “You say it’s for Kieran,” she murmured, “but that is not the whole truth, is it?” She opened her eyes to meet Leliana’s, searching them. Wanting plain honesty.

Leliana met her gaze and said nothing for long moments, but eventually her stroking hand stilled against the back of her neck, palm warm against Morrigan’s skin. “No,” she said at length, and Morrigan tried to not linger on the shape of her lips on that word, plump from desperate kisses. “Not entirely. I know you are capable of taking care of yourself, but I want you to be happy, Morrigan. To find… at least moments of peace.”

“And you think I do not?” She asked with a raised brow, lifting her hand to gesture at the two of them. Leliana smirked, but then sobered.

“If these times are your only peace—”

Morrigan sat up, unmindful of her nudity. “They are not,” she said, too sharply. But she refused to apologize. “I enjoy my time with my son. We discover beautiful, marvelous things on all our trips. I do not need you to go out of your way like this to take care of me—or of him. I never asked you for this.”

“That is true,” Leliana said, mirroring Morrigan’s tone. “But is it so bad? You act as if this is some great burden for me, but I want to see you as well. You left. I do not blame you for that, but I lost someone important to me that day. I did not want to lose her forever.” She paused, as if regretting the rush of her words. Morrigan was sitting stock-still, angry but with something far more complex curling beneath it, some desire, some relief that she did not want to explore.

“You—”

“Do not tell me I have already lost her,” Leliana snapped, sitting up beside her. “Please, do not. Do not end this. If you will not welcome me into your life, I can accept that. But do not reject me. Do not destroy what little we have.”

“It is unsustainable,” was what she settled on, feeling like a coward even though there was truth in it. “I will not always be where you can find me. What will you do then?”

“I’ll keep looking,” she said, stubborn as ever. “And I’ll wait. I have waited before. I will have my own life, Morrigan, but I would have you in my life as well. Even for these fleeting moments and an empty bed come morning.”

Morrigan turned to face her, knowing that she should end this now. That she should make her get dressed and leave them. Instead she cupped Leliana’s face and kissed her sweet lips again, and they fell back to the bedroll and their quiet desperation.

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

“ i must be hurt pretty bad if you’re being this nice to me. “ for fenders? :3

for @dadrunkwriting

Fenris’s arms were flagging. It felt like they’d been fighting for days, the waves of darkspawn endless, the floor black and slick with blood, the air smelling like offal and ozone and copper.

He tripped over the outstretched arm of a fallen emissary, his toe catching the sharp edge of a rusted gauntlet. He cursed, hearing in his head Anders’ frequent warning about the Taint and how it came with blood in an open wound, but he didn’t have time to check himself for lacerations. He didn’t need to, because he knew they were there. 

Something snatched at his ankle. There was a darkspawn buried beneath its fallen comrade, even in its death throes determined to kill. Fenris ran it through with his sword, severing the spinal column. 

The acrid tang of Varric’s grenades tickled his nose unpleasantly as he picked his way through the yellow-green smoke that hung over the carpet of bodies. He’d been separated from the group and pushed back down the hall they’d come through minutes, hours, days before. When he stumbled out into the next room, he found the fighting over. 

Varric was yanking crossbow bolts out of a body that was burnt beyond recognition, Merrill was standing over an emissary with its black, corrupted staff in her hands, gazing at it with wide-eyed curiosity. Hawke was moving casually through the graveyard, stabbing his staff blade through the bodies to make sure they were well and truly dead.

Where was Anders? 

Fenris scanned the room, his first thought that the mage was buried under the darkspawn. A flash of anger ran down his spine that no one else seemed to notice he was gone. 

But then he saw him. He was in the back of the room, slumped against the wall on the floor, head on his knees. Fenris stumbled over the battlefield, all but dragging his sword behind him, dropping it on the ground when he knelt beside the mage. 

Empty lyrium vials were scattered around him, several of them shattered, littering the ground with broken glass and a splash of blue. 

“Mage,” Fenris said cautiously, hearing something tremulous in his own voice. He was too tired to examine it, lifting a hand to touch Anders’ shoulder. 

Anders was quivering like a leaf, muscles bunched, and he flinched when Fenris touched him. Fenris drew his hand away briefly but then put it back, squeezing Anders’ shoulder gently. 

“Are you wounded?” he asked, pushing back the urge to stroke the mage’s blonde hair back from his forehead. 

Anders looked up, peering at Fenris over the circle of his arms before he finally sat back. He looked at his own hands, ran one over his face and then down his torso. He winced and jerked it back, blood staining his fingers red. 

Fenris sucked in a breath. “Can you heal yourself?” he asked, but surmised the answer was no, or he’d have done it already. 

Anders shook his head weakly. “Out of juice,” he said. “Drank too much.” 

Too much lyrium. Fenris glanced at the vials on the ground and counted them. It wasn’t the first time Anders had driven himself to the edge this way, spending all his mana on keeping his companions on his feet. 

Gritting his teeth, Fenris silently lamented the man’s lack of self-preservation instincts. For all that he spoke of fearing death or worse at the hands of templars, what seemed likely to kill him first was concern for his friends over himself. 

“Let me see,” Fenris demanded, tugging at the front of Anders’ coat with his blood-stained gauntlets. 

Anders looked down with dazed eyes, trying to sort through the layers of fabric with fumbling hands that Fenris gently nudged aside. The coat was open, one buckle undone and the other ripped clean at the strap. He found the rend beneath, a vicious slash across his belly that had torn his tunic and stained it dark red. 

“Venhedis,” Fenris muttered. “We must bandage this.” His heart was thudding painfully against his ribcage, making his voice tight.

Hazy amber eyes turned up, meeting his. They still managed to sparkle somehow when Anders gave him a watery smile. 

“I must be hurt pretty bad if you’re being this nice to me,” he said. 

Fenris huffed. “The fact that you equate concern with ‘being nice’ suggests you think it’s some sort of favor. It is not. You are owed it.” 

Anders blinked, mouth opening and then closing and then opening again. “You don’t owe me an…”

Fenris put two fingers over Anders’ lips to stop him. “We all do.” 

Without waiting for an argument, he maneuvered his body until he could throw Anders’ arm around his back. The mage’s hand clutched his shoulder weakly and he let Fenris lever him off the floor. When Anders wavered, legs wobbling, Fenris simply caught him and lifted him in his arms. 

“Oh,” Anders breathed, giggling softly. “If I’d known all I had to do to end up in your arms was almost die, I’d have done it years ago.” 

Fenris froze, heart skipping a beat. Anders’ words tugged at a nameless thing in his chest that had been there for some time now, not ready to be teased into the open. 

The moment passed and Fenris hefted the mage closer. “You are ridiculous,” he muttered. “And I prefer you alive.”

[spicywarl0ck]

Hiiii! Happy Friday! How about "goodbye kisses" for Fenhawke? :3

Happy Friday, thank you for the prompt, I know it's been a while x3 But here we go @dadrunkwriting Pairing: Fenris/male Hawke Rating: G Length: 715

His mind was made up and his bag was packed.

He was ready to leave any moment now, but his heart wasn’t in it. Not really. 

“You don’t have to do this alone.” Fenris's voice was quiet but still angry when he spoke, causing Hawke to stop mid-motion.

His chest felt heavy already and his mind was filled with doubts. He didn’t want to go, not truly. But he knew it needed to be done, and he would never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t try.

This was a mess he was partially responsible for too, after all.

“I know. But I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.” Garrett turned around, a solemn smile on his lips before he stretched his arm to cup the elf’s cheek gently. The anger remained in Fenris’s eyes but he didn’t pull away.

“I have been fighting with you ever since we met. I can handle myself.” Fenris scoffed at him, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I know.” Hawke’s amber eyes were nothing but gentle when he returned the gaze. He had known Fenris for a while now, enough to be able to tell when his lover pouted. It was cute in a way, though he knew he would be a dead man if he ever dared to say that aloud.

“You are a skilled fighter, but I asked you often enough to stand with me out of selfishness. I know you would have stood with me no matter what, but it was me who dragged you into the war between mages and templars. I can’t ask you to finish it with me.” Garrett added just before he leaned forward to press his lips against Fenris's forehead.

“You have to let me go for now. I don’t like this more than you do, but if I can aid the Inquisitor in his fight against Corypheus, I must try. It was me who freed him.”

“It was us who freed him.” Fenris corrected him sternly, his eyebrows narrowing as they created a small fold between his eyes. “I was there too remember? I stood with you against him in the fight.”

“And it was a close call, back then.” Hawke took a deep breath. “I almost lost you.”

His thumb brushed over Fenris’s cheek gently. Everything inside him begged him not to leave Fenris behind, but he knew he couldn’t be so selfish. He had lost so much already and he knew he couldn’t bear losing his lover too.

“I can’t lose you.” he breathed, leaning in softly when he felt the elf’s resistance vanishing. 

A pair of weather-worn lips pressed against him before gauntleted hands cupped his bearded cheek. They held him to prevent him from pulling away as long as the kiss lasted, the bittersweet taste of goodbye an underlying note.

“Come back to me, okay?” Fenris’s voice was soft as he spoke against his lips.

“I will. How will I marry you otherwise?” This was not how Hawke meant to propose, but he knew it might be now or never. “So, you better wait for me and stay safe, you hear me? I want you to be safe.”

Another kiss followed this time filled with desperation as Fenris clutched onto him.

It reminded him of the kiss they shared before facing Meredith, neither of them knowing if they would survive. His hands moved from Fenris’s cheeks to his hips where he gently held him just for another heartbeat before he needed to let go.

He knew he wouldn’t leave if he allowed himself to stay here longer.

“Goodbye. I love you.” Garrett had a hard time saying those words, a sad smile on his lips before he forced himself to gather his bags. “I will send you messages whenever I can. Stay out of trouble.”

“Hmph, An advice you should rather give yourself.” Fenris snorted. “Don’t do anything reckless.” he continued, adding, "I love you too. You better come back.”

“Of course I will.” Hawke’s expression was soft before he set foot outside, leaving the small hut behind they had hidden in for some time now. He felt the loss almost instantly, and he couldn’t help throwing a glance back as the green of Fenris's eyes was burned into his memory. Also a small addition for heartbreak: It was what he remembered when he stood in front of the impossibly large demon.

“I’m sorry Fenris.” he breathed, his voice cracking when he imagined how heartbroken the elf would be. “It seems I won’t make it.” 

[sweetmage]

Happy DADWC uwu can I get a little "Knowing someone else can hear" off of the smut list for either Celestine/Sebastian or Purple Mage M!Hawke/Anders

HIIII! Thank you so much for the prompt, this one was so fun to write 💖 @dadrunkwriting ---

Words: 2000+

Ships and Characters: Inquisitor!Purple M!Hawke/Anders, The Advisors (mentioned)

Tags: Rough sex, getting caught, banter and humor, purple Hawke, dirty talk, multiple orgasms

Summary: Anders had been driving him mad making eyes at him over the war table all evening. The moment they're alone he gives him just what he's been silently begging for, regardless of who hears.

All day Anders had been giving him those eyes from across the war table, practically begging with his eyes to bent over it and fucked all across Ferelden and Orlais. Hawke would have been more than happy to indulge him were it not for the fact that the two women who flanked him might have had some objection. Probably. One could never tell with Josephine, it might make for thrilling gossip.

He behaved himself, though his trousers grew uncomfortably tighter with each heated look Anders sent his direction. It was a miracle no one caught on, least of all the Commander, who may have erupted into ashes on the spot had he any idea.

Hawke could hardly focus by the end of it, letting them squabble amongst themselves for answers or taking advice from Anders, much to the chagrin of the less revolutionary-minded advisors. But finally, mercifully, Josephine declared an early dismissal, citing business that urgently needed her attention. Hawke tried not to linger on how abrupt and generous that was, opting to thank the stars beyond instead.

Once the crew had filed out and the doors were safely shut behind them, Hawke wasted no time cornering his lover, slamming him against the table and capturing his lips with his own. Anders groaned eagerly against him, hands already busy working loose belts and untying strings, trying to free him from his robes.

"Finally," Hawke growled against his neck, kissing and biting. "Thought I was going to burst."

"Couldn't resist watching you struggle," Anders taunted, hips canting desperately against him. "How badly you wanted to have me."

"I'm going to bend you over this table and fuck you senseless, mark my words." Hawke tugged impatiently at his coat. "Off. Right now."

Anders hastily shed his coat, leaving it discarded in a heap at his feet and fumbling for Hawke's. They shed their clothes piece by piece, desperate as teenagers and rutting against each other, hungry to get their hands on bare flesh.

Pressed flushed to him, Anders whispered softly into his ear. "I've been thinking about you all day. I got myself ready for you before the meeting." Anders punctuated his statement with a sharp roll of his hips. "So let's skip the foreplay, I want you now."

Hawke needed no further incentive. He hooked an arm around his waist, lifting him onto the table and slotting himself between his thighs, grinding their stiff cocks together. "Lay back." Hawke directed and Anders obeyed, splaying himself across the tabletop. Hawke took a moment just to admire him. Lean, freckled legs parted just for him, pink nipples pert and peaked, and his cock, swollen and leaking against his taut stomach, begging for Hawke's touch.

"Don't stare, get in me," Anders demanded, wiggling his hips enticingly.

“When did you become so demanding?" Hawke teased, running his hands along his inner thighs. "Where's my shy apostate, blushing and begging?"

"Oh please Ser Inquisitor, won't you defile me here among your advisors' most important documents?" Anders cooed theatrically, bucking his hips. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Hawke snorted and positioned himself at his entrance. He slowly pressed into him, savoring the wet slide and tight heat. He wasn't joking about being ready, already slick and stretched, waiting only to be filled. "You really were ready for me." Hawke remarked as he looked down upon him, not yet moving. "Naughty boy."

"Stop teasing. I told you I'm ready," Anders demanded, taking his cock into his hand, pumping impatiently.

"I should tease you for that," Hawke tutted, hips lazily rolling, sliding in and nearly free. "Making me suffer through a whole meeting." Despite his words, he was far too greedy to deny himself another moment. Hawke drove his hips forward, reveling in the filthy moan torn from his lover's throat as he buried himself fully and set a relentless pace. Maker, he could drown in his noises, so sinful and shameless.

"Fuck," Anders keened, clutching at Hawke’s shoulder with his free hand and wrapping his legs around him, encouraging him deeper. "Just like that. Fuck, don't stop. Oh, fuck." Words were reduced to fragments, babbled praises, and pleading gasps.

The table had looked sturdy enough at a glance, but it knocked and creaked noisily against the stone, rattled by the force Hawke pounded into him. The walls were thick, but not that much. Should someone only enter the corridor they'd no doubt be privy to their frenzied fucking. Maybe that made the rush all the more exhilarating, or maybe he just wanted people to know how he could drive Anders to make those noises for him. Anders seemed none too concerned either way and cried his name aloud for whoever might hear.

Hawke wrapped a hand around Anders's dripping cock and took over, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts. He made the prettiest face then, long lashes fluttering over dazed amber eyes, mouth hanging slack as he gasped ragged breaths. Too lovely a sight to pass up, Hawke stole his lips as his movements became sloppier and harder.

"Right there," Anders whimpered against his lips, his nails biting into his back. "I'm so close."

"Yeah?" He asked, leaning back just a bit to meet his eyes and take him in hand. He could feel it building from the inside, his walls already tensing up around him. "That's it, sweetheart. Come on, come for me," he encouraged, never slowing his pace nor ceasing his touch. He was quickly rewarded as Anders writhed under him, the muscles of his abdomen jumping and contracting,  his eyes screwed shut as he screamed his pleasure. How gorgeous he was shivering and painting his chest and stomach, breathless and smiling. And to feel his body pulsing around him... Hawke chased the feeling, burying his face against his shoulder and thrusting feverishly as he neared his own peak.

The world, in all its cruelty, had different plans for him however.

He could swear he heard someone bumbling about in the hallway just outside, perhaps even whispers. The door was locked so it wasn't too pressing, but a small voice of alarm in the back of his mind nagged at him to pause his ministrations. From a distance it was fine, they had plausible deniability, but should anyone get closer the racket was sure to catch their ear in a way he feared he couldn't talk his way out of.

He sighed, half considering pulling out and taking it elsewhere, but Anders didn't seem to have registered it and thrusted his hips back against him, his spent body greedy and oversensitive. Maker, why was he so damn tempting?

He leaned in to take his lips again, whispering softly into them. "I think someone's outside." Hawke warned between kisses. "Keep your voice low, yeah?"

Anders nodded hazily, his teeth catching his lower lip and tugging. Hawke fought to muffle a groan, his hips rolling into him slowly now as he waited for the unseen interlopers to move along. It was near agony, this quiet, languid pace, the tension low in his belly tightening into something almost torturous.

Anders seemed no better, already hard again and rocking down against him, whining sweetly and needily against his lips. "Feels good, love," he murmured, arching his back and squeezing around him. "I love it when you take me slow like this."

"Shame the company's no good right no,." Hawke huffed against his cheek, still leisurely rolling his hips, relishing the gasps Anders struggled to stifle.

He couldn't take much more of this. To the Void with them if someone heard. What would they do? Fire him?

"Turn over for me." His voice came low and rough, barely containing himself any longer. "I want to have you hard." It took immense restraint to ease himself from him, already regretting the absence of his warmth. At his instruction Anders slid from the table and flipped around, face and torso flush with the wood and his ass raised invitingly. Hawke moved up close behind him, stroked his hands reverently over his soft skin, then sank back in. This time, Hawke allowed no quarter. He slammed into him fast and rough, the table raking across the ground with each thrust but he could scarcely find it within himself to care. His hand came around the front, roughly grabbing his partner's weeping erection, pumping him furiously while he fucked him from behind. With the table at that awkward height, all Anders could do was grab at it and hang on, whimpering and writhing while Hawke fucked him mindlessly, chasing his end.

"Not gonna last long," Hawke grunted, feeling his release rapidly approaching. "Push back against me." Anders did just that, matching the timing and force of his thrusts and Hawke swore, teetering precariously at the brink. "Oh, good boy. Love it when you do that."

Between the praise and the pounding Anders seemed lost to his bliss, no longer bothering to temper the volume of his moans. "Feels so good. Almost there... almost there again," Anders babbled, tossing a glance back at Hawke from where his head was pressed to the table. "Please don't stop." As if Hawke needed his coaxing, as though he had the self control to slow and pull away, let alone stop.

Hawke took him by the ponytail and tugged, yanking him upright, chest flush with his back. Anders melted against him, letting Hawke pound up into him as his hand jerked him off erratically. "Come again, baby." He purred into his ear, relishing in how he shivered at the command. "Come for me."

It took hardly a handful of strokes before Anders was convulsing against him, whimpering his name and spilling into his fist. Hawke wasn't too far behind. He bit down into the meat of his shoulder, muffling the low, satisfied groan that ripped from him as he finally found his long-awaited release, hips rocking gently as he rode through the waves of euphoria, twitching inside of Anders. Hawke held Anders's shuddering form tightly against him and pressed soft, loving kisses along the curve of his neck, trailed them over the scars on his upper back. It was all he could do to even remain upright, still a bit breathless as they both recovered. Eventually he withdrew, chuckling when he caught Anders trembling and heard him moan weakly as he pulled free.

Now in the silence, he turned his attention back to the door, though heard nothing on the other side. "Serves them right. Eavesdropping bastards."

"Or poor innocent scouts we just ran off," Anders mused, still struggling to collect himself as he leaned forward and draped himself lazily across the table. He stretched as a cat might, luxuriating in his sated stupor.

"Come on, let's go clean up before I have any ideas about taking you again." He trailed his hands over his hips one last time, helped him stand, and straightened his disheveled hair, smoothing it over. They gathered their scattered garments and dressed as quickly as they could manage, Hawke unable to resist pausing for a few playful swats at Anders's rear. "Try to put on a face that doesn't say 'just ravished in the War Room'. You know, that stuffy 'I am a very serious apostate' face. Act confident enough and they'll forget it ever happened."

"Really? I always thought that 'I just got my brains fucked thoroughly into next week' face suited me." Anders fell into step beside him as they left the room, both clearly relieved to find the hallway now empty. What lay beyond that, though, was not as welcome a sight.

The moment they crossed the threshold Josphine, a quill in one hand and the other pointing back towards the war room addressed them without even looking up. "Inquisitor," she cleared her throat, a faint blush tinting her cheeks, "please return the table and all of its pieces to its original position before you leave. Thank you."

Both of their faces burned scarlet, Anders looked like he might melt on the spot from sheer mortification, Hawke doubted his own composure fared much better. "Yes, Lady Ambassador," they managed to croak. They power walked back from the office to the beat of stifled giggles and hurried footsteps.

[teine-mallaichte]

Happy Friday! For DADWC, might I suggest "Phantom Pain" from the Eclipsing Bingo for Anders? :3

OK so this... got way more angsty than I had intended... For the record I totally support Anders, totally egt why he did what he did, but... I am fairly sure that he is 100% the type of person who would spend years questioning himself. And being stabbed through the chest after the whole merging with Justice thing has got to leave an impression. Some post-cannon Anders introspection for @dadrunkwriting

Resting his hand on the stone balustrade, Anders felt a sudden, stabbing pain shoot through his chest, right where Rolan's sword had pierced him years ago. His fingers instinctively gripped his robe, seeking reassurance that the wound was no longer there. But the pain persisted, a phantom reminder that refused to fade away.

Closing his eyes, memories flooded back with vivid clarity. The forest engulfed in flames, the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh, the anguished cries of wardens. He recalled the surge of power, the uncontainable fury that had consumed him when Justice merged with him, transforming him into something beyond human or spirit. The shock of the sword piercing his chest had been both surreal and defining, marking the moment when he ceased to be just Anders.

He was Justice.

The years that followed had been turbulent. The revolution they had fought for had succeeded, but at a tremendous cost that weighed heavily on his soul. Mages were liberated, yet the price in lives lost haunted him relentlessly. Anders had wandered, a restless figure in a world he had helped reshape, searching for peace but finding only fleeting moments.

The phantom pain remained a constant companion, a visceral reminder of the night he had irrevocably changed his fate. It struck unexpectedly, a sharp ache that made him gasp for breath and relive the horrors of that pivotal night.

As he stood there with his eyes closed, the memories continued to play out vividly in his mind. The sights, the sounds, the overwhelming surge of emotions refused to diminish despite his attempts to move forward. The pain in his chest mirrored the wounds that couldn't be healed by magic or time, a testament to the choices made and the path he had chosen.

Anders had fled the Circle, abandoned the Grey Wardens, and found himself merged with Justice, a union that had altered him forever. Even in that transformation, he had tried to run, convinced he was meant to die—a belief reinforced first by Rolan's blade and later by Hawkes.

He was Vengeance.

The revolution had sparked war, casting him as both hero and villain, savior and fugitive. Blood stained his hands, a weight he carried with every beat of his heart.

Clutching his chest, Anders couldn't help but question whether it had all been worth it.

(For context the stabbing through the chest thing occurs in the BioWear short story Anders )

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

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

And welcome Cully! Happy Friday!

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

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

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

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

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

“It will never happen again.”

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

Her naked face felt no different.

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

But it was gone.

[realace]

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

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

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

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

Tevinter had enough blood magic and hot weather to spare.

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

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

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

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

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

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