#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.

[lyntergalactic]

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.

[mythalsknickers]

hello hello, happy friday! i am such a sucker for lavellan/solas/felassan tbh, so maybe those three with the romance dialogue prompt: “You really like them, don’t you?” -broodwolf221

Title: A Heady Blend of Desire Pairing: Solas x Felassan x Lavellan Rating: Mature Warning: Veilguard Spoilers Word Count: 471 @dadrunkwriting Veilguard Warning

Wine flowed like the water of the first streams. Firstborn and younger danced in the glittering courtyard under the finest stars. His long dark hair pulled into a neat plait as he made his way to his lover watching him watch someone.

"Well" He shouldered into the wolf with a grin as the taller man glanced at him. "Who is it that trapped Solas, general of Mythal and Wisdom of the Protector?" he mused sipping from his wine glass. Solas' pupils were wide, he had indulged and was still soaking in the magic of the ball. He watched as his lover grabbed a frilly little cake breaking it into two halves. The first half sandwiched between long fingers and offered to him. His lips split into a grin as he took the half off the cake and Solas' fingers into his mouth licking them clean.

"Fel--" The tips of his ears turned scarlet as those pupils darkened those pale silver eyes. "Vhenan.." He groaned softly "Do you want to know or do you wish me to take you home?" He offered Solas a huff but pulled away, pressing a kiss to his cheek before washing down the tiny cake half with more wine.

"Here I thought I'd add to the heady blend of the evening but very well for the sake of my curiosity I will behave." He feigned a pout leaning against the taller elvhen. Fingers and cupped his chin turning his head to where a group of priestesses from Mythal's complex danced. "Which one?" He grumbled slightly impatiently.

"Look for the reflection of her spirit, opalescent and towards the center." Felassan followed the directions, a dress spun from the finest silk dyed to mirror the stars above clung to the petite priestess' curves, long fiery hair trailed down her back like a cape. As she spun and laughed the song echoed strains of hope. Mythal's senior priestess, daughter of the moons. Looking up at his Vhenan he could see the blush, and the puppy like look on his face. Reaching up he adjusted the wolf skull that held his hair back.

"You really do like her don't you..I can't blame you." He squeezed Solas' hand with chuckle. "I did not think Mythal capable of fostering Hope as vivid as that, regardless go ask her to dance." He made a gentle shooing motion.

"Felassan, I do--" He leveled a gaze at his friend and lover. "Solas, Vhenan if you do not go ask her to dance, I will and if something comes of the evening. You will be tied up and get to watch for the next hundred years." He grinned watching the reluctant elvhen sulk off to approach the priestesses. Wisdom, Purpose, and Hope it could be a fine triad for the ages he mused sipping his wine.

[asexualtabris]

Welcome! From the Rook Codex prompts: A message between two companions about Rook

Hiii thank you for the prompt 💜 this worked as a supplemental to a wip I have 😈 aka the Crows invented icyhot

G | 110 words

@dadrunkwriting

A note found in Harding's room next to a pot overflowing with green leaves. Harding, there is poultice I'd like to make. Thorne has mentioned stiffness in his back and shoulder. It would require spearmint and a kind of Antivan chili pepper. Would there be room in your garden for these things? -- L The spearmint will go in a pot on a shelf away from the soil, but I do have room in the vegetable garden for some peppers! Get me seeds or a starter and they'll be ripe for the picking in no time! --H Wonderful. I'll pick up what we need during my trip to Treviso tomorrow. Thank you. -- L

[spicywarl0ck]

Happy Friday! “Have I ever lied to you?” “Are you really asking me that?” for Neve and Rook. I feel like they both have some secrets.

Happy Friday! Thank you so much for the prompt, it ended a bit more fluffy but I hope that's okay still? @dadrunkwriting Veilguard Pairing: Neve Gallus/female Rook (Asha Mercar) Length: 597 Rating: T Spoilers for Veilguard <3 “So, about the new apartment, I might have found a place.”

“Didn’t we agree that I’ll handle that?” Neve looked up from her borrowed desk, her hands holding onto multiple parchments. There was a cease between her brows which always tended to build up whenever she tried to figure out her next case. 

“We did, but we can’t live in the former Shadowdragon’s hideout forever, so… I thought it would be nice to look at a nice apartment I found in Docktown. You’ll like it. I promise.” 

Neve looked at her as her brows arched slightly, her lower lip drawn in. 

“What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch, I promise. It’s a nice apartment in Docktown, no unruly neighbours, or not too unruly at least.” Asha’s ears twitched as she recalled what her contact told her. “Oh, and the cobbled Swan is not that far away, so we can always grab a drink or two when we’re out,” she added, but Neve’s face didn’t change as she watched her with scepticism. 

“Aww come on, have I ever lied to you?” There was a known twinkle in Asha’s dark brown eyes. Neve knew it too well.

“Are you really asking me that?” The female detective scoffed, but a smile danced around the corners of her lips, making her face appear a tad softer. “I can barely count, anymore,” she added with a chuckle.

“Fine, Elek told me about it. But the threads aren’t too bad, once you know them better right? He said he owes us anyway, and we’re always free to take a look and then be done with it if we don’t want it. I just…” Asha paused, calmly studying Neve’s face while searching for the right words.

“I feel like it’s the least I can do. For you… and for us.” She was used to wearing her heart on her tongue, which brought her trouble more often than she could count.

Yet, sometimes she felt at a loss for words when she looked at Neve, the person who meant the most to her and who she wanted to have a life to look forward to, instead of the suffering she lived through.

“You are doing more than enough.” Neve’s voice softened when she stood up, her hair falling loose over her shoulders, shifting with her steps as the metal of her prosthetic clanked over the floor.

Her hands were warm when she took Asha’s, her stare so intense, Asha was certain she looked right into her soul.

“What happened to Minrathous wasn’t your fault.” Her voice was quiet yet strong at the same time. “I know I blamed you for a long time, and I know I did because I felt sadness, anger and despair at the same time. Minrathous was our home, and I couldn’t comprehend why it needed to suffer. But the choice you had to make was an impossible one.” she paused as she leaned her head against Asha’s, the touch ever so soft.

“I’m sorry you had to carry that Burden, and I admire your strength. If it would have been me…”“You’d have chosen Minrathous,” Asha concluded, smiling sadly. “I’m sorry you lost your home. But I’ll do all I can to get you another one. A nice one.” Rook added with a chuckle. “I promise I won’t let you down again.” “Promises, promises. You’ll just bring more trouble into my life, trouble.” Neve’s hands held onto hers tighter as she pulled Asha forward, their lips almost touching. “But I’m ready for it,” she added, just before their lips met.

[teine-mallaichte]

Filled DADWC asks

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

(colour coding = OC hawke used)

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)

Summer is a curse (Amber Hawke)

Falling through a frozen lake (Adam Hawke, Avaline and others.)

"You’re exaggerating, it can’t possibly be– oh. Yeah, this is bad." (FenHawke plus Platonic Isabella)

Denying the symptoms of illness (FenHawke plus Platonic Isabella)

❝ You do realize I can see ¾ to 4/5’s of your entire ass, right? ❞ (HAwke and Isabella)

"It would have been a lot easier to treat if you'd mentioned it sooner." (FenHawke)

A Satinalia mask (pre-fenders plus Platonic Isabela)

Secret messages/codes (Fenris and Orana)

It was like their skin was calling out for the other's gentle touch (Pre-fenders)

The I forgive you hug (FenHawke)

Injured Hawke (FenHawke plus Anders)

High Pain Tolerance (Fenders)

OC Hawkes:

Adam Hawke (Modern Kirkwall AU - a mage with an affinity for ice magic. He works as a firefighter, secretly using his magic to aid in his work. Unromaned.)

Adrian Hawke (A sarcastic rouge who on first appearances seems to take nothing seriously and tease everyone about everything. Romance - Fenris.

Post DA2 Adrian and Fenris go travelling with Isabella on her new ship.)

Aiden Hawke (An idealistic and gullible mage. Altruistic and caring, seemingly unable to say no to any requests for help. Unromanced - unsuccessfully trying to romance Isabella.

Aiden tends to be the Hakwe to turn up in most of my Fenders fics currenty.)

Amber Hawke (A self hating mage disguised as a rouge. Unromanced.)

Autumn Hawke (A diplomatic rouge, passionate about freedom and fiercely loyal to her friends. Romance - Anders.)

[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.

[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."

[midmorninggrey]

welcome to DADWC! how do you feel about Cal x Fenris for "his dark eyes took me in, and I wondered what they would look like if he fell in love"?

Hey, thanks for the @dadrunkwriting prompt! I felt this was the perfect excuse to write Cal Being An Idiot.

WC: ~1000

One night, all three of them ended up sitting down at the docks with a half-full bottle of rum that Isabela had swiped on their way out of The Hanged Man. Cal was the one who was supposed to be watching the bar, but she’d stolen him too. With the card game finished, Fenris had followed on his own accord. She’d ordered their boots off and they dangled their feet over the edge of the broken pier, toes kissing the black water. The sea was no cooler than the air, which was as thick and sweet as the drink.

After a time, Cal and Isabela tried stargazing through the smear of foundry smoke. The shape of a particular group of stars got them arguing, as much as they ever argued.

"Canary, do you even know what a woman looks like?"

"I just don't think that's what it is - really." 

"Fenris," Isabela drew herself up and pulled her hair away from where it had stuck on the back of her neck. "Tell us - do you see a lady of the evening?"

Cal took a long sip from the rum bottle, wondering how it happened that he was always between the two of them.

Fenris’ eyes flicked across to her.  "Only one."

“Shame. She's quite a looker up there,” Isabela shrugged and took the bottle from Cal for a last gulping drink, then put it back in his hands so she could stand.

"Now, I'm off to find someone who doesn’t need a reminder of what a woman looks like."

“Good luck,” Cal said.

"Don't get too hot under all that armor," Isabela chimed back. Through the warm haze of rum, he didn't understand why she looked at him when she was speaking to Fenris. Cal was only in his shirtsleeves. Before he could think to ask her, she tucked her boots beneath her arm and strutted down the dock and off into the dark.

They watched her go in silence. Cal handed Fenris the rum, expecting him to take it and make a quick departure himself, then lay back into the space Isabela had left behind. The rough wood felt good against his sore back and he wanted to rest a moment longer in the open air.

To his surprise, Fenris leaned back on a hand and kept his feet over the water. Outside of Hawke’s study for Fenris’ lessons, it was rare for the two to be alone together.

“I think that’s a bit of Bellitanus,” he said to fill the strange space usually full of books and chalk. “You know, the maiden. But I think she wears clothes. The Oak should be next to her – my friend told me it’s really a sign of Andriul. The goddess of the hunt.”

Fenris did nothing to acknowledge his prattling, so Cal folded his hands on his chest and said nothing more. The waves rippled beneath them.

Cal had long ago decided that denying Fenris’ looks was like denying the sun in the sky; he might as well enjoy the warmth of both from a distance. Now the sun had set and Fenris was still shining. Looking up, Cal watched the shadows play on the proud arch of his brow, along the curve of his jaw, and down the long lines of his neck. His eyes went to his mouth on the rim of the bottle, noticing the sheen of sweat on his upper lip.

"That -” Fenris interrupted Cal’s daze by pointing a finger at the sky. “- is the red jewel of Minrathous. I knew I was headed away from Tevinter when it was at my back. I had hoped that one night I would look up and it would be gone." 

Cal squinted up at the star. 

"Maybe it's watching over you."

"Not likely."

"I can't believe you made it all this way." Cal swallowed. "I mean, I can, actually."

"It was difficult." Fenris made the admission slowly. "Some days I have trouble believing it myself."

"Having to watch out for yourself all the time. It's hard." The words sound hollow and dull, like hitting a half full jug; both too much and not enough to ring true. He was surprised when Fenris’ answer was prompt.

“It’s the second rule of survival.”

“You have -” It took two tries for Cal to sit up. "You have rules?"

"Yes.” Fenris sounded annoyed, but Cal saw some satisfaction in the tilt of his chin. When Fenris passed the bottle back, he took it with both hands and a grin.

"What are they? What's the first - the most important?"

Cal hadn’t realized how close they were until Fenris turned his eyes on him. In the night, his green eyes had turned as black as the sea. The darkness made them look soft, and he wondered what it would be like if they were that way in the daylight.  

"Sorry," Cal ducked his head away to the safety of the rum bottle. There wasn't much left. "You don't have to tell me that."

They sat in silence again, longer this time. A breeze picked up across the harbor, and though it was still as hot as breath, it stung of fresh salt. Cal gave Fenris the last drink.

"My first rule of survival is to always have an extra pair of socks," he offered eventually. 

"Oh? That is mine as well."

"Really?"

Fenris looked down at his bare feet, only ever wrapped in the traditional elven style, and stretched his toes. "I like knit stockings best."

Cal let his head fall back and he laughed until he wheezed. Fenris joined him with only a smile, laughter held in the lines around his eyes, but the stars seemed a little brighter to Cal then.  

[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.

[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.”

[lyntergalactic]

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."

[mythalsknickers]

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

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

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

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

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

[asexualtabris]

Happy Friday! welcome! For lucanis/davrin grabbing the other’s hand so they don’t fall

Hiii thank you! Thanks for the prompt 💜

@dadrunkwriting

G | 372 words | Vague references to Veilguard location

Debris from the ruins floating above rattled down past their heads. Lucanis glanced down as he balanced carefully on the outside ledge of a bridge that had been blocked off with magical barrier, a gutclenching drop down to the water below. He raised his head again and pressed his back closer to the ruin. Rook jumped off on the far end of the ledge, focused only on their goal of finding a power crystal.

Davrin huffed behind him, eyes glued to where his feet hesitantly shuffled across the ledge. "Just a bit farther now." Lucanis called to him, stepping over a plant that was sprouting from the stone.

"Uh huh," Davrin said, sounding annoyed that Lucanis would try to distract him.

"Found it!" Rook yelled. Lucanis heard the power crystal disengage from the slot and the ruins behind them shuddered.

"Whoa!" Davrin cried, arms windmilling as he lost his balance.

"Davrin!" Lucanis's hand shot out to grab Davrin's before his brain could remind him the momentum would take them both down.

With a squawk, Assan flew out from the trees and swooped in front of them just as they went over the ledge. Davrin's free hand caught on Assan and plopped him back on the ledge, chest to chest with Lucanis, one arm pinning him against the wall of the ruin.

Davrin's eyes went wide at their sudden closeness. Lucanis tried to get his breathing back under control and he looked up at the other man. They stared at each other in silence, each passing heartbeat building tension between them.

"Sorry about that, guys!" Rooked called, popping their head around the wall. "Oh! Are you okay?"

"Just perfect," Davrin said, not breaking his hold on Lucanis's gaze, their breath mingling in the small space between them.

"I should have waited." They said and looked back at the power crystal that bobbed gently behind them. "I don't think it will shake again, at least!" And they disappeared again.

Lucanis squeezed Davrin's hand before he let it go. "After you."

"Right," Davrin said, finally looking toward the end of the ledge. He shimmied past Lucanis and made his way off the ledge.

Lucanis closed his eyed and took in a centering breath before he shuffled himself after his companions.

[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.”