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glowing-blue-feathermage · 11 months ago

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Happy DADWC :) For Anders and the character of your choice "We're still friends, right?"

I have endless feelings about post chantry-boom fugitive times but also for Anders' friends realizing they should have done more for him. Here's some of that for Hawke & Anders. for @dadrunkwriting

Kirkwall was long behind them. After several days, the smoke on the horizon had faded to white, and then blended into the distant clouds. After a week, the spine of a mountain chain stood between them and the city, and after a month, Anders could hardly remember what it had looked like at the end. Hawke didn’t say much. Anders hadn’t tried, really, to get him to talk, because he didn’t know what to say. He refused to apologize for what he’d done, and he had explained the lies, and there wasn’t anything else to talk about. And it didn’t feel like the right time for fond memories, or old tales, or plans for the future. “You need to eat something.” Hawke’s voice broke through Anders’ shell, pulling him back into the moment. They were sitting across from one another, a small fire twinkling red and gold between them. A crackling log splitting apart with a hiss broke the short silence before Anders cleared his dry throat. “Not really hungry.” Hawke didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he held a tin plate out for him, bearing steaming squirrel meat and half an apple that Hawke had apparently sliced while Anders was miles away. The expression in Hawke’s eyes made Anders feel like refusing would actually cause him pain. He took the plate, balancing it on his knee. He felt Hawke watching him, so he picked at the meat and ate a bite. A cool breeze ruffled the feathers on his black coat—the beautiful gift Hawke had been so pleased to give him a year past. Anders felt tears prick his eyes and he glanced up at Hawke suddenly, mouth dry. “We’re still friends, right?” he asked. It came out raspy. A croak. He flushed and looked down, hoping maybe Hawke would let it go. There was, indeed, a silence. Then, “Of course we’re friends, Anders. Why would you need to ask me that?” Anders looked up again, squinting over the fire. “Because I lied to you. I blew up the city you love.” He’d meant to sound sarcastic, but it came out flat. Because it was true. Hawke held his gaze for a moment before returning to his meal. He ate for a moment before shaking his head. “You did what you had to do,” he said. “Took your friends too long to see it. It’s me who should be asking you that question.” His words were so unexpected that Anders didn’t understand his meaning. “What question?” Hawke looked at him again, raising an eyebrow. “We’re still friends, right?”

#screaming seagull emoji is how I feel about anders not having to apologize for shit #and about how his friends owed him more #anders was right #post chantry boom #fugitives #handers #hawke & Anders #dadwc fill #omg I filled two whole prompts who am i

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warpedlegacywrites · 1 year ago

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happy dadwc friday Duchess! How about a prompt for Cullen coping with addiction/recovery 🥺😭💖

❝ All the things that I ran from I now bring as close to me as I can. ❞

happy writing :3

Happy @dadrunkwriting! Thanks for this prompt. Here is some slightly circular narration about Cullen's withdrawal, with a focus on his early nightmares post-lyrium.

CW for torture, sleep deprivation, claustrophobia, psychological torture

Sleep isn’t a problem at first. In fact, for the first week or so, he barely notices a difference. His dreams remain blurred, unfocused. Filtered by the last filter he’d taken in Kirkwall. His last one ever, so he keeps reminding himself, though practiced hands still reach for the vial at his bedside when he wakes blearily with the dawn. Muscle memory. Habit. Conditioning. Sleep isn’t a problem, even after the symptoms start setting in. When his reaching hands shake so hard they can barely grip the glass of water. The water he gulps greedily down, while wishing it were gleaming blue instead of clear. The water he can’t seem to keep down, retching it back up moments later. No, even when his insides are on fire and his whole body is racked with the searing pain, sleep isn’t a problem. It’s not until the worst of the pains and the cravings subside, when the Song is little more than a half-remembered tune in the back of his skull, and his body can actually, truly rest. That is when sleep becomes a daunting, dreadful torture.

Every night, when he lays his head down, he knows what’s coming. He’ll try to stay awake as long as possible, reflexively wincing away from the pain. But inevitably, his eyes will close, and he will open them again in the blood-stained halls of Kinloch Hold. Torchlight flickers over bodies, too many to count.

The light is tinted by the magically manifested curtain of his cell. A slender column holding him captive. Too narrow to do anything but kneel or stand – he can’t even properly sit, let alone lie down. No matter how many hours, days, nights pass, no matter how his feet and legs and back ache. He remains standing until he can bear it no longer, and then he kneels in prayer. His knees are bruised and bleeding. He’s exhausted. More tired than he’s ever been. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he understands he’s still asleep, but the fatigue is just as he remembers it. He doesn’t recall how he ever managed to sleep, if he ever did.

His cell is round, affording him a panorama view of the carnage. Every so often, a new body will race through in an attempt to reach the stairs to Cullen’s right. They’re always cut down before they clear the first handful of steps. Every time, Cullen tries to warn them. Every time, his voice doesn’t penetrate the perimeter of his cell. He hears its echo bounce back and forth over his head, driving him mad with his own voice. Every time, the demon emerges from the shadows it hides in. Razor claws rake across torsos, drawing forth gushing red. The room is infused with the smell of blood. Fresh and stale, the stone is saturated with it. Eventually, Cullen stops smelling it. But as tortured with guilt as he is over his failure to save even a single soul, watching them die is still the lesser evil.

Because when the demon is bored waiting for new victims, it amuses itself with Cullen. It knew his desires almost the instant it captured him. All his training was for naught – Desire is a powerful demon, and it read him like an open book. It cackled, mocking his boyish infatuation. It delighted in taking her form and parading around in front of him in her skin. Calling to him in her voice, whispering in his ear, while standing well out of reach. Sometimes wanting, willing. Others, screaming in pain. Spitting vitriolic hatred at him. But always beyond his reach.

He can beat his hands against the curtain of magic until they bleed, scream until his voice is raw and his throat is like cracked glass. But he will never break through it.

Until he wakes, covered in sweat and hands aching from gripping the sheets so tightly, his throat sore. Surely, he must be screaming on this side of the Veil as well, but if anyone has ever heard it, they keep it to themselves. He will wash his face with cold, clean water, drink from the canteen he keeps full at his bedside, and dress for his day.

And the next night, it will start all over again. He will try to stay awake, and then he will fail. He will try to warn his would-be rescuers, and fail. Try to escape, and fail. No matter how he tries to outrun his failures, they follow him, relentless and tireless.

Until one night, when he looks down at the blood-soaked bodies at his feet… and there is no cell to separate them. He reaches a hand out, tentatively, and meets no resistance. He steps forward, and is not repelled back. A sob escapes him before he can stop it, though he clamps his hand over his mouth to prevent more sounds from betraying him. Yet no demon appears. It’s only him, and the corpses of his colleagues.

He turns to the exit, and he’s halfway across the room before his steps slow. Stop. He turns. His eyes travel up the staircase, stopping at the door at their peak. There’s no way out of that room, he knows. He’s conducted Harrowings and Rites of Tranquility from inside that room. There is no escape but the way you’ve come.

There is no escape.

Step by step, his feet carry him to the base of the stairs. He watches himself climb them, as if observing from the outside. He screams at himself, pounding against the rounded wall of his cell, tries to tell him no. Turn around, run away. Escape. But it’s no use.

He watches the demon emerge from the shadows, claws impossibly long and razor sharp. No matter how he screams and pounds and begs. There is nothing he can do to stop what’s about to come. Cullen watches his hand come to rest on the doorknob. Watches it turn. Watches the demon’s arm raise, and strike. He feels the burn of its claws in his flesh.

And then he wakes up.

He flexes his fingers, releases their death grip on the sheets. Rises with a struggle from the low cot given to him when he’d arrived at the base of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Drinks long and greedy from the canteen. Splashes his face with cold water. And pushes aside the flaps of his tent to start another day.

Tonight, he’ll do it all again.

#dadwc prompts #dadwc #cullen rutherford #ptsd #lyrium withdrawal #nightmares #cw #torture #sleep deprivation #claustrophobia #blood #psychological torture #whump #hozier prompts #my writing #long post

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realace · 2 years ago

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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."

#prompt fill #dadwc #alice writes words #my writing #fenders #i had fun it's a nice post canon look #i hope you like it as well

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asexualtabris · 4 days ago

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DADWC Prompt Post!

Please send an OC or ship and the entire prompt and/or which list it came from! 💜 Purple is preferred 🖤

[OC Masterpost]

Currently Writing:

OCs:

Rook Thorne

Teva Aldwir

Cylas Surana (modern AU)

Tab Tabris (modern AU)

Sorren Mahariel (modern AU)

Ships:

Lucanis/Davrin

m!elf Thorne/Lucanis

m!elf Teva Aldwir/Davrin

Cylas Surana/Zevran (modern AU)

Tab Tabris/Sorren Mahariel (modern AU)

Prompts:

DA themed prompts

kiss prompts

fluffy prompts

#dadwc #prompt post #el text

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fiharri · 5 months ago

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DADWC Prompt Post

OCs (bold is "canon" but all are valid to prompt for)

Ships (Romantic)

Ships (Platonic) (more TBA as I replay the games)

Origins: f!Surana & Morrigan, Alistair, Zevran, Sten, Wynne, Anders | f!Tabris & Alistair, Leliana, Zevran, Sten, Wynne, Anders 2: f!Hawke & any companion | f!Hawke & Carver, Bethany, Leandra Inquisition: f!Adaar & any companion (no Cullen) | f!Lavellan & Varric Additional: f!Adaar & f!Lavellan | f!Adaar & f!Hawke | f!Surana & f!Tabris

Types of Prompts

I like a variety! Quotes to spin into short stories, generally emotional vibes, prompts for scenarios. Here's a few posts with ideas, but original prompts are all good too!

Dragon Age Lore Prompts DAI Quests Cassandra Pentaghast Quotes Dorian Pavus Quotes Post-DAI Inquisitor

Things You Said When Non-verbal Emotional Expression Emotional Expression 2 Kisses Tarot A Love Epiphany Budding Romance Kiss & Tell Sharing a Bed Desperate Dialogue

And see my general #prompts tag for more!

#dadwc #prompt post

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dadrunkwriting · 1 month ago

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DWC Housekeeping - Team NA/AUS/Asia

Hi all! Our headcount is nearing Tumblr's tag/mention limit, so we're checking in to make sure that everyone on the active headcount still wants to be tagged. We ask that you think honestly about if you intend to regularly participate in DWC when deciding whether to stay on the active list. Remember, you don't have to be active to participate in a one-off Friday and you can become active again at any time.

If you would like to stay on the active headcount, please reply to this post with a message by Thursday, December 5th 11:59pm PST. If your blog name has changed, please let us know that as well!

NO REPLY is necessary if you wish to go inactive. If you do not reply to this post, we will assume you want to be taken off the headcount.

Reminders

Inactive writers can become active again at any time! Just message an admin and we'll add you back to the regular headcount.

Inactive writers can always opt in for the occasional Friday! You will not be tagged in the headcount, but if you reply to the post before 4pm Pacific Time on Friday, we'll include you on the kickoff.

Regardless of whether you're active or inactive, DADWC members are always welcome to post and tag us on Friday nights. If an old prompt inspires you, write, post, and tag!

Note: please do NOT do this if you are not a DADWC member. If you'd like to sign up, message an admin!**

Our Discord is open for both active and inactive writers! Message an admin for an invite if you'd like to join.

We will reblog this post throughout the week to make sure everyone sees it. Changes will go into effect this Friday, December 6th.

@anonymous-inquisitor @blarrghe @bluewren @breninarthur @broodwolf221

@carnalapples @contreparry @crabs-with-sticks @demawrites @dreadfutures

@exalted-dawn-drabbles @fiharri @galadrieljones @ghoulsbeard @glowing-blue-feathermage

@highwayphantoms @inquisimer @kiastirling-fanfic @lordgoretash @melisusthewee

@midmorninggrey @midnightprelude @mythalsknickers @nirikeehan @oxygenforthewicked

@plisuu @rosella-writes @ruiningsalads @seigephoenix @shouldaspunastory

@sky-fire-forever @skinwalkingxana @starswritteninourscars @sulky-valkyrie @syrupwrit

@sweetmage @thedastrash @theluckywizard @tobythewise @vivispec

@wildercrow @zencetera

#dwc housekeeping

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teine-mallaichte · 2 months ago

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Hi my dragony writing friend, 👋

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

Happy writing!

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

Some early relationship fenders for @dadrunkwriting

"You’re bleeding."

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

Careless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Relax," Anders coaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#dadwc #da drunk writing circle #fenders #Fenris #anders

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broodwolf221 · 4 days ago

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my queer solas fics:

all of my fic, actually - i always write him as bi and demi. but for ones that lean into some aspect of queer identity explicitly...

The Eclipse - Solas/Elgar'nan smut series set during arlathan, mind the tags!

Haunting - Solas/Varric DAVG: after everything, solas finds himself pursued by a memory.

Rogue, Seeker, and Wolf - Solas/Cassandra/Varric working side by side with cassandra and their inquisitor, they grew the inquisition from a fledgling organization to a great power. in so doing, and in traveling together, the three grew closer. much closer.

Three-Course Meal - Solas/Bianca Davri/Varric solas and varric have found their way into a relationship - but solas knows someone came before him, someone varric still loves. when bianca visits, it only seems right to let them have some private time together. surprisingly, their private time turns out to include solas.

It's Rotten Work (series) | Parody of a Destiny (main chaptered work) - Solas/Male City Elf Inquisitor atros shiral: city elf servant who has been used by shems his whole life feels used by religious shems now and isn't happy about it.

Cyren Lavellan and the Humble Apostate - Solas/Trans Woman Lavellan exploring the beginnings of their relationship while also delving into solas' own gender identity

The Dread Wolf and the Island - Solas/Varric loosely chronological series exploring the development of a largely post-trespasser relationship between these two

Tactics of Intimacy - Solas/The Iron Bull the iron bull approached solas some time ago about a casual sexual relationship. he recognized what solas wanted, what he needed... and he was right. and it worked. today, something is different. something has changed.

Solas' Tea Face and Dorian's Charms - Solas/Dorian this is a lighthearted one that explores the pre-pre-pre relationship of these two, namely the first moment dorian realizes he has a crushhhh.

Two of a Kind - Solas/Cole more of a spirit, but never exclusively one or the other, cole is instead something between. something unique. is it any surprise that it is drawn to someone similarly unique?

Dread Eclipsed - Solas/Varric solas has joined the worlds, but all has not gone as he planned. despondent, he finally stops running, and varric finally catches him... but nothing goes the way solas expected. nothing.

Crossed Paths - Solas/Anders solas and his followers are traveling when they stumble across anders. a delay provides an opportunity for them to get better acquainted.

Strange Tactics - Solas/Blackwall blackwall 'taught' solas several card games, yet loses to him regularly.

Bitter Truths - Solas/Dorian/The Iron Bull examination of a relationship between these three men

Secret Keepers - Solas/The Iron Bull bull knows that solas is keeping secrets, and he knows better than to ask directly. he also recognizes that solas could use some relief. helping the apostate ground himself in the moment and getting to know him better... it's obviously a two birds one stone situation. except that bull begins to find himself a little more involved than he had intended.

Unexpected Attraction - Solas/Oghren another grey warden throws in with the inquisiton, and an idle curiosity hints at being more.

Wolf & Lion - Solas/Cullen solas is surprised when he sees a different side of cullen; the commander is surprised when he sees solas as something more than a mysterious elven apostate.

DADWC Collection, Ch. 6 - Solas/Varric prompt: obfuscate - to muddle; confuse; bewilder banter fic

DADWC Collection, Ch. 10 - Solas/Varric prompt: insouciant - casually or smugly indifferent; nonchalant

#solas #queer solas #bi solas #long post #poly solas #made the mistake of trying to edit smth on mobile and fucked up the formatting for a hot sec there alkfsjklfjsd

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galadrieljones · 4 months ago

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Happy SatFriday, or DADWC day :) I propose... Haunted Forest, folded letter, and exhausted

Thank you for the prompt!! This is another addition to my post-Trespasser/pre-Veilguard stories for Sene Lavellan. Solas is getting closer, every day. Finally, she encounters him in the Fade...

Solavellan ❤️ 1500 words ❤️ Mature

MASTERPOST

Incredulous

Sene tip-toed past the river bank, which was frozen into a crust. She wore winter furs. She had not hunted them herself. In fact, they had been gifts from Dorian. Tall, white arctic bears. He'd commissioned them himself and sent them as a gift via courier. To My Redheaded Friend, he'd written on a piece of heavy parchment. These furs were crafted by the finest trapper in all of Tevinter. I have a feeling they will go splendidly with your magnificent hair. May they keep you warm until next I see you. Which had better be soon. I'm very bored. Yours, Dorian.

It was cold, a dead season in the Frostbacks, and she was just outside of Haven, had hiked up the mountain over the past two days. Why had she come here? She didn't know. She just felt like it. She set up camp near the old gates, in the barracks where Thom Rainier had used to sleep. She lit a fire in the hearth, and it was enough to warm her. There were woods nearby, which had overgrown in the Inquisition's absence with coniferous trees, monsters that could blot out the sky. It was where she later planned to hunt her supper, but not now. For now, she was exhausted.

She had come back to Haven twice before, once with Abelas, right at the beginning of their love, when he was curious, and he wanted relics of her old life without him, and once with Ameridan, who had been simply bored, and who she hadn't seen now in more than four months. Their last dalliance had been at the Winter Palace. Along with the Commander and Josephine with Thom, hey had attended a ball there at the behest of Empress Celene who found their coupling curious. They boarded together in a great room at the corner of the castle on a high floor, and they enjoyed the view as well as the wine, one another's company, and they fucked merrily as they had many times over the years prior. On again, off again. When they said goodbye, something about it felt definitive this time. He was headed to the Anderfels. What's there? she had asked him. He had kissed her, charming and silver, and he said, I don't know, lethal'lan. Much hardship, I'm sure. And they smiled.

She could have asked to go with him. He would have taken her, but he hadn't asked, and it wasn't what she wanted to do anyway. So instead, she went home to her clan's farm in the Free Marches. She stayed there for two months, helping her father organize the archives and helping her her mother bottle the wine, and then she went back to Skyhold to visit with Sera and Dagna, and to take care of some business with the Inquisition. Now she was alone, here in Haven, thinking about the past. She still loved this place. She warmed her hands to the fire and drank some brandy from a leather flask. She thought quite a bit about Ameridan, and how she could have loved him. It was a nice fantasy, and she missed him a little, but Ameridan was very far gone in some ways. Even beyond the Anderfels. No matter how they carried on, he seemed to have no intention of falling in love with her or anyone else. His heart was still stitched to Telana's, across centuries. Sene didn't blame him. She understood him. In this way, she knew it would never work.

A little while later after the sun went down over the mountain, Sene went outside to go hunting in the woods. The snow was crunchy. She made a habit of stepping into animal tracks and depressions left by logs and other things. It dampened her footsteps. She made quick work of a wild turkey, which took her no more than twenty minutes to track and to shoot. She'd eat what she could and cure the rest. With the bird tied off at the feet, hanging over her shoulder, she began to head homeward. She could hear the call of the owl and as the moon rose, the howling of one solemn wolf, very nearby. She stopped, standing perfectly still on the trail. She set down the turkey and took her bow off her back and then she nocked a single arrow. There was a cold wind, and with it the sounds of haunted whispers, which raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and suddenly, she knew she wasn't alone. She spun around with her arrow aimed high, right at the throat.

It was Solas.

She dropped the bow immediately. He was just standing there, wearing simple garments. A dark jacket with a high collar, and he had his hands in his pockets. He watched her, pensive and very concerned. He looked so good. She nearly dropped to her knees. But she didn't. She looked around instead, at the pines and the snow, hearing the animal sounds.

"Are you real?" she said to him. "Or is this a dream?"

"It is a dream," said Solas.

"It feels so real."

"I am near," he said. "That is why."

"You're near?" she said. "Where are you?"

"Don't worry about it, Sene."

"Why not?"

"Soon, it will be time. But not yet."

"Thom gave me your letter," she said. She pulled the folded piece of parchment from the satchel at her hip. She showed it to him. "In the Hinterlands, one month ago. You sent it from Tevinter?"

"I am grateful to Thom," said Solas. "I felt you here, at Haven. I wanted to see you. I don't know what you've heard, about the ritual, and Tevinter."

"In the letter, you said you still love me. Is that true?"

Solas hardened his jaw. He still did not remove his hands from his pockets. "It is always true."

She took a step closer to him. "It feels different now. I can sense it, too. How close."

"If this could be over," he said, "and if I came back—"

"I am not who I used to be," she interrupted. The snow began to fall. Little snowflakes clinging to his jacket, his broad shoulders. She was close enough to touch him, but she didn't.

"I know that," he said. "I know everything, vhenan."

"Everything?" she said. This made her nervous. She didn't know why. It wasn't like her. They'd met in the Fade before, many times since he'd gone. At first, she wanted to kill him, but over time, that changed. As she changed. She should have known. "What do you know."

He took a deep breath and looked down at his boots. He just looked like a man there. He didn't look like a god. "I know about Abelas," he said. "And Ameridan. When I learned Ameridan was alive, I was shocked, naturally. I had heard of your valor in the Frostback Basin. You and Abelas. I had to see the man for myself, so I went in the Fade. I saw him at a tavern. And with him, I saw you. Laughing, with your great big hair. Imagine my surprise." He smiled, in earnest.

She didn't feel embarrassed, but she did feel guilty. She knew this was irrational. "Why didn't you say anything? I had seen you in Fade."

"It didn't matter. It's your life, not mine. I couldn't give you what you needed."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," she said. "It was never about you, with either of them. I just wanted to feel like a person."

"It's been ten years, vhenan," he said, as if hanging on for his dear life. "I have no claim over you anymore."

"I hated you for so long," said Sene.

"I remember."

"Abelas felt the brunt of that. Ameridan, in some ways, he is so much like me. He's helped me figure out the truth."

"What is the truth?"

"That I still love you," she said, holding out the letter to him. He took it, like he was compelled to. Their hands did not touch.

"You do?"

"I can't stop. It is my destiny. For this, Ameridan and I can never be together, at least not seriously. He loves a dead dreamer, same as me."

"I am not dead, vhenan."

"You might as well be," she said, shaking her head. She felt cold and filled with her regular and ongoing winter exhaustion without him. "You are not here. We meet only in dreams. You might as well be a ghost."

Now, he took his hands out of his pockets. He was wearing dark gloves, which he removed and dropped to the earth. Then he took one step closer, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I have not come back, because I live in fear that you will not see me. I left you. I left us both behind that day. When I saw you again, years later, and you learned the truth, it was so...fraught. We have never discussed it."

"That is the past," she said. "I know who you are."

"I used to have a reason, Sene, but now that reason is...just gone. There is still much to be done, but I no longer need to be alone. It has been so long. I thought perhaps you had moved on. I know it sounds cliche, but I just wanted you to be happy."

"I am," she said. "I'm fine. I am not like other people, Solas, but I am not alone. I have friends, and it's taken me many years, but I'm fine. I don't know what else to say."

"You are not in love with Ameridan?"

"No," said Sene. "Though I thought about it."

He smirked, perhaps stunned. "You thought about it?"

"What it might be like, yes. I even wanted it, at one point. I believe it's over now, but we were on and off for many years."

She felt a shaking in her heart. He was still touching her neck, right where it met her jaw. He seemed to be studying the exact same spot of her skin. She wanted badly to defy him, but what was the point?

"It feels like you're here," she said. They could see their breath. "Are you sure you're not here?"

He kissed her, calmly. It seemed to last forever, like the first time. The same place. But it was much less cold then, and now, they were older. When they parted, she became a puddle in the frozen earth.

"Solas—"

"When you awaken," said Solas, "it will not be long. Vhenan." He smiled wearily and snapped his fingers once.

She woke up in the barracks, which she had never left. She had curled into her furs beside the lit hearth and fallen asleep. Now, she looked down at her freckled right arm and her strange left arm, which still itched from time to time, and still glowed with the old restorative magics wrought by Dorian and Dagna. She touched the place on her neck that Solas had touched and she touched her fingers to her lips. She got to her feet. She went outside where it was freezing, not wearing her furs, wearing only her cotton under things, and she gazed up at the moon, which was full as an eye, and then into the mouth of the haunted woods. She was incredulous.

"What the fuck," she whispered.

@dadrunkwriting

#solavellan #solas #dragon age #da:tv #dragon age: the veilguard #da:i #sene lavellan #dadwc #solavellan fanfic

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rosella-writes · 7 months ago

Text

Fanwork Friday Funday

Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase ONE fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links). Then tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :) If you have more than one person to highlight, consider spreading it out!

Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)

Thank you for the tag @dreadfutures. 💚 I have a writer I'd love to give a shout-out to, as he's doing amazing work and characterises Solas in a really moving, authentic way that gives me so much joy.

writer: @broodwolf221 | @bitterling (ao3)

I first encountered Brood's work through dadwc when he joined and began writing some of the most thoughtful Solas rarepairs I'd seen in some time. His writing is moving, his characterisations of not only Solas but Varric, Bull, and so many others are just masterful, and I really enjoy his writing. Thank you for sharing your talent, Brood. 💚

Here's some of my faves:

Fic: Seeker's Succor

While traveling, Cassandra reflects on how things have changed between her and Solas.

This fic is a sweet glimpse into Cassandra's mind and romantic heart, where her respect and love for a certain apostate has begun to grow. It has so much I love about the ship and really encapsulates Cassandra's sense of duty, her suspicion and devout faith, but also her softness and how she looks for the best in others.

Fic: A Show of Appreciation

Prompt: "Wait, that's mine. You fixed it?" While still in Skyhold, Solas surprises Varric with a kind gesture—and, really, such a thing deserves a proper thanks.

For those of us hungry for Varric x Solas, Brood sure does deliver. This one is so cute with its overwhelming sense of friendship over the entire fic, from the beginning where Solas mends a rip in Varric's jacket, all the way to the *ahem* heartfelt expression of thanks.

I tag forward, to recommend fics about Thedas at large or about Solas (if you're up for it - otherwise, any fics or fanart recs will be appreciated <3 )

#fanwork friday #fic recs #dragon age #solas #varric tethras #cassandra pentaghast

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nirikeehan · 11 months ago

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Happy DADWC! Let's have some Thalia/Cullen, with "Reunion x Defying prophecies" from your Fun Trope Combos list!

Hi Duchess!! Perfect prompt for some post-Battle of Haven early Thalia/Cullen character study, I think.

Also had to add these prompts from @breninarthur and @wolfs-dawn:

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1289

---

Now that Lady Thalia Trevelyan had returned from the dead, Cullen did not know how to speak to her.

It had been easy at first. The scrappy red-haired mage had looked to him for guidance those months in Haven. Uncertain of the moniker bestowed upon her by the masses, she had peppered him with questions — about leadership, philosophy, religion, and listened with earnest fervor to what he had to say about them. She was young, certainly, but Cullen had every confidence she could grow into the role presented to her. Had been flattered, even, to mold her for command.

Then everything came crashing down, and Cullen, acting as her commander, sent Thalia off to die.

He replayed the moves of the battle through his head as the stragglers that called themselves the Inquisition trudged through snow and mountain. The days were brutal and the nights were worse, with ice winds howling down into the narrow rocky passes, and Cullen thought he might freeze a thousand times over. Only the rage boiling in his gut keep his blood pumping, as he ran the plays again and again. In chess, there were times when one must sacrifice a piece, even an important one, but the risks so often outweighed the reward. Try as he might, he didn’t see an outcome that saved her from destruction. He would have to live with that for the rest of his days.

Maker guide her, she went willingly.

The burden of the march had eased. The train moved with lighter steps, their Herald restored to them. They had a destination, a goal to picture in their minds. Still, Cullen found it difficult to approach her. It was he who had found her, on her knees in the snow. When her lips were blue, he cradled her fragile body to his chest, trying to bring some warmth back into her. He flushed with the memory, in turns frightened, relieved, and… something else.

Tonight, the cook fires burned brighter, it seemed, after the skies had cleared. He saw her, sitting on the cot in the healer’s tent, where her condition was being monitored, nose in a book. Her hair, auburn and incredibly long, she had coiled around her head in one long plait. She seemed stronger, the color starting to come back to her oval face. For days she had been white as the snow around them, offset only by the spiked tattoo ringing one eye. An extra security measure, Cullen had learned, devised by templars at the Ostwick Circle. It made him vaguely uneasy to behold, but he often found other parts of her face more pleasing — her bright blue eyes, for instance, or her heart-shaped lips.

She looked up and spied him, and Cullen’s heart thudded. She smiled at him shyly over the rim of the book, and his feet moved toward her of their own accord.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said as he approached.

Thalia glanced around the empty tent and back to him. “Oh, Commander, as you can see, there’s nothing to intrude upon. I’m alone.”

“Yes, but you seemed so engrossed.” Cullen motioned to the book.

Thalia cleared her throat and set it aside. “Just something Mother Giselle lent me. I guess she was conscientious enough to salvage several books from the Chantry before the evacuation of Haven. I wish I’d had that level of foresight.”

Cullen glanced at the title. The Holy Mysteries of Andraste and Her Disciples. “Ah. I read that one in templar training.”

“You did?” Thalia’s pale gaze was upon him. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold wind. “What did you think of it?”

Cullen chuckled. “A touch… fanciful, perhaps.”

“What? You don’t believe the story of Saint Sylvester slaying the dragon on New Year’s Eve?” The corner of Thalia’s mouth quirked upward. It was nice to see her smile again.

“Some of the tales are apocryphal at best, if I recall,” Cullen said. Then, he blurted, “You look good.”

Thalia blinked in surprise.

“Better, I mean,” Cullen cried, backpedaling. “Healthier. When I saw you in the snow, I feared for the worst.”

Thalia ducked her head shyly. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to scare you then; I was just… very tired.”

“No need to apologize,” Cullen said quickly, leaning on the hilt of his sword to regain some dignity. “I’m just relieved to see you on the road to recovery.”

“After rising from the grave, you mean,” Thalia quipped.

Cullen felt sheepish. “I don’t really believe—”

“No, I know,” Thalia cut in, laughing nervously. “I already gave my report. It’s very unlikely I was truly dead at any point.” She sighed, glancing at the book. “I am not so sure that’s what the masses think. That’s why Mother Giselle lent me the book. She thought stories of other religious figures might… inspire me, I suppose.”

“And do they?” Cullen asked softly. He could sense the conflict in her, but didn’t want to push her in one direction or another. Being looked to for leadership was an immense, painful thing, whatever the reason.

Thalia shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re right, they sound like fictional characters, most of them. Do you think there’s truly been a secret Chantry in Par Vollen for centuries that no one has been able to find, run by an knight-errant Chantry mother?”

“I suppose stranger things have happened,” Cullen conceded, “but no, I found the accounts of Prester Johanna far-fetched, as well.”

“As far-fetched as being the Herald of Andraste,” Thalia huffed. “Is this how I’m going to be remembered in the history books? Some mythical figure no one can believe in?”

“I think that may depend on you,” Cullen said carefully. “We have ways of crafting the narrative around you, but your own deeds and decrees, how you treat others… that’s as telling as the rest.” He smiled in spite of himself. “I think so far, most have wanted to follow you because you give them something to believe in. Your compassion and drive inspire them. Tales of defying death, or slaying dragons, that may come later, but… it’s who you are that makes the most impact.”

Thalia was looking at him curiously as he spoke. Cullen cut himself off with an embarrassed sigh. “Forgive me, sometimes I do think I like to pontificate a touch too—”

“No, no, it’s all right. I like listening to you.” Thalia chewed her bottom lip and looked down. “Thank you, Commander. That’s good food for thought.”

“Right.” Why was Cullen’s heart thumping like that? She didn’t seem to think him a fool, though he certainly felt like one. “I’ll leave you to your convalescence.”

“You could stay, if you like,” Thalia suggested brightly. “I could read to you. Saint Sylvester was just about to team up with two elven apostates to fight the dragon terrorizing Vyrantium.”

Cullen hesitated. He had maps to pour over, losses to calculate, casualties to report to Knight-Captain Rylen. As of late, however, when it became difficult to concentrate, he dug through the trunk of his that had survived the Haven onslaught. He sat on the floor of his tent and, with trembling hands, contemplated the one vial of glowing cerulean that sang to him under tunics and greaves and letters from home. He’d been so parched lately, and no amount of mountain fresh ice water could quench it.

“You’re busy,” Thalia decided, before he could answer. “I understand.”

Cullen swallowed thickly. “Sometime soon, perhaps. Once we’ve reached this castle Solas has promised us.”

“Of course.” The book was back in her lap, her eyes straying from his. “Have a good night, Commander.”

“Yes.” He stifled a sigh, turning to leave. He felt more stupid than ever. “You as well, Lady Thalia.”

#thalia trevelyan #cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #dragon age drunk writing circle #they're so awkward lol #and nerdy #fics #def need the side quest where they go to par vollen to look for prester johanna tho lmao

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glowing-blue-feathermage · 4 days ago

Note

happy DADWC Friday :) sending you “You were always on my mind.” for Fenhawke

Ty for the prompt!! I've been thinking about Fenhawke post DAV, and I think I'll put a little series of snippets from my thoughts into some Fenhawke prompts on Tumblr for @dadrunkwriting! This will be #1, and I'll link the rest (so feel free to send more Fenhawke prompts, folks!) Under a cut, because Veilguard spoilers. Vague, but still there.

Night had given way to the sharp edge of a winter dawn while Fenris sat in the chair beside the frost-painted window. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, but he hadn’t slept even a moment of the long, dark night. He could feel the circles under his eyes, the skin heavy, his vision blurry with exhaustion. Even as he blinked and scrubbed his face with a hand trembling from the abundance of coffee he’d consumed, the reason for his vigil stirred in the bed several feet away. Something unknotted in Fenris’s chest as Hawke stretched his arms over his head, curled one around the pillow that should have been Fenris’s, and pulled it closer. He buried his face in it, shoulders shifting with the inhalation of breath. Just as quickly, he saw those same muscles tense, stiffen, and then the pillow was shoved aside. Hawke shot up in bed, the blankets pooling at his waist, exposing so many scars across his torso. Some Fenris remembered. Others he thought were new, but he wasn’t ready to ask. Their eyes met and it was like Hawke had taken a punch to the gut; the air rushed out of his lungs and his shoulders slumped. A look of chagrin replaced the naked fear on his handsome face and he tried to fit a smile onto his lips. “You’re still here,” he said, taking another deep breath. He’d said the same thing the morning before, and the one prior to that. “Still here,” Fenris promised again, finally rising from his chair, stiff muscles protesting. He crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, and they looked at one another. It still felt like a dream. It had been ten years since Fenris had received that letter in Kirkwall, since he’d burned Varric’s story into his mind. Hawke, the man he loved, left in the Fade. Left behind in the one place Fenris could not reach him. And then the Blight had come, and the world had been poisoned, and the Veil ripped asunder. He’d read another tale in a letter from the Inquisitor, about another death, and another prison in the Fade, and the woman who'd freed herself from it. The Inquisitor had borne a bone-deep regret for Hawke’s loss that may not have rivaled Fenris’s, but it drove them both to the same end; into the Fade, into Nightmare’s prison. Hawke reached out for him with one hand and Fenris took it, sighing with relief when he felt the mortal warmth enclose his fingers. The tightness in Hawke’s features smoothed as well at the contact. “Ten years,” Hawke murmured, blue-gray eyes searching his face. “It seemed like…days. Weeks maybe. In there. And yet after all this time, you remembered me.” Fenris squeezed his fingers. “You were always on my mind,” he promised, feeling an answering weight in his chest. “Every day.” Hawke nodded, eyes flicking to the window. The look on his face reminded Fenris of how he’d felt just after escaping Danarius—free but unsure what to do with it, unsure if it would last. It was why panic flooded Hawke when he woke, until they touched, and why Fenris couldn’t sleep. A need to make sure it was all still real.

#dragon age #fenhawke #fenris #hawke #male hawke #Fade prison stuff #Veilguard spoilers #post Dragon Age Veilguard

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vigilskept · 11 days ago

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Oooooo WELCOME TO DADWC! Can I get Nelaros/Tabris “A tentative kiss”? :>

ty for the prompt!! a little post-wedding moment for chaya/nelaros here (around ~10 years prior to the the events of the city elf origin bc this is a double tabris worldstate!!)

warnings for some mentions of offscreen canon-typical racialised violence & character death (adaia tabris), pre and post-wedding jitters

words: 611 | @dadrunkwriting

As the door closed between them and the drunken festivities just outside their new home, the anxiety she'd somehow kept at bay all through the ceremonies seemed to creep back up on Chaya.

Leaning back against the door to look up at Nelaros — her husband, Maker, it still made her head spin even to think it — it was a relief to find him looking back at her with a nervous smile on his own lips.

“Was it anything like you expected?” he asked, and she couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head.

It couldn't have been farther from it.

The truth was that she had expected to feel sick to her stomach with dread. She had expected to call in a favour from someone, anyone to stage a distraction so she might find an opening to run away.

To the docks or to the Dalish, it didn't matter. Anywhere would do, so long as it was away from this marriage.

In the end, she hadn't been able to bring herself to even try it. There was so much joy, just outside their door. An uninhibited, foolish joy she couldn't remember seeing in anyone's faces in months, since the disappearances had started stacking up, her own mother's the last in a line of them.

Relief had come to Chaya in the form of a dagger retrieved from filthy hands and bathed in blood, but it had been short lived, paid back with elven blood spilled in the streets.

She knew of no one less fit for love, less fit for motherhood, but in the face of the happiness that seemed to overflow in the streets and alleyways as they passed through to receive the alienage’s blessings, her fears had seemed so small. A shard of glass in the face of a river's rushing current, edges worn down into something something softer, more suited to being strung onto a necklace than drawing blood.

And so she stayed, looked into her betrothed’s clear blue eyes and spoke her vows.

Even now it feels less like a mistake than it should, looking into those same eyes in the dim firelight.

“I don't know if I'll make you happy,” she admits, glancing down at the new, golden band adorning her finger, “but I promise I’ll always try to do right by you.”

Here in the quiet of the home that will be theirs for years to come, it’s a far truer vow than any of the words she’d spoken before the Chantry Sister who presided over their ceremony.

Her breath catches in her lungs as Nelaros takes her hand in his own.

“It’s enough,” he promised, nothing but warm certainty in his eyes as though he had any idea how he might feel in another year, in ten.

He knew her no more than she knew him, yet he insisted on believing the best of her. She couldn’t help but find it a little foolish, and yet she was hopelessly endeared by it all the same.

For how little distance remained between them, it still took an awful lot of courage to close it. A kiss had never felt like a promise, the way it seemed to with now, a mere brush of her lips against his own as damning and reverent as any of their vows.

If the holler rising up just outside was any indication, some idiots had been peering in the window, waiting for just that before pouring another round of drinks.

She rolled her eyes, more fond than irritated despite herself as she pulled her husband along by his arm, deeper into the house so they might rid themselves of their audience.

#dadwc #nelaros #chaya tabris #tabris x nelaros #they’re still a little doomed here but like…. doomed in a ‘wouldn’t trade it for a thing’ kinda way #if u gave them a do-over they’d commit to this marriage for what little time they actually got all over again #and 16 years isn’t all that bad!!!!

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