#talesfromthefade

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

WIP Name Game

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Tagged by @starklyjd. Thanks, friend!!

Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips... (goodness if I did that I'd probably have to tag like. a thousand people.)

(I'm just gonna pick and choose a few for a couple franchises I've got going on right now)

Critical Role:

Playing Ball [Fjord/Caleb]

Sea Legs [Fjord/Caleb]

Still Dreaming of Your Face [Molly/Caleb]

The One About Mollymauk's Girdle Comment [Molly/Caleb]

Felis Interruptus [Essek/Caleb]

I have a certain pattern going on, eh?

Dragon Age:

The Cullistair One [Cullen/Alistair]

Vows Broken and Made [Sebastian/Hawke]

Fenders 80s-Night Porn [Fenris/Anders]

Fear in the Dark [Surana/Zevran]

Rhiona Cousland/Loghain - Bedsharing For Warmth [Cousland/Loghain Mac Tir]

Tagging:

@thevikingwoman @dreadfutures @midnightprelude @barbex @everestv-themuse @pikapeppa @dismalzelenka @talesfromthefade @contreparry @nirikeehan

[jessicamariana]

r e u n i o n

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

(Talesfromthefade) Reunions: One of Hawke's former companions isn't content to wait for him to return from wherever Varric has dragged him off to and follows them to Skyhold to give them an earful for leaving them behind?

m!Hawke/Fenris, “And Where Do You Think You’re Going?” (AO3)

“You and I did fight him, after a-”

Jim rushed to the top of the steps, panting deeply as he reached the platform where the Champion of Kirkwall and the Herald of Andraste were discussing their history with Corypheus. The two of them, and Varric, put their entire conversation on hold as they waited for the scout.

“Jeremias,” Rivka said, asking, “How can we help you?”

A few breaths later, Jim managed, “Inquisitor. There is, ah, an irate elf at the gates.”

“An irate elf…?” Rivka asked, trailing off as Hawke’s palm audibly slapped his forehead.

Hawke muttered, “Fenris.”

Varric started. “I thought you said Broody-”

“We all think a lot of things, Varric,” Hawke grumbled as he stormed up to the walkway the hapless scout had just scrambled across.

“I’m usually the one making up the tall tales…” Varric said as he and Rivka followed him down to the courtyard, then to the gates where a certain irate elf was waiting with far more patience than the situation would reasonably warrant.

Hawke muttered, “Open the gate.”

“Ah, Hawke, I think that’s an order usually given by the…”

“Open the gate,” he hissed, glaring at the soldiers manning the doors, who were turning with confusion to Rivka, who gave a quick, silent, nod.

They swung open, and Fenris took three swift strides into Skyhold, drawing his full elvhen height up to Hawke’s own.

“Hawke.”

“Fenris.”

“Hey there, Br…” Varric said, trailing off when he saw his two companions staring almost right through him.

“Ah, perhaps we should move this reunion indoors,” Rivka said, stepping forth to form an equal third part of the conversational circle.

Fenris broke his gaze away from Hawke to regard Rivka in the corner of his vision, saying to her, “Ah, the Herald of Andraste. A Dalish elf. The Maker certainly works in interesting ways.”

“No such thing. I was just born under a lucky star, Ser Fenris.”

He turned to look her in both her eyes. “Ser Fenris. I must say that’s a rare one. You know who I am?”

“Only from what Varric writes in The Tale of the Champion.”

“Really, now?” Fenris chuckled. “Tell me, how often does he describe that ‘glowing fist thing’?”

“It usually punctuates arguments, which I’m hoping to avoid in this instance. Now then, I like being chilled outside as much as any of you, but…”

“Let’s go inside,” Fenris said. “Maker knows I’ve spent too much of the past week freezing myself coming up here in the first place.”

=

In the absence of anywhere else particularly convenient, Rivka, Hawke, Fenris, and Varric had adjourned to the War Room, where the tanned elf was idly playing with a token in the vicinity of Crestwood, and Hawke was standing not a few feet away, waiting for his companion to turn his head up to address the rest of them.

When this didn’t seem to be occurring any time soon, Hawke, drawing in a sharp breath, grasped Fenris’ hand and jerked the figurine from it, planting it firmly back on the capital letter of Crestwood.

“That’s enough,” Hawke said forcefully. “Why are you here, Fenris?”

Fenris stepped back from the table, crossing his arms. “I think everyone else should be asking, ‘Why wasn’t I here with you already’?”

“I…” Hawke gazed at the table, saying, “I didn’t want to drag you into this, Fenris.”

“As I recall, you didn’t give me the choice. I came back to our camp to see you gone with a note.”

“Hawke!” Varric protested.

“Not now, Varric.”

“Oh?” Fenris raised a dark eyebrow, which crept behind the strands of his white fringe. “Then when precisely is a good time to bring this up?”

Hawke drew in a breath, ready to protest, then gave up. “Fine, Fenris. You’re right. I’m sorry. I received Varric’s letter and knew that this was something I had to do myself. Corypheus is my mistake, Fenris.”

“I seem to recall there were four of use there, excluding the hallowed Grey Wardens,” Fenris said bitterly.

“Well, yes,” Hawke said, “but ultimately his entire imprisonment and corruption of the Wardens was enabled by my father. Only my blood—”

“We all know the story,” Fenris interrupted. “I still fail to see why you’re shouldering the blame of the entire world on your shoulders when it seems perfectly clear to me that we all missed Corypheus’ escape.”

Hawke drew in a sharp breath, distractedly walking around the room whilst he concluded the discussion in his head, eventually leaning on the War Table and conceding, “You’re right, of course. But this is dangerous, Fenris.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, Hawke,” Fenris retorted. “What, fighting Corypheus the first time wasn’t? And if it is as dangerous as you’re claiming, you’re going to need me around. One way or the other, I’m getting you out of this one alive, Hawke.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that. I suppose that is why I keep you around.”

A smirk curled Fenris’ lip. “Besides the sex, I assume.”

“I suppose there’s that too,” Hawke said wryly.

The lingering silence was broken by Rivka. “Right. Well, thanks for resolving that, gentlemen. Would you care to, um, share quarters with Hawke, or…?”

The two of them turned towards her. Hawke asked Rivka, “Well, what do you think?”

“I, um, well, that is to say,” Rivka stammered as she stalled for time, “I don’t want to presume anything of the kind, or, well…”

Fenris laughed wholeheartedly, the first time he’d done so since he reached Skyhold. “Maker help me, you haven’t lost your touch, Hawke. I dare say you’ve flustered her even worse than Aveline. Of course, we’ll share room and board. This certainly is a step up from our camp up in Wildervale, isn’t it, Hawke?”

“The beds, luxurious as they were, were, ah, missing something,” Hawke said, scratching behind his head.

Fenris turned to Rivka, still smiling despite himself. “Subtle as a war hammer. A pleasure meeting you, Herald.”

“Well, depending on what state the Wardens are in, you might not be thanking me later,” Rivka said.

“Trust me,” Hawke said, “You’re hardly the first to say that.”

=

“Still thanking the Inquisitor?”, Hawke said, flat on his back as Wardens around them fought their bravest against the army of demons.

“Well, the bed was comfortable enough, can’t fault her for that,” Fenris grumbled, having broken his fall as they tumbled out of the Fade.

They sprung to their feet, ready to defend themselves, but moments later, Rivka dived out of the tear, sealing it with her mark, and the demons were put to flight. There was little to be said or done after that, save for Rivka finally having had enough of the Wardens and entrusting Hawke and Fenris with escorting them out of Orlais.

“Fantastic,” Fenris said, as they led the Wardens out of Adamant, “We’re playing nursemaid now. To Grey Wardens, no less.”

“Don’t feel so down, Fenris,” Hawke replied. “It’ll be good practice for when we settle down with our brood.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of this,” Fenris said.

“Oh, it’ll be grand,” Hawke said. “A boy and a girl, for starters, of course that’s after we kill some Tevinter magister—well, maybe someone besides that Dorian fellow, he seemed polite enough—and move into their villa…”

Fenris grumbled, “I think the trip up to Adamant is only going to feel like weeks instead of months if you make this banal line of thinking an internal monologue.”

“Oh, you’re no fun at all, Fenris.”

=

@dadrunkwriting

[everestv-themuse]

"Satin in candlelight" for any of your characters for the DWC?

Thanks for the prompts! Here’s some coming home fluff for Trea Adaar x Josephine Montilyet for @contreparry @honestly-wilde @talesfromthefade @dadrunkwriting

Trea felt like collapsing and she could see the same sentiment in her companions as they each settled their mounts in their stables. The stars were bright above their heads and the cool night breeze did little to ease the sweat from their brows. They murmured soft ‘goodnights’ as they went their separate ways and then Trea drudged up to her quarters alone.

Making her way up the several flights of stairs took more out of her than she was expecting and she briefly entertained the idea of simply sleeping there on the landing. But after nudging the bedroom door open as quietly as possible and ascending the final flight of stairs, the welcome she was greeted with was more than worth the sore muscles.

Before her, Josephine sat peacefully on the bed, reading by candlelight. A fire crackled in the hearth, everything was still, and Trea couldn’t deny the allure of the softness of the scene. Cast in the flickering glow, Josephine’s hair, her cheek, her skin against the satin night shift she wore, everything shined and Trea’s chest ached as she smiled.

Josephine looked up at her entrance. “Oh, my love, you’re home!” Her voice, wrapped in a familiar kind of welcoming warmth, was also unmistakably soaked in drowsiness.

“No, no, don’t get up,” Trea hummed as she dropped her pack and slid out of her boots, watching Josephine’s attempt at getting out of bed. “I’ll just be a moment,”

On any other night, Trea might have taken her time freshening up before bed. Removing her pieces of armor with care, scrubbing thoroughly at her skin, giving her sore muscles a chance to relax. But she was impatient to get to bed, to feel Josephine’s embrace after so long without.

After quickly stripping down to just a clean sleep shirt, she all but ran forward to collapse onto her bed. Nuzzling into the sheets before moving to settle in Josephine’s lap, she allowed herself a deep breath of her lover’s scent.

“Did you have an easy journey back?” Josephine asked softly, putting her book away and blowing out the candle before threading her fingers through Trea’s hair.

“It was fine. Just long,” Trea hummed and wrapped her arms around Josephine’s waist. “You didn’t have to stay up for me. I know it’s late,”

“I missed you,” Josephine said simply and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Trea’s lips. “It might also have been a bit selfish. I wanted yours to be the last face I saw before I fell asleep,”

Trea smiled and squeezed Josephine’s middle. “Your wish is my command,”

[ladylike-foxes]

@thevikingwoman @honestly-wilde @talesfromthefade Thank you both so much!! Have a little angsty melancholy a la Solavellan ❤️

~~~

Catching a glimpse of moonlight reflecting opalescent, he finally found her. Halesta was sitting on the cliff at the edge of the camp, staring at the sky as though listening intently. As he approached, Solas saw she was chewing her nails with vehemence. Obviously, she was still processing the... events of the day.

Coming to a stop behind her, he stood patiently. It was beyond doubt that she heard his footsteps, recognizing the rhythm of his steps, measuring the length of his stride. Her consciousness was uncanny. And there was something regal about the way she made him wait for acknowledgement, a show of dominance.... He rather liked it. Halesta looked up at him abruptly, in an aching, almost haunted manner. 

"My fucking father," She breathed, searching his face, "He was your 'source' on me?"

Solas nodded, dumb, the rise of panic in his throat nearly suffocating. He was surprised when she reached up for his hand, pulling him down to sit beside her. More surprised still when she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. He could feel her pulse just beneath her skin, fast and a little thready. His own breath was short and shallow, fear still heavy in his lungs. Surely she was angry with him: Eanellas reported to him, was one of his closest generals. Still, she kept him waiting for the blow to land.

Sighing, she pulled away a moment, glancing into his eyes. This is it, his breath caught. But she didn't say anything; merely leaned back against him with that same, hallow face. His hands shook, desperate to smooth her hair, to touch her at all. He didn't dare. 

"The sky's looking awfully dazed."

Hesitating, confused, "What do you mean?" 

"I don't know. Something about the clouds. They're wandering aimlessly, like lost souls."

"That is," Uncertain, "Poetic."

She breathed a laugh, and he thought there was a hint of sincerity to the sound. Something in his stomach fluttered at the sound.

"Maybe I'm projecting," Wistfully, returning to bitting at her fingers, "I could've gone my whole life without seeing him. Now that I have...I feel like I've lost my footing."

A long pause, but the nervous words bubbled up his throat unbidden.

"Halesta—"

"I'm not mad at you, Solas," 

"But, Eanellas—"

"—Is the one who betrayed me this time," Tender fondness in her voice, "Not you. You were just playing your hand. And cleverly, I might add."

"Ir abelas, Vhenas."

"Stop that," Stern, but he can hear the smile in her voice, "Just hold me or something, I'm cold."

Wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, his head ached. It would have been better if she were angry with him; her tears and screaming a salve for his guilt. But there was no relief lifting the weight from his chest. If she was drifting aimlessly, he was adrift alongside her.

[fandom-age]

text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads "@talesfromthefade has the neatest tabris i’ve ever read about! cadence is so cool and i love their story and they mean so much to me! tale’s writing style is delectable and seeing it on my dash on fridays is always a highlight of my week!"

[sulevinblade]

For the DADWC: noceur - one who stays up late, for the character of your choice!

Two in one again this week, but they go hand in hand since my prompt from @talesfromthefade/@4vrafangirl was marcid, meaning incredibly exhausted. I also made a little challenge for myself this week, so according to wordcounter.net this fill is exactly 1000 words. Ghilanel/Solas, slightly sad but mostly fluff, G, post-Adamant. For @dadrunkwriting!!

He finds her, of all places, in Skyhold’s prison, or rather in the unstable conglomeration of bricks and boards they call the prison. It’s not fit for any prisoner no matter how despised and certainly not for the Inquisitor, but there she sits, legs crossed under her and her back against one of the more solid parts of the stone wall. Solas seeks a place where the creak of old wood will give him away to avoid startling her. He finds it and sees her head turn in the dark. In here, the only natural light is what’s reflected from the snow and ice outside and tonight is particular dim. It makes the Anchor seem that much brighter, though right now its magic seems calm.

“Ghilanel. We’re closer now to dawn than sunset. Surely you must be tired.” He approaches until he’s standing across from her. Still in the leathers she favors in the fortress; has sleep even crossed her mind? She tilts her head back and peers up at him and he wonders if she’ll deny the exhaustion that carved in her face.

“Oh, very. Incredibly exhausted, actually. I was just considering that phrase when you came in, wondering if anyone knows what it’s really like to be more tired than you believed possible. Exhausted in a way that’s beyond credibility.” Her words are gently slurred and she’s babbling in a way that would be charming if it weren’t clearly an effort to keep herself awake. 

Solas crouches, offers her his hands, and she slides her left hand between his. It’s cold, of course, and the tingle of the Anchor’s particular magic makes him shiver. “Is this what keeps you up? Does it hurt?”

She hums affirmatively before speaking. “It kept me from falling asleep but it’s been all right for a while now. Now it’s just…” Ghilanel goes quiet, her gaze rolling up to the ceiling, and he tightens his hand around hers. “You’ll think it’s silly, Solas.”

“Never, vhenan.”

“I can’t bear the dreams. I’m sure it sounds absurd to you but I lack your skills, among others.” Her laugh is humorless but his heart aches to hear it. “Ever since we returned from Adamant. I know it’s not possible, that… that whatever happened to the Champion, there’s no way he’s coming into my dreams, but it’s all I dream of.” She lowers her gaze again, locking eyes with him. “Unless you think it might be possible? The Anchor, you said it gives me access to the Fade in ways someone who isn’t a mage simply shouldn’t have. Do you suppose it might work both ways? That someone in the Fade, intent on finding me, might be able to do so?”

“It’s only something usually considered in the context of demons seeking a body to possess in this world but they do seek out their victims. However,” he continues as her eyes widen and her breath stops, “Hawke was not himself a mage so I suspect his ability to communicate through the Veil would be minimal at best.” And that was assuming the man still lived, something Solas doubted but admitting that would serve no one right now. “I believe this is something much more mundane. They are nightmares, the result of what you experienced but nothing more threatening than that.”

“That’s the thing, he’s not threatening. He’s just lost.” Her voice is soft, almost nothing to it but the breath he can see before her face as she speaks. “Lost and sad and desperate, calling out for me, Varric, Anders, even for Justice. It would be easier if he were angry, but this is as though his task is finished and he’s still abandoned there. He did what he was supposed to but still got left alone in the end.” 

As she speaks, her chin lowers toward her chest and Solas has never been so glad for the camouflage of darkness. He takes a long moment to swallow the words trying to climb their way out of him then brushes his free hand against her cheek and through her hair. “Not every hero is bereft in the end, vhenan. You will not be left alone with your nightmares. You need not even be alone with them now. If you wanted, I could help.” A change of subject, a pivot away from the fact that he cannot promise to be the one who will stay when all this is done. For now, everything he can offer is hers.

She’s quick to shake her head, though she does lean into his touch. “No, no, I think now I should be able to fall asleep. I’m tired enough, at least.” Ghilanel wears a sloppy smile when she lifts her head, then offers him her other hand. “Though if you wanted, I would appreciate it if you’d come upstairs with me. Just to sleep, just so I don’t have to fall asleep alone. I don’t know if it will help with the dreams but it can’t hurt.”

Solas takes her other hand in his and braces himself, tugging to encourage her to stand up. She moves slowly like a drunk, stiff from sitting in the cold and unstable in her exhaustion, but she leans against him immediately once she’s on her feet. “Certainly. If nothing else, I’ll light the fire, warm the room to help.”

“You’ll wave your hand, so generous,” she replies with a genuine laugh as they start up the stairs, still hand in hand. “Unless you intend to start it without magic in which case I won’t be able to sleep because I want to watch.”

“If you insist, I can certainly try.” And succeed almost as quickly as starting the fire with magic, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“No. I’d rather have you close.” Ghilanel stops at the top of the stairs, just before the door to let them back into the courtyard. “And you’ll stay till I wake up?”

“Of course, emma lath.”

[mythalsknickers]

(Talesfromthefade) “Quit touching me, your feet are cold!”

Title: Pairing: Drysi Amell x LoghainRating: TWord Count: 631Warnings/Tags: Warden Amell, Loghain Mac Tir, They might be a bit tipsyCC: @dadrunkwriting

I really wanted an excuse to write this pairing, they don’t last long but Loghain was the best thing for Drysi after the Blight. I hope you enjoy this!

Wind and Snow rattled the shutters of the barren cottage, as her icy eyes tried to watch for figures in the snow. They were in the heart of Avaar territory, and they knew the weather on the mountain better then she or her companion did. Drysi shivered pulling her shoulders tight. The horses, had a permanent warming glyph to make it through the storm. But that meant no fire, and only warming runes and furs in here.“Drysi” Turning away from the shutters she met with warm silver eyes, watching her companion drink maker knew what it was.

“What is it Loghain?” she fought to keep the cold out of her voice, pulling the bare fur around her tighter in a vain attempt to ward off the shiver that still came.

“Come away from the windows, nothing is going to try and move in this storm.” He paused seeming to listen. “I’ll wager we have another day of this.” She gave a weak smile. What was the saying? Ferelden bred hard men and harder women who could feel the storms.

Loghain…he was well safe. She wasn’t even sure if that was the word. Despite everything, he pushed her to improve herself and to develop the arcane warrior tradition she had found. It was helping, keeping the emptiness at bay, and he brought a warmth and understanding. He hadn’t judged her for her actions at Fort Drakon.

Worrying the edge of the furs, her mind raced, they had already laid together and decided anything that happened on this trip and presumably on the way back to Ferelden stayed between the two of them. With a huff of frustration at her mind, she meandered over to the bedrolls. First came her boots, the heavy grimoire, her staff sling. Piece by piece until she was just in a heavy tunic and breeches.

It was simple just laying up against him while their armor sat on two of the warming runes and the rest were in the bedrolls. He wrapped his arms around her. No words about how hard it was when this should be easy, no judgment. She tugged the blankets up and he just chuckled and she could hear his grin. Setting the bottle of alcohol in front of her. He brought his feet up pressing them to her back.“AHHH! Maker take your arse! Loghain Mac Tir!” She snarled trying to wiggle away from him. “You Ferelden dog loving salt licking shit! Quit Touching me!” she demanded trying not to join him in his laughing.

“Problem Commander?” He teased as she eventually managed to turn around and face him. His eyes were beautiful dancing with almost a boyish mischief. She huffed trying her best to glare at him. It was little things like this, that had her forgetting why everything hurt.

“Why in Andraste’s holy fire are your feet so cold!” she tried to growl but it was more a squeak, she wasn’t mad just cold, and wanting to laugh with him as he pulled his feet away, and brought her closer.

“Apologises, they have always been rather cold.” he sounded like he wanted to shrug. She wasn’t sure but she just burrowed close while he continued to drink. “Want some?” She peeked up to see him offering the bottle.

“Why not. Not like it will kill me. Hasn’t yet.” She took the bottle taking a huge swig. Outside it was as if for that moment in time Loghain Mac Tir and Drysi Amell had found relative peace in the harsh snows of the Frostback Mountains, and the world had forgotten about them. That would never happen, she was the Hero of Ferelden, and he was the Hero of the River Dane, and now a Traitor to his home and country. No one would forget their names or legacies.

[randomnonsensedragonage]

Both @talesfromthefade and @apostatetabris requested “Digging your fingers into fresh dirt,” for @dadrunkwriting.

@apostatetabris specifically requested Ilora Hawke, so I wrote something about 12-year-old Hawke and 7-year-old Carver. I really like Carver. Someday I’ll actually write about him as a grown up ^^;

Ilora was bent, fingers in the dirt of the garden behind her family’s cottage, when she heard the footsteps. She looked up just in time to see Carver dash past her, running like a shot into the nearby woods.

“Carver?” She jumped to her feet, wiping the dirt off on her rough skirt. “Carver!”

She took off after him. She didn’t see him once she was in the woods, and she sighed, slapping her hands together as she looked around. How was a seven-year-old so fast?

But she didn’t have to search long. A loud thwack! thwack! rose up from deeper in the woods. Ilora shook her head, gathered up her skirts, and ran toward the sound.

Sure enough, she found her brother attacking a tree with a large stick. He hit the side of the tree over and over again—thwack! thwack!—so hard that he jolted back with each blow. Ilora was surprised the stick hadn’t broken. She took a step forward.

“Hey. Hey. What’s wrong?”

He paused, then turned around. Tears streamed from his eyes and snot streamed out of his nose. He sniffed and roughly wiped his face.

“Nothing,” he said, glaring.

“You’re just angry with that tree, then?”

“No. That’s stupid.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

Carver turned his glare from her to the ground. “Papa said…”

“Papa said what?”

He looked up, face red and scrunched. “Papa said I couldn’t come practice with him and Bethany.” Then he burst into fresh tears.

Ilora crossed the space and wrapped her arms around him. He dropped the stick and buried his face in her skirts as he cried. She patted him on the back.

“Listen. It can’t be that bad,” she said.

“Yes it can!” His voice was muffled.

“You know why you’re not allowed to practice with Papa and Bethany.”

“…cuz they’re learning magic…” he mumbled.

“That’s right. They’re not trying to leave you out.”

“But it’s not fair!”

Ilora rolled her eyes heavenward as her brother cried harder into her skirt.

“Hey.” She gave him another pat on the back, this time to get his attention. “Come work in the garden with me.”

“That’s boring.”

“I’ll teach you a new move if you help me.”

Carver looked up. “Really?”

“Of course. Come on.”

She stepped back and offered him her hand. He took it, swiping at his snotty nose with his other arm. They headed back to the house. If Carver noticed the dirt on Ilora’s hands, he didn’t complain about it.

[talesfromthefade]

Haven’t been able to participate these last few weeks, but I’m hoping to turn that around soon starting this Friday with getting back to writing about some of my Dragon Age babies/OCs. Looking forward to joining you all then. <3

DWC Team NA Update

Hi DWC writers! Our team NA/Asia/Australia writer list have become quite long, and it is time for another round of removal of inactive writers. 

If you want to continue to be an active writer (@ mentioned in head count posts), please confirm by replying or reblogging this post with a message.

We are doing this because having a very long list of usernames makes the head count post un-postable on mobile, and draft kickoff posts cannot be edited on mobile. It is also a lot of work to click all names to make sure they tag, and to remove people who don’t write from the kickoff post (we keep a draft so we don’t have to manage links)

Note that:

This does NOT apply to team Europe

You can ALWAYS come back, we maintain a list of inactive writers and their prompt list links, all you have to do is let an admin know. 

 Both active and inactive writers are welcome in our dwc discord chat

If you are an inactive writer, you can always reply to the head count post and opt in for a single Friday (you just wont be mentioned in it). 

 also note that any dwc writer, active or inactive, are free to post prompt fills even if you missed the head count, just make sure it is within the posting window and tag us. 

thanks, 

mod viking

Again, anyone listed below, please OPT IN if you want to be on the head count list. This post will be reblogged with updated list of names throughout this week. 

Keep reading

[thevikingwoman]

(Talesfromthefade) Goldenrod, marketplace, the gloaming, streetlights?

Thank you! This is a very old prompt, but I'll use it to follow up on an even older story :P. For @dadrunkwriting.

Set after Dirt, where Solas proposes to Iwyn while visiting her clan after they reunited. For those who don't know, Branwen is Iwyn's little brother.

Fandom: Dragon Age. Words: 685

Solas x Iwyn Lavellan, Iwyn Lavellan & Raina Lavellan | post-reunion | romance, friendship Rating: G. Love, family, friendship.

Soar

“So, how you doing? Really doing, Iwyn?”

Raina puts their drinks down, and sits down across from Iwyn. The table, tucked away in a corner of the marketplace, was miraculously empty when Iwyn found it. Solas is off getting their food, leaving Raina and Iwyn alone. That was probably on purpose, though Iwyn isn’t sure if Raina or Solas orchestrated it.

“I’m good, Raina. Everything has calmed down a little. I still get invitations for Orlesian nobles, or the Enchanters College, or something else, but Skyhold is thriving. We have had so many elves come to live and work there.”

She’s proud of the work she’s done, leveraging her influence to create a free city, for Dalish and City Elves both. Humans, Tal-Vashoth and dwarves are welcome too, but mostly it’s a place where no one should live in fear.

Raina takes a sip of her beer.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean it’s good, Iwyn, it’s great. I’m going to visit and all, but how are you? And you know…”

Raina tosses her head towards the market’s food stalls, her curls flying about her head.

“Solas.”

“Yeah. The guy who left you, leaving you angry and depressed and I don’t know what, in a way I’ve never seen before. And who apparently is the thing the Keeper; all the Hahrens, warn us all about.”

“Solas is not a thing.”

“You know what I mean, and don’t deflect.”

“I was fine, it was – we needed to work things out.”

“You might have fooled everyone else, but I know you Iwyn. I’ve known you forever. You weren’t really calm.”

Raina reaches across the table, and squeezes her hand.

“If you’re that good at knowing me, then you should know we’re good now. It’s good.” Iwyn glances across the bustle of Wycome Market, elves and humans mostly, but others too. Solas is a shadow in the twilight, bald head and broad shoulders, waiting for their Antivan flatbreads. “As for the Dread Wolf thing – even after everything, it’s hard to understand. Living, sleeping, for so long. I don’t expect it will be easy for others. I just want to protect him.”

“Oh, Iwyn.” Raina threads her fingers through Iwyn’s. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice to him. As long as he doesn’t hurt you again, of course.”

“Thank you.” She pauses. Somehow it shouldn’t feel like a big deal, when they’ve chosen this path together in so many other ways, but somehow it is. “Solas asked me to marry him. Last night.”

“What? Are you serious? What did you say? Did you tell anyone? Congratulations! When is the wedding?”

Iwyn laughs, happiness bubbling through her. She agreed with Solas not to talk to anyone yet, but Raina is her oldest friend, and while she knows she will win her family over, it might take a little work. She’s happy to have Raina in her corner.

“I did say yes, and we didn’t tell anyone, yet, and I’ve no idea. About the wedding.”

“Yay!” Raina launches herself halfway across the table, embracing Iwyn. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Hello? The food is ready.” Solas puts down the flatbread, mouthwatering smell of tomato and basil and bread around them.

“Congratulations!” Raina exclaims.

“Ah. Thank you.”

“I told her,” Iwyn says. She kisses his cheek.

“Mmm, I’m starving.” Raina pulls a slice of bread from the tray and takes a bite. Brandishing the piece at Solas, she continues when she’s done chewing. “If you hurt her again, I’ll chase you across the void, Dread Wolf.”

“Noted.”

They eat for a while, enjoying the food.

“So you haven’t told Branwen, yet? Or your parents?”

“No. They’ll come around though,” Iwyn says.

“Maybe we can send a letter?” Solas asks.

“No,” Iwyn says.

“Don’t worry. You got me in your corner now,” Raina says.

“Thank you, Raina.”

Behind them, the lamplighter uses his magic on the streetlights as they sputter to life. Iwyn kisses Solas again, and he blushes. Life continues around them, laughter and beer and somewhere someone plays a fiddle. No one pays any heed to three elves sharing a meal.

[jessicamariana]

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

(Talesfromthefade) Taste of rain on the tongue, for DWC and the pairing of your choice?

f!Trevelyan/Cullen + Skyhold Crew, “Only Wild Druffalos and Free Marchers” (AO3)

(Decided to change the precipitation in question seeing as I’d just done one with Abigail Hawke and Merrill in the rain over here!)

“Absolutely not,” the former Knight-Captain complained as he hunched himself even further over his desk, huddling to brace himself against the rush of cold wind that had come through the wide-open door which framed his Inquisitor, Siân Trevelyan.

Sian crossed her arms and leant on the doorframe, pouting. “Come on, Cullen. I’ve got to start packing for our expedition in the Hissing Wastes starting tomorrow so I’ve got nothing to do today, and I’ve finished all the armour upgrades with Dagna and Harritt that I wanted to. Can’t we spend some time outside while there’s still light?”

Cullen caught a stray sheet of parchment about to be liberated from his desk by the incoming gusts, saying, “No. And close the door already, please.”

“This door doesn’t close until you’re outside the this room, Cullen,” Siân stated.

Packing the papers together and weighing them down with a bare candlestick-holder, Cullen gestured beyond the doorway, declaring, “In case you somehow missed it on the way here, it is snowing, Lady Trevelyan.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that fact, and using my surname like a stern mother isn’t going to send me packing to my room, Ser Rutherford,” Siân said, picking up a loose gewgaw from a barrel within reach. “Either come up and take this from me, or…”

“Or what?”, Cullen asked, glaring.

“Or I can easily hit this candlestick from over here with it, and scatter all of your papers, meaning that if you don’t take a break now you’ll be working on them even later into the night.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

Sian tossed it to herself. “I think you know me better than that, Cullen.”

He sprang to his feet, crossing the room in three long strides, and reached her just time to watch it leave her hand and clatter into a corner of the room, a few yards from his table. As he wheeled around to assess the damage, Siân hooked her foot around his ankle and spun him out of the room entirely, closing her door behind her as she placed herself between him and his office.

“You—”, he spluttered.

Sian took a bow. “Figured that’s what it would take to get you out of that chair. Now will you spend some time outside here with me?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”, Cullen asked, rubbing his upper arms to warm them up a little.

“No,” she said. “Come on, let’s go down to the courtyard.”

A fresh snowfall had descended on Skyhold, with stray snowflakes dancing in the air, and the afternoon sun shining gently off each of the snowbanks which blanketed the walls and floors of the ancient fortress. Siân and Cullen gingerly descended the snow-covered stairs down to the courtyard before the main keep, where the snow had driven everyone except a few guards and some itinerant merchants indoors.

“See?”, Siân said, turning round to face Cullen, “Now we can get some time together, here.”

“Right in view of everybody in Skyhold,” Cullen remarked.

“What’re they going to know, that we’re…well, we’re what we are?”, Siân asked. “I think Scout Jeremias has probably told half of Thedas already.”

“I explicitly told him not to after he caught us on the battlements,” Cullen sulked.

Sian didn’t even dignify that with a response, just returning him a withering look.

“You realise not everybody has the same natural propensity towards rebelling against me as you do,” Cullen protested.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess not. Still, I’d hardly be surprised if he hadn’t let someone know already.”

“I guess not,” Cullen mused, struggling to remember the name of that elf whom he’d seen Jim with in the Chantry courtyard. Was she the wildlife researcher they’d had at Haven? Well, detai—

He’d been smacked with a snowball.

Dusting the snow off himself, he scooped up enough from the ground to make one and cast it in Sian’s direction, but she dodged it adeptly.

“Sorry about that,” she said, laughing, “but you were so lost in thought I was going to fetch Solas to snap you out of the Fade.”

“Tell me,” Cullen said, “did you enjoy doing all this when you were younger as well?”

“Well, it’s a bit warmer up in Ostwick, but whenever we came down to Orlais in the winter my brother and I would play in the snow if we could. Our parents objected at first, but they soon realised that letting twins run around in the snow was a lot better than dealing with two cranky children cooped up indoors.”

“That…does explain a lot. As well as your skill in bowling over candlesticks.”

“Oh, that’s from playing palm tennis in the house too,” Siân said. “We were made to stop after we put a dent in Judicael Valmont I’s ear. In my defence, I never knew it was plaster.”

Pinching at the furrow between his eyebrows, “Maker help me, you must have been one…challenging…child, along with your brother. What else did you do when you were frolicking in the frost, if I dare ask?”

“Well, there’s the simple pleasures in life,” she said, sticking her tongue out.

“What are you—”

She bobbed her head towards a languidly descending snowflake, catching it with the pad of her tongue, licking her lips with a childish glee.

“You really are an overgrown child, you know that?”, Cullen said.

“And yet still you can’t help but be drawn to me,” Siân laughed. “Come on, your turn.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I think we’ve established that there’s really no absolutes when it comes to you, Cullen,” Siân said.

“Will you let me go back to my office if I just catch one?”, he asked, beleaguered.

“Sure”, Siân said, shrugging her shoulders.

Watching one dangle from the sky, Cullen rolled his eyes as he extended his tongue to catch it as Siân waited expectantly.

No sooner had the sudden bite of cold faded into momentary numbness did he feel Sian’s mouth around his tongue, hers sliding up and down it as her lips crashed into his. After some momentary surprise, he returned it, withdrawing his tongue but ravishing her lips until they both had to break away for breath.

Catching hers, Siân said, “So, about going back to your office…”

Glancing at the stairs up, he answered her, “Immediately.”

“Immediately?”, she asked, catching the crook of his elbow with hers.

Leaning in, he growled in that exact way she loved so much, repeating himself.

“Immediately.”

Then they were gone, dashing up the stairs like a pair of lovestruck teenagers whilst a couple of figures in the armoury witnessing the scene judged them. Behind them, Lysette came up holding a tray with some mugs of hot malt with sugar puffs floating on them.

“What’d I miss?”, asked the Templar.

Jim turned to her, faux-scandalised. “Only the Inquisitor and the Knight-Captain mashing faces. Again.”

“What!”, Lysette cried. “I step out for five minutes to get drinks and I miss everything?!”

Minaeve reached out for the hot malt, gingerly picking at the marshmallow, saying “Oh, right, thank you! And yes, she’d dragged him all the way down there and pounced on him.”

“She made her move first?!”, Lysette asked, continuing, “That’s not how you said you caught them last time, Jim.”

Jeremias took his drink and a sip of it before saying, “I’m as surprised as you are! Looks like she decided to be the bold one this time. Well, we won’t be seeing them again anytime soon, the way they ran off.”

“Good for her,” Minaeve said. “I think I’d have thrown up if they’d decided to keep acting so cute right in the middle of the snow.”

“I hear that,” Jim said. “Once was bad enough, twice is just misfortune. Thanks for the tip though, Lysette, this really is the warmest spot in Skyhold.”

“Naturellement,” Lysette said. “Sensible people like us know to find a cosy spot in weather such as this instead of freezing outside for no reason.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Minaeve said, raising her mug for a toast.

Jeremias raised his too, saying, “Me too.”

“To cosy spots in the armoury and accidental voyeurism, then,” Lysette finished, drinking up.

-

@dadrunkwriting

[cuillere]

<3 it's adorable <3

DWC prompt :) "I think that is quite enough" "Oh no, this isn't even close"

I’m hoping eventually to write something like this transpiring in canon Thedas, but for the time being this prompt just said Dorian to me, and I’ve been bouncing ideas around in my head and this was the result, so this is a modern take on a conversation and misunderstanding/miscommunication between Cullen, Dorian & Orana. Hope you enjoy.Orana x Cullen Rutherford (Background queerplatonic Orana & Dorian, Modern AU), for @dadrunkwriting​

“It’s for you, Amatus,” Dorian calls over his shoulder, voice brimming with amusement as he opens the door a little wider to let Cullen in.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Orana laughs shaking her head as she makes her way down the stairs. “I certainly didn’t order anything, and you know that I don’t know anyone here… yet,” the young elf trails off, stopping dead in her tracks behind Dorian to stare up at an all too familiar blonde-haired man. “C-Cullen” Orana manages stunned, staring up with wide, green eyes. “What- what are you doing here?”

“Don’t marry him,” Cullen blurts out quickly before seeming to realize himself, blushing a little. Dorian laughs, shaking his head before wordlessly slipping away towards his room with a dismissive wave.

“What,” Orana asks, pulling her attention back to the man in front of her once more.

“Dorian,” Cullen presses impatiently as though this should be obvious. “You cannot marry him.”

“Oh? And why is that,” Orana asks, arching a curious eyebrow.

“Because you don’t love him.” Dorian, who has contentedly planted himself on the arm of the nearby couch just outside of sight of their visitor behind the door, but certainly not of earshot, snorts. Orana ignores him. Whatever Cullen might have come here to say, it’s nothing she has any problem with Dorian hearing. Saves her recounting the whole thing to him later, anyway.

“You’re not in love with him,” Cullen clarifies quickly just as she opens her mouth to protest, and Orana shuts her mouth, arms crossing defensively over her chest.

“Maybe not, but we do love one another. Plenty of people marry without any love or care for one another at all.”

“But not you.”

“No. I never thought I would be married.”

“Is he proposing,” Dorian calls cheerily from the couch, where he’s happily settled in with some popcorn just to really drive home how dramatic he is capable of being.

“I don’t know,” Orana replies, studying him with a frown.

“Because if he’s come to break us up, he might at least have come with a counter offer.”

“I-” Cullen stammers, turning a delightful shade of crimson as one hand comes up to rub nervously at the back of his neck. “This isn’t really how I imagined this going. I mean- it doesn’t seem like the moment to… I want to- Nevermind,” he adds hastily, perhaps fearful his efforts of treading water are beginning to fail him. “Marry me.”

“Cullen-”

“Please,” Cullen adds, carefully dropping to kneel on the stoop in front of her. “Maybe this isn’t how I had planned on going about it, but there is no one else that I would rather spend the rest of my life with. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Cullen,” Orana hesitates again. “I’m going through with it. The surgery.”

“I know,” he nods, continuing to hold her gaze. “And I want you to. If that’s what you want. I just- I needed you to know that I don’t care. If you have it. If you don’t. If you’re never comfortable with-” Cullen trails off with a cough, rubbing a nervous hand over the back of his neck, shooting a glance behind her. “You know. I don’t. I- Does he really have to be here for this,” he whispers softly. Orana shrugs, smiling a bit at the Cullen’s discomfort and the temporary distraction from the tightness in her chest at his words. Dorian would probably leave if she asked, but she can’t see much how it matters. Cullen’s words, stumbling though they are, are sweet, but they can’t possibly be true. Sooner or later… “I mean it,” Cullen presses on, seeming to sense her doubts and drawing her back from her darker thoughts. “I wasn’t looking for this, but your happiness, it’s become mine too. If this is what you need to get there, to feel and see the incredible woman that I do, if this is what you want, then I do too. I want to be there with you.” Orana is about to tell him that he can stand up now, suddenly aware of an approaching dogwalker watching the scene with mild curiosity before he adds. “And every day after that, if you’ll have me.”

“You should probably give him an answer at some point, my dear,” Dorian trills warmly, suddenly just over her shoulder, nearly causing Orana to jump. “Unless, of course, you’re savoring the sight of a handsome man on his knees in front of you, which I can certainly support,” he smiles, winking at a now blushing Cullen.

Orana is frustratingly aware of her mouth opening and closing several times before she swallows, struggling to find her voice and words again. “Dorian was joking,” she manages finally, worrying her bottom lip. “About getting married. It’s- It’s just a silly thing we said when we were children. If we didn’t find anyone else by a certain point in our lives. You, uh, you know how it is,” she shrugs. Cullen nods but doesn’t make any moves to stand up. “And they’re pretty strict about visitors unless they’re family. So, I should have said, when you first mentioned it. You don’t have to-” she gestures towards where he kneels on their stoop. But Cullen simply shakes his head.

“Orana, when I said this wasn’t how I planned it,” he offers smiling nervously as he fishes into his jacket pocket to produce a small box, “I didn’t mean to suggest I hadn’t made any such plans.”

[everestv-themuse]

Heat of Her Breath in My Mouth (I'm Alive)

Thanks so much for this prompt and for the first ficlet I’m posting with its title! I figured it deserved it since it totally ran away from me and became longer than I was originally planning. Shaelin Cadash x Sera for @honestly-wilde​ @talesfromthefade​ @dadrunkwriting​

“Are you quite sure?” Dorian asks again as the group of them race across the Storm Coast shore, weapons drawn and poised for battle.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Shaelin scoffs from her position on Iron Bull’s head, hands gripping his horns for balance, but ready to draw her dual daggers once closer to their targets. “I’m the one with the best vantage point right now,”

“Yes, as you mention often enough,” Dorian says through controlled breaths, careful not to pant or seem even in the slightest out of breath, before rolling his eyes. Sera sniggers from Iron Bull’s other side. “It’s just...darkspawn? So far out in the open? I simply question what they’re doing in the middle of nowhere on the beach, that’s all.”

“He’s got a point,” Sera speaks up, pausing briefly to send an arrow into one of the hurlocks they were getting closer to, before catching up with the group again. “Darkspawn being around always equals some hole nearby they had to crawl out from,”

“Heads up!” Iron Bull yells at the darkspawn slowly becoming aware of the approaching enemies, just in time to be met with a dwarf armed to the teeth being thrown up over the qunari’s head and straight at them.

The four Inquisition members easily slip into battle positions as they’ve done countless times before — Sera on top of an upended boat at the edge of the fighting, sending arrows ripping through any enemy seemingly gaining the upper hand; Dorian positioning himself directly opposite her at the other edge of the battle, maintaining barriers for each member of the party while casting a volley of lightning strikes here and there; which left Iron Bull and Shaelin at the center of it all, slashing their way through enemies with blades that quickly soaked through in black blood.

Even so, the fighting did nothing to halt their conversation.

“‘Heads up?’ That’s seriously all you got for a battle cry?” Shaelin gives Iron Bull a look as she cuts a hurlock down to its knees, before aiming another clean swing to slash its throat.

“I won’t lie, amatus,” Dorian pipes up above the din of battle. “I was disappointed as well,”

“I was distracted, alright?” Iron Bull just groans as he raises his two-handed axe high above his head, ready to send it crashing back down to slice a hurlock clean in two. But the next second, the same hurlock is crumpling to the ground with two arrows straight through its helmet. Bull looks up to meet Sera’s playful gaze and tongue sticking out at him with a grimace. “Stealing my kill again? Not appreciated, thanks!”

“Oh, just admit you love m—” Comes the cut-off reply.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iron Bull grumbles with his back already turned away from Sera. “Anyway,” Spinning around, he downs two darkspawn with one blow and finishes them both just as quickly. “I would’ve thought of something better, but I was trying to listen to what you guys were saying—”

“Excuses, excuses!” Shaelin laughs as she tackles a darkspawn coming at Iron Bull from behind.

“—and I was trying to think of the cave system nearby and if we had explored it yet—”

Dorian scoffs and swings his staff out once he realizes that Sera’s barrier has been on the weaker side for a bit now. “You say that as if you’ve already memorized the new map Scout Harding sent us this morning. Are we really meant to believe that, love?”

“Oh, sure, doubt the professional spy!” Iron Bull throws back without a hint of real bitterness to his voice. Shaelin chuckles as she cuts down one of the few remaining hurlocks, before turning to Sera’s position to share an amused look with the elf. Instead, she’s met with empty air where the archer used to be. “All I’m saying is we could stand to check out the area.”

“Sera?” Shaelin calls out, sheathing her daggers and leaving the last darkspawn to the two still bickering, stepping carefully over the bodies to closer inspect the upended boat.

“Yes, yes, it’s a perfectly fine idea,” Dorian muses, lightning crackling at the edge of his voice as a sudden storm rages down on the last enemy standing. “But we don’t depend on you for plans, we depend on you for the pizzazz! The showmanship of battle! And to be perfectly honest, you’ve left us all wanting.”

“Sera, where—”

“I’m fine, I’m good!” The elf exclaims as she pops her head out from behind the boat. “Was just thrown backward during the fight, is all,”

“Pizzazz, huh? Is that what you call adrenaline-fueled sexiness?”

Following a lowly murmured string of flirty Tevene, Shaelin quickly tunes out the two lovebirds and focuses on Sera as she attempts to shake out the gravel from her armor. “Are you sure? It looks like you’re—”

“I said I’m good, Tadwinks,” Sera insists with a smile, gently shoving away Shaelin’s advances. “Seriously. Now, what was all that about a cave?”

“Right, yeah,” Shaelin nods and heads back towards her friends. “Wrap it up, you saps, let’s head towards that cave. Where did you say it was again?”

Iron Bull tears his suggestive smirk away from the mage and turns toward the dwarf instead. “Oh, uh, due west. Down the coast. Lots of spiders, deepstalk— I mean, the little cuddly lizard guys that you’re totally not afraid of, you know. Typical cave. Except maybe with more darkspawn this time.”

Dorian represses a chuckle and Shaelin glares at him. “Right, great, no problem. Lead the way.”

“You sure you don’t want to climb back up on my horns, Boss? That way you’re farther from the ground? And, you know, the occasional deep—”

“No, thank you!” Shaelin growls and barely dodges Dorian’s attempt at ruffling her hair. “I can handle the worms with teeth and legs this time, thanks! Just fucking walk already,”

“Yes, ma’am,” Iron Bull responds as seriously as he can manage and Shaelin just sighs as the group treks on.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, your fear of some vicious thing that’s so much smaller than you, it’s almost impressive,” Dorian points out as he stretches his arms above his head. “Everyone has some sort of embarrassing fear or two.”

“Right, yeah, like Dorian’s fear of running out of color-coded clothes one day!” Iron Bull smiles and to his credit, Dorian just nods solemnly.

“Quite right. A dreadful thought,” the mage says. “But not to count out Bull’s fear of running out of different ways to swing a weapon.”

“Exactly! Who would I be without my violently creative tendencies?”

“Sera, you’re really gonna let them gang up on me?” Shaelin huffs as she glances between her two bullies. She’s met with no reply. “Come on, say you have my— Sera!”

The dwarf, glancing behind her to meet eyes with the elf trailing behind, cries out at the sight of a crumpled figure a little ways back down the beach. Immediately, she sprints across the gravelly shore, barely aware of her companions racing after her.

She skids to her knees once she’s close enough, scrambling to cradle Sera’s head in her lap and check for signs of serious injuries. She kneels in a quickly growing puddle of blood and Sera’s eyes struggle to flutter open and Shaelin’s heartbeat thrums so loudly in her ears it drowns out the waves crashing to shore, and it’s hard to focus on anything else in the moment.. Her hands shake as she pokes and prods until the elf finally grimaces in response.

“Ah, sh-shit, easy there,”

Shaelin tries to ignore the trembling in Sera’s voice before turning towards Dorian who’s already there, kneeling and pressing comfortingly against her side. “It’s her shoulder, it’s— I-I can’t see with the armor, it’s just all covered in—”

“I got it, I see it,” Dorian says in his calmest voice before waving towards Iron Bull who’s pacing nervously at his side. “Bandages, elfoot, regeneration potion. Hurry.”

“Right. Sorry.” Bull mumbles before dropping to his knees and rummaging through his pack.

“Shaelin, keep her steady,” Dorian instructs as he delicately begins to unbuckle and peel away at the shoulder piece and fabric beneath the armor, trying to ignore the way his patient groans and squirms in her barely conscious state. Finally, his hands now covered in blood, he gets a clear look at the wound. “Bull, clean water and that potion, now.”

“D-Dorian...that’s a hole...straight through...” Shaelin says, her voice barely above a whisper, as she stares at the wound. “It’s...she’s...there’s so much—”

“I know, salroka, she’s lost a lot of blood, but she’ll be— oh, thank you,” Dorian says as Iron Bull shoves a canteen and vial into his hands. The mage works quickly to flush the wound with water, watching as the gushing blood slowly begins to dilute. “Shaelin, Bull, the potion is going to sting. I need you to hold her down just in case. Keep her from thrashing. Ready?” The two nod, holding onto trembling limbs as firmly as needed. Dorian takes a small breath and pours small amounts of the potion onto the wound. Immediately, Sera cries out in pain and jerks against her constraints, but the two hold fast and she only manages to resist for a moment before falling completely limp.

“S-Sera?! Dorian, she’s—”

“That’s a good thing, Boss. If she’s passed out, she can’t feel any of it,”

“Bandages, please?” Dorian nods at Iron Bull’s murmured comment and reaches out his hand to receive his request. “ He’s right. I can’t focus on magically keeping her unconscious while I’m closing the wound at the same time. This is for the better, trust me.” He says and focuses on pouring the rest of the regeneration potion on two separate strips of bandages, using them to wipe both sides of Sera’s shoulder and then pressing them firmly against the wound. He looks up at Shaelin. “I need you to keep pressure on her shoulder, alright? Press hard,”

“R-Right, okay,”

Dorian watches the young dwarf do as she’s told while he stretches out his crimson-stained hands to hover over Sera’s shoulder, willing light blue wisps to spring from his fingers and seep through to the elf’s skin beneath the mess of blood. He closes his eyes as he works, mentally directing the magic to weave and sew the wound closed, fingers waving and writhing as if conducting a symphony of so many moving parts. It’s all Dorian can do not to slump against Iron Bull’s side as he works with such minute magic and as he can feel the mana seeping out of him with each second that passes, having so little left after the battle.

“There,” the mage says with effort. “It’s closed. Now I just have to...I just...”

“Whoa there,” Iron Bull presses closer with a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, all but supporting the staggering mage’s weight. “I can take it from here. Just gotta bandage her up, right? Go take a breather, collect yourself. Shaelin, keep your hands there while I wrap it, okay?”

***

Shaelin lays on her side on the padded bedroll, curled up and focusing on her breathing, just like Iron Bull taught her. She’s trying to keep calm, trying to keep sane, even as she stares at the motionless elf next to her, waiting and watching intently. Catching herself gnawing at her lip, she sighs in frustration and the words Cassandra has drilled so many times before, come to mind: You’re all wound up. Find where you’re holding tension in your body and focus on—

Then, a flutter of eyelashes and Shaelin cranes her neck closer, waiting for— there. Sera’s eyes blink open.

“Wha...where...we back at camp already? Ah, fuck, that hurts...”

“Stop moving, idiot!” Shaelin exclaims before throwing herself onto the elf, straddling her middle and leaning in close, careful to support her weight against the bedroll and not her victim’s shoulders. The dwarf blinks furiously against emerging tears. “Just what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Me? Just now?” Sera responds sluggishly, finding it hard to meet the watery gaze hovering only inches above her own face. “Was thinking this is the first time my arm’s been in a sling. Not fun, ‘case you were wondering.”

“Dumbass!” Shaelin growls and swallows hard, angrily willing her throat to stop tightening up on her. “I’m talking about back there on the beach! I asked you! I asked you if you were okay and you said you were fine! What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I was fine, it was just a little—”

“You passed out! Twice! First from blood loss and then from the pain when Dorian was stitching you up. Sera, I can’t believe you—”

“Well, shit, maybe if the healer wasn’t being so rough, I would’ve—”

“You think this is funny?!” Shaelin’s voice grows a steel to it and Sera winces at the tone. “He saved your life! You were bleeding out! We were—”

“Yeah, look, I get it!” Sera interrupts, biting at her lip and turning her head to the side to avoid the dwarf’s gaze. “It was bad this time, I just...I wanted to...”

“Why didn’t you say exactly how bad it was? When I asked you, let alone when it first happened, you should’ve just been honest! Did you think I wouldn’t have believed you?! I mean, what the fuck were you—”

“I couldn’t let things just stop, alright?!” The elf’s words come out in a jumbled mess as she rushes to explain. “We were on a roll — tons of fights earlier but no messes or mistakes, things were good. And then the darkspawn. And then Bull mentions the cave. I knew we had to check it out ‘soon as they were all dead, no time to lose. Darkspawn were spilling out some hole somewhere, we couldn’t just sit on our asses while I downed a healing potion and caught my breath. We didn’t have time. I figured after the cave, then I could take a break. It was my fault the arrow caught me the way it did, anyway, I was being stupid, not focusing...” Sera’s eyes grow big as she all but pleads for Shaelin to meet her gaze, but it’s the dwarf’s turn to look away with a shake of her head. “But...that doesn’t matter. You did clear out the cave, yeah?”

Shaelin lets out a noise that’s halfway between a scoff and a cough trying to work its way out of her throat. “Ironically enough, there was no time.”

“There was no...you’re saying you just left it?!”

“What part of bleeding out are you not getting?” Shaelin says through clenched teeth. “We had to rush you back to camp. It wasn’t a choice, no one had to make the call, there was just no other option.”

“But what about the fucking—”

“I’m not doing this right now,” Shaelin interrupts, leaning back to rest against her haunches and as far from Sera as she could be while still straddling her middle. The dwarf runs a tired hand through her hair. “You shouldn’t even be talking right now, let alone arguing about this shit. You need to rest. I’ll come back to check on you in a bit.”

“Wait, Shaelin, I—”

“No, I’m not asking, alright? You need to—”

With her good hand, Sera darts up to clench Shaelin’s shirt in her fist, pulling her down and crashing their lips together. She tries not to focus too much on the dwarf’s full weight pressing against her chest, making her shoulder ache in protest. Sera can only focus on kissing her, all teeth and rush, until Shaelin can slow the kiss down and deepen it, softening lips and relaxing the embrace. Soon, the two taste salt on their tongues, unsure of whose tears they were tasting.

Sera pulls away slowly, reluctantly, keeping her eyes closed and her breathing steady against the tremor in her voice. “Don’t leave angry, alright? Please? I’m sorry, just...just stay here for a bit longer. ‘Till I fall asleep. Just sleep with me. Please, I’m sorry...”

Wordlessly, taking a deep, shaky breath, Shaelin presses closer until their foreheads touch. The elf below her lets out a breath of her own. The two lay like that in silence, listening to the wind murmuring against the outside of their tent, listening to the familiar chatter of the camp all around them, their chests slowly rising and falling in unison.

Eventually, Shaelin moves away and off of Sera, resuming her previous position of curling into the elf’s uninjured side. This time, though, Sera moves to entwine their fingers together, squeezing Shaelin’s hand once in apology, and once more in a promise. Without hesitation, Shaelin squeezes back.

[ladylike-foxes]

(Talesfromthefade) Melancholy sort of beauty, like nature stripped to its bones, for the DWC?

Thank yo, @talesfromthefade​!! ily!! Some Falon’Din and Dirthamen a la (Re)Entangled for @dadrunkwriting​

Dirthamen had a fragile, melancholy sort of beauty: the kind that brought to mind a stark winter landscape, like nature stripped to its bones. Despite his semi-translucent nature, Falon’Din could still make out the deep brown of his Brother’s skin, the sun-bleached wheat of his furrowed brow. The dark, skeptical grey-brown of his eyes.

With a sigh, Falon stretched his neck, rolling his head from side to side before straightening up. He briefly mused sitting so solidly on his makeshift throne before slouching languidly, a leg tossed imperiously over the stone armrest.

“News, Vallas?”

“Aside from the sighting in northwest Orlais,” The listless older elf offered without emotion, “None, Ma Nadas.”

“Mmn,” Dismissing the slave with a wave, he turned to the shade of his Brother.

“What is it, then,” As usual, Dirthamen’s questions emerged as more statement than inquiry.

“If I had to guess, they’re headed to Andruil’s old mountain palace. It’s the only remotely significant location in the area,” Dirth listened with his signature morose detachment, “I wonder why….”

“I doubt anything of value would be there anymore,” His Brother somehow managed to make even a shrug impart dignity, “And it would make for a poor choice of hiding place.”

Falon frowned. He disliked frowning. He disliked struggling to anticipate the movements of his prey, and of his adversary. That they continued to work together confused him, and that only served to deepen his frustration. Perhaps he had been relying too much on the movements of the Wolf, and not paying enough attention to the mind of that clever little fox.

“Da'Hale continues to prove herself the answer,” Smiling to himself, a plan forming in his mind.

“You plan to continue torturing that poor child?” Dirthamen’s ghostly form rounded on him with arms crossed, the hint of disapproval in his voice.

“You think my initial methods were too cruel,” Rolling his eyes; Dirth had always been tender-hearted.

“Yes, I do. Further still, you forget,” Chastising only more effective in his eternally composed manner,

“She is mortal. A mere child, and exceptionally more fragile than we. It would take no effort for you to kill her by mistake. What is it about her that fascinates you so?”

It was a valid question. She puzzled him to no end: what was it that Fen’Harel found so…special? She was strangely powerful, though her clumsy and panicked attack implied she didn’t understand just how much, or how to use it. She was intelligent enough to refuse to return to Tarasyl'an Te'las, despite it predictably having been Fen’s intention. Dirthamen may be correct. He needed more face time with this Halesta, and it’d likely be easier if it were on more… amicable terms.

“You’re right, as usual,” Sighing, he let his head fall back, looking up at Dirth with the innocent sort of pleading he knew worked best.

“You want me to help you trap her again.” His Brother’s delicate pursed lips showed his feelings clearly regarding the girl.

“No, not trap. Just a chance to talk to her,” Sitting up, taking the thin impression of Dirth’s hand in his own, “Preferably in a situation that she might listen.”

Dirthamen sighed, his shade pulling away to pace away. He walked the entire length of the ancient Dwarven feast hall, clearly arguing with himself. Falon needed to look more contrite, more eager to be doing the right thing. It was clear that his centuries trapped in the Fade had only cooled any anger Dirth may have felt toward Fen’Harel; Falon needed to manipulate his closest of Kin to cooperate.

“My Brother,” Standing, he hung his head with shame, “I wish that it had been you that was freed first. Then this could all be done with the least possible regret.”

Dirthamen visibly flinched, turning to scrutinize his Brother for any signs of insincerity. Whether or not he found them remained to be seen;’ he sighed defeatedly before finally turning to face Falon.