First and foremost: I am perpetually, hopelessly obsessed with both Fenris and my Hawke, Rowan. If you wanna make my day, ask me to write about them ;P
OC Info Posts (still working on the rest):
Rowan Hawke + some info about his relationship with Fen and Anders
"I'm kind because I choose to be" prompts (these would be very good for Rowan *wink wink* *nudge nudge*)
"I can't" prompts
"What are we?" prompts
"I'll keep you safe" prompts
Huge prompt collection with lots of options
Aside from those prompt lists, feel free to send me anything from any list you've come across, or literally anything else you want! Song lyrics (I have a playlist for Rowan linked in his info post if you need ideas), aesthetics, dynamics, scenarios, dialogue... whatever comes to mind!
Content I'm willing to write:
Smut, fluff, angst, whump. Most things, honestly. I'm not bothered by problematic /dark content or ships, so if you feel like prompting or requesting something like that, go right ahead :) Even if it's not my cup of tea, it's no harm done. If written and posted, it will be thoroughly tagged and given the appropriate content warnings so anyone sensitive can filter it out.
Content I am NOT willing to write (squicks):
Pregnancy/birth (breeding kink is fine tho!), anything to do with scat (piss is fine), feederism, and foot stuff. Said non-judgmentally and with all the love in my heart, I am simply just not into the things listed.
These lists are non-exhaustive (I'm sure I've forgotten something), so feel free to send me things that aren't on here. I can't promise I'll be as motivated or interested in trying to write them, but it's never a bad idea to shoot your shot :]
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11, with whichever blorbo you think would react the worst to it :3
Ah yes, this would be very good for my good friend Fenris Dragonage, and by that I mean it would be bad for him but very good for me 😋 (I got. like. super carried away with this one. Woops.)
Heavy warnings for whump, angst, slavery, and non-con under the cut‼️‼️‼️
His head was throbbing. That was the first of many, increasingly unpleasant realizations Fenris would have over the next few minutes as he came to, face down on grit-crusted stone. Any other man would've likely spent some time groaning and writhing around, but not Fenris. No, Fenris kept perfectly still and silent, gathering his thoughts in secret with the practiced skill of someone who had been through much worse than this many times before. They're fortunate that I don't have my sword. When I have it in my hands once more, these cowardly bastards will regret ever setting eyes on me, he vowed.
As bits of his awareness fell gradually into place, so too did the details about his predicament. He was alone; none of his companions were with him that he could tell. He didn't know where he was. His head spun, his mouth was cotton dry from the gag between his teeth, his body ached like it had never ached before, his limbs were heavy, and something abrasive was scratching at his wrists.
His breath caught in his throat, and he slowly, oh-so-subtly attempted to tug his arms apart. Fear drenched him like a wave of freezing water, and his heart sunk like a stone into the depths. His wrists were bound. Alright, not the worst thing that could've happened to him; he just needed to activate his markings and-
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
Nothing greeted his reach for the familiar buzz of power but still, haunting emptiness.
Blood roared in his ears, nearly drowning out his stampeding thoughts. He struggled to keep still against every single instinct in him shrieking at him to struggle, to break his bindings with brute force, to free himself and get away from whoever had taken him. He couldn't let them know he was awake. Who knew what they'd do to him?
Though he'd tried with everything in him to stay silent and buy himself more time to think, he must've jerked too harshly or maybe let out some kind of noise while lost in panic that alerted his captors.
"Ay, you two! Knife-ear's awake. Have the magebane handy, won't you? I don't fancy findin' out what those Maker-forsaken powers will let him do to us if he gets 'em back."
Kaffas! There were footsteps, several sets of them, coming to a stop around where he lay completely, sickeningly at their mercy. Somehow, he got the impression that he wouldn't be getting much of it from them.
"You think we could ransom him back to the Champion?"
A gruff voice answered the high, pinched voice of the other with a snort, "What? And get torn to bloody pieces for taking such valuable property in the first place? Andraste's tits, man! Is there a brain in that skull, or do you just have a gold piece rattling around up there? If I were the Champion and some buffoons stole my incredibly priceless property and then tried to sell it back to me, I'd flay them alive! We've got the world's most unique weapon right here to do with as we wish, and all you can think to do is give it right back?"
"Let's sell him to the 'Vints then; I'm sure they'd pay out the nose for an elf like this," came the nasally retort.
A third voice, quiet and smooth, murmured a reply. "Now, there's an idea. If I had the coin, I'd sure as the Void is dark buy up a pretty thing like this. Y'know what we haven't thought of yet? What he might be able to do. And I don't mean with those markings," he added, cutting off the gruff-voiced man as he tried to butt in to disagree. "I mean, why not have a little fun before we decide what to do with him? You've heard the stories, you know what those magister freaks do with their slaves; I'm sure he's been well trained. I, for one, would like to test that myself."
As various sounds of consideration hummed all around him, Fenris felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath him. He was back in the banquet hall of Danarius' estate, scrutinized and ogled by his master's guests, pinned down and taken by whomever felt the inclination.
No, no, no- Venhedis, no!
This time he could not keep himself from thrashing. He yanked at his bindings and clawed for his power, fighting through blind terror for something—anything—that could get him away from these leering creatures and back to Kirkwall, back to the man who would sooner die than let anything like this happen to him. Long gone were any thoughts of vengeance, of tearing out the hearts of the pigs surrounding him, of cleaving them in twain with the sword they had taken from him; all that he could think of was how desperately he needed to get away, to get somewhere safe from the defilement that awaited him like some foul, slavering beast.
His terror withered away to dull numbness as he felt rough hands pin him down, derisive laughter echoing in his ears and fingers tearing at his waistband. His own muffled protests and unintelligible pleas for mercy sounded as if they came from someone miles away. He would never beg, it must be someone else. Except it was him. It had to be. His voice was as familiar to him as the words it was speaking; words he'd cried out a thousand times, still as much use as they'd ever been. They did nothing to stop the onslaught of unwanted touches, the feeling of his clothes being torn away, the nauseating, tearing pain as someone forced their way inside him. All they did was make the man behind him laugh and fuck him harder.
Warmth was streaming down the insides of his thighs. Blood? Spend? Fenris had no idea. Time passed by in a blur of humiliation and agony, the details of his defilement completely lost to the broader sensations and distant feelings of his body being used by all three of the men in turn, like he was nothing more than a toy for their amusement. And he was, wasn't he? They didn't look at him and see a living person; they saw an object, a slave, a tool... property.
As he lay there in the aftermath, in a cooling puddle of blood and spend, he wondered if that was all anyone ever saw.
101 quick angsty/whump prompts for brief fic snippets
Send me a number and I’ll write a quick, brief snippet. Or, hey, we’ll see how long it ends up being, who knows. (If you like, you can also include a fandom, a character, or characters!)
Greatest fear/Phobias/Nightmares
Captured/Caged/Locked
Loss of Control/Possession/Brainwashing
Hostage/Ransom
Broken/Dislocated
Guilt/Blame
Hoarse/Voiceless
Kneeling/Slumped Over
Waterboarding/Drowning
Hunger/Dehydration
Bound/Tied Up
Delirious/Fever/Hallucinations/Sleep Paralysis
Begging/Pleading/Desperation
Hiding Pain
Shaking Hands
Frozen/Cold
Manipulation/Gaslighting
Panic/Hysteria/Frightened
Loss/Gone/Absence
Incoherence/Babbling
Physical Pain/Agony
Watching/Unable to Stop It/Cameras
Whipping/Punishment
Skittish/Shy/Uncharacteristic
Cost/Consequences
Helpless/Motionless/Paralyzed
Headache/Migraine
Exhaustion/Insomnia
Electrocution/Shock
Strangling/Throat
Manhandling/Touching
Crying/Sobbing
Protector/Sacrifice
Trust/Comfort/Safety
Touch-Starved
Apology/Begging for Forgiveness
Scars/Lasting Marks
Isolation/Loneliness/Friendless
Self-Hatred/Low Self-Esteem
Misunderstandings
Mistaken Identity
Secret Identity/Lying For A Good Cause/Alibi
Fake Character Death/Missing
Torture/Interrogation
Bleeding/Out Of It
Hiding/Terrified
Humiliation/Display
Dizzy/Collapse
Lost
Visible Injuries/Bruising/Bloodied
Falling/Suspended
Insincerity/Lies
Embarrassment/Tears/Blush
Annoying/Irritation
Dislike/Hatred
Unrequited
Rescue
Willing/Self-Injury Escaping or Helping Someone Else
Fenhawke Week Day 4: Strange Places | Gauntlet @fenhawke-week
The weathered, white stone wall was cold against Fenris' back, leeching through the fabric of his clothes as he worked a cloth along the back of his gauntlet. The warm, sea-scented breeze stirred the bloodstained scrap of fabric as it drifted through the gap between the walls that Fenris and Rowan leaned on, busy cleaning themselves up after their latest escapade. Fenris finished his left one and started on his right. Rowan, however, had been done with his daggers for some time and had taken to simply watching Fenris. He seemed to be particularly caught up in it this time, Fenris noted with amusement. He hadn't said anything in a while.
Ever since they'd rekindled things, he'd sometimes catch Rowan doing nothing more than standing around, taking him in. Fenris would feel eyes on him and look up to see if Rowan needed something, only to be met with a gaze that shone with pure, boundless affection. It wasn't what he was used to, to put it mildly, but he found that he didn't mind it in the slightest. Quite the opposite, in fact. It made him feel lighter than air and planted a bloom of warmth in his chest that sunk its roots deep into his soul. It was nice.
"You're staring again, amatus," Fenris chided, rubbing the cloth in firm circles over red-spattered metal.
"Do you want me to stop?" The question was genuine, soft, but there was an edge to it that suggested Rowan knew what his answer would be.
"No."
Fenris flexed his hand, deliberately flashing the claws of his gauntlet. He snuck a sidelong glance at Rowan, and had to work very hard to keep his satisfaction from showing on his face. His lover was captivated. Fenris watched as he swallowed hard, silver eyes tracing the length of his steel-tipped fingers, completely entranced. Oh, yes. He could certainly have some fun with this.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Fenris drew the cloth along a claw from base to tip. He turned his hand leisurely to one side, then the other as he inspected his work, curled his finger as if checking the flexibility of the gauntlet's joints, pressed a finger to his wrist as if to test its sharpness. The heat of Rowan's stare was an almost physical sensation, and Fenris could feel it settling under his skin in the flush that was creeping across his cheeks and warming the tips of his ears.
He chuckled lowly and finally looked up, tilting his head just a little bit as he extended his hand and asked, "Would you like to help me finish up?"
The gravel in his voice hadn't exactly been intentional, but the effect it had on Rowan was very apparent in the way his lips parted and his eyes flicked up to meet Fenris' from beneath his lashes. There was something oddly hesitant, but so, so full of want in them; as if he was shaken by the intensity of his own feelings.
Straightening up from the wall he'd been resting against, he took a step. Fenris' heart twisted in his chest. Rowan was always a pretty sight, but something about the way the shadows of the buildings fell across his face seemed to highlight the shine of adoration in his gentle gaze and made it feel as though they were in a world of their own, tucked away and free to do anything they wished. Haltingly, tentatively, Rowan closed the gap between them and took Fenris' hand in his. There was a reverence to his movement and his touch that stole the very breath from Fenris' lungs and rendered him unable to think of anything but the warmth and pressure of Rowan's hand around his.
The cloth somehow found its way into Rowan's grasp; Fenris wasn't sure when it had—nor whether Rowan had taken it or if he'd handed it over. The fabric smoothed over the remaining flecks of blood and grime, slow and delicate, until Rowan could find no more to wipe away and Fenris could, regrettably, see no more excuses to have him running his hands all over his gauntlets. That wasn't so for Rowan, though.
He locked eyes with Fenris—devotion burning so intensely in them that he momentarily forgot how to breathe—and raised his hand to his lips. The kiss that Rowan pressed to the back of his gauntlet was lingering, worshipful. He cradled Fenris' hand like it was the most precious object he'd ever touched, lips feather-light as they brushed against cold steel; and the heat of his breath drifted through the gaps by his knuckles, sending shivers up his spine. They tingled across his skin, raising goosebumps as they went, and Fenris felt that he had never been this spellbound before in all his living memory.
Without thought, moving as if compelled by a will beyond his own, Fenris slid his hand from Rowan's. Before his amatus could protest, he brought it to rest on his face, cupping his jaw, and stroked his thumb along his cheek to the corner of his mouth. The end of his gauntlet claw tugged at Rowan's lip and his eyes fluttered shut, mouth slack and pliant as he leaned into his beloved's touch. Maker, he was breathtaking. Seeing him like this… Fenris would never tire of it. But still, he wanted- needed more.
The thumb that had come to rest at the corner of Rowan's mouth teased along his lower lip, pressing just hard enough to pull it out of place and suggest the danger of the sharp point as it dug into his flesh. Rowan shuddered and sucked in a harsh breath, mouth falling open beneath Fenris' touch. How could he waste an opportunity like this? Carefully, oh-so-carefully, Fenris slipped his claw-tipped thumb into Rowan's waiting mouth.
Rowan whimpered. It was the most desperate sound Fenris had ever heard him make; a shaky, gasping "ah-" that sent every ounce of blood in Fenris' body rushing downwards, leaving him lightheaded. And his face… Oh, fasta vass, his face. His eyes had flown open in shock at first, but now they grew heavy-lidded and glazed over. His cheeks were flushed, soft features dusted with red. His mouth hung open just enough to take Fenris' finger, lips yielding to his touch like they had been made for it. Fenris knew very well how compliant, how willing that mouth was when it came to what he wanted.
Sudden hunger gripped him; a deep, single-minded need to make Rowan his thrilled along every nerve, spurring him into action. He grabbed Rowan by the shoulder and spun him around to the other side of the wall, into the privacy of the alcove they'd been tarrying outside of. Rowan's back hit the wall with a clanging thud as his daggers dashed against the smooth stone, but he hardly had time to take a breath before Fenris was on him. His mouth claimed Rowan's with enough fervor to make them both dizzy, lips working feverishly as his tongue forced its way past Rowan's lips to trace along the line of his teeth. Rowan's muffled moans were sweet wine on his tongue, and he chased them deeper, ever deeper, into the inviting heat of his mouth.
Fenris' hand wrapped around the back of Rowan's head at the base of his skull, metal clawtips digging into the side of his neck hard enough to pierce the skin. Rowan gasped and threw his head back on instinct, breaking their kiss and arching his back off the wall. Fenris took the opening to ravage his neck; planting heated kisses up his throat, along his jaw, and down again to tongue at the pinpricks of blood welling where his claws had dug in. Rowan writhed against him, panting hard; soft, quavering whines punctuating the end of every breath. Perfect. So perfect. Fenris let his other hand roam over his amatus' trembling body while he took him apart with his mouth, gauntlets scraping lightly over his leather armor and catching on the seams.
Pulling away from Rowan's neck to catch his breath, he took a second to savor the sight before him. Rowan, chest heaving, utterly debauched; eyes hazy and unfocused beneath brows pinched upwards, with lips kiss-swollen and redder than his hair. Said hair had begun falling out of its tie at some point, and now most of it hung loosely around his face. His neck was peppered with red marks, and a thin line of blood trailed down the side. It seemed that the wall was likely the only thing keeping him upright.
"You are so beautiful, mea columbae," Fenris murmured, bringing his hand up to caress Rowan's face, brushing the backs of his armored fingers along his smooth skin before cupping his cheek.
Without prompting, Rowan's lips parted in expectation. Fenris' heart skipped a beat. Venhedis, just look at what I've done to him. He wanted more, and Fenris would be damned if he didn't give it to him. Once again, he pushed his thumb past Rowan's lips and settled the point of his gauntlet claw gently on his tongue, but this time Rowan held his gaze, wrapped his lips around his finger, and took it deeper into his mouth. White heat seared through Fenris, setting him alight with the most animalistic need he'd ever felt in his life.
"Kaffas, Rowan," he groaned as his amatus curled his tongue around his thumb and bobbed his head once, all but gagging himself before pulling nearly all the way off. "You're doing this on purpose; you must be. How could you not see what you're doing to me?"
To demonstrate his point, Fenris guided Rowan's hand to rest between his legs where the evidence of his desire was obvious. He felt himself twitch at the contact, and he knew Rowan felt it too by the way his mouth loosened around his finger and his hand settled more firmly against his hardness. The pressure was too much for someone so near his breaking point, and Fenris had reached his. He pushed at Rowan's shoulder, wordlessly urging him downwards, and his amatus sank slowly, easily to his knees before he even seemed to realize he had. Then everything seemed to catch up to him.
Rowan's uncertainty showed on his face in a brief flicker, but before Fenris could backtrack, he asked, "Love, are you sure you're comfortable doing this here? I know it's a little-used area of town, but aren't you worried someone could come across us?"
"As things stand, I can't even be bothered to think about that. But if you would rather wait, then that's what we'll do."
A brief beat of hesitation passed, but then Rowan smiled hazily up at him and shook his head as if bewildered by the words coming out of his own mouth. "Were the circumstances any different, I might have taken you up on that, but I'm honestly finding it a little hard to care about privacy right now."
Fenris' voice dropped to a low rumble as he replied, "Good."
Rowan made quick work of the laces of his leggings, biting his lip and glancing up with soft, wanton eyes when Fenris rested his gauntleted hand on top of his head, letting his clawtips scratch lightly against his scalp. Fenris' didn't think he could ever get enough of that look, this view. It was one thing to watch Rowan come apart at the seams from below him on his bed; but getting to be the one above him, to see him on his knees about to put his gentle, lovely mouth to use in a dubiously private alcove in the middle of Hightown… It was another thing entirely.
The warm summer air felt almost cold where it touched his fever-hot skin, but he didn't have long to suffer before he was enveloped in the wet heat of Rowan's mouth. The sensation hit him like a punch to the gut, and he hunched, gasping, over Rowan's head. He braced himself against the wall with one hand while the other fisted itself in his amatus' silk-smooth hair, drawing a deep, broken groan from his throat that vibrated around Fenris and set his blood aflame.
"Fasta vass, I- I fear I may not last for long," he bit out, struggling with everything in him to not shove his cock down Rowan's throat.
It wasn't the first time Rowan had used his mouth on him, but Fenris thought he might never get used to how obscenely good it felt. Every instinct in him cried out for him to push even further into that tight warmth, to chase the feverish bliss building in him until he could feel nothing else. His hand trembled where it kept an iron grip on Rowan's hair, and his hips started forward only to be forcibly stopped by pure willpower alone. It seemed Rowan took pity on him then, as he leaned forward, craned his neck upwards, and took the whole of Fenris' length down his throat until he bottomed out.
Stars flashed across his vision, and he had to grit his teeth against a cry of pleasure that surely would've gotten them caught. Despite his efforts, a strained moan escaped him, and Rowan gave an answering one that finally did Fenris in. His amatus' fingers dug into his thighs as Fenris lost control of himself and began fucking his throat in earnest.
"Kaffas-! Rowan, I- ah-"
Fenris' attempt at an apology was lost in the tide of curses, moans, and panting breaths that overtook him when Rowan began to match his thrusts; bobbing his head up and down, up and down until-
A shuddering groan tore itself from deep within Fenris' chest. Pulsing, pounding euphoria turned his blood to liquid fire in his veins, crashing over him until he could hardly breathe. Rowan stayed exactly where he was and took everything Fenris gave him as he spilled down his throat, eyes watering yet still brimming with affection that felt far too chaste for someone in his situation. He kept still while Fenris worked himself through it, save for the hand rubbing comfortingly along his thigh.
When at last he was sated, Fenris let himself slip from Rowan's mouth and took a minute to gather his wits, running his metal-clawed fingers through Rowan's hair as his poor amatus gasped for air. It was slowly dawning on him just how rough he'd been, and guilt churned in his stomach.
"I'm sorry, mea columbae; I shouldn't have-"
Rowan held up a hand to cut him off, then swallowed hard before speaking up in a ragged, horse voice that tugged painfully at Fenris' heartstrings. "No apologies, love. I could've stopped at any time if it was too much. Believe it or not, I truly, immensely enjoy making you feel good, so please don't worry about me."
"But I-"
"No buts. I promise, Fenris, I had just as good of a time as you did."
His smile melted most of Fenris' fears away, though he couldn't quite shake the thought that he should've been more gentle. Knowing Rowan's habit of minimizing his own pain really didn't help, but his amatus did look like he'd enjoyed himself, and that wasn't even counting the fact that he was still hard enough to see outlined in his trousers; but that was something that they should probably handle at home. With the amount of noise he'd made, they'd be lucky if they could leave the alcove without being seen. Not to mention...
Kaffas!
"I don't have anything to clean myself with. There's still… er…"
Rowan shot Fenris a grin far cheekier than he was used to seeing on his amatus' perpetually earnest face. "I can help with that."
Fenhawke Week Day 3: Night Terrors | Friendship @fenhawke-week
The weathered white stone of Hightown's estates glowed like raw silver in the moonlight as Rowan stepped from the darkness of the staircase and out into the deserted courtyard. The chantry loomed to his left, towering and forboding. All around him, where the pale, distant light didn't touch, the shadows were stark, blacker than the Void. Rowan couldn't suppress a small shiver. The nights here were eerie, sometimes otherworldly; especially at this hour, well past midnight. It had taken some getting used to after all the soft edges and muted neutral colors of Ferelden, but after nearly six years of living in Kirkwall and four since Lowtown, Rowan had come to appreciate its uncanny beauty in a way.
It still spooked him if he gave it too much thought; especially now, as fatigued as he was from several days of nonstop running around and several nights of very little sleep. The unnatural silence, the feeling of complete isolation—as though everyone else in the world had ceased to exist—the soulless harshness of the imposing buildings; all of it felt a little less like real life and a little more like a forboding dream. It was easy to see the vestiges of the Ancient Imperium in the sharp silhouettes and severe angles, and what an unpleasant reminder that was.
Out of habit, he took a look over his shoulder, up the stairs to Fenris' section of the neighborhood. Even though it had been more than a year since the most simultaneously wonderful, heartbreaking night he'd ever spent with someone, Rowan still found himself keeping an eye out for him every time he passed these stairs, both in hopes of seeing him and out of an irrepresible need to be sure he was safe and that no one was lurking. And every time he did, whether or not Fenris was there, it felt like someone had reached into his chest and sunk claws into his heart. It was no different tonight. A shock of white hair caught Rowan's eye, and his stomach did an impressively nauseating flutter-lurch combo.
But wait.
His steps faltered, then slowed to a stop. Something wasn't right, he could feel it. Concern surged to the forefront of his mind, forcing out the yearning until the only thing left was worry. Fenris was sitting hunched on the bench across from his mansion, face buried in his hands. Without sparing a single thought for the exhaustion weighing him down, Rowan started up the steps. He needed to make sure he was alright.
As soon as Rowan's footsteps reached his ears, Fenris startled violently. His head shot up, and he scrambled back, eyes wide and wild. His sword was halfway brandished by the time he registered who was there, then he almost seemed to wilt, shrinking in on himself and setting his sword carelessly to the side. It wasn't often that Rowan saw him in a state like this. Alarm churned within him and anxiety prickled along his skin. What had happened to put Fenris so on edge? Did someone do something to him? The thought that someone could've pushed Fenris to such a place of fear brought on a surge of searing anger that caught Rowan completely off-guard, but he was quick to stifle it. Fenris certainly didn't need that right now.
"Hawke. It's you. I apologize, I-" He sighed, glanced up at Rowan with heavy, tired eyes, and just shook his head. "No, it doesn't matter. Pay me no mind, I just needed some air. I'll be fine in the morning."
"Fenris," Rowan began. He reached out to put a hand on his shoulder before thinking better of it and dropping his arm, unsure if his touch would be welcome right now. "You don't have to do that. I can tell something's bothering you, and I'm here if you want to talk about it. Can I sit?" He gestured to the empty spot next to Fenris. When no answer came, Rowan's heart sank. He knew that sometimes people needed space to be upset on their own, but he would feel awful if he left without being able to provide some amount of comfort. "I can go if you'd prefer to be alone. I don't want to make anything worse."
"Wait- please stay," came the quiet, hesitant reply. A hand wrapped around Rowan's wrist. Its grip was gentle, but it was firm too; as if Fenris was afraid he would pull away, leave him to suffer alone. That's never going to happen, Rowan vowed. Not while I breathe. "I'm sorry, it's been an… unpleasant night. I was trying to set my thoughts in order. You can sit, if you would like."
As Rowan took his place on the bench, Fenris' hand remained on his wrist. Rowan kept silent, happy to let it be as Fenris sorted out whatever he needed to sort out. In the meantime, he studied his friend's face, searching subtly for any sign of injury or other unwanted contact. He couldn't help it; he was paranoid about the safety of all of his friends, but Fenris? He lost sleep over Fenris sometimes. Of course he was more than capable of handling himself, there was never any question about that, but Rowan knew just as well as Fenris did that he would never be safe; not with the constant threat of Danarius looming over him, ever-present and all-pervasive. And there was the additional issue of him living in Hightown. There were many wealthy, well-connected people in Kirkwall who would see him as little more than invasive vermin should they encounter him or get wise to the fact that he was living here. An ordinary man would be no match for him, but what if they came in a group? What if Rowan wasn't there to help? What if-
His spiralling was interrupted by movement from beside him. Fenris shifted to face him more fully, though he was struggling to hold his gaze.
"I had a dream. A nightmare, to put it plainly." He hesitated for a moment, as if to steel himself before continuing. "You died at Danarius' hands. He came for me, but you wouldn't let him take me. You fought back until you couldn't even stand, then he killed you while I stood aside, unable to raise a hand against my master." Fenris spat the word as though it was a mouthful of rotting fruit. When he spoke again, it was in a voice dripping with intermingled terror and scorn. "Or maybe I was simply too afraid, too cowardly to act against him even as your life was threatened and then ended. When it comes time to face Danarius, what if I can't bring myself to fight him? What if I see him and it all falls apart and you die?" On that final word, Fenris' voice—which had begun to tremble—finally broke. He looked away. After a moment, he drew in a long, shuddering breath, and bit out, "I won't let that happen. I can't."
Oh, Fenris. Rowan was well familiar with nightmares like this. And if he had them nearly every night, how much worse must it be for someone who had been through everything Fenris had?
"I know you won't," Rowan murmured. Fenris just shook his head. "Look at me, Fenris."
A pang of utter, unadulterated sympathy set his chest aching when Fenris finally turned to meet his gaze. His beautiful green eyes were shadowed with pain, haunted by what he'd seen in his sleep.
With all the sincerity he could possibly translate from his soul into his words, Rowan said, "You are the bravest, most dependable friend I've ever had. You face your problems head-on, and you've never once, not a single time, ever left me high and dry in a fight. Don't think I haven't noticed," he added when Fenris' distant gaze refocused in mild surprise. "When I've got my back against the wall, you're always there to keep me living another day. Since the night you came into my life, you have never given me the impression that you would stand by and let someone hurt your friends."
"They're your friends, Hawke. I just tolerate them for your sake," he said, the corners of his mouth fighting his dejection to curl into a wry smirk despite themselves. Maker, did it make Rowan happy to see that face right now! He felt a smile of his own tugging at his lips.
The smirk having won the day, Fenris went on, "Except for maybe the dwarf, but he's on thin ice. If he makes one more clever little quip about how sullen and prickly I am or cheats me at Diamondback again, I might accidentally trip over him and push him into the harbor." He chuckled a little, then sighed.
His hand—which was still on Rowan's wrist and had been this whole time, he now realized—finally slipped away. He couldn't help but mourn its loss, though he knew it was probably for the best. He shouldn't expect things like that from Fenris anymore, no matter how badly he longed for them. It wasn't fair to his friend.
"Thank you, Rowan. For listening to me. For being someone I can rely on, just as much as you can apparently rely on me." Another small smile, one that made Rowan's heart twist painfully. "It was good to talk to you, and it's comforting to know that you care for me so."
Rowan returned his smile, hoping it looked less forlorn than he felt. "Anytime. And I mean that. I'll always be your friend, Fenris, as long as you'll have me.'
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Fenhawke Week Day 2: Reading Lessons | Grief @fenhawke-week
"Anything," he had said. "The whole house is yours; anything in any of the rooms—barring my mother's, of course—is fair game if you can read it. Come by anytime you want, and stay for as long as you'd like."
Rowan's invitation intrigued Fenris more than he would've anticipated. He might not be the most confident reader just yet, but he found himself increasingly inclined to tear into anything he could get his hands on; even fliers and business signs weren't safe from his watchful eyes and hungry mind when he was out and about. Rowan had picked up on this, clearly, and invited him to make use of the sundry books and papers in his estate.
"I'm proud of you, Fenris. You've learned so much so quickly, and I'd like to make sure you have all the reading material I can give you."
Rowan's words still brought a soft glow of warmth to Fenris' chest whenever he thought of them. He was… unaccustomed to the feeling, but it was nice. He certainly wouldn't mind feeling it some more, which was at least a small part of the reason he was standing at Rowan's doorstep now. Fenris felt a little awkward letting himself in like this, but he reminded himself that Rowan had explicitly invited him, and there was nothing to be awkward about. Squaring his shoulders, he cast his uncertainties away with a brief shake of his head and strode through the foyer.
Uncertain if Rowan was home, he made for his room first. It would be good to see him if he did happen to be there, but even if he wasn't, Fenris had decided that he wanted to read whatever Rowan had been reading. Or writing. He knew Rowan kept an ongoing journal of their group's misadventures, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't just a little curious about what was included. He trusted Rowan to be charitable with his descriptions given that he was never anything else, but he itched to finally dig into all the things he was once unable to, and the journal was first on his list. He'd seen Varric making his edits and additions, and he'd watched Isabela snooping through all the pages, occasionally lightly vandalizing one as she went. Now he would get to see what they saw. There was a whole new part of living finally open to him, and Maker be damned if he didn't take advantage.
Fenris' knock prompted no answer, so he pushed the door open and slipped into Rowan's dim bedroom. The journal lay open on the desk as it always did, and as he drew closer, the lingering smell of ink greeted him. The words on the page were dark, freshly penned; though the ink was dry when he touched it. Recounting that latest fiasco with Hubert, I expect. He must've been awake and writing until very late if the ink is still fresh enough to smell. Fenris chuckled softly, then sighed. Lately, picturing Rowan doing even the most mundane things had his heart twisting into knots in his chest. How often did he sit here, at this very desk, scribbling away into the small hours of the morning? If he thought hard enough, he could almost see it; Rowan's broad shoulders shifting beneath the thin silk of his robe as he turned a page, warm candlelight setting his dark red hair aglow like dying flames, a hand that so effectively wielded one of his deadly daggers now deftly guiding a pen across paper.
Hm. That was enough mental ogling, he decided with a short huff, annoyed with himself for getting distracted. He'd have plenty of time for that when he wasn't standing in the man's bedroom, for Andraste's sake. Right now, he had a journal to flip through.
The recent pages were familiar to Fenris, of course, whether through personal experience or through Varric's highly dramatized retellings over pints at the Hanged Man. He skimmed through them, immensely pleased with how well he could keep up with it all. That entry there was about that sleazy dwarf "entrepreneur," Javaris. The previous one was about Hubert again. This one was about their disastrous jaunt in Feynriel's dreams. Fenris grimaced at the memory. He was not proud of how easily he had fallen prey to the allure of pride, but seeing what Rowan had to say regarding his failure touched him greatly, to his surprise. It's not like he'd expected insults or anything quite so unkind, not from Rowan of all people, but he couldn't say he'd expected to find only complete, unconditional sympathy.
"I can't deny, I was caught off-guard by Fenris' decision when faced with the demon's offer. I thought him to be near unshakeable, though maybe that was overly idealistic of me. Everybody struggles, and he's not an exception, of course. No one is a perfect paragon of virtue; not even him (as much as I often catch myself thinking that he is). What mortal could withstand a demon's temptations when confronted directly like my friends were? I'm almost certain I couldn't; even the best of men would find something like this difficult to weather. I should know about that, considering I watched one of them falter and give in today. It just serves to reinforce the truth of it all: we're all only people, and people make mistakes.
"I'm glad he's alright; I was worried for a while…"
Fenris knew how closely Rowan held his beliefs about mages, and a journal would've been a reasonable place to air his grievances regarding their difference in opinion on the matter, especially considering his unfortunate hypocrisy in succumbing to a demon's influence. To read that Rowan still held nothing but admiration for him? It brought that warm, fidgety feeling to his chest again. Some of it was guilt, but he had to admit that it felt nice to be shown understanding.
Thoroughly hooked now, he dug through several more entries. Dragons, abominations, sadistic templars, good memories of Diamondback and nights spent at the Hanged Man; all things he was familiar with, but filtered through the perspective of the man who Fenris felt making a place for himself in his heart in a way he'd never anticipated anyone could. I wonder if there's anything in here that was written before the expedition…
Fenris shut the journal gingerly, then turned the front few pages over at random. When the book fell open, it was to an entry that had been thickly bookmarked by two things he very much wasn't expecting to see, least of all in the same place like they should've shared some kind of similarity that they didn't immediately appear to have. Mystified, yet overcome by a sudden, strangely somber emotion, Fenris gently set aside a pressed pink lily, withered and dull with age, and then a carefully tied lock of wavy, dark hair. There was a weight to these simple objects that clung to him like cobwebs, though the reason escaped him. Despite feeling slightly more solemn than he had a few seconds ago, he was still keen to discover if this entry held any explanation for the strange place-markers, so he turned his attention back to the journal.
"Bethany is dead."
Oh.
Taken completely aback, all Fenris could think to do was keep reading.
"My Bethy is gone. She caught the Blight in the Deep Roads and died thousands of miles away from home, and it's all my fault. Maker, it's all my fault. It doesn't even feel real; every bit of me is convinced that she could walk through the front door any second now. But she won't. I'll never see her again. All I have left of her is a lock of hair and her blood on my dagger. And Carver- poor Carver! I'll always have part of Bethany with me, but for Carver there wasn't time! I have nothing but his memory left to carry with me. That's not the fate he deserved! He should be alive! Bethy should be alive! Oh, Maker, I can't I don't know what to do; when I think about them too much, it hurts to breathe. My baby brother, my sweet little sister- I'm so sorry. With everything in me, I am so sorry."
The handwriting had begun to break down, scratchy and wild as if he had been scribbling down thoughts as fast as they could come to him. Pain bled through every pen stroke, almost as if the words themselves were open wounds, evidence of the writer's grief. Rowan's grief.
"I should've done more! I let them die! They would be alive, they'd be with me right now if only I had protected them like I should have! I'm their big brother! I was supposed to take care of them, but I wasn't enough! They're dead! They're dead because I wasn't good enough!"
There was a tear at the end of the final sentence. In the depths of his agony, Rowan's pen had pressed so fiercely into the paper that he had torn it. Dark droplet stains warped the ink. Fenris felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach, like the breath had been stolen from his lungs. He'd never seen raw grief like this from Rowan before; it was like he was intruding on a funeral he hadn't been invited to. He didn't want to read any more. He didn't want to, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.
There was just one more block of text, a small one separated from the rest by a gap and a later date.
"I found Bethy's favorite flower today. It was growing through a gap in the cobbles near Gamlen's place. It was like I got to see her again, in a way. I would usually leave it to grow in peace, but a flower like that wouldn't survive on the streets of Lowtown. So I cut it from its stem and took it home with me. I'm going to press it, give that lock of her hair a companion of sorts. That sounds a little silly when I put it down on paper, but it feels right."
Fenris let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Unsure of what he should even do now, he simply sat there in silence for a moment, alone in Rowan's bedroom with this physical manifestation of mourning sitting open on the desk in front of him. He couldn't just leave as if nothing had happened, as if he didn't just get the closest thing there was to a glimpse into Rowan's soul. His gaze caught on a neat pile of scrap paper at the edge of the desk. Carefully uncorking the ink and dipping the pen, he slid a small piece over, and haltingly, messily, he began to write.
"I know you believe you didn't do enough to save your siblings, and I am unlikely to convince you otherwise with just this note, but try to believe me when I say that you are not to blame for their deaths. You are the strongest person I know. They loved you. They believed in you, and you are worthy of that trust. You MUST forgive yourself."
"They will always be with you, Rowan, in some way or another."
It wasn't a pretty note, marred by misspellings and smudges and whole crossed out sentences; but Fenris hoped that one day, when Rowan needed it most, he'd find it tucked between the pages with the lily and the lock of hair, and it would help lessen that awful burden of grief for just one night.
Fenhawke Week Day 1: Hawke's Favor | Longing @fenhawke-week
The Carta dwarf's knife whizzed past his ear, nicking the edge, but even the bright sting of pain and the thin trail of warmth running down his neck couldn't shake Rowan from his ruminating. He moved without thought, dodging and slashing on instinct. They were caught in their third skirmish of the night, and he and his companions were beginning to tire, already worn out as they were by their trek to the Wounded Coast. But that wasn't what was troubling him so; exhaustion was a small thing when compared to the turmoil in his heart.
Amid all the blood and the bodies and the dust stirred up from the Lowtown cobbles, all of his attention was hopelessly captured by the shock of vivid red sweeping and bobbing and slashing its way through the battle. It drew him in, tugging at his soul like a rip current. Everything in Rowan cried out for him to succumb to its pull, to sweep up its wearer in his arms and never let him go. Fenris wouldn't thank him for that, though, surely. The grief of their parting was a fresh wound for both of them, and causing more pain was the last thing Rowan ever wanted to do. He could withstand any amount of suffering if it meant Fenris was spared even the smallest bit.
Unfortunately for him, self-awareness did little to stifle the longing burning him up from the inside out; and no matter how hard he tried, he could not extricate himself from these thoughts enough to give this fight the focus that it needed. His mind was locked in an agonizing loop of love so profound and loss so deep that it took him a moment to register the blood soaking his undershirt. A shout from somewhere to his left... Varric?
Warmth stuck to his skin and flowed down his tunic and came away on his fingers, but it was cold that began to creep its way along his limbs, slowing his thoughts to a sluggish crawl until they stalled completely. It was only the brilliant flash of red that brought his awareness back to ground; his eyes refocused as Fenris, face twisted in rage (and something else...?), put his fist through the chest of the dwarf holding the knife.
Rowan stumbled then, the world spinning around him, and would have followed his attacker to the ground were it not for those strong, gauntleted hands he knew so intimately.
They caught him by the shoulders, held him steady as the elf attached to them grimaced and barked, "Mage! You're needed!"
Through his dizziness and the rapidly gathering fog of pain, Rowan had the distant impression that Fenris was helping him sit on the ground, and his guilt pierced clean and clear through everything else like the knife that had just perforated his stomach.
"Fenris- I'm sorry, I- you don't have to-"
Fenris was quick to cut him off with a fierce look and firm words. "Don't waste your energy, Hawke. Rest, and let Anders do what he needs to."
A weighted silence fell between them as they sat there, Rowan with his back against a wall and Fenris on one knee before him, trying to look like he wasn't staring, like he wasn't worried. This silence was heavy with words that neither of them knew how to say, or whether they even should. After what felt like eternity, though it must've been a mere few seconds, it seemed to become too much for Fenris.
"Don't do that again," came the quiet demand. "I know how skilled you are; this is beneath you. If you were to be injured too badly to heal—or killed outright—all because your thoughts were somewhere else, I don't-" he paused, sighed, looked away, then continued. "I don't know what I would do. If you care for me, take care of yourself as well, Rowan." He took a deep breath and turned back to look into Rowan's eyes once more. His gaze was soft, pained, and his voice was almost inaudible.
Happy Friday! For a prompt, how about: "I want to taste you." for Fenris/Hawke
@freedomspromise
Hell yeah, thank you so much for the prompt! It fit really nicely with an scenario that's been on my mind lately, so I had a great time with this one ;P
@dadrunkwriting
A bright pinprick of pain burst through Rowan’s sewing-induced reverie, and he sucked in a short breath through his teeth. A bright red dot of blood was rapidly welling on the tip of his finger. He’d gotten himself pretty bad there. Ah well. He supposed that was how things went when you got too used to something; absent-minded mistakes would always sneak up on you eventually. As he cast his gaze around in search of something he could wrap around his finger (it wouldn’t be ideal to bleed all over his sewing), Fenris glanced up at him from his spot, curled up with a book in the other armchair.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine, love. Just wasn’t paying enough attention and jabbed myself. Do you know where…” He trailed off.
Upon meeting Fen's eyes, Rowan had caught a spark of something glinting there, something as lively as the fire crackling before them in the hearth, but what that something was didn’t make itself apparent until Fenris had slid out of his seat and sauntered over to him.
“Let me see it.”
Bemused, Rowan held out his hand, only to be caught entirely off-guard when Fenris gently grasped it, sunk to his knees, and wrapped his smirking lips around Rowan’s bleeding finger. A choked-off noise of surprise was all he managed before every coherent thought fled his mind. All that was left was the acute awareness of Fenris’ mouth, the warm wetness of his tongue as it lapped at the tip. Just as Rowan had scraped together enough of his wits to ask what brought this on, Fenris took it the rest of the way in, sucking and laving his tongue along the whole length. Heat pulsed through him, warming his cheeks and settling between his legs, and the few words he had eked out hung, abandoned, in the honey-thick air between them.
After what had felt like hours, though was likely only a few seconds, Fenris relinquished his finger with a quiet pop. Mischief and amusement danced across his face, and Rowan knew he must look quite the fool sitting there slack-jawed and stupefied. That easy smile was worth it, though. Always. A sudden swell of affection swept over him, and before he could even properly register what he was doing, his lips collided with Fenris’ in a clumsy, hungry kiss. His mouth was soft and eager against Rowan’s, still curling up at the corners, and his hands tangled in Rowan’s hair just roughly enough to tug a soft groan from deep in his throat. Fenris huffed a short laugh against his mouth before giving it a sharp, intentional yank. Rowan shuddered with bliss, and a thrill prickled down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. His trousers most definitely hadn’t felt this tight a few moments ago. Their lips met and parted and met and parted, each kiss deeper and sloppier than the last. Tongues laved against tongues and curled around teeth and licked along lips and deep into mouths, breaths came short and panting, hands clutched tighter and tighter at clothes and hair.
Lost in the haziness of it all, it took Rowan a moment to register that Fenris’ hands were moving; travelling down his chest, stroking over his thighs. He had only a vague awareness of those wandering hands until they grasped his cock and white-hot pleasure tore through him, leaving him completely breathless. His gasp caught on his shocked moan and resulted in a broken, strangled noise that might’ve been embarrassing had Rowan been in any sort of state to care, but as such, the only thing he cared about was that Fenris was now fondling him slowly through his trousers in time with the rhythm of their kiss. He was so hard now that it was beginning to get dizzying.
With one last nip at his lip, Fenris pulled away, and Rowan couldn’t help his forlorn whine at the loss. He could spend eternity kissing him, he really could. Fenris chuckled, cupping Rowan’s cheek and smoothing a thumb over his bottom lip. The tangible affection in that gentle touch left a burning trail in its wake, and the intensity of Fenris’ gaze set Rowan’s heart fluttering.
“Such a tragic sound. Have you considered that I might need my mouth for something else?”
Rowan felt Fen's hands tugging at the waistband of his pants, but a twinge of nervous concern broke through his desire and gave him pause. It hadn’t been long since they’d gotten back together. What if he felt obligated to do this, whether to make up for lost time or because he assumed it was something Rowan expected from him? He couldn’t live with himself if that were the case.
“Wait, Fenris… Are you sure? You know you don’t have to-”
“I want to. You must trust me when I say that I wouldn’t do this just because I felt I should. I want this, and I want you.” Fenris’ voice was firm and brooked no argument, and it was all Rowan could do to nod in the face of the relief that washed over him. The next words to pass Fenris’ lips would spell the ruin of the last shreds of his composure. “I want to taste you.”
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Happy DADWC Friday, sending you “playing with the other’s hair while they sleep” for Rowan and Fenris
Incredible coincidence, but I wrote pretty much this exact thing earlier today on my main blog 😭 I don't think it counts for DADWC since it was already written before we started tonight, but on the off chance you'd want to read it anyway, here it is :]
Happy DADWC! How about “just go. you can still make it. don’t worry about me.” for Fenris and m!Hawke of your choice?
Thank you for the prompt!! Here's a little post-Battle-of-Kirkwall blurb :3
@dadrunkwriting
Sweat beaded on his skin, dripped from his face, and disappeared into the blood leaking out around his hands. Rowan sat slumped, propped up against the smooth stone wall of a Hightown manor trying with everything in him to keep himself together, to take deep, even breaths, to not writhe with the searing agony tearing along his every nerve, and- Oh, maker. He grit his teeth against a cry of pain, managing to stifle it into a strained groan.
Of course, it had been too much to hope for that every templar had heard the news that the battle was over, that Cullen had managed to wrangle all of them back into the Gallows. They had been so close. A few blocks more and they would've made it to the rendezvous point at the gate to Sundermount, to the rest of their friends, to escape. He coughed weakly, and felt something warm spill from his mouth in the same instant that fire ripped through his abdomen, doubling him over and sending a fresh gush of blood out from the spaces between his fingers. It was sticky and hot and so, so much. Through the gathering fog that crept through his mind, dulling his thoughts and senses, he wondered vaguely if he had any healing potions. He tried to fumble with his belt pouch, but his fingers seemed to be missing cues.
A metallic clang rang out, barely heard through the haze gradually consuming every bit of his awareness, as Fenris felled the last templar. It seemed both after an eternity and in an instant that Fenris was dropping to one knee in front of him, handsome face stricken with worry and spattered with blood that was not his own.
"Rowan! Fasta vas– How bad is that wound?"
Without waiting for an answer, he tore into Rowan's belt pouch himself and fished out the last potion. It was less than halfway full. Muffled dismay clamored somewhere far in the back of his mind. Fenris swore again, but uncorked the bottle and tipped what was left into Rowan's mouth. The iron on his tongue mingling with the herbal taste of the potion was unpleasant, to say the least, but he didn't have long to ponder flavors before it began to take effect. His senses flooded back to him, though that meant the throbbing pain in his stomach redoubled. It took his breath away, and he sat there trying not to gasp too hard so as to avoid aggravating his injury. The potion hadn't been enough. Rowan still felt cold and frail, could still feel the steady flow of blood pulsing from the gash with every beat of his heart, but it might have slowed it enough for him to make it to the gate. To Anders. If they didn't run across more trouble on the way...
Fenris cupped his cheek, held his gaze. His eyes were round and shining with worry. Wordlessly, gingerly, he pulled Rowan's hand away from his stomach just enough to check his wound, sucking in a quiet, hissing breath through his teeth when he saw the state of it.
"I'm sorry, amatus." Their eyes met once more, and Fenris stroked his thumb over Rowan's cheekbone. The tenderness in his touch left little sparks of warmth in its wake, a small comfort in the face of what was rapidly becoming a dire situation. Fenris sighed. "There's no helping it; we must get you on your feet if we want to make it to that mage before you lose too much blood."
He slipped an arm under Rowan's, snaking it around his back and lifting him to his feet.
"Wait, beloved, if there are still templars about I'll be too much of a burden. I don't want you to risk yourself for my sake." Rowan paused—breathless, overcome—and when he spoke again, his voice trembled and broke. "Please don't risk yourself." A steadying breath. "Just go. You can still make it, don't worry about me."
"Never," came the fervent reply, growled through gritted teeth. "You should know by now that I would die at your side before I ever left you behind." His tone brooked no argument, and Rowan didn't know if he could summon the strength to try.
Even despite his best efforts, he found himself leaning more and more heavily on Fenris as they stumbled through the streets. His legs grew weaker with each step, breaths shallower, sight blurrier, hand redder. The world spun and tilted around him, stretching out into streaks of color and light, and he even didn't realize he was falling until he felt strong, slender arms around him, lifting him off the ground.
He's so much stronger than he has any business being, was his final, distantly affectionate thought before the darkness that had been lurking at the edges of his vision finally swallowed him whole.
Dorian/m!Inquisitor & i could spend the day just like this, right here with you.
Howdy! Thank you for the prompt!! This actually fit nicely with an idea I've been sitting on for a while now, and it apparently gave me the push I needed to write it! :D
It's set in Kirkwall after the events of Trespasser :)
@dadrunkwriting
"Dorian, come on!" Cain's grin was infectious, even as he very impatiently tugged at Dorian's hand.
"Wait a moment, amatus," he laughed, out of breath from all the running around, then continued, unable to keep the endearment out of his voice. "Didn't Varric say it was this way?"
It was always a treat to see Cain in one of these rare exuberant moods. His lover was given to frequent and severe periods of melancholy, often severe enough to be cause for serious concern. Seeing him smiling like this... it meant a lot to Dorian.
Ah, but how soon it would be over. His stay in Kirkwall was only a temporary visit to help Cain settle into the Hightown manor Varric had gifted him, but he'd be damned if he didn't make the most of every moment they spent together. As such, now was not the time to dwell on endings. He had a hidden roof access staircase to find.
It turned out that they were both wrong about where the damn thing was. The Hanged Man was many things, but well laid-out was not one of them. Giggling breathlessly like a pair of besotted schoolboys, Dorian and Cain clambered up the stairs and out onto the roof of Kirkwall's favorite seedy tavern. It wasn't a particularly tall building, but the view was nothing to sneeze at. The ramshackle buildings of Lowtown sprawled out around them, and the great, starry sky lay outstretched over the entire city like a vaulted ceiling. Countless stars twinkled in the inky darkness, but they were cheap imitations when compared to the stars in Cain's eyes. Yes, Dorian wouldn't be staying with him for anywhere near as long as either of them would like, but in this moment, nothing mattered more than those eyes and the man looking out of them. They settled on the edge of the roof, looked up at the night sky, talked about everything and nothing while Cain was tucked contentedly against Dorian's side; arm around his waist, head propped on his shoulder. A short time after a brief lapse into comfortable silence, Cain spoke up again.
"I think I could spend the entire night just like this, right here with you." Cain's tone was light, but there was a deep earnestness to the words all the same. It stoked some nameless emotion in Dorian, something he wasn't sure how to describe. There was affection, of course. He always felt affection when he was with his amatus. But this? It was yearning, almost. And now he was getting misty eyed? Oh no, this wouldn't do at all.
Unsure what to make of it, he just shook his head and shot Cain a teasing smirk. "All night? That's probably not wise. We'd both end up terribly stiff, and then Varric would have to send those guards of his to come and carry us home. Might work out well for him, come to think of it. He's always trying to give them the slip. Maker forbid they try and keep that dwarf safe."
"You know what I mean, you cretin," Cain huffed, mirth dancing in his gaze as he gave Dorian a playful shove. "Actually, you know what?" He got to his feet with a mock-offended sniff and looked down his nose at Dorian in a way that was almost reminiscent of the over-acted dramatics of an Orlesian play. "If you're just going to tease me, why don't I go back inside and sit with Varric? He's a serious viscount now; he would never make fun of me."
The twitching of Cain's lips as he tried (very poorly) to stifle his smile, combined with the utter ridiculousness of his current pose, made it incredibly difficult for Dorian to keep his own composure as he pulled his best "pleading for mercy" face and forced all the overblown sincerity he could muster into his voice... only for the first thing out of his mouth to be an ugly, choked-off snort of amusement. It spread to Cain immediately, and they both dissolved into laughter.
❛ i can't stop thinking about you even when i try. ❜
❛ every time i see you, it's like my heart skips a beat. ❜
❛ i never realized how much i needed you until you weren't there. ❜
❛ do you ever feel like there's something missing ... like a piece of your heart is somewhere else? ❜
❛ i wish i had the courage to tell you how i feel. ❜
❛ if only you knew how much you truly mean to me. ❜
❛ do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different between us? ❜
❛ sometimes i wonder if you ever think about me the way i think about you. ❜
❛ i had a lot of dreams about you recently. ❜
❛ somehow, you're always on my mind. ❜
❛ i think i've been in love with you since the day we met - scratch that, i know i've been in love with you since the day we met. ❜
❛ my biggest wish is to hold you close and never let you go. ❜
❛ all my life i've felt like a part of me was missing, but with you i've finally found it. ❜
❛ you deserve better than who i am right now, but i'm gonna keep trying to become someone you do deserve. ❜
❛ every time you smile at me, i get this flutter in my chest. ❜
❛ do you think i'll ever be worthy of your love? ❜
❛ i want to be the person to make you happy. the one person you can always come to with whatever you need. ❜
❛ will we ever get another chance together? ❜
❛ you were the best thing that's ever happened to me. ❜
❛ my biggest regret is ever letting you go. ❜
❛ i'm still in love with you ... and i honestly never stopped. ❜
❛ when i wake up in the morning, you're the first person i want to see. ❜
❛ every time i wake up, i check if you wrote me another message. ❜
❛ i wish i could be as important to you as you are to me. ❜
❛ it hurts when you don't talk to me like you used to. ❜
❛ i miss everything about you, your touch, your laugh, your smile. i wish i could have that back. ❜
❛ i want to fall asleep wrapped in your arms. ❜
❛ hold me closer; i always feel safer when you're with me. ❜
❛ there's so much i wish i was able to tell you. ❜
❛ i know things aren't easy right now, but i want to remain a fixture in your life. after all, you're one in mine. ❜
❛ i miss the way you always made me smile. ❜
❛ you're the reason i keep holding on. ❜
❛ maybe we're supposed so to remain a case of 'right person, wrong time' forever. ❜
❛ if only you knew how i feel about you. ❜
❛ i'm yearning to hold your hand in mine. ❜
❛ i think you are the one for me, and i hope one day i'll be the one for you, too. ❜
❛ do you think i'll ever become more than a friend to you? ❜
❛ my heart belongs to you, always and forever. ❜
❛ my first instinct is to protect you, no matter the cost. ❜
❛ i've been thinking about us a lot lately. ❜
For DADWC: I'd be thrilled to see some Templar whump for Merrill! Maybe they know she's dear to the Champion and decide to defile her? :3
Oh MAN this is a good one. Rowan has such a soft spot for Merrill ouuuhhh I'm cheesing so evilly >:]
@dadrunkwriting & @bigbadtemplarsfest
Content warnings: noncon, asphyxiation, fantasy racism
“Where are you going, little rabbit?”
The raucous call bounced and echoed between the tight walls of the alienage back alley, ringing ominously over the sounds of clanking armor and Merrill’s own heaving breaths. Her heart roared in her ears, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the jeering and laughter from the templars close on her tail. They had been waiting for her outside her door; three armor-clad young men snickering to each other and placing bets on who’d manage to catch her first. She had tried to slip away before they saw her, but it had been too late.
Her stomach lurched. Mythal’enast, they were getting closer! She tore blindly down the dark alleyway as fast as her feet could carry her, throwing herself around a corner and scrambling to right herself when she nearly overbalanced. She shook her head and braced to run full tilt down this new passageway, but… no. Her heart dropped like a stone. Tears burned in her eyes and her vision darkened around the edges, ice in her veins. That turn had landed her at a dead end. Damn it all! Five years in this city, and she still managed to get herself hopelessly lost. This time, it might spell the end for her. Searing panic overwhelmed her, and she darted to the end of the alley, tucked herself behind a jutting section of a wall, and prayed to the gods that they wouldn’t look too closely.
The pounding of her heart was loud enough that, once the templars had slowed to investigate, she struggled to pick up any sound quieter than their voices. Fear was fogging her senses, her awareness. She strained to pick up what they were saying as they lingered at the junction, but nothing coherent reached her through her shroud of terror. Gradually, everything grew quiet. Still. She realized she was holding her breath and did her best to let it out quietly, but so shaken was she that it hitched on a tiny squeak. Her whole body tightened like a bowstring and she went very still. Terror froze her in place. Were those footsteps? As she squeezed her eyes shut, a gauntleted hand shot out and yanked her from her hiding place with a shout of triumph. A squeal tore its way out of her, and she thrashed in the templar’s grip as he slammed her to the wall and clapped his other hand over her mouth.
“Well, look here, boys! I do believe we’ve found ourselves the Champion’s pet knife-ear! I see why he keeps her around; she’s a pretty little thing.” The templar’s greedy gaze trailed all the way down her body and all the way back up, sending a visceral shudder skittering down her spine. “What a shame he’s not here to protect you. And how lucky for us that you cornered yourself so far from anyone who might hear you scream.” The hand pinning her to the wall slipped lower on her chest. As bile rose in her throat and adrenaline burned through her veins, her hand inched closer to her knife. She had to get away. She had to.
“Hey, you might wanna watch her hands!”
Despair flooded her as one of the other templars plucked the blade from its sheath. “Ah-ah-ah! No need for that; just be a good little rabbit and we won’t hurt you.” He leaned in close, close enough for her to smell his rancid breath, and murmured, “We’ll be gentle.” Tears pricked at her eyes and he chuckled, then turned to the others. “I, for one, should very much like to take the Champion’s pet and make her ours; show him what happens when you shelter apostates. Who has the magebane?”
Everything in Merrill screamed for her to run, but the templar’s grip was like a boulder on her chest, and one of them had his dispel smothering all of her frantic attempts to call upon her magic. She squirmed and writhed and clawed at his arm to no avail, and he just stood there smirking. The templar who had taken her knife grabbed her by the hair and yanked. When she opened her mouth to gasp at the sudden pain, he poured the magebane down her throat as she sputtered and gagged. Fingers clamped her nose shut, forcing her to swallow to get a breath in.
“Please, d- don’t! I-” Her voice shook like the rickety walls around her, and all it did was trigger a coughing fit that brought her to her knees. It was setting in. She felt weak, drained. Empty. Dread churned in her stomach and horror sparked along every nerve; their hands were everywhere. She felt sick. Her head spun. A tiny, pitiful whimper trembled past her lips as they unclasped her armor, and soon the cool night air was trailing over her skin in tandem with calloused hands. They seemed to burn where they touched; a pair at her thighs, at her chest. Squeezing. Rough. Too much. They were laughing; saying the filthiest things and snickering as she pleaded. She yelped and shrunk away when they pinched a nipple between cruel fingers, but the hands were relentless.
Something warm and wet nudged at her lips, and she turned her head away with a muffled sob only for another painful squeeze to make her cry out. The templar seized the opportunity and thrust his cock into her open mouth. She didn’t even have time to react beyond a violent gag before another was shoving past her entrance, and her vision whited out as agony ripped through her. Feeling herself tear from the girth of him, she choked out a strangled, muffled scream, panic setting every nerve alight. The pain had stolen the breath from her lungs, and the cock in her throat negated any chance there was of getting it back. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe! She scrabbled at the pair of armored legs bracketing her head, shoved and clawed and begged silently, desperately to whatever gods might hear to save her from this waking nightmare, but the hand on the back of her head held firm. The templar buried in her cunt kept pounding into her. The hands on her chest kept groping. All she heard were their jeers growing fainter and fainter as her vision went dark.
Warmth was the first thing she became aware of. Warmth and wet. It rolled over her skin, pooled underneath her, soaked into her hair. She stirred, aching and disoriented. There were no more cruel words and crueler laughs. Instead, she heard a pained shout cut off with a gurgle and hazily opened her heavy eyelids. Red flooded her vision; it dripped down her face and clung to her hands and gathered in puddles on the ground. She smelled iron. Red came into focus above her. Red hair. Hawke.
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A brief overview of Fenris and Rowan's relationship
(And how Anders was involved)
(I also have charts ;P )
I figured it would be helpful to have this as a reference for anyone who wanted to make a more informed prompt choice for them. I'll do my best to keep it short and informative 🫡
They're both very devoted to and protective of each other, and you'll rarely find them apart. Where Rowan goes, Fenris goes, and vice-versa. They're also STUPID soft with each other, and Rowan in particular is almost worshipful when they're alone together, though that doesn't mean Fenris feels less deeply for him; Rowan just can't get enough of making Fenris feel as loved as possible cus he's just. Like That. He finds so much fulfillment taking care of the people he loves. In turn, Fenris makes sure he knows all of his affection is appreciated and shared, and does his best to ensure Rowan doesn't give too much of himself. They would do anything for each other, and they trust each other completely. They're not shy about being affectionate in public, though Rowan typically tries to keep things reasonably toned down. Fenris, on the other hand, has no qualms with making it clear that Rowan is his.
As affectionate and idyllic as their relationship is, no romance is completely devoid of conflict. The main points of contention for them would be their differing opinions on mages, as well as Rowan's proclivity for constantly getting them roped into situations they would not be in were it not for his relentless kindness and willingness to help anyone who might need it. Their arguments are usually limited to a tense conversation or two and are over pretty quickly, as they hate upsetting and being upset with each other.
Now, where Anders fits into all this is in the time following Fenris breaking things off after his and Rowan's first night together. Rowan developed a bit of a drinking problem after Bethany's death, so that's what he turned to in order to cope with what happened between him and Fenris. This will be important later. Now, he and Anders had been harboring feelings for each other since shortly after they met, though Rowan's had begun to dwindle in the face of his growing love for Fenris. They had yet to disappear though, so when Anders kissed him and confessed his feelings within a couple days of Fenris leaving him, Rowan, off-balance from all the emotional turmoil going on, accepted his proposition. His acceptance was both because he didn't want to make Anders feel bad by rejecting him as well as a desperate attempt to see if it was even possible for him to get over Fenris. He regretted it almost immediately, but he brushed his worry aside and decided to wait and see if he felt any better when Anders actually did show up. And then he did. And it wasn't better. It was so, SO much worse. He told Anders he couldn't do it, it was too soon, and he didn't want to lead him on because his heart well and truly belonged to Fenris.
You know that drinking problem I mentioned? It comes into play here. A few days have gone by, and he's feeling downright miserable. Fenris left him, and he feels like it was his fault even though, logically, he knows it was because of Fen's own issues. Anders is hurt by his rejection, and reasonably so, Rowan thinks. He led him on only to realize too late that he couldn't commit. He's also so, so lonely, but he refuses to let anyone see him in this state (said state being horribly upset and drunker than he's let himself get in a long time). The misery and the alcohol are slowly wearing down his self control though, and it gets to a point where all he can think of is how badly he needs to apologize to Anders, so he stumbles down to Darktown and into the clinic. One drunken thing leads to another and they end up hooking up despite Anders knowing full well that it's not going to last. And it does not. They have a few more encounters over the next few months, and each one leaves Rowan feeling worse than the last, more and more convinced that this isn't what he truly wants, until he finally manages to tear himself away for good. They knew the whole time that things were doomed to end badly, but the heart is a strange, illogical thing. Rowan feels so unfathomably guilty about all of this that he manages to cold turkey his way out of his drinking habit for a good while, which negates any chance of something like that ever happening again. This was one of his worst moments, and you better believe he relentlessly beat himself up over it for ages.
