owlmoose | Dragon Age Kiss Battle: Go!

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Dragon Age Kiss Battle: Go!

Welcome to the 2014 Dragon Age Kiss Battle!

Any kind of kiss is welcome -- het, slash, femslash; shippy, familial, gen; cheek kisses, mouth kisses, kissing of... other things; serious, fluffy, silly, or all three at once; fanfic, fanart, whatever you come up with; anything goes!

The post is now open! I don't anticipate closing it, so come by any time!

THE RULES:

To leave a request: Post a comment with character(s) and, if desired, a prompt. Put the pairing/character(s) in the subject line and the prompt in the body of the comment.

To respond: Reply to the prompting comment. Include characters, rating, and title in the subject line. If your response includes content relating to Dragon Age: Inquisition, please also note that in the subject line.

Multiple responses are both allowed and encouraged!

There is no limit to the number of prompts you can post.

Artwork can be posted inline, but try not to make it too large. Please link to images that are very large or NSFW.

Please, be kind to others regarding pairing choices, prompts, or anything else. This game is for everyone! :)

Anon commenting is on, as is OpenID, if you neither have nor want a Dreamwidth account.

Send your friends! :D

If you have questions, please ask them here. Thanks, and happy kissing!!

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His lips were everywhere. Her hands, her arms, collarbone, jawline. Tracing invisible lines on her skin where he had pushed aside the fabric of her dress. Only her lips, he denied the sensation, oh how he teased her! Marian felt the tickling surge of lyrium, wrapping them in soft, blue light in the darkness of the wine cellar. She could not fight the moan escaping her when, almost casually, he brushed her lower lip with his, her eyes fluttered close. Maker’s breath, she felt like a blushing teenager, hiding behind a barn with a secret lover.

“Fenris…” she moaned his name. He chuckled, low in his chest, entirely too amused by her inability to stay quiet.

“Shhhh, we don’t want them to hear. What would they say?”

She felt his fingertips travel over her skin, push up the fabric of her skirt. The touch sent shivers up and down her spin as he gently pushed her legs apart to touch her. She gasped, fingernails dug into his shoulder.

“No, I think we have another bottle in here! If Mari didn’t secretly drink it on her own…” Leandra Hawke declared when she energetically opened the door to the wine cellar.

Marian and Fenris froze in their embrace. The light from the hallway did miss them by inches and Leandra was searching on the opposite end of the cellar. They could not make a sound, could not be detected. How would it look, if the host of the very party they were celebrating upstairs, was found stealing kisses in the dark? Scandalous.

“Where is Hawke anyways, I haven’t seen her in, like, forever,” Varric called from the library.

“She never liked parties like this, I am not surprised she would sneak away,” Leandra replied.

Marian was caught by his deep green eyes, lit by the golden shimmer from the hallway and the blue of his lyrium and while they stayed pressed against the shelves, she allowed herself to run a hand through his white hair, trace her fingertips along the shape of his ears, down his cheek and over the lyrium lines on his chin. The touch made him shiver against her and lured a cheeky smile from her lips.

The door closed and the very same instant, he had his lips on hers. A hungry, breath-taking kiss, painfully intense. How much control it had taken both of them to stay apart as long as they had, with teases and titillations. And while she felt a smile warm her from within, she could feel something raw and supreme in his kiss. They were long past games.

Aw, it's beautiful.

I love this so much. Great insight into Morrigan's thoughts, and I also headcanon that Morrigan and the mabari end up forming a very strong bond, even though Morrigan resists it at first. :)

And "slobbery hairy creature . . . No, not Alistair." I will be laughing forever about that. :D

Oh I was so hoping someone would take me up on this one! I love that one camp scene which seems to suggest that though in public Morrigan rails against Dog, she secretly feeds him on the sly.

I like the idea of Dog seeking out Morrigan's company, even if she doesn't want it and the fact that she eventually capitulates. The ending is nice and sweet as well.

Bethany stood atop the hill, nearly wiped out from her efforts. She wanted to turn her back on the sight of it, the fire that burned what was once a village full of people, a place that reminded her too much of Lothering, but she stood steady. Outwardly she must look calm, though her hands shook from the drain on her mana, and every limb throbbed with fatigue. The ash was so thick that it started to hang low in dark, choking clouds like a menacing warning to anyone poor traveler off in the distance thinking to seek refuge: go elsewhere. There was nothing left here.

The fire was of her own making, and Nathaniel stood to her side, shooting his arrows at anyone that tried run from the flames. Again and again she heard him draw an arrow from the quiver and then ready it, aiming for a target with narrowed eyes. He would always hit them, the distant cry of death echoed up to them as he worked with terrible accuracy.

"Is it always like this?" She asks, and her voice is smaller than she would like it to be. One day she may live up to this uniform, but that day is not today.

"No. This place was one of the worst I've seen outside of the Blighted lands in Ferelden. Whatever magicks were worked here to make these people think that the spawn were their gods - no, Bethany, this is one of the worst." He said solemnly. "It is a mercy, what we do."

She couldn't hold in her sob then, but she understood the logic. It was oddly comforting, though not in the way he meant it to be. It was something that she could hear her sister or Isabela saying, in that strangely pragmatic way of theirs. She supposed it was a way of looking at the world that she never mastered, the way that allowed her sister to become Champion of Kirkwall and Isabela to be a fearsome pirate.

She wasn't sure when the arrows stopped flying, but Nathaniel's grip on his bow eased and they were reduced to simply watching the slow burn of the town below. When she reached over and took his hand, he didn't shy away. She thought he might, for a moment, but instead he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it. His lips were chapped against the soft skin on the back of her hand, but his kiss was feather light and gentle.

"My lady." Nathaniel said when she looked over at him. Bethany felt her cheeks flood with color but she didn't let go of his hand. Even when their clasped hands dropped down to their sides again, she held on still, as if he might disappear too. When they were done here, she would see to it that they had a proper kiss, someplace away from the death and ash and dust that they'd brought to this place.

When Hawke first heard the muffled sound from the main room of her cottage, she dismissed it as a bad dream and turned over, yanking the quilt up over her ears to block it out. But the noise came again, and so she sat up with a silent grumble. Next to her, Fenris stirred, but did not wake; she let him be and pulled her staff out from under the bed as she stood up. She could always rouse him at need.

Quietly, she pulled on her robe and pushed open the door, holding herself back in the shadows. There, by the banked hearth fire, a tall man stood, stooped over, warming his hands over the brazier. Hawke let the door fall closed behind her and set her staff aside. "Carver?"

He stood up straight, turned to face her, half a smile on his face. "Hello, Sister."

"What brings you here?" she asked, stepping toward him, her voice still hushed so as to not disturb Fenris. "It's been-- how many years?"

"Too many. Especially since--" Carver looked away, facing the firelight, and only then did Hawke truly see the dark circles under his eyes, his hollow cheeks, an awkwardness to his posture that suggested a wounded leg, perhaps a wrenched knee. "This is my last visit I've come to say goodbye."

Hawke's breath caught in her throat as she remembered the truth he had admitted to her, under the Vinmark Mountains, long ago. But when she spoke, her voice was calm. "So it's time?"

"Past time, really." Carver lowered his head. "I've been holding on, fighting the Call, mostly so I could get here and see you first. There's a Deep Roads entrance not far. In the morning, I'll-- go."

She nodded, swallowing around the hard lump in her throat. "Good luck."

He faced her again, his blue eyes bright -- with sorrow, with fever? "I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," she replied, holding out a hand to him. He took it, then enveloped her in an embrace, kissing her on top of the head.

"Don't be," he murmured. "Being a Warden makes for a short life, but it's a good one. Better than any other I could have had, really. I mean it."

She closed her eyes and leaned on her big little brother for the last time. "Goodbye," she said; he squeezed her, and then he was gone, leaving her alone with the crackle of the fire.

Merrill walked old streets in new clothes, feet and legs aching from the damp stone. She held a book in her hand and string in her pocket, and no one stopped her. She was just another elf, her face forgotten by the city even as her muscles re-learned the ache of walking there. Isabela would be displeased, she thought. But the anonymity made Merrill smile. All of Kirkwall’s crooked corners and bits of statuary were still so very charming, and now she would not get lost.

She could even give directions.

If the streets had forgotten her, they had not forgotten Varric Tethras. Merrill had seen his books on stall tables and his name carved into his old seat at the Hanged Man. When she said his name, she was met with wide eyes and wistful laughter, and a few nervous shifts some of the less reputable sorts imagined the old, metallic click of Bianca’s early notes. But Varric, so the city whispered, was not here.

He was snatched up by another story. An army, Seekers and demons and new strangeness that Merrill had felt across the Free Marches and well into Ferelden. She’d felt the veil tear in a dozen places between Denerim and Llomerryn, all along her own slow, solitary travel. And she had heard of a dwarf who liked to tell stories, who moved in its wake. So she had written a letter, to go with one of the old Guard romances and the faded ball of string. And Kirkwall had felt like the best place to set it loose.

Dear Varric.

Not much to say, lethallin, but a lot of love to give with it. I’ve heard you’re up to brave and dangerous things. We all are, I imagine, but yours will have the best stories. Find me and tell them, one day. I spend a lot of time in Denerim, now. There’s an elf, there—Shianni. She’s wonderful—so very fierce! I’m learning more about the world all the time. I saw Siege Harder on sale in Llomerryn, of all places, when I was travelling with Isabela, and it made me miss you very much. So, when I heard that you had left Kirkwall and gone to travel an even longer road than mine, I thought to send it off into the world to see if it finds you.

Of course, this might be very silly, but I’ve never minded that. I hope the string comes in useful, and that it makes you smile.

Keep safe, old friend. Tell me the story, when you can.
M

A breeze plucked at the gold and blue scarf tied in her hair, and she caught it with a practised hand. It was windy by the docks. She scanned the boats, trying to remember all her old friend had ever said was best in a ship. And when she left her package in a likely sailor’s hands, she made sure to press a kiss the paper first.

Beautifully done.

this is so perfect. i love this.

The Warden's dreams are harsh and bitter, filled with the screeching of darkspawn so close that her ears ring as she jolts awake--and nearly clashes foreheads with the large Qunari sitting next to her bedroll.

"Huzzuhwhubuh?" she mumbles. Sten almost, almost smiles at that.

"Your sleep was...troubled. I came to wake you before you did yourself harm."

"Just a dream, thankfully. Just a Warden's dream." She screws her eyes shut, then opens them wide. "No more sleep for me tonight, I think. Who's on watch next?"

"I am rested enough to take my post. But you...you look as if you would pitch face-first onto your enemy's swords."

"Aw, don't I do that already?"

That does make him crack a smile. "Sometimes I wonder." The Warden wraps her blanket around her shoulders, and he assists, bringing the edges together with a firm tug. His fingertips are deliciously warm where they brush against her neck. They look at each other, eyes soft in the flickering firelight.

"Come closer," she says softly, and leans in to peck him on one cheek, then the other. For a brief moment, the Warden rests his head against his shoulder, then straightens her back, drawing a sharp, deep breath. "Thank you, Sten. Sweet dreams for later."

"Qunari do not dream," he mutters as he leaves their leader to rest once more. But the soft touch of her lips does leave him wondering what he might see in his sleep just yet.

Surprisingly easy once you put your mind to it.

What can I say

This is beautiful. I love it. I think the idea of Merrill meeting Shianni is a very nice one. I think her letter is so sweet and also it has this wonderful sense in it that Merrill has become more self aware and I feel like that is a bitter-sweet thing.

Losing hand after hand of Wicked Grace.

This is so cute and sad.

"So, have you ever...?"

"What? Have you ever licked a lamppost in Winter?" He was so proud of himself for deflecting her question. Alistair just hadn't quite expected to distract her so... well.

"What's Winter?" Brosca asked, scrunching her face up in that way she had, when she wasn't sure if she should know about something.

"Oh, of course! Orzammar doesn't have seasons, does it?" Alistair said loudly, eternally grateful that his companion had decided to stop pursuing the question of his Chantry upbringing and whether or not he'd... licked any lampposts.

"Seasons? Oh, seasons! I know about those. Duncan told me about them. Which one is Winter, again? The wet one or the cold one?" Natia tilted her head and raised her brows expectantly.

"Um, well, it's probably, usually both cold and wet, and not pleasant at all," Alistair said in a garbled rush.

"It's not Winter now, is it?" Natia asked, looking at the ominous bank of dark clouds gathering overhead, remembering many hard marches through muddy, rainy territories.

"No, not for another few months," Alistair replied. "Although that could be a wintry storm, if it turns as cold as I think it will."

"We can share a bedroll if it gets cold," Natia said dismissively. "Why would anyone lick a lamppost in Winter?"

Alistair groaned slightly, and gave her a pained, pleading look, that begged her not to continue her line of enquiry. Clearly, he needed to work on his pleading puppy-dog-eyes, because she just looked at him again. Looking at him that way, as if she was expecting an answer.

"It's a frequent dare among the trainees in the cold weather - you do know what dares are, I take it?"

"You've never been dared 'til a Duster dares you," Natia grinned. "Now, I double-damn-dare you to answer my original question."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Fine," he heaved a sigh of long suffering. "To answer your original question... No. I haven't. I - the Chantry raised me to be a gentleman, especially around a beautiful woman, such as yourself. That's not... a bad thing, is it?"

Natia Brosca snorted at him, with an amused look in her eye. "I'm not beautiful. You want beautiful, I'll introduce you to Rica. She even knows how to play the lap harp."

"Why does a lap harp make her beautiful?" Alistair muttered.

"Shut up," she grumbled fondly, rolling her eyes, "and no it's no bad thing. In Dust Town, virginity could get you a whole sovereign, from the right patron. I ... I have a sovereign, here..."

"Wait, you sold your virginity?" Alistair gasped, horrified.

"Well, I wasn't exactly using it, and it got us a month's food and mosswine for Ma," Natia replied, defensively.

Alistair suddenly realised that he'd made a blunder. "Um. I wasn't criticising you, I promise," he said softly, serious for once. "Never you. I just... I can't imagine having to ... do that just to put food on the table. And I'm sorry that you had to."

Natia shrugged, teeth bared in a parody of a smile. "Rica had it worse, and liked it better. Once Bherat got word that I was as likely to bite his clients as suck them, he put me with Leske, knocking heads and taking names. It ... worked out, in the end. I've never..." Natia trailed off, tugging the end of her nugtail braid nervously.

"You've never... what?" Alistair asked.

"Kissed anyone," she finished, eyes trained on the dirt beneath her feet.

"I... once," Alistair murmured. "But I didn't really like it, at the time."

"Why not?"

"Because she wasn't you? I'm honestly not sure otherwise," Alistair confessed wryly.

She looked up at him, surprise writ clearly on her features. They inched closer together, fingertips grazing, breath coming quicker, when the distant storm cloud interrupted their precious moment. They were pelted with a deluge of sleety rain.

Natia squeaked in surprise and jumped into Alistair's arms, burrowing to hide her face against his splintmail shirt, and gripping his gambeson in the gap under his arms, making ticklish Alistair giggle in the most undignified manner.

An icy blast of wind sent him scurrying - running in a dignified manly way - for his tent. Natia squeezed him tightly about his neck, and he felt her breath puffing against his throat. He sank down onto the open bedroll, silently thanking Wynne for making it ready while the Wardens spoke together. Natia had calmed somewhat, but still hadn't loosened her grip around his neck.

"That's normal in Ferelden? It felt cold and sharp, and nasty," she grumbled.

Alistair chuckled, and ran his thumb along the nape of her neck, above the collar of her leather armour. "Yes, it is normal. But we Fereldans don't much care for it, either. Nobody likes being both cold and wet. And most don't care for one or the other, either."

"Oh, good," Natia mumbled, fiddling with the buckles of his splintmail shirt. "Bad enough you surfacers are sun-addled and sky-touched, without adding cold-addled or rain-touched to the list."

"Stop that," Alistair chided her, blushing to the tips of his ears when he realised what she was doing, and actually taking her hands and holding both in one of his when she kept unbuckling. "And I'm only a little sun-addled. It's been a very poor Summer so far."

The sleet that had chased them into the tent was loudly proving him right, beating noisily against the oiled canvas.

"Take. It. Off. And I never said you were sun-addled, just you surfacers in general. You on the other hand, you're completely sky-touched," Natia replied, smiling fondly.

Alistair laughed outright at that, and dropped a kiss to her forehead. Followed immediately by a kiss to the bridge of her nose, ach of her cheeks, and the tip of her nose. She looked up at him, for once in their time together seeming uncertain. Alistair trailed his thumb along her brand, following with his mouth when she turned her head to hide it from him.

"Is that... kissing?"

"Mm-hm, although most people usually press their mouths together, too," Alistair said, amused that in this, at least, he was the knowledgeable one.

"Then let's try that. And after that, can we take our armour off? I don't think I'd be able to sleep with all that clank digging into me," Natia grinned.

Alistair grinned back, and it was the most natural thing in the world to share each other's breath, and lick one another's lips, and finally, finally touch their lips together.

*-*-*

Never expected to find you here.

This is really excellent, I love how adorable they are, and how he reacts to her admission and his mistake. Thank you!

Thank you for making this lovely kiss battle :)

I love your icon, btw ;)

You're welcome! :) I really enjoy the kiss battle, it's one of the highlights of my fandom year.

And thanks! They are the Aeducan and Brosca I created for an AU story where they both survive the origin and become Grey Wardens. I might be a bit of a dwarf fan. You know, a little bit. ;)

PDA(s) with a significant height difference

adorable!

“Firewood, Zevran. I asked you to help me get firewood.” Alistair glances down at the elf currently pressed up against him, rubbing against his hips. “Not... this kind of wood.”

Zevran laughs. “My dear Warden, you should know by now that you must be very specific with me.”

“Andraste save me,” Alistair says, trying to sound exasperated, though he can’t hide the grin that spreads across his face. “Do you have to treat everything as innuendo?”

“When it comes to you, yes.” Zevran wiggles his hips more. Lithe as he may be, he’s strong, and his arms around Alistair are enough to keep the warrior in place. Not that Alistair is trying to free himself from Zevran’s hold. And the impressive... wood... that’s pressing against him is enough assurance that Alistair isn’t terribly upset by Zevran’s misinterpretation.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says, grinning impishly. “One kiss and I shall do whatever you command of me.” It’s difficult to tell whether he is speaking of collection of firewood or of... other things.

It’s difficult not to be endeared by Zevran’s boldness. Alistair leans down, attempting a somewhat chaste kiss--they are after all within sight of the camp--though Zevran doesn’t let him get away it, instead forcing his tongue between Alistair’s lips and flicking briefly against Alistair’s own tongue. Tantalizing, promising.

“Now will you help me get the firewood?” Alistair asks, finally able to extract himself from Zevran’s hold.

“As you wish, Alistair,” Zevran answers, caressing Alistair’s name. “Though I fully intend to help you obtain a different kind of wood later...”

Alistair rolls his eyes as he follows Zevran into the ~~woods~~ forest. He hopes Surana won’t assign him watch tonight.

Edited (more appropriate rating) 2014-02-12 20:24 (UTC)

This may be our last chance.

He might have been king, her love. All their adventures could have come to a halt so he could wear a crown and have dominion over Ferelden, to become the kind of leader her was raised to be before a duty of blood ruled overrode his heritage. It had been in his grasp both before and after the Battle of Denerim, though he professed to never want power. Leliana knew that it could have been such, and thus gave thanks every day that their paths, however winding, had led someplace different.

This day was no exception, dawning bright and wide in a sky unfettered by buildings or clouds. The two of them were at the foot of a mountain in a land that she knew only from maps and songs. Well, it was three if they counted the dog, and somehow the dog never failed to make himself count.

Each day with him, this warden, this man, this lost Cousland scion was a victory to her. They have more than love, he is like the silence betwixt each beat of her heart, a role so crucial that she can't live without it. He is the hero in every ballad she pens, but also its melody and rhythm as she sketches her hands across her lute and gives voice to his song. Her feelings would lie and say that no one could love more, or harder or more passionately than they did, but the world was full of stories like theirs and she sang them to his ears as they fell asleep at night. She was just glad to continue hers for as long as she could.

But that matters not this morning, they are alive with the sun shining down on them, though he is not awake. She leans over to where he sleeps in their shared bedroll and kisses him softly. First on each closed eyelid, the softest part of his face apart from his lips, then on the tip of his oft-broken nose and finally onto his lips.

He catches her by surprise on her last kiss, returning it with the kind of ardor that belongs only to the early morning, driven by sleep and unfettered by self-consciousness or concern. She feels him smile against her mouth as she presses harder into his lips. His large hand catches in her short hair, pulling her closer until there is no more air between them and they come apart.

"Good morning." He says as she pulls away. His sleep roughened voice rumbles through him, and he only opens one eye a crack to look at her. "Any special reason for the warm wake up?" He asks. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

Leliana looks out at the horizon and sighs, but it is a sound of contentment rather than frustration. "It is a beautiful day, and we are together. Is that not reason enough?"

He covers her hand with his and smiles up at her, both eyes open now. "Still celebrating the small victories, are we?"

"Always." Leliana says softly, once and again, repeating it in her heart. "Always."

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Page 4 of 6

Dragon Age Kiss Battle: Go!

Wine and games (f!Hawke/Fenris) - Rated T(ish)

Re: "Bolder", Bethany/Merrill, PG

Re: Morrigan/Dog

Re: Morrigan/Dog

The Hard Mercy - T

"Last Call", f!Hawke & Carver, PGish

Re: Varric/Merrill

Re: "Last Call", f!Hawke & Carver, PGish

Re: Varric/Merrill

Re: Warden/Sten

Tabris/Velanna

F!CouslandWarden/Sebastian

Re: Varric/Merrill

Varric/Bethany

Re: Varric/Merrill

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

Isabela/Fenris

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

Re: Alistair/f!Brosca "What's Winter?"

Alistair/f!Dwarf

Re: Anders/Nathaniel

Re: Alistair/Zevran T

Nathaniel/Anders

Sunrise - T