Where To Find Me

My second and Final contact post. My blogs are being back up and I’m going to be inactive here aside from reblogging this and getting people’s contact information. I have been on here as Rifa, @glowyelfboyfriend , @rifamicros , @wixrifa etc. Its all me, this is where I am:

✨ Pillowfort: @rifa  ✨ Twitter: @danaewriting  ✨ Discord: rifa#1500 ✨ Discord Server: Side of Fries ✨ AO3: rifa

My discord server is for anyone following me to join, all are welcome just make sure you introduce yourself to gain access to the rest of the server. Follow me wherever! I have lots of good stuff happening in the new year like a new COMIC and more writing and more good shit. Don’t be shy to add me, join the discord server, or send me a message. I’ll be checking til Dec 17th.

Where To Find Me

My second and Final contact post. My blogs are being back up and I’m going to be inactive here aside from reblogging this and getting people’s contact information. I have been on here as Rifa, @glowyelfboyfriend , @rifamicros , @wixrifa etc. Its all me, this is where I am:

✨ Pillowfort: @rifa  ✨ Twitter: @danaewriting  ✨ Discord: rifa#1500 ✨ Discord Server: Side of Fries ✨ AO3: rifa

My discord server is for anyone following me to join, all are welcome just make sure you introduce yourself to gain access to the rest of the server. Follow me wherever! I have lots of good stuff happening in the new year like a new COMIC and more writing and more good shit. Don’t be shy to add me, join the discord server, or send me a message. I’ll be checking til Dec 17th.

Hey Folks

Once this nsfw ban goes into effect I’m gonna expect my account to get nuked, so in order to try and avoid that Im going to be downloading then deleting my nsfw side blog and then will stop using this site for my own content. 

If Im still active it will only be to reblog images or the like, any posts, thoughts, writing, announcements, etc will no longer be posted here.

You can follow me at: Twitter: @danaewriting  Pillowfort: @rifa  Discord: rifa#1500

I do have a new webcomic I am working on that should be available next year but with this update Im not sure if it will be promoted on here as it has written sexual content and who KNOWS at this point if it would be flagged so.

Follow me on twitter and join me on pillowfort, add me on discord and dont be shy to drop a line and say hey.

I’m considering starting a casual discord group for followers and mutuals so uh, let me know if thats something you want!

I now have a discord server that you can join!

Hey Folks

Once this nsfw ban goes into effect I’m gonna expect my account to get nuked, so in order to try and avoid that Im going to be downloading then deleting my nsfw side blog and then will stop using this site for my own content. 

If Im still active it will only be to reblog images or the like, any posts, thoughts, writing, announcements, etc will no longer be posted here.

You can follow me at: Twitter: @danaewriting  Pillowfort: @rifa  Discord: rifa#1500

I do have a new webcomic I am working on that should be available next year but with this update Im not sure if it will be promoted on here as it has written sexual content and who KNOWS at this point if it would be flagged so.

Follow me on twitter and join me on pillowfort, add me on discord and dont be shy to drop a line and say hey.

I’m considering starting a casual discord group for followers and mutuals so uh, let me know if thats something you want!

From my main.

It was well past nightfall in Darktown, even though it was almost impossible to tell sometimes in this part of Kirkwall. Hawke had come down to the clinic earlier in the evening, bringing Anders his portion of pay from a job they had completed together recently. Anders had convinced him to stay, bribing him with a vintage that had been traded to him for his healing services.

The bottle was half empty on the rickety table between them now. One of the table legs was too short, wobbling the surface and their miss-matched drinking glasses.

“Woah,” Hawke tried to right the table, for the fifth time at least, laughing as it wouldn’t steady. “Isn’t there something we can put under- Put under its-”

Anders chuckled as Hawke waved his hand towards the table legs repeatedly. Hawke had suggested this multiple times already, every time the words slurred more.

“You know you’re a real lightweight, considering you’re…” Anders gestured to Hawke’s broad shoulders, his muscled arms and swallowed hard on the acid aftertaste of the spirit they were sharing.

“It’s this stuff it’s…” Hawke picked up the bottle and squinted at the label, unable to decipher the Antivan script. “It’s hard, this stuff, it’s really very hard.”

Hawke swayed on his stool as if he were sitting in the hull of a ship in a rocking sea, not in the back room of Anders’ clinic. Anders was feeling the drink too, albeit not as sharply as Hawke was, it was enough to dull the edges inside of him. Enough to cloud out Justice, to etch his own space where it was just him and Hawke.

He had only known Hawke for a few months, but it was enough for him to know that the Ferelden was exactly the type of person he wanted to follow. To be with, if he dared to dream. He was steadfast, honest, always willing to lend a helping hand and had the worst sense of humor that Anders couldn’t help but adore.

The only problem was that Hawke did not seem interested.

But Anders was sure he could convince him.

((continue reading on AO3))

Hawke returned to Skyhold well after dark. Fenris had almost given up waiting for him, sure that he had decided to camp out overnight after all. He wouldn’t be surprised, Hawke probably needed the space away from him after what he had put him through that morning. Fenris had forced himself to put it from his mind as he sat under one of the awnings in the garden, watching the snow trail slowly from the dark sky until Hawke appeared.

Their eyes met across the dim snow-covered garden. Hawke shifted his pack on his shoulder before stepping through the fresh snow towards Fenris.

Fenris stood to meet him, lump in his throat growing as he stepped forward. He was going to tell Hawke, he was going to talk to him about his arrangements with The Iron Bull. He couldn’t back down this time. Hawke would want to know why he was waiting up for him, sitting in the cold past nightfall, and Fenris was out of excuses.

“Fenris,” Hawke nodded to him, avoiding his gaze as his cheeks flushed pink above his beard. There was no doubt he was thinking of their run-in this morning, the rough, deep kiss Fenris had pinned him in against his bed. “Is everything alright?”

Fenris blinked at the unexpected question. His thoughts stumbled from the practiced lines he had turned over in his head for hours and he found himself struggling for an answer.

“Yes,” Fenris said, almost with the inclination of a question. “Hawke, we need to talk.”

Hawke finally met his eyes, trepidation clear in them as he exhaled slowly and dropped his pack and bow under the protection of the awning.

“I thought so,” Hawke mumbled, looking fugitively around the garden before settling himself on the bench Fenris had been waiting on. He leaned back against the stone wall, arms shifting and hands fidgeting as he failed to find a comfortable position.

Fenris crossed his arms where he stood, an attempt to tamper the anxious breath that was pushing through him like a bellows. If he weren’t outside, uncloaked and barefoot in the snow, he knew the red lyrium would be thawing happily in the presence of his fear.

Hawke waited for him, wringing his gloved hands together for warmth as his eyes settled somewhere below Fenris’ eyes. The tension was palpable, the quiet and peace of the slowing falling snow and their silence a thin veneer over the wild, dark sea raging inside of them.

“I would like to extend my apologies, again,” Fenris’ voice was stiff as he uncrossed his arms. “I put you into an impossible position without a thought for your own comfort, it was unfair of me and it will not happen again.”

((continue reading on AO3))

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“I’ll take what I can get.”

Ilya’s voice cracks on the last word but his gaze remains locked with Asra’s. From down here on his knees, Asra seems even more powerful, as if his lithe stature could tear through Ilya with little more than a thought. A titan in sheep’s clothes, his soft, steady gaze is impossibly distant and yet warm as he laughs.

Asra’s hand slips through Ilya’s hair and pulls. Ilya’s scalp lights with pain, aching beautifully as he gasps and follows its guidance. Asra leans closer, his lidded eyes dancing with a dangerous playfulness Ilya had never seen in the magician’s eyes before.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Asra whispers, his breath warm against Ilya’s parted lips. A shudder rolls through Ilya at his words, straining against Asra’s grasp to attempt to steal those lips.

The grip in his hair pulls him back, just out of reach as Ilya blinks up nervously into Asra’s face. He knew how he must look in this moment, desperate and pleading in the face of denial. But he isn’t disappointed by the correction, not one bit. His face burns as he stares into Asra’s amused face and wills the him to continue.

“Use me,” Ilya’s voice is a ghost, unable to taunt or draw any strength with Asra over him like this. But he means it. He means it more than anything. “Please.”

Asra smiles, “I already did,” Ilya’s hand stings as if in response, blood and saliva slick in his palm from when Asra licked his cut. “And you are still talking too much, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Ilya’s jaw snaps shut and he swallows thickly, each breath rattling through him as a dark fog trails around the floor, twisting around Asra’s ankles. The same as what greeted him upon entering the cramped shop. Against his better judgement, he breathes it in, the edges of his mind softening as it fills his lungs. It smells of Asra, why didn’t he notice that before? The murky fog crawls about him, gliding up his thighs as if curious before dissipating in long twining swirls.

It laps against his palms, ghostly licks and Ilya cannot help but flush. He wants to ask Asra what it is, what he’s doing, but instead he bites down on his lip to stop himself. He asked for this, didn’t he? The trepidation mixes in with his flushed arousal easily, inseparable as he meets eyes with Asra again.

((Continue Reading on AO3))

Fenris and Iron Bull’s conversation continued into the night, weaving between additional rules and boundaries to more casual topics. When Fenris eventually said his goodbyes and headed back to his room, his head was buzzing with both anxiety and excitement. He was surprised with how comfortable the qunari made him feel. How he turned what had been haunting Fenris into something considerably tame and normal.

It felt like the right direction, or at least something worth trying. The relief at having something he could do to try to lift the shame and ghosts from his skin let him breathe. He had been trapped, unable to discuss or tear out the thing that dogged him, and now at least he had a plan.

It felt good.

But, of course, Fenris awoke the next morning paralyzed with fear. What had been a comfortable comradery the previous night turned to untrusting paranoia. His elation at having expressed his unwanted desires twisted and darkened into deep shame. He curled on his bed, the red heat beating under the sheets as he held his head in his hands, groaning at the thought of telling anyone about this.

Why did he do it? Why had he agreed? Was there any way he could get out of it now? Even if he convinced the Iron Bull to drop their tentative plan, there was no way Fenris could pluck the knowledge from him. The qunari knew, he knew more about Fenris than he should, and why wouldn’t the man use it for his own benefit if Fenris withdrew their arrangement?

Fenris’ breaths came quicker, his body shaking as his mind unraveled into memories and terror. Even if his body was attuned to the desires of his old master, it did not mean it was what he wanted . His cock stirring at the thought of being bound, of being pressed and dominated and spreading himself to be taken did not mean he wanted it from this qunari. How could he have ever agreed to do anything like this, especially with anyone other than Hawke?

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Inhale. Exhale. His lungs trembled at the effort but softened and followed his gentle command within a few moments. The thoughts fell away slowly as Fenris retreated, focusing on his slowing heartbeat, the thoughts leaving behind shadows and aches.

He was fine. It was not that serious. Besides, should the Iron Bull ever choose to retaliate it was not like Fenris was helpless. Fenris could change his mind, Bull had said it himself more than once, and everything would stop. Even if he didn’t believe it, he knew that the qunari had a reputation he cared about and that, once again, Fenris was not helpless.

((Continue reading on AO3))

The Winter Palace reminded Dorian of home.

The Palace itself was expansive, lavish and gleaming with every luxury the Orlesian Empire could afford. And it could afford a lot . Indeed, Dorian had heard the complaints from his fellows back in Tevinter about the state of the Imperium in direct relation to the prosperity that Orlais had accumulated, but it was different seeing it with his own eyes. While he had attended soirees in Minrathous with the same menu of finery and displays of wealth, he was sure that Empress Celene was not dangerously in debt from the effort.

It was like home in other ways too. The finely dressed and masked nobles showing every bit of displeasure they could at his appearance short of hissing at him and throwing their wine in his face. The music swelled, the workings of the great ‘game’ evident in every inclined head and extended hand as the nobles whisked each other off to the dance floor. The slaves- wait no, the servants (although there didn’t seem to be much of a distinction) where giving each other pointed looks when they met in the corners of the halls before retrieving more bottles of the splendid Orlesian cabernet sauvignon they had been pouring.

Dorian swirled the wine in his glass, wondering how long the night would last before someone was poisoned. He smiled to himself as he wondered what the odds were that it would be him.

Of course, there was all that assassination business the Inquisitor was bothered about, Dorian had listened to Josephine lecture and instruct her over and over in the carriage on the way here. He had made a few suggestions before the Antivan had shot him a look and banned him from ‘helping’. All good fun. Until any fighting broke out, all Dorian had to do was keep to himself, offend as few people as possible with his presence, and drink every drop of wine he could wrestle from the servants.

Dorian had taken himself to one of the small court gardens, despite the distinct chill in the air, so as to remove himself from the bustling array of silken piranhas. But where he was situated he was able to people watch through the large windows, his eyes darting to each red-jacketed Inquisition member as they attempted to weave through the traps and teeth waiting for them inside.

((Continue reading on AO3))

Donate as much or as little as you want on Ko-Fi for early access to this fic, fic will be posted on AO3 on Oct 2 2018!

Excerpt:

The masked man stared at him for a silent moment before crossing his arms, “Tell me elf, what has inspired such apathy in you? Such disrespect?”

Zevran sighed sadly, restraining himself from rolling his eyes at the man he was sure now was a guildmaster he hadn’t met before.

“I can’t help it if Taliesen is more skilled than me,” Zevran pitched his eyebrows in mock sadness, “Although, I am definitely more handsome, you can’t deny that. These lovely gentlemen here might have rearranged my face a bit, but you can see under the bruises and swelling, yes?”

The guildmaster, Zevran was convinced of his rank by now, looked away to exchange glances with one of the other Crows, as if in disbelief. Which was fair. Zevran didn’t know what he was talking about any more than this man did. At this point, he was just filling the silence before the inevitable, weaseling and squirming his way using the only method he knew how.

The guildmaster barked out a laugh so suddenly that it gave Zevran a start, “At least you know what little worth you have, elf.”

Zevran swallowed hard before returning the laugh with a friendly chuckle of his own, “Ah, you see? It’s not so much that I don’t care or that I’m avoiding the masters. I’m just much more suited to the seduction, the distraction, the illusions I weave with a flick of the hair and a flash of a smile.”

The guildmaster watched him with even, blue eyes burning into him, “Ah yes, much like your knife-ear mother. I suppose I cannot blame you for your nature, can I?”

Zevran’s lip twitched, but his smile remained in place.

The guildmaster stroked his chin with a gloved hand in an appraising gesture. His leather-soled footsteps silent as he crept up closer to Zevran and considered him from behind his mask.

“I am here to deliver a warning, Zevran,” Zevran was just able to catch a glimpse of a wicked smile under the beaked mask. “The next time you have a visit from me, or any of the other guildmasters, it will be your last. You have been a promising prospect in the past, and have almost paid off what House Arainai invested in you, and we do not want to see you go to waste. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Zevran’s face was starting to hurt, the forced smile at odds with his injuries.

“That’s a good boy,” The guildmaster’s voice dropped and Zevran had an idea of how the rest of this visit would go. “Now, my men here have already roughed you up a bit and I wouldn’t want to see lasting injury when there are contracts for you to do, so how about we find a more creative way to conclude this discipline? Hmm?”

“What did you have in mind, guildmaster?” Zevran raised an eyebrow playfully, as long as he was able to walk away from this with all his fingers and all his bones unbroken he was a happy man.

Continue Reading on Ko-Fi!

This is an advanced posting of this chapter, the chapter will be posted on AO3 on August 6th 2018. 

Fenris and Iron Bull’s conversation continued into the night, weaving between additional rules and boundaries to more casual topics. When Fenris eventually said his goodbyes and headed back to his room, his head was buzzing with both anxiety and excitement. He was surprised with how comfortable the qunari made him feel. How he turned what had been haunting Fenris into something considerably tame and normal.

It felt like the right direction, or at least something worth trying. The relief at having something he could do to try to lift the shame and ghosts from his skin let him breathe. He had been trapped, unable to discuss or tear out the thing that dogged him, and now at least he had a plan.

It felt good.

But, of course, Fenris awoke the next morning paralyzed with fear. What had been a comfortable comradery the previous night turned to untrusting paranoia. His elation at having expressed his unwanted desires twisted and darkened into deep shame. He curled on his bed, the red heat beating under the sheets as he held his head in his hands, groaning at the thought of telling anyone about this.

Why did he do it? Why had he agreed? Was there any way he could get out of it now? Even if he convinced the Iron Bull to drop their tentative plan, there was no way Fenris could pluck the knowledge from him. The qunari knew, he knew more about Fenris than he should, and why wouldn’t the man use it for his own benefit if Fenris withdrew their arrangement?

Fenris’ breaths came quicker, his body shaking as his mind unraveled into memories and terror. Even if his body was attuned to the desires of his old master, it did not mean it was what he wanted. His cock stirring at the thought of being bound, of being pressed and dominated and spreading himself to be taken did not mean he wanted it from this qunari. How could he have ever agreed to do anything like this, especially with anyone other than Hawke?

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Inhale. Exhale. His lungs trembled at the effort but softened and followed his gentle command within a few moments. The thoughts fell away slowly as Fenris retreated, focusing on his slowing heartbeat, the thoughts leaving behind shadows and aches.

He was fine. It was not that serious. Besides, should the Iron Bull ever choose to retaliate it was not like Fenris was helpless. Fenris could change his mind, Bull had said it himself more than once, and everything would stop. Even if he didn’t believe it, he knew that the qunari had a reputation he cared about and that, once again, Fenris was not helpless.

((Continue Reading on Ko-Fi))

Fenris stood up from the low burning fire and stretched, eyes narrowed over the dark horizon. His watch was ending soon and it had thankfully been uneventful. The stars glimmered in the vast sky above him and the Nocen sea was shining in the far distance. They were patrolling the High Reaches, following reports of Qunari ships traveling from Seheron to the Northern shoreline. A bold move, one Fenris would have discredited as rumor if it weren’t for the Captain’s sources.

The rest of the company was asleep, bundled against their bedrolls near the fire or tucked away in their tents. Fenris had been with the company for a few months now, traveling through the countryside and wilderness of Tevinter to head off the growing Qunari threat. It had been one of Fenris’ better arrangements since he left Kirkwall.

Fenris weaved his bare feet between sleeping bodies and knelt at the massive sleeping form of the next watch.

“Issala,” Fenris coaxed the Tal Vashoth from his slumber. “It’s your watch.”

Issala grunted and rolled over, rubbing a hand over his face and up against his blunted horns, “I’m up.”

Fenris stood back up, ears twitching as he gave one last scan of the borders of their camp as Issala slowly stood and did up his weapon belt.

“Anything?” Issala asked quietly.

“No,” Fenris answered, suddenly aware of how tired he was now that another was awake in his place. “A few deer passed by the stream.”

Issala grunted, casting his eyes about the camp before moving towards the low fire, “Get some rest.”

Fenris turned and considered his bedroll, laid out on the edge of the camp with his pack. He was tired but knew that he would have at least an hour before the vigilance wore off enough to allow him to fall asleep. There had been no fighting today, nothing especially taxing to help him nod off quicker.

“I have watch after Issala, so, if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.”

Fenris’ ear twitched and he turned to instead head towards the Captain’s tent. He pulled the canvas back and ducked inside, removing his sheathed sword as he crouched in the entrance.

“Meera?”

((Continue Reading on AO3))

Excerpt:

“Do you want me?” Anders purred as he released his fingers. Of course, Hawke wanted him now. No man could reject another so willing to offer himself. It had started as a survival tactic years ago, one that had turned to a desperately hungry need.

“I’m- Ahh, I mean, of course, but-” Hawke blinked hard as Anders reached to stroke at the hardness that had grown between his legs. Warm and thick under the protective leathers. “Here? I don’t think I could really-”

Anders blinked slowly as he smiled at Hawke, slipping from his chair to the split and stained wood planks between the man’s open legs. Hawke groaned throatily, opening his legs wider as his hands twitched on his thighs. Anders nuzzled against his crotch, mouthing the tangy leather surrounding Hawke’s erect cock as he looked up at him through his blonde eyelashes.

“Let me,” He breathed against the damp leather, reaching for the laces of Hawke’s trousers. “Let me swallow you down.”

Read Early on Ko-Fi - To be published Oct. 1st 2018 -

Hey EVERYONE! I just upgraded my ko-fi account to a gold account! This means that if you want to support me and my writing work you can set up a recurring monthly donation!

I’m going to be posting content on Ko-Fi such as fanfics and chapters before they are posted (I’m going to be doing dragon age kinktober up there for example), bits of worldbuilding and development for my novel, comic scripts, articles and other stuff too!

To access it you only need to have donated within 30 days to see it! So you can sign up for monthly to catch anything and everything OR toss a tip in my jar to see something I’ve posted. I will be posting previews of everything I post there on tumblr so you will hear about it!

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I love you guys and I wanna keep working at doing writing full-time, donating helps keep me in the green while I do the hard groundwork!

Thanks!

Any sort of relationship or rapport that Cullen and Dorian had dissipated over the weeks following their argument. At first, Cullen was able to convince himself that the drop in contact was a result of his heavy workload with the Inquisition. There was a war going on and it wasn’t going to wait around for anyone, so neither did Cullen.

Dorian appeared around Skyhold, of course. He attended briefings and meetings but noticeably held his tongue around Cullen. He didn’t spare a glance in the commander’s direction, even when he was speaking. Cullen supposed it was discretion, Dorian not wanting to warrant any suspicion or attention from anyone else, but Cullen began to miss his snarky quips and inappropriate comments.

While Dorian had suggested that they could possibly meet again, it seemed as if he was trying to keep himself scarce. He never allowed himself to be alone with Cullen, always leaving the room before Cullen so he couldn’t be cornered or spoken to in private.

It was fair of him, Cullen thought, after how he had interrogated the mage and forced him to open up before he might have been ready. It wasn’t unusual for mages to avoid his presence anyways, but this had never bothered Cullen as much as it did now.

It was for the best, wasn’t it? Dorian came and went from Skyhold with the Inquisitor, wrote his reports of Venatori activity, and continued to aid in research with the other mages. Cullen was busy as well. They did not need the distraction that they brought each other.

Even so, Cullen found Dorian’s impression impossible to scrub from his mind. It happened when he passed Dorian in the hall, turning to watch him as he strode away, remembering his back arched against Cullen’s bed. Cullen’s gaze lingering on Dorian’s lips after he finished speaking in meetings. Late at night when Cullen was desperately looking for a little release from the stress of the day, grasping himself and sweating as he remembered those smoldering eyes looking up at him as he…

The thoughts were a foolish distraction and nothing more. Cullen was sure from Dorian’s disinterest and avoidance that he was not interested in seeing him again. It was over, before it started, but Cullen could appreciate that. He only wished that Dorian would have cut the thread between them with an actual word, instead of the suggestion that they could see each other again.

((Continue Reading on AO3))