A place to spread some fandom love and write stories for one another. See the PARTICIPATE link if you are interested in joining! Currently CLOSED for sign ups
For every day of the event, we've put together three prompts for you to choose from!! There's a location, a spirit, and a quote. Feel free to use one, two, or all three- we hope you have fun with them!
Each day's prompts are inspired by a member of the Veilguard and their faction, but you don't have to use them for that companion-- if you're inspired to apply them to somebody else, feel free!! All we ask is that your work is Veilguard-focused! Faction leaders, NPCs, villains, Rooks-- all are welcome here!!
We can't wait to see what you create!
Find our rules HERE !!
Prompts below the cut
Mar 31st: The Grand Necropolis, curiosity, "Close your eyes. Take a breath."
Apr 1st: Rivain, Compassion, "I like to listen to the waves crash."
Apr 2nd: Hossberg Wetlands, Hope, "But if you say you're an expert? Show me some expertise."
Apr 3rd: Treviso, Determination, "Bitter and sweet, like a kiss goodbye."
Apr 4th: Arlathan Forest, Wisdom, "Sorry! Just breaking things!"
Apr 5th: Minrathous, Justice, "You know, I think you might be trouble."
Apr 6th: The Lighthouse, Valour, "We could continue this in the morning?"
Thank you so much to everyone who participated in the Taash week survey! We loved hearing all of your ideas for what kind of art you would like to make centering Taash! Here is the official prompt list:
We hope to release the official dates by the end of this week (this post will be updated!) but Taash week will take place in March! The hashtag will be #Taashweek2025.
Please check out the FAQ & Rules!
We are so excited to see what you all make during this event!
It's the Year of the Snake so the theme is - Mysteries, Secrets, Puzzles!
Put those characters into situations(oh no the puzzle of only one bed?), have a caring moment of opening up about secrets, or solve a mystery together. It could also be something about snakes.
What is DAFicSwap? Writers in the Dragon Age community have prompts and write for each other. Sometimes we do art/fic swaps too. You can check out a previous round here.
It's the Year of the Snake so the theme is - Mysteries, Secrets, Puzzles!
Put those characters into situations(oh no the puzzle of only one bed?), have a caring moment of opening up about secrets, or solve a mystery together. It could also be something about snakes.
What is DAFicSwap? Writers in the Dragon Age community have prompts and write for each other. Sometimes we do art/fic swaps too. You can check out a previous round here.
Anyway, here’s my @daficswap (except it turned out to not be a fic its an Art) for @julissayne ! Halloween in Thedas, so I did Dorian in a Desire Demon costume
@sunlian‘s entry for @julissayne featuring their Felicius Trevelyan and Dorian post Trespasser.
20 years. That’s how long it took to track him down and box him in. 20 years of endless cat-and-mouse, sabotaging operations, cutting losses and abandoning plans, a seemingly endless back-and-forth, a war fought nearly entirely in the shadows.
They were all here, mostly. Those who had been in this fight from the beginning, when there was still a barely-stable hole in the sky. More had joined, when the true enemy was revealed. Many more fell.
For years, this is how so many thought it would continue; they couldn’t catch Solas, and maybe they couldn’t fully stop him, but they could slow him down, indefinitely. Delay and delay each plan, plot and ploy, keep his forces occupied in a cold war, fighting small skirmishes on the occasions where blades truly did clash.
Until today.
Fitting that he’d been finally pinned on a tiny island off the Tevinter Coast, so small that it was not even named. Maybe there’s some dramatic irony in that, pinning a god down on a such an insignificant patch of rock and sand, but Dorian isn’t concerned about dramatic ironies at this point.
He’s far more concerned about his family. More importantly, he’s concerned about his child.
He’s worried about Trevelyan as well, of course, but his amatus was always a fighter; he lived for it, found a near unparalleled joy in proving himself in combat, even in his age. He was where the fighting was thickest; holding off the forces of Fen’Harel on the coast, preventing them from reaching their leader. Where he belonged, when he was not at Dorian’s own side, of course.
(He’s much more worried than he wants to admit, and maybe he will, when this is all over and they return to Minrathous. The three of them, together, because they will all make it through this.)
The small trawler rocks as the sea churns, broiling from mana-storms and violent spellcasting. It makes the small wounds Dorian sustained in the push to the boat that little bit worse, and he makes an obvious effort to not wince, when he catches Felicius staring at the blood coating their shortsword. He reaches over, pulling out a kerchief and offering it to them with a smile.
“Better get that clean. Remember what your father taught you about clean blades and the like?”
The young adult nods and wordlessly accepts the offered cloth, gently dragging up and down the length of the blade, into the small groves where lyrium-etched runes were molded and stamped into the pale steel. It was a fine blade, despite its age now; a gift when they turned sixteen, presented by a beaming Trevelyan. It was beautiful, and yes, practical; Dorian had no delusions that they would use that blade in earnest one day.
He could’ve never imagined that it would be against a god.
———
Maybe “patch of rock and sand” was too dismissive; just because it’s small on a map of Thedas doesn’t mean it’s something that be traversed quickly with something akin to a light jog. That being said, Dorian is entirely too old for beach assaults. Assaults of any kind, really.
Nevertheless, the air crackles and sparks as he flings arcing lightning into the scattered forces on the shore, wading through the small breakers and onto the pebbled shore. In front of him, Felicius has leaped into the fray, a whirling force of finesse and carnage, equally. The sight fills him with equal parts pride and panic, a panic that Dorian quashes down with a spin of his staff, blasting a charging elf into the air. He uses the momentum to spin his staff yet again and slams the blade into the ground, blue light flaring as he feels the familiar buzz of barrier magic envelop him and Felicius, just in time to deflect a dagger thrusted towards them. The assailant is quickly struck down as the pair push forward.
“I thought they were supposed to be the leftover forces!” Felicius shouts over the din, leaping forward into a roll, ducking under a greatsword and behind its’ owner, thrusting their shortsword through their chest.
“They are, they’re just more than we might’ve expected! Just keep moving up!” Dorian calls back, casting a collection of glyphs on the beach before him. There were a more than he expected. A lot more. They were dispatching them quickly enough, but they’re weren’t even supposed to encounter anything like this. Their window of time to corner Solas was shrinking with each second spent skirmishing on the beach.
But, that was probably why they were fighting so fiercely. Solas certainly likes his followers devoted.
Dorian smirks to himself as the glyphs explode into crackling purple light, frying the unlucky trio who decided to accost him, readying himself to re-animate the bodies as they fall. They’ve made progress up the coast, definitely. Was it enough? Felicius cuts down another with a shout, harsh red-orange light flaring from their hand as as they turn and lash out, forearm engulfed by aclawed limb of vicious light, ripping and tearing into the poor bastards chest.
Not that Dorian has enough time to fully admire the Reavers’ carnage; the last of the poor fools caught in the glyphs falls back as the bolt flung from his staff hits them square in the chest. The nercromatic magic is already coiling into and reanimating the dying flesh as they hit the ground, three of their slain comrades already risen, rushing back into the fray, swinging and clawing at the remaining fighters. It takes their foes by surprise, the sudden flanking by their dead allies.
Felicius shouts something, a thanks, perhaps. Dorian can’t tell, over the pounding blood in his ears, the sudden weight in all of his limbs. He wasn’t out of practice, Maker forbid, but he’d forgotten how draining that particular spell was.
“Kaffas,” he curses under his breath. He really is getting too old for this
———
Dorian had almost forgotten how fun it was to poke fun at Solas.
The battle on the beach was short and brutal, but it still cost the duo precious time; there was no way that those inland didn’t hear the commotion, so they made a furious pace for the centre of the small island, miraculously avoiding anymore fights.
If he was being truthful, Dorian didn’t actually believe the reports about a weakened, potentially injured Solas. It just didn’t seem possible after two decades of endless searching and frustratingly fruitless chases.
But as Felicius broke into a clearing, skidding to a sudden halt, and as Dorian falls in beside them, trying to hard how hard he’s breathing, a grin breaking across his face.
There he is. The bald bastard himself, turned away from a very broken eluvian at the sound of their approach, looking very much the worse for wear. The pelt was tossed to the side, torn and bloodied, and the Sentinel armour was definitely scuffed and dented, dried blood clinging to the golden metal like rust.
Dorian doesn’t bother reading the expression on his face as he realises who (and who hasn’t) come to confront him; why would he bother when they’re about seven different incredibly witty things he just has to say before the inevitable fight.
“So I’m curious, did someone break that mirror for you, or did you manage that all on your own? No wait, don’t tell me! One of your own tripped in the Crossroads, and you plan to blame it on the Dalish. Am I close?”
Solas’ scowl deepens, and then again when Felicius laughs under their breath. Dorian won’t lie and say he’s not nervous, but the fact that Solas truly is injured fills him with a second wind.
“Not remotely, Magister Pavus,” the god replies, eyes flicking to his child before back to him,”I know better than to take ‘one of my own’ into situations they aren’t ready for.”
Well now, that’s just crossing a line, isn’t it. Felicius grumbles beside him, settling in a combat ready stance. There’s a curious look in Solas’ eyes, as if he’s asking if he’s asking Dorian if they, if he, really wants to do this.
No, he really doesn’t.
But then again, he absolutely does.
The bitter evening explodes with magic and violence, and for the first time in a long time, Dorian feels real hope blooming in his chest.
Summery: Due to a series of unfortunate events Grazham and Robert find themselves stuck in some rather inhospitable dwarven ruins. Then come the spiders.
Note: A Cristmas trade for the lovely @mureh as part of the @daficswap. It was an honour to write for your babies. I hope I did them justice. Had to repost this because apparently Tumblr’s entire system wants me dead and flat out refused to let me tag anyone.
My contribution for this latest round of the @daficswap for @latefortevinter.
Featuring their Vaxus Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus just after Trespasser’s events. I’m not quite sure if this is angsty enough to fulfill your request but I hope you’ll like it.
Sorry I got this up a little late, but I hope you enjoy it! If you want to read it on Ao3 you can find it here.
The setting sun had painted the walls opposite the windows with hues of fiery oranges and gold-dripped yellows, the floral wallpaper transformed into a field of marigolds.
The room beyond this one was filled with voices – Leliana’s, Cullen’s, and Josephine’s - as the three argued one another into circles with greater and greater intensity. They were afraid and falling back to the old habits because of it.
This time my partner was @spacetango in the @daficswap! And they wanted Briala post-Trespasser! I hope you enjoy it, it was certainly refreshing to write!
My part of the exchange with @lovelylittlekitten for the @daficswap. Penelope Hawke and Fenris, posing for their annual Wintersend card. It’s really just an excuse to wear those sweaters.
