The Dragon Age fandom is full of amazing talent, and amazing events - here's another!
This is designed around prompting your fellow creators, and those who are not joining as creators are welcome to prompt those who are!
This is meant to be a casual event! Works are not expected to be highly polished. Rough drafts, in whatever medium, are welcome!
Equally important - you are not expected, and certainly not obligated, to respond to fills the week you get them!
During the weekend, everyone will share what they've worked on. @ this blog and it will be reblogged here so that everyone can see what you've gotten up to!
We are always accepting new participants! Please see the Participation link below for full details.
Timeline:
Calling All Creators/CAC happens every Monday. If you want to receive new prompts, please reply to CAC with (or @'ing) the blog you will be using.
Creators Called/CC happens on Tuesdays, after CAC closes. This lists all participants, and those who want new prompts at the top!
Calling All Creators (CAC):
Mon 10:00 - 23:59 PT
Creators Called (CC):
Tues 10:00 PT
Posting:
Sat - Sun 23:59 PT
Reblogs begin:
Sat 10:00 - 23:59 PT & Sun 10:00 - 23:59 PT
Rules:
Include content/trigger warnings - if common triggers are present, it is preferred that a readmore/cut is used
18+ only, since we allow NSFW material
No criticism unless constructive criticism has been explicitly requested
The use of genAI is strictly forbidden and will result in being blocked and banned from future participation
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hi happy thedas weekend! kara sounds really cool, so i'd love to hear anything about them and how they deal with their tranquil/not-trainquil stuff :D
Hi, thanks for this! I tried to write a similar scene a while ago and it went a bit more dramatically, but I'm happier with how this one ended up.
WC: 728 @thedasweekend, DAI, Inquisitor Kara, Varric (Very Brief Dorian and Vivienne)
Redcliffe is not the largest town Kara has ever been to. After clearing out the Venatori from the area and incorporating the rebel mages into the Inquisition, Kara had brought Varric, Vivienne, and Dorian to check out the rest of Redcliffe for any particular information or resources left behind. Vivienne and Dorian are there due to their magical expertise, as Vivienne has a great understanding of higher level magic theory and Dorian has an understanding of specifically Tevinter magic. Varric… Kara is less able to defend his inclusion. If pressed, which nobody has, they would argue that Varric would be able to calm them down if, for some reason, they had to use their mark. They are erratic, to say the least, with their emotions. Varric has a fairly high success rate of calming them down, protecting them and others. If they were being honest, they would admit that Varric tagging along stems from the same vein that leads them to spending so much time in Josephine’s office. While they do not get “the warm fuzzies” or anything like that, they feel a sense of safety and security with both of them.
Within one of the abandoned houses, Dorian and Vivienne lean over a complicated manuscript that Kara could not decode. From their talk, Kara thinks that it has both a runic scrambler and an old Tevene cipher applied to the writing. Kara stands to the side, watching them work.
“Should we continue?” Varric asks, shining Bianca with a cloth. “We can handle whatever the ‘Vints throw our way, and if we need those two, we know where to find them.”
Kara nods to Varric. “Lady Vivienne, Dorian, we will continue on while you both continue to work on that text.”
Vivienne and Dorian both look up, sharing a glance. After a moment, Vivienne speaks. “Of course, Darling. Let us know if we are needed.” And with that, the two are back to work.
There are only a few more buildings that they had not checked already. One that is locked, and one that is a mess of scattered papers. None of value. Kara moves back to the locked door, gesturing to Varric to pick the lock.
“Why of course,” He smiles, taking out his tools. Within moments, the door pops open to reveal a wall of skulls.
“I don’t like this,” Varric grimaces. “Maybe we should get the others?”
“Should there be any magical attack, we can handle it,” Kara says. “It appears these are just skulls.”
Before Varric can protest further, Kara steps into the dim light. One wall is floor to ceiling shelves, each holding about twelve skulls. With five shelves that means there are about sixty skulls in here. Sixty lives cut short. They scan the room. On one wall, several stone pillars lean against the wall. On the other, a near complete Oculara lies toppled on the floor. They had seen the Ocularum in the wilderness, even used them, but had not actually considered them beyond their purpose. They suppose they had just assumed there had always been Ocularum, no need to question where they were from or who had made them. But the Venatori had.
Varric has already moved towards the wall with the shelves, snatching some paper off the beam it was nailed to. The sound of ripped paper grabs Kara’s attention.
“What did you find?” They ask.
“Nothing important,” Varric says quickly. Smoothly, naturally, but quicker than normal. He doesn’t want them to know what was written.
“You have some paper,” Kara presses. “What does it say?”
“I’m worried it will upset you,” Varric admits.
“I cannot be upset,” Kara replies.
Kara watches Varric, hand outstretched for the paper. Finally, Varric acquiesces. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Kara reads in silence. Varric is right, in a sense. It is upsetting information. The Tranquil were ritualistically murdered to be used as ocularum.
“I wonder,” Kara says softly. “Had I not been lost in Haven, would this have been my fate?”
It is an unpleasant thought. Thinking it feels like putting one’s hand in a fire on purpose.
“Don’t talk like that,” Varric says hoarsely.
“Maybe we should bury them,” Kara says, not entirely sure where the thought is from. Varric tilts their head, so Kara adds: “So the Venatori cannot make any more of these.”
Happy THWEE!! How about Vivienne and the word sunlight?
Hey, who wants to get their heart hurt for @thedasweekend?
That golden glow in Vivienne's tarot card sparked this for me.
They had spent sunlit afternoons here together, the light golden and warm as the sweat cooled on their bodies and fingers tangled together. It was such a sunlit afternoon now, the light falling softly on Bastien’s face. It seemed somehow unfair, that the day should be so perfect when he was not here to enjoy it any longer.
“Vivienne, I’m sorry,” said the Inquisitor, her friend, who had fetched the snowy wyvern’s heart without a single question.
And yet, it had been no use after all. He was gone, and this room would never hold the sun for her again.
Hello, hello! Happy Thedasweekend! I was wondering if you could do #22 from the Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy Prompts with Nova and Lucanis???
Aaaaahhhh this prompt has been sitting in my inbox for a long time and I finally was able to pull together something for it!
Consider this a missing scene from the wonderful fic my incredible partner @queenofeden wrote for me, Nothing Good Starts in a Getaway Car. I just [clenches fist] love when they Yearn.
Nova 'Rook' de Riva & Lucanis Dellamorte
Rated G
~980 words
Thank you @thedasweekend!!
Lucanis lingers outside of the car long after Nova's cut the engine. The way he leans against the rear driver's side door sends alarms blaring in her head— is he more injured than he'd let on? did she fuck up healing him, somehow?— but when she opens the door and gives him a questioning look he only shrugs, one hand dipped into the inner pocket of his wrinkled jacket.
"I am fine," he says, correctly interpreting the look she gives him. "Just sore. And not ready to go back inside yet."
"Right." Nova exhales, and rises from the driver's seat. She, too, leans against the side of the car, heedless of the certainty that it costs more than her own life, and the only reason Lucanis can lean against it with such insouciance is because it's one ludicrously expensive part of the Dellamorte family fleet.
The air is chilly, and carries with it the faint damp scent of rain on concrete. From beyond the sequestered walls of the Villa Dellamorte comes the sound of early morning traffic as Treviso wakes, the city yawning and stretching as Nova does now. It had been a long night, with rather too much stress and alcohol and altogether too little sleep.
Not to mention confessed secrets.
Lucanis hasn't brought it up. If anything, Nova thinks, he's probably hoping that she's entirely forgotten what he'd murmured into the dark space between crinkling foil emergency blankets. Still, he doesn't seem to be in any rush to return to the familial abode, as he finally pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from a hidden jacket pocket and tips one out.
Nova watches, slightly amused but mostly something else entirely, as he pulls his lighter out and clicks it one, two, three times, only earning a weak spark for his troubles.
Lucanis swears, muffled around the cigarette held between his lips. The lighter stubbornly refuses to do its one and only, and she watches as tension creeps into his shoulders with each unsuccessful attempt. Only so much a girl can take before she has to take matters into her own hands, as it were.
"Here," she says, making a little grabby motion with her two fingers. "Let me."
"I can—" he starts, then exhales long, low, frustrated.
"Can you?" she asks, lips quirking. He grumbles but hands over the cigarette without further argument, and Nova tucks it carefully between her lips, trying not to notice the way the fine paper is slightly wet from where it had been between Lucanis' lips.
A whisper of magic, the push of fire from the Fade is all she needs. A little flame scarcely bigger than a birthday candle's sparks from her fingertip to light the end. Nova takes a brief drag, vanilla-sweet tobacco smoke filling her mouth smooth as a kiss, before she hands it back to him held between two fingers.
"Much obliged, Rook." Lucanis takes a long drag of it, the tension bleeding from him. Nova isn't quite sure if his gratitude is for the cigarette.
"You could get a new lighter that actually works," she suggests. "You have more money than the Maker himself. Why carry around something that doesn't even work?"
Lucanis gives her a sidelong look, something complicated in his eyes, and exhales a sigh of smoke.
"It's complicated," he says.
"More complicated than getting all grumpy and huffy every time you want a cigarette?" she counters.
Lucanis laughs, just for a moment, and the sound is quiet. Muted. Not the laugh she's gotten used to, the honest one. Come back, she wants to plead with that laugh.
She wonders if somehow the night in the safe nest and its whisky-fueled honesty has changed things between them. The light of day casts more complicated colors on what had been simple in the dark.
"You have a point, Rook," he says, and flicks the ash from the cigarette before he passes it over to her. Surprised, she takes it.
"Not really my thing," she says, taking a slow drag. Lucanis just looks at her, clearly calling bullshit.
"Okay, not really my thing most of the time," she amends, and hands it back. His skin is warm against hers as she passes the cigarette, the briefest touch of fingers.
It shakes something loose in her. Some internal working that had already been rattling in her chest like an engine that was long overdue for a maintenance check. She swallows it down, her mouth filled with the taste of vanilla smoke. She doesn't know why this is what undoes her when they'd slept back to back, trust filling the scant space between them.
Maker, she needs to get out of here.
"I— I should go," she stammers. Lucanis looks up at her, surprised, and she feels her cheeks heat. "Viago will want to know that—"
"House Arainai. Right." Lucanis takes one last drag and stoops to crush the end of the cigarette against the stone driveway. "Caterina will need to be informed as well. I'll handle it."
"Great." Nova hesitates, then digs in her pocket for the car key. "Here—"
"Rook," Lucanis begins, but whatever he's about to say is cut short by her tossing the car keys at him.
"Long night," she says, hating how it feels like an excuse. "I should get back. Viago's probably going to feed me to his snakes for not immediately checking in."
"Rook, I—"
Nova shakes her head, unable to speak past the guilt and the want crowding her tongue, and leaves. He deserves better than this from her; she knows he does. But as it is, all she can think about on the way to pick up her own car is how she knows the shape of his lips from where they were pressed into the cigarette paper, and how she'll never be able to unknow them, no matter how hard she might try.
Happy Thedas Weekend! How about Magne and 'Was your Inquisitor wary of Bull upon learning he was a spy' from the Inquisitor asks?
Thanks for the tag! This for Salem or Magne is perfect because both of them do some spy work, so they're less angry or betrayed about it. My other inkies, on the other hand, either have unpacked biases or have never had to be a spy or both. Thanks for the prompt!
WC: 246 @thedasweekend, DAI, Magne Cadash, the Iron Bull
“You know, I was something of a spy,” Magne says carefully one day to the Iron Bull, the two of them standing by the blacksmith’s shop. “With the Carta.”
“Huh?” The Iron Bull frowns, before he understands. “Oh! Did your spymaster tell you I’m a spy for the Qun? You know, I wouldn’t have pinned you for a spy, what with the awkwardness. Though I suppose you can be sneaky enough.”
“Yup,” Magne chuckles. “Words can be… hard sometimes, but getting around is easy enough.”
“You still spying for the Carta?” The Iron Bull asks.
“Nah,” Magne replies. “I was only in the Carta to provide for my– myself! Yup! But now that I’m here, I think I may have burned any bridges I have left. For the most part.”
The Iron Bull nods thoughtfully. After a moment, he turns to Magne. “So, you have any questions for me, boss? About the spy business?”
Magne thinks for a moment. “You’ve already proven yourself to be formidable on the battlefield. Honestly, it's a bit hard to see you and think ‘espionage’, but I suppose that’s the point. If you plan on turning on me, just let me know.”
The Iron Bull laughs. “Sure thing, Boss, sure thing. I can honestly say right now that there are no plans of turning on the Inquisition.”
Magne smiles. Whether or not he believes the Iron Bull, he doesn’t quite know. He settles with “Appreciate it. Want to get a drink?”
How about Salem and the phrase 'a little bird told me'?
Hi! I made this as a fairly direct sequel to this one I did a couple weeks ago. I thought that the prompt would most suit Leliana or Sera, then I figured I wanted to follow up on the last thing I wrote, so I might as well go Sera. Sera goes too far trying to push Salem's buttons. I'll want to write something else to complete this little triptych. Thanks for the Prompt :)))
WC: 513 @thedasweekend DAI, Salem Lavellan, Sera
Salem likes the bar at Skyhold. To an extent. Bull and his chargers spend time there, and they all have interesting lives and unique opinions. But, when the noise gets to them, and they feel more distrustful of the shem they have been forced to surround themself with, they will take solace on the second or third floor. Cole is someone that Salem often holds at an arm’s length. While they can understand his perspective, and they value his position between the Beyond and this world, he cannot help but try to fix. And Salem cannot afford to be fixed while they hold the power and responsibility of Inquisitor. And then there’s Sera.
She taunts, she teases, and she shows none of the reverence that Salem has come to expect from the rest of the Inquisition. They almost love her for it, if they didn’t know the archer’s ire didn’t come from the fact that they are Dalish. They respect Sera’s work with the Red Jenny’s, the way she attacks those in power with humor, tearing down nobles from their pedestals and bringing them down a few notches. But the fact that she considers the Dalish on the same level as a human noble with land and titles? It makes them want to scream and throw things. Which they can never do, naturally.
Sitting by the stairs, Salem considers this. Sera had trashed their room while they were out in Emprise DuLion. She wrote her name on their desk and everything. It hadn’t taken much to clean up, so Salem would not mention it. At this point, Salem is not sure if not mentioning it feeds the flame more than mentioning it. Though they do have their own room, they know it is not truly theirs. Privacy is a luxury they gave up a long time ago.
A pair of hands on their shoulders startle them out of their thoughts. A sing-song voice whispers breathily in their ear.
“A little birdy told me you aren’t Dalish,” Sera giggles. “Not really.”
“Of course I’m Dalish,” Salem shoots back, and Sera giggles louder at the spark of anger in their voice. “What are you talking about?”
“You were born in Hasmal, of course!” Sera sits down next to them, draping herself over them. “Everyone knows how stuck up the Dalish are! You can’t be Dalish unless you were born there!”
“Yes, I was born in Hasmal. I’m a City Elf. My parents and grandparents were City Elves,” Salem says, looking over to catch confusion written across Sera’s face. “But I am still Dalish. My Clan knows me as Dalish. You do not get to tell me who I am.”
“Oh,” Sera says sheepishly. Salem untangles themself from Sera, standing up.
“If that’s all you wanted…” Salem narrows their eyes at Sera. Sera looks away. With a small huff, Salem turns down the stairs. They hear the Iron Bull calling after them, but they ignore it. The cool night wind hits their face, which they know has gone red, and they are off into the night.
Please reply to this post by 11:59/22:59pm PT if you would like to receive new prompts this week! (If you get to it after the cutoff, please also send an ask to this blog! We don't want to accidentally exclude you from the CC!)
When replying, please use or @ the blog you will be posting your fills on. For everyone else, there is no action needed. Whether you work on old prompts or skip this week is entirely up to you! Any fills that @ this blog will be reblogged regardless.
There is a ThedasWeekend discord server! If you're signed up for the event or signing up this week, feel free to reach out to this blog, myself (@broodsys /@broodwoof) or any of the mods (@inatrice/@asexualtabris, @theluckywizard, or @nirikeehan) for a link!
Please reply to this post by 11:59/22:59pm PT if you would like to receive new prompts this week! (If you get to it after the cutoff, please also send an ask to this blog! We don't want to accidentally exclude you from the CC!)
When replying, please use or @ the blog you will be posting your fills on. For everyone else, there is no action needed. Whether you work on old prompts or skip this week is entirely up to you! Any fills that @ this blog will be reblogged regardless.
There is a ThedasWeekend discord server! If you're signed up for the event or signing up this week, feel free to reach out to this blog, myself (@broodsys /@broodwoof) or any of the mods (@inatrice/@asexualtabris, @theluckywizard, or @nirikeehan) for a link!
I love some good gossipy Orlesians for @thedasweekend.
Overheard (1938 words)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age)
Characters: Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan (Dragon Age), Cole (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Rumors, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Orlesian Grand Game (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull Being The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Cole Being Cole (Dragon Age), Secret Relationship, kinda an open secret though, Gossip, Thedas Weekend (Dragon Age), Orlesians Being Assholes (Dragon Age)
He followed as she prowled through the royal quarters in the Winter Palace trying to stop the assassination of an empress and then Cole spoke.
“Soft sighs, frills and furs. You kissed Cullen,” said Cole, and Solas’ head whipped around. “But it only happened in their heads. How?”
Dorian laughed, but he was merely astonished that anyone would think that she would have kissed the Commander. He was reasonably certain that Commander Cullen possessed a certain attraction to her (entirely understandable, and he certainly could not fault the Commander’s taste, but she was far too Dalish to be attracted to a human, particularly one so very tied to the Chantry as Cullen). Or wear anything with frills. She did not possess the softness that would have made frills flattering, and she knew it. She dressed for comfort, utility, and mobility in severe, clean lines which suited her immensely and emphasized the narrowness of her waist and the generous swell of her hips. But he was getting distracted, and they had a job to do.
“Where did you hear that, Cole?” she sighed. “Here at the Winter Palace or Skyhold?”
“Both,” Cole said simply, “People were thinking lots of things about Cullen. Some of it I didn’t understand.”
“Solas, you want to handle this?” she asked, resigned.
“At times, people’s imaginations can be quite vivid, Cole,” he said, now composed. “They may envision scenarios that are not true, or where the truth of the matter cannot be verified, for the purposes of titillation, fear, or jealousy. And when repeated out loud, they may become rumor, either as a type of wish fulfillment or propaganda. It is better not to repeat thoughts of that nature. Or perhaps you might speak with me or the Inquisitor in private, if you have questions.”
Hello, hello! Happy Thedasweekend! I was wondering if you could do #22 from the Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy Prompts with Nova and Lucanis???
Aaaaahhhh this prompt has been sitting in my inbox for a long time and I finally was able to pull together something for it!
Consider this a missing scene from the wonderful fic my incredible partner @queenofeden wrote for me, Nothing Good Starts in a Getaway Car. I just [clenches fist] love when they Yearn.
Nova 'Rook' de Riva & Lucanis Dellamorte
Rated G
~980 words
Thank you @thedasweekend!!
Lucanis lingers outside of the car long after Nova's cut the engine. The way he leans against the rear driver's side door sends alarms blaring in her head— is he more injured than he'd let on? did she fuck up healing him, somehow?— but when she opens the door and gives him a questioning look he only shrugs, one hand dipped into the inner pocket of his wrinkled jacket.
"I am fine," he says, correctly interpreting the look she gives him. "Just sore. And not ready to go back inside yet."
"Right." Nova exhales, and rises from the driver's seat. She, too, leans against the side of the car, heedless of the certainty that it costs more than her own life, and the only reason Lucanis can lean against it with such insouciance is because it's one ludicrously expensive part of the Dellamorte family fleet.
The air is chilly, and carries with it the faint damp scent of rain on concrete. From beyond the sequestered walls of the Villa Dellamorte comes the sound of early morning traffic as Treviso wakes, the city yawning and stretching as Nova does now. It had been a long night, with rather too much stress and alcohol and altogether too little sleep.
Not to mention confessed secrets.
Lucanis hasn't brought it up. If anything, Nova thinks, he's probably hoping that she's entirely forgotten what he'd murmured into the dark space between crinkling foil emergency blankets. Still, he doesn't seem to be in any rush to return to the familial abode, as he finally pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from a hidden jacket pocket and tips one out.
Nova watches, slightly amused but mostly something else entirely, as he pulls his lighter out and clicks it one, two, three times, only earning a weak spark for his troubles.
Lucanis swears, muffled around the cigarette held between his lips. The lighter stubbornly refuses to do its one and only, and she watches as tension creeps into his shoulders with each unsuccessful attempt. Only so much a girl can take before she has to take matters into her own hands, as it were.
"Here," she says, making a little grabby motion with her two fingers. "Let me."
"I can—" he starts, then exhales long, low, frustrated.
"Can you?" she asks, lips quirking. He grumbles but hands over the cigarette without further argument, and Nova tucks it carefully between her lips, trying not to notice the way the fine paper is slightly wet from where it had been between Lucanis' lips.
A whisper of magic, the push of fire from the Fade is all she needs. A little flame scarcely bigger than a birthday candle's sparks from her fingertip to light the end. Nova takes a brief drag, vanilla-sweet tobacco smoke filling her mouth smooth as a kiss, before she hands it back to him held between two fingers.
"Much obliged, Rook." Lucanis takes a long drag of it, the tension bleeding from him. Nova isn't quite sure if his gratitude is for the cigarette.
"You could get a new lighter that actually works," she suggests. "You have more money than the Maker himself. Why carry around something that doesn't even work?"
Lucanis gives her a sidelong look, something complicated in his eyes, and exhales a sigh of smoke.
"It's complicated," he says.
"More complicated than getting all grumpy and huffy every time you want a cigarette?" she counters.
Lucanis laughs, just for a moment, and the sound is quiet. Muted. Not the laugh she's gotten used to, the honest one. Come back, she wants to plead with that laugh.
She wonders if somehow the night in the safe nest and its whisky-fueled honesty has changed things between them. The light of day casts more complicated colors on what had been simple in the dark.
"You have a point, Rook," he says, and flicks the ash from the cigarette before he passes it over to her. Surprised, she takes it.
"Not really my thing," she says, taking a slow drag. Lucanis just looks at her, clearly calling bullshit.
"Okay, not really my thing most of the time," she amends, and hands it back. His skin is warm against hers as she passes the cigarette, the briefest touch of fingers.
It shakes something loose in her. Some internal working that had already been rattling in her chest like an engine that was long overdue for a maintenance check. She swallows it down, her mouth filled with the taste of vanilla smoke. She doesn't know why this is what undoes her when they'd slept back to back, trust filling the scant space between them.
Maker, she needs to get out of here.
"I— I should go," she stammers. Lucanis looks up at her, surprised, and she feels her cheeks heat. "Viago will want to know that—"
"House Arainai. Right." Lucanis takes one last drag and stoops to crush the end of the cigarette against the stone driveway. "Caterina will need to be informed as well. I'll handle it."
"Great." Nova hesitates, then digs in her pocket for the car key. "Here—"
"Rook," Lucanis begins, but whatever he's about to say is cut short by her tossing the car keys at him.
"Long night," she says, hating how it feels like an excuse. "I should get back. Viago's probably going to feed me to his snakes for not immediately checking in."
"Rook, I—"
Nova shakes her head, unable to speak past the guilt and the want crowding her tongue, and leaves. He deserves better than this from her; she knows he does. But as it is, all she can think about on the way to pick up her own car is how she knows the shape of his lips from where they were pressed into the cigarette paper, and how she'll never be able to unknow them, no matter how hard she might try.
I love some good gossipy Orlesians for @thedasweekend.
Overheard (1938 words)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age)
Characters: Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan (Dragon Age), Cole (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Rumors, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Orlesian Grand Game (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull Being The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Cole Being Cole (Dragon Age), Secret Relationship, kinda an open secret though, Gossip, Thedas Weekend (Dragon Age), Orlesians Being Assholes (Dragon Age)
He followed as she prowled through the royal quarters in the Winter Palace trying to stop the assassination of an empress and then Cole spoke.
“Soft sighs, frills and furs. You kissed Cullen,” said Cole, and Solas’ head whipped around. “But it only happened in their heads. How?”
Dorian laughed, but he was merely astonished that anyone would think that she would have kissed the Commander. He was reasonably certain that Commander Cullen possessed a certain attraction to her (entirely understandable, and he certainly could not fault the Commander’s taste, but she was far too Dalish to be attracted to a human, particularly one so very tied to the Chantry as Cullen). Or wear anything with frills. She did not possess the softness that would have made frills flattering, and she knew it. She dressed for comfort, utility, and mobility in severe, clean lines which suited her immensely and emphasized the narrowness of her waist and the generous swell of her hips. But he was getting distracted, and they had a job to do.
“Where did you hear that, Cole?” she sighed. “Here at the Winter Palace or Skyhold?”
“Both,” Cole said simply, “People were thinking lots of things about Cullen. Some of it I didn’t understand.”
“Solas, you want to handle this?” she asked, resigned.
“At times, people’s imaginations can be quite vivid, Cole,” he said, now composed. “They may envision scenarios that are not true, or where the truth of the matter cannot be verified, for the purposes of titillation, fear, or jealousy. And when repeated out loud, they may become rumor, either as a type of wish fulfillment or propaganda. It is better not to repeat thoughts of that nature. Or perhaps you might speak with me or the Inquisitor in private, if you have questions.”
hello there, happy THWEE! from the rare word prompts, sending "sehnsucht - yearning; wistful longing" with dorian/bull!
The sending crystal glows a faint purple, the soft light from it dancing across the surface of the dark water. It is the only thing lighting his bath chamber, a solitary comfort where the cool water and darkness brings none.
Finally, it settles into the glow, the throbbing pulse of a connection waiting an answer finally established.
"Kadan," comes the Bull's voice, low and gravelly.
"I woke you," he says, rueful already. Not for the waking, but that his missive comes so late in the night.
I will speak with you in the morning, amatus. I promise.
Not a lie, but a promise unkept.
"Yeah."
He makes no apology, and no excuse; they have done this for long years already, that the Bull knows his reasons, and has never once held them against Dorian.
"Then perhaps I can make it worth your while," he says, sinking further into the cool water, magic-cold against the close, cloying Minrathous summer.
"Dorian," the Bull says on the other end, not quite a chide, but something that speaks to a conversation once passed, where the Bull put to words his feelings about Dorian offering sexual favour like it was a debt he owed for not using the crystal when he said he would, for not being able to make it to the villa.
The Bull's love has never been a thing that cost Dorian, and he had not understood the wound it made to imply so until the Bull let it meet the air.
"I only mean to say I feel badly for the late hour. For the promise not kept."
"I never make you promise."
"Because you know I cannot keep them. Yet still I do, and break my word over and over. You'll sicken of it some day."
"I won't," the Bull says easily.
He does not promise it, but Dorian knows it for what it is.
[my fic on ao3] [my fic on tumblr] [bluesky] [prompt me]
Happy Thedas Weekend! How about Magne and 'Was your Inquisitor wary of Bull upon learning he was a spy' from the Inquisitor asks?
Thanks for the tag! This for Salem or Magne is perfect because both of them do some spy work, so they're less angry or betrayed about it. My other inkies, on the other hand, either have unpacked biases or have never had to be a spy or both. Thanks for the prompt!
WC: 246 @thedasweekend, DAI, Magne Cadash, the Iron Bull
“You know, I was something of a spy,” Magne says carefully one day to the Iron Bull, the two of them standing by the blacksmith’s shop. “With the Carta.”
“Huh?” The Iron Bull frowns, before he understands. “Oh! Did your spymaster tell you I’m a spy for the Qun? You know, I wouldn’t have pinned you for a spy, what with the awkwardness. Though I suppose you can be sneaky enough.”
“Yup,” Magne chuckles. “Words can be… hard sometimes, but getting around is easy enough.”
“You still spying for the Carta?” The Iron Bull asks.
“Nah,” Magne replies. “I was only in the Carta to provide for my– myself! Yup! But now that I’m here, I think I may have burned any bridges I have left. For the most part.”
The Iron Bull nods thoughtfully. After a moment, he turns to Magne. “So, you have any questions for me, boss? About the spy business?”
Magne thinks for a moment. “You’ve already proven yourself to be formidable on the battlefield. Honestly, it's a bit hard to see you and think ‘espionage’, but I suppose that’s the point. If you plan on turning on me, just let me know.”
The Iron Bull laughs. “Sure thing, Boss, sure thing. I can honestly say right now that there are no plans of turning on the Inquisition.”
Magne smiles. Whether or not he believes the Iron Bull, he doesn’t quite know. He settles with “Appreciate it. Want to get a drink?”
