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I did a big stressful meeting where I had to advocate for myself and explain exactly why my colleague's poor communication was causing me to have panic attacks.
And why as a trans woman I'm acutely aware of how dismissive other people are of my genuine needs.
Please pat me on the head and tell me I'm a good girl now. Or get me a very large gin and tonic.
Our Itty Bitty Lords are here talk about our prompts, in case you needed a few more ideas!
Hiro: Reflection, or looking at the past. It might be sad, but it never lasts long when the story ends as a Lord of Fortune.
Turvi: Horizon. Where we're going. How are we going to get there? We're going to get there together because we're Lords of Fortune!
Prompts are more of a guideline than a rule, as they say. All of our prompts can be found here. We're looking forward to seeing what you come up with!
Alana and Isabela explore an ancient ruin, searching for treasure…and a kiss!
561 words of exploration and discovery under the cut, or Read on AO3
"You know, if you ever want to leave the Crows and have some real fun, you'd make a decent Lord of Fortune", Isabela said in between hacking her way through thick, trailing vines with her sword.
"Leaving the Crows isn't really a thing", Alana replied, their mageknife a blur as they cleared a path through the vegetation that had overgrown the old ruined fort they were exploring. "They're pretty good at finding people who try to leave".
The pair found their way through to a clearing, where the old roof tiles had collapsed utterly, leaving a jagged-edged opening to the sky far above. A waterfall poured through the hole, hammering a tattoo upon what was left of the marble floor, and flowing out into a stream that disappeared into a tangle of overgrowth.
Alana sheathed their mageknife and shrugged.
"Behind the waterfall? Taash said there's usually treasure behind waterfalls".
Isabela took off her hat and laid it on a dry patch of floor, then led the way through the tumbling curtain of water. Alana followed, and instantly regretted wearing their typical Crow gear which became soaked and heavy in a second. Isabela, of course, was wearing not very much at all, some kind of tied fabric across her chest and smallclothes barely covering her below the waist, modestly adorned with gold and gems.
"Here it is!" she exclaimed. A supply cache, at least half a dozen crates and chests of weapons, food and gaatlock powder, the loss of which would cripple the nearby Antaam garrison, while enriching the arsenal of the Lords of Fortune at the same time.
"Rook, I could kiss you!"
"Well, why don't you then, Captain?" Alana asked coyly, leanng against one damp stone wall in a way they hoped was seductive, before losing their grip and having to do an awkward foot-shuffle to stay upright.
"It's Admiral", Isabela laughed, "and I don't fancy facing the wrath of your girlfriend, the Winter from Tevinter".
"You know, she loves that name", Alana chuckled. "She rolls her eyes and says she hates it, but every time you introduce her at the Hall of Valour, I see the smile on Neve's face. But…it's not like we're exclusive", they added, waving their hands non-comittally.
"Are you trying to flirt with me, Rook?" Isabela looked askance.
"Erm…maybe, trying, or just joking around, I really am not good at this".
"Well, I'm flattered but no, thanks. But you did find the treasure so…" Isabela leaned down, placed one hand on each of Alana's cheeks, and planted a great big kiss on their lips. The kiss made a satisfying smacking sound, which echoed around the chamber walls.
"There, now you can tell everyone you've been kissed by the First Admiral of the Lords of Fortune! Well, maybe don't tell Neve. I've not got any of that black lip gunk of yours on me, have I?"
Alana stood in shock for a second, then burst out laughing, a rich, deep guffaw that reverberated against the stone.
"Nah, this stuff's long-lasting, it has to be battle proof after all. And our secret's safe with me. Come on, let's get back and tell the others to help us move all this gear back to the Hilt".
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The halla floated into Skyhold like a feather on a breath of wind, whiter than druffalo milk, the rider on her back sitting light and easy, everything he’d hoped to see since he were a boy in Redcliffe.
“Never thought to see your like,” Horsemaster Dennet said to the halla, stroking her sleek shoulder. “Them Orlesians in Red Crossing don’t deserve you, but you’ll do Inquisition and her people proud anyway, won’t you, beauty.”
The halla bleated, touching her velvet nose to Dennet’s, and arching her neck, turning her head from side to side to better show off her horns.
When Neve has detective's block on a case, Alana finds a way to help jog her brain…
593 words of detective shenanigans under the cut, or Read on AO3
The courtyard was typical of mid-Storm Age Minrathous villas, a central square space with tasteful planting around a fountain, whose statuary depicted some minor event in the life of Andraste, edged with collonades on three sides, and an ornate portico on the fourth leading into the main house. There are many such places over the city, usually homes of mid-level government officials, paid for by the beneficence of the Magisterum, which is to say paid for by the taxes of the lower classes.
This one was unusual in only one respect — the dead body lying prone, sprawled out upon the sun-baked terracotta tiles.
Neve wouldn't normally take a case like this, she worked for the people of Dock Town, not the Minrathous elite. But Dorian, now Archon Pavus, called in a personal favour. This particular unfortunate official was, in Dorian's words, "one of the good ones".
Neve examined the body for the fourth time in the past hour, scribbled in her notebook, lit a cigarette and paced the courtyard, brow furrowed in consternation.
"Still nothing?" Alana asked, idly leaning against one of the carved columns, enjoying the shade offered by the collonade on this hot summer's day. How Neve could wear her trademark coat in such weather, they never knew.
"I can't crack this one, Rook", Neve replied in exasperation. "I should be able to. I have the body. I have the cause of death — blunt force trauma to the back of the head. What I don't have is a half-decent suspect".
Neve stopped pacing to look Alana in the eyes. "What if this is it? What if this is the one that breaks me? I may as well close the Dock Town Detective Agency. Even the Threads won't take me seriously if I can't solve a simple murder".
Alana's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. They hated seeing Neve like this, but it was true that this case was proving more challenging than most for her. What could they do to help, though? Dammit, I'm an assassin, not a detective, Alana thought.
"Well", Alana began hasitatingly, "when I kissed you at the docks that time, it helped you solve the case". Alana tilted their head in a way they hoped read as flirty rather than confused. "Just saying".
Neve's mouth creased into a half-smile, but she wasn't about to let Alana have it easy. "There's a dead body right there, Rook. You do see that, right?"
Alana glanced at the murder victim's corpse and shrugged. "Doesn't bother me, I'm a Crow, my first kiss was right after a contract. Still had the target's blood on my face...is it weird that that made it hotter?"
Neve raised an eyebrow. "We'll...unpack that later, but I'm out of ideas, so, fine, it's worth a try at least".
Their lips touched, softly at first, uncertainly, then the familiarity of sensation, memory and love took over and they kissed more passionately, Alana's hands around Neve's waist, Neve's on Alana's cheek.
Neve let out a soft, low moan, then a gasp, then stepped back, hands now at her head.
"It was the butler, with the candlestick!" Neve exclaimed triumphantly. "He was a former mercenary, remember him slipping, when spoke about being in Par Vollen once? He's probably on the Venatori payroll and carried out the murder as a hit-job".
"I knew you had it in you, Detective", Alana said with a smirk.
"Couldn't have done it without you, Trouble", Neve winked.
They kissed once more, quickly and decisively, before Neve bolted towards the main portico, Alana following, mageknife already in hand.
There’s a catastrophic female loneliness epidemic happening rn but nobody gaf bc women aren’t going out and hurting people about it we just betray and destroy ourselves for nothing
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Inspired by my walking past a home built in 1754 in my new neighborhood, which isn't even the oldest building in the city. As someone born and raised in the Western US (where we do have some very old buildings, contrary to popular belief, just not in the middle of most cities), it made me curious!
When was the oldest extant building you can reasonably walk to from your home built?
20th century
19th century
18th century
17th century
16th century
15th century
14th century
13th century
12th century
11th century
10th century or before
Remaining time: 3 days 1 hour
(Use your judgement for definitions of "extant," it doesn't have to be used for its original purpose but my intention is a building that could theoretically still be used, not just the remnants of one.)
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When Alana is injured in battle, Lace Harding thinks on her feet to find a way to numb the pain…
468 words of battlefield smooching under the cut, or Read on AO3:
"Hey, Harding! Need you over here!" Taash called out across the battlefield.
Stood on a small slate cairn, Harding took out the last few mercenary soldiers with several fast and well-aimed shots, then dashed over to respond to Taash's urgent call.
"Rook!" she gasped, looking at the downed and bleeding body of her friend and leader. "Shit, that doesn't look good, but you'll live".
Alana "Rook" de Riva grimaced in pain. "Healing potion", they said through gritted teeth.
"I haven't any left, we used them all in the battle", Harding replied. "I'm gonna have to reset this bone the old-fashioned way, then get you to the Lighthouse for Emmrich to look at".
Alana gestured vaguely to their hip. "My bag, healing potions and…ow mierda…Painkillers!"
The small leather pouch Alana kept strapped to their hip contained various potions and poisons, a small field-medic kit and of course a couple of extra knives, the usual everyday-carry of an Antivan Crow on the job. But it was nowhere to be found, just a torn leather strap coming loose at Rook's thigh.
"No bag, you'll just have to grit your teeth", Taash said plainly.
"You know I'm not one to complain", Alana began, trying to regain some of their usual humour, "but someone get me something for this fucking pain!"
Harding looked thoughtful for a moment, the blue of her eyes shining with an idea.
"Taash?" she began, "You know the thing, with my stone magic, the lyrium effect?"
"What? Oh, you mean the thing where you kiss me and it's all tingly?"
"Yeah, that". Harding thought aloud. "Rook's a mage, so they should react to lyrium differently to you, it's a long shot but it just might work".
"You two wanna stop talking about kissing and focus on my broken leg?" Alana snarked.
"Okay, here goes". Harding knelt down beside Rook and took their face in her small hands. She lowered her head, and touched her lips against Alana's. Harding slowed her breathing and pressed their lips together more firmly.
Blue veins shifted and glowed across Alana's face, emanating outwards from the kiss. Crackling lyrium-infused magic spread like electricity. Alana looked surprised, then confused, then…drunk, as their vision began to blur and sway.
"Taash, now!" Harding called out. A white-hot sensation burst in Alana's leg, but it felt distant somehow, they were aware of the pain but not feeling it, as Taash forced their tibia back into position, and Harding bound it tight with a splint of spent arrow-shafts and tightly wound cloth.
"Saved…by a kiss…You're like a dashing prince from a fairytale, Lace", Alana mumbled semi-coherently.
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it, Rook", Harding chuckled. "I'm saving my kisses for Taash".
"Damn right", Taash concurred, hefting Alana up into their muscular arms. "Lighthouse, now".
You gotta have at least one OC that is unrealistically good at everything, emo as hell and has the most traumatic backstory in existence that you keep adding onto everytime something bad happens to you. It’s good for the soul.
