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A Study of Hands
Chapter Five: By the pricking of my thumbs
Pairing: f!TavxGale Dekarios Characters: Female/Tiefling/Druid Tav, Gale Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Other Tags: Canon Dialogue, Gale POV, Named Tav Summary: Gale had bid farewell to his beloved Waterdeep. For what he thought was the last time, he watched its splendid walls dip below the horizon, and dried his eyes of their tears. Yet before he could find the quiet death he sought in some remote corner of Faerûn, the mindflayers find him. And then Ophelia does.
A thick blanket of regret permeates the air, fit to choke on. The atmosphere of the hag’s lair bears down upon Gale from all sides as they descend into its depths. Around them, a grisly display of doomed petitioners are arranged like animal heads in a hunter’s lodge. No two are alike, save for their shared misfortune. Ethel has purged them of their joy, their grief, their hope, leaving only their regret as her gruesome trophy.
“It seems the hag has no shortage of fools eager to fall victim to her promises,” Lae’zel says with her typical level of hostility. “A pity we arrived too late to save them.”
“Those who are too far gone to help, we will deliver them a headsman’s justice,” Wyll assures her, despite undoubtedly parsing her true meaning. “And I disagree: I see the desperate, not the foolish. We do not know what drove them to Ethel’s poisonous hospitality.”
Lae’zel scoffs. “Spoken like a true warlock. If you did not wear the mantle of those horns, you might see them as I do.”
“Stop it, Lae’zel,” Ophelia chides. She had been gazing mournfully at one of Ethel’s victims until the githyanki’s commentary shook her from her stupor. “It is not becoming of a warrior to mock people who cannot even defend their honour.”
“Chk.”
Well, that seems to be the end of that.
(Read the rest here on AO3!)
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saw this question floating around and thought it would be fun and interesting answers! If you had to pick 5 fics you’ve written to make a “crash course” and sum up your writing personality, which would they be?
i honestly don't know what my writing personality is! i prefer dialogue, and when something is short on dialogue it gets very introspective, instead. and i think my prose is somewhere between easy/dense. sometimes i forget about setting (although i think i've gotten better at it since i've moved from rp).
i like shorter fics focused on slice of life scenarios or hurt comfort, my beloved trope. also gen fic. i also think i'm ok at changing my prose to capture a character's voice? is worldbuilding/expanding a writing personality?? when i googled it i got some MBTI-like results.
Celestine Black (Josephine & Solas) slice of life gen fic. i tried to dig into setting in this to get a vibe for solas's room and examine his character through it/josephine's eyes.
Who Am I in Your Arms? (Ian x Solas) hurt-comfort central, and also very introspective while being light on dialogue.
Spokes in the Wheel (Kirrahe x Mordin) 200 word snapshots meant to capture moments of the short salarian lifespan. also i went hard on the mordin-speak for the prose, which paired nicely with the 200-word limit i imposed.
A Study of Hands (Gale x Tav) linking the first chapter specifically b/c the whole thing started as an exercise to get me more comfortable writing gale pov with mostly canon dialogue. i feel like it's a good fic to contrast w/ povs i'm more well-versed in like solas, esp since i think there are similarities with how they approach them (even given their vast differences kjdf).
Five Times Defended (Solas & Mythal) it's short stuff. it's gen fic. i world build but also don't explain anything and hope it's intriguing!
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queenaeducan-writes · 19 days
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A Study of Hands
Chapter Four: Hand in hand, with fairy grace
Pairing: f!TavxGale Dekarios Characters: Female/Tiefling/Druid Tav, Gale Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Other Tags: Canon Dialogue, Gale POV, Named Tav Summary: Gale had bid farewell to his beloved Waterdeep. For what he thought was the last time, he watched its splendid walls dip below the horizon, and dried his eyes of their tears. Yet before he could find the quiet death he sought in some remote corner of Faerûn, the mindflayers find him. And then Ophelia does.
There was a time when a moment's prayer provided a tenday’s peace. Whether seated in secluded contemplation or in the midst of a ritual beside his fellows, it settled his anxious heart and realigned the straying compass of his mind.
In time, it became the heated sound of Mystra’s name in his throat. Her pleasure, wrought by his hand.
Now it is hollow, joyless. The goddess’s likeness hovers in the palm of his hand, offering nothing but cold silence. It is, he thinks, worse than her judgement. Perhaps she thought the orb punishment enough, but he will gladly endure her wrath than face another day of exile.
Little difference does it make.
He does not know why he stands here, beseeching his goddess. They have cleared their first hurdle, a path to Moonrise Tower, and their consciences in short order. By all rights, he ought to have nothing to ask for and only gratitude to give. Yet here he stands, hoping nonetheless.
“She’s pretty.”
“Oh! My—” Gale jumps, clutching his open palm. The divine image dissipates in a rain of cool mist. Behind him Ophelia stands with a curious tilt to her head. He holds his now-clenched hand to his chest, testing the orb’s stability. It settles into a cautious murmur, at rest, but not asleep. “You startled me. I… I was miles away.”
“You asked I come find you. Have you changed your mind?”
“No! Certainly not. I was looking forward to it, in fact. You merely found me lost in… prayer, of all things.” The fog shaken from his head, he looks at her. In the short time since they’d last spoken, she’d done her hair. Her plaits, once ragged from a day’s adventuring, lie neatly again, and her fringe curls down as two curtains, winds in the same pattern as her horns.
And is that jasmine he smells in her approach?
(Read the rest on AO3!)
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queenaeducan-writes · 24 days
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Hi! I just finished reading A Study of Hands and I wanted to say how much I LOVE your writing style. I was enraptured from start to finish :)
I can't wait for more!
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Aaaa, thank you so much!!!! It's been really fun to write, and I'm hoping once it's over I'll write more BG3 stuff soon (already cooking a couple ideas hehe). I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and thank you again for the kind feedback <3
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queenaeducan-writes · 25 days
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A Study of Hands
Chapter Three: Fret none aboout what my hands and body done
Pairing: f!TavxGale Dekarios Characters: Female/Tiefling/Druid Tav, Gale Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Other Tags: Canon Dialogue, Gale POV, Named Tav Summary: Gale had bid farewell to his beloved Waterdeep. For what he thought was the last time, he watched its splendid walls dip below the horizon, and dried his eyes of their tears. Yet before he could find the quiet death he sought in some remote corner of Faerûn, the mindflayers find him. And then Ophelia does.
The first time their party had approached the Grove, its walls had looked safe. After the terror of the Nautiloid, its high cliffs and sturdy gate had seemed a haven to his harried mind.
Today, the wooden gate appears somehow more brittle than before, the cliffside somehow more scalable. As the goblin horde grows, Gale prays the Oak Father does not easily relinquish his land, nor abandon his faithful.
The slap of a bowstring heralds a death. A truly aimed arrow cuts through the air and skewers a goblin’s throat. Astarion does not cry out in triumph, but nevertheless glows in the aftermath of a kill. Karlach demonstrates no such restraint, drowning their enemies with a roar before she brings down her axe. Any goblin nimble enough to breach the grove’s defences soon meet their end upon its blade. Moonlight, called forth from Ophelia’s lips, cleaves through the day and their enemies both.
Gale takes no pride in battle. How can he, when his cantrips scarcely scorch their eyebrows? Once, the tide might have been turned by a single spell cast by his hand, but the orb spared nothing. Now he is reduced to sniping from the makeshift battlements, whittling them away until a surer hand ends them.
(He does not know what he regrets most: his magic? The lost chance to play hero? Or the lives and grief he might have spared these people?) (Read the rest on AO3!)
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queenaeducan-writes · 1 month
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A Study of Hands
Chapter Two: The hand that feeds (is the hand that's loved)
Pairing: f!TavxGale Dekarios Characters: Female/Tiefling/Druid Tav, Gale Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Other Tags: Canon Dialogue, Gale POV, Named Tav Summary: Gale had bid farewell to his beloved Waterdeep. For what he thought was the last time, he watched its splendid walls dip below the horizon, and dried his eyes of their tears. Yet before he could find the quiet death he sought in some remote corner of Faerûn, the mindflayers find him. And then Ophelia does.
Each night, Gale debates with himself the strangest part of his current predicament.
Logic ought to dictate that the tadpole be his answer. What’s more out of the ordinary, after all, than a parasite making a bedchamber of his skull?
Well, that’s a question you’d be better off asking to a man who doesn’t have a Netherese orb embedded in his chest.
No, far stranger is the starlight he makes his bed under, and stranger still, the people he makes his bed beside. Meaning that there are people at all, not that the people themselves are strange (although two things can be true at once).
After scraping together a semi-coherent meal from the hodgepodge of ingredients their adventures delivered unto them, the party splits to wind down for the evening; settling into their new routines more easily than he might’ve guessed. Lae’zel and Astarion both ponder their reflections: her in the sharp mirror of her sword, and he in the surface of a hand glass. Shadowheart, true to her name, keeps distant from the fire, while Wyll hums a tune as he towels off the dishes.
Perhaps it doesn’t seem like much, yet after a year of isolation in a tower, with naught but the occasional tressym for company, it is far from conventional.
Which is likely why he is the first to notice Ophelia’s absence.
(Read the rest on AO3!)
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queenaeducan-writes · 1 month
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The Queen's Pleasure
Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Alicent Hightower Characters: Alicent Hightower, Rhaenyra Targaryen Fandom: House of the Dragon Rating: Explicit Archive Warnings: Noncon Alluded to (Westeros-typical) Other Tags: Lesbian Alicent, Bisexual Rhaenyra, What-if Scenario Summary: When the King calls, Alicent does not linger longer than she is wanted. Her return is interrupted by a wayward princess, fresh from a foray into Flea Bottom, and hungry for companionship. What if Rhaenyra had found Alicent before she found Ser Criston?
(Read it here on AO3!)
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queenaeducan-writes · 1 month
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A Study of Hands
Chapter One: A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise
Pairing: f!TavxGale Dekarios Characters: Female/Tiefling/Druid Tav, Gale Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Other Tags: Canon Dialogue, Gale POV, Named Tav Summary: Gale had bid farewell to his beloved Waterdeep. For what he thought was the last time, he watched its splendid walls dip below the horizon, and dried his eyes of their tears. Yet before he could find the quiet death he sought in some remote corner of Faerûn, the mindflayers find him. And then Ophelia does.
First things first: he isn’t to panic.
Least of all because panic is inspiration’s cradle killer, smothering the brightest ideas in their infancy before their true brilliance is ever realised.
No, the more pressing matter is the orb.
Gale has always known it doesn’t play well with emotion. From the moment it was first inflicted upon him, when each sob wracked through him with a force that could punch holes through reality.
Now, it feasts upon his dread. Every skipped heartbeat lances violently through his being, every moment dwells upon his impending demise is a moment consumed with white hot pain. What little of the world there is around him crumbles in the shadow of his agony.
And so, he isn’t to panic.
(What will become of him, if he remains here? Will his destruction be contained in this liminal space that unfolds endlessly around him? Or will it unleash itself upon the next passerby of his would-be gravestone?)
(How long before he is missed?)
(Read the rest on AO3!)
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queenaeducan-writes · 2 months
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A Little Light
Pairing: Jowan & Connor Guerrin Characters: Jowan, Connor Guerrin Fandom: Dragon Age Archive Warnings: N/A Other Tags: Mages (Dragon Age), Mentioned Surana, Mentioned Jowan/Lily Summary: After years of young apprentices giving him a wide berth, lest they catch his talent for mediocrity, Jowan finds himself in the position of tutor to the young Connor. Written for havvwke/wintertree for the Platonic Ideal Exchange!
Freedom is not at all as Jowan imagined it.
In his youth, he pictured fields of flowers and skies teeming with birds. Sweeping landscapes the likes of which he knows now exist only in picture books. As a man grown, he pictured only Lily, and perhaps a home to raise a family.
As it turns out, freedom bore neither.
His bunk at Redcliffe Castle is as bleak as the one which now lies empty at Kinloch Hold. Bleaker, perhaps, without the nighttime whispers between his fellow apprentices to remind him he was not alone in the world. The walls are high, with slim windows scarcely wider than an arrow shaft. True, he can come and go as he pleases, yet when the day’s hours are his to spend, it’s all too easy to latch himself in his room and brood.
He settles uneasily into his new routines: by day, learning Connor in the arts of magic, and lying in dreamless sleep by night. He keeps the phial of Arl Eamon’s poison close at hand, telling himself that he simply awaits the opportune moment. He refrains from counting those that have already passed him by: an instant where Eamon’s goblet stood unguarded, a breath where the cook had her back turned from his meal. So many years at the Circle have left him accustomed to the idea of being watched. He imagines Templar eyes boring into the back of his head, anticipating treachery, and he slips the poison back into the folds of his sleeve.
And Arl Eamon lives another day.
The phial watches him, now. Glinting from atop his dresser, as if it is possessed of its own wicked inner light. Even as he turns away and closes his eyes, he sees it blinking behind his lids.
He lies still. Awake, then asleep, then awake again. His dreams flood with the sound of the Chant, sung in Lily’s voice. All is black, save the golden chime of her song. Desire courses through his veins, so potent they ache.
Awake again, and the air around him is hollow, joyless. The glare off the phial is drowned out by torchlight, and Jowan sluggishly comes to the realisation that there is someone at the door.
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Spokes in the Wheel
Pairing: Kirrahe x Mordin Solus Characters: Kirrahe, Mordin Solus Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy Archive Warnings: Major Character Death Other Tags: Double Drabbles, Salarian worldbuilding Summary: There was a word for what Kirrahe meant to Mordin, but it took a lifetime for him to find it. A series of 200 word fics about Kirrahe and Mordin's relationship. Written for the @spectre-requisitions-exchange for jaigheart. You can also read it here on AO3!
13th of Kesh, 2756 GS. 600 hours. The first time Mordin saw Kirrahe. He was dressed simply, relieved of his STG armour for a more casual fit. The black weave of his jumpsuit only served to make him look greener, his bright skin blooming against the synthetic light.
While the other agents lounged in their seats, he sat straight. His ambition could be measured by the angle of his spine. He appeared at first the picture of arrogance, a young commander with a chip on his shoulder and plenty to prove. Mordin was prepared to work through gritted teeth. He’d known sooner or later the soldier faction within the STG would rear its head in this project. No Salarian ever set foot on Tuchanka without a bullet to spare.
And that was what Kirrahe was: the unwavering path of a bullet, hurtling towards its target with the force of a mass effect field behind it.
“You’re Doctor Solus, aren’t you?” Immediately, he rose from his seat. A smooth, liquid movement. Almost disarming to witness.
Almost.
“My superiors spoke highly of you,” he continued, offering his hand. “I’m eager to see what you and your scientists are made of.”
“STG hired the best,” Mordin replied. “Adjust expectations accordingly.”
20th of Pa’esh, 2756 GS. 1800 hours. His head felt lighter than yesterday morning. Far from a relief, instead every movement needed to be recalibrated. Relieved, now, of his right cranial horn, what before was a simple turn of the head would now send him careening.
Rather than spilling onto the floor, a pair of arms caught him, steadying him with apparent ease. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” Kirrahe chided.
“No time for rest. Immediate danger dealt with, must now deal with other… personal matters.” Mordin blinked. Drop 16 still felt like a dream. The inconvenient kind. The events of the day moved through his mind as though another salarian had lived them. Yet the injury to his horn proved otherwise.
That was until he remembered Maelon. The dismay in his voice when he saw they had killed krogan females was all too real.
“Personal matters. You mean Maelon?”
“Yes. Hope to convince him to recant protest now that dust has settled. See necessity in parameter shift.”
“I’ve already struck it from the official report. He’s young, one moment of weakness shouldn’t define the rest of his career.”
Gratitude swelled in his chest. Hard to believe this was the man he’d traded so many venomous barbs with yesterday.
1st of Da’esh, 2762 GS. 1000 hours. Medical personnel had reassured him all was well. Though the Commander— no, Captain’s unit had taken heavy losses, Kirrahe himself escaped with only minor injury. Mordin knew better.
He’d drafted countless emails inquiring after him. Deleted them just as quickly. Better to go himself.
Hearsay placed Kirrahe on Nasurn, his homeworld, in his clan’s embrace. The natural place for any salarian to return when life’s tests threatened to overwhelm, though Mordin had never felt such loyalty to his own.
“The first word I received when I was released from hospital was that Clan Narra had accepted my family’s bid for a reproduction contract,” Kirrahe told him not long after their reunion. “It looks like I’ll be a father again.”
A match most males would kill for. Then again, Kirrahe had.
“Seem hesitant.” Mordin sniffed. “Unlike you.”
“These days I save my certainty for my soldiers. I don’t have much to spare for myself.” The captain stretched, then winced, clutching a hidden injury. “It is nice to think something good could come from Virmire… what a mess.”
“Your last daughter— a product of the Modification Project success, correct?”
“True, but she’s not the only good thing that came from those days.”
15th of Kesh, 2765 GS. 500 hours. “Are you willing to admit that I was right?” Was the first thing Kirrahe said to him on Sur’kesh. Before platitudes, before niceties.
Mordin wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Would sooner die,” he shot back, which only encouraged the Captain— no, Major.
“I see age has done nothing for your obstinance,” Kirrahe said. “Perhaps we settle the matter over drinks, loser pays.”
Neither needed reminding of which argument they were returning to. One word, and it was as fresh in Mordin’s mind as the day it was had. The weary look on Rentola’s face as they continued was a clear sign they were not alone in their remembering.
What few hours Mordin had to waste were spent in Kirrahe’s company. Although, he was ashamed to say, he couldn’t remember who won, which certainly meant it was not him. Still clear, however, was the flash of Kirrahe’s eyes in the failing daylight. They invited curiosity. Questions Mordin had never forgotten, but buried beneath years of guilt.
Later, Eve would jest that perhaps their kinds were not so different, if the vehicles for how they expressed love played out so similarly. Albeit with fewer headbutts.
Mordin had no answer for her.
27th of Da’esh, 2765 GS. 2100 hours. It will be raining on Nasurn, Mordin thinks. It always does this time of year. When he closes his eyes, the patter of stone on the reinforced glass nearly passes for its chorus.
As he slips further into the distance, Shepard’s figure vanishes beneath a plume of rubble, and he is left with his memories. Nostalgia drowns his fears.
In the years after the Genophage Project ended, Mordin dove deep into the ancient wisdom of his people. He’d long thought there’d been no word for what Kirrahe is to him, at least not until the asari settled among the salarians. By the time he learned there was, their lives had passed one another by. Or so he thought.
Like the cycle of life itself, salarian lives turned in circles. It brought him to Shepard, to Tuchanka, to Maelon, and to Kirrahe.
Shadows pass over him as he draws nearer his destination. A nervous song plays upon his lips. He remembers how Kirrahe’s hand folded over his as he spoke the word back to him. Skin so green it stripped the colour from Sur’kesh’s leaves.
The door opens. Fire drinks the moisture from his skin. The wheel turns for him again.
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Celestine Black
Pairing: Josephine Montilyet & Solas (gen) Characters: Josephine Montilyet, Solas Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Archive Warnings: None Applicable Other Tags: Classism, Fantasy racism Summary: Though Skyhold's guests may be of noble blood, their manners often leave much to be desired. When one insults the Inquisition's resident magical expert, who just so happens to be an apostate, Josephine takes it upon herself to remedy the situation. In typical Montilyet fashion. Written for TheSilentBard on AO3 for the @solas-lovers-exchange
“Apostate!” The word is an accusation upon Lady Verise’s lips, cutting as the shattered glass on the rotunda floor.
Josephine catches no more than a glint in the corner of her eye before she hears it break. By the time she looks it has scattered, broken pieces crawling across the stone like a plague of translucent roaches. Wine slides down Solas’s temple. Thick and viscous, it dries a violent plum purple where it landed on his sweater. The delicate slope of Lady Verise’s nose rather resembles the bellows of an accordion as she snarls in his direction.
The rest of the room looks on in a mix of shock and amusement. A knowing smile curls beneath the porcelain moustache of Lord Maigny, a sure sign that she ought to have expected this. Anticipated it in some way. It had seemed improper, showing off the murals without giving the artist his due, especially not when he stood so close at hand.
But it was a mistake, that much has been made evident.
Solas is the first to speak, dabbing at his face with a paint cloth as he does. “It appears our guest is in need of another glass,” he remarks, in a tone remarkably dry for one so damp. He levels his gaze towards the guest in question, then ducks it, deferential. “You are of course correct, my lady. I have never known the Circle’s guidance, although the loyal mages within the Inquisition have made it their mission to remedy the oversights brought about by a hedge mage’s education. Should you have the opportunity to speak with Enchanter Vivienne while you are here; I am certain you will find her insight as to my insufficiencies invaluable, and how she has endeavoured to correct them.”
Josephine bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking (a critical skill for an elder sister and ambassador to possess). Although she possesses no limit to her admiration for Vivienne, she had sat in on one of their discussions long enough to become well-acquainted with Solas’s. Still, if asked, she has no doubt Vivienne will play along. She has tied her reputation to that of the Inquisitions, and undermining that, as well as her own influence within it, is not how the game is played.
“Madame de fer was among the few dissenters in Empress Celene’s court after she invited the swamp witch into our midst,” Lady Verise tsks. “Why would she abide an apostate’s company?”
Seeing the chance to retake the reins of the situation, Josephine steps in. “If I may be so bold as to speak on Enchanter Vivienne’s behalf: Master Solas has behaved with the utmost propriety since joining our ranks. Any reservations we had regarding his position here have long since passed.”
Read the rest on AO3!
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The wolf must die for the lamb’s sweet dream
Pairing: Anders & Solas (gen) Characters: Anders, Solas, Justice Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Archive Warnings: Major Character Death Other Tags: Low Approval Solas, Bad Templars, Justice Positive, Anders Positive Summary: When Anders is brought to the Inquisition in chains, his days are numbered. Though time is short for them, Solas is determined to make sense of him before it is up.
Skyhold’s cells were home to a new prisoner.
They brought him at the crack of dawn, before the sun had risen over the peaks of the eastern mountains. His arrival roused the castle to an early start. Guards quit their posts and kitchen cooks left breakfast simmering over a low flame to bear witness to him. Even the rotunda sat empty. Solas was among the last to join the onlookers. At first he mistook the commotion for a lively spar in the newly-built combat ring, but the din grew steadily louder and more dissonant, until curiosity forced him from his study.
The crowd gathered in the courtyard jeered as the Templar guard escorted their new captive through the fortress, wary of the mounting hostility surrounding them. From its birth, the Inquisition had been an order divided, brought together upon a mountaintop with a song.
They came together now in a different chorus, bleating mindlessly for bloodshed. The air grew heavy with their hate, a thick and oppressive atmosphere Solas moved through like a fog. He sought answers in a world beyond questions, where justice could be memorized like the lyrics to a song.
Conversations ran through the crowd like an electric current. Onlookers cried, “He ought to pay for what he did,” while others asked in worried tones if it was safe to house him here. “What are we to do with him?” the ambassador asked, to which the commander replied, “Keep him alive until the Inquisitor returns to pass judgment upon him.” Then, with a grim face, added, “I had begun to doubt Kirkwall would ever see justice. I’m looking forward to this business being behind us at last.”
Only then had Solas begun to recognize who he looked at.
Read the rest here on AO3.
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Happy Frida Tas!! I LOVE Sera/Dagna ok, so I come asking for ‘my voice is not pleasing to others. I am told it sounds like a gull crying’ from the Circle prompts for them?
they are SO GOOD and i want more of them in the world so here we go. for @dadrunkwriting
"They what?" Dagna pushes back the metal mask drawn over her face. It doesn't come far over her ears, but somehow she always seems to hear a little bit worse whenever it's on her head. Too many other thoughts twirling around her head.
Sera doesn't take it personal (often). From her vantage point on the floor she rolls over, propping herself up on her elbows.
"They say I sound like gull- y'know, flappy things?" She waves one arm up and down for good measure.
A short silence follows as the words settle into Dagna's head. Then her smile, shiny as diamond. "Oh!" The mask falls into place again for another peek at the enchantment set on her worktable. "I like seagulls."
"Of course you do." Said with love. Always love.
"What? Don't most people?"
"They're rats with wings. Steal the food right off your plate if you take your eyes off it." Sometimes not even then. The boldest will rip it from your lips, make off with your dinner and leave nothing but sad, bird-ridden crumbs in your mouth. "Don't sing like birds ought to, either. Just-- laugh."
Her feet dangle this way and that, feeling the rug roll beneath her knees, and the Undercroft's floor beneath that. She's been around enough hob-knobs young to know she sounded... different. To her own ears, her voice is deep, but she's seen enough people wince to know not everyone heard what she did.
And, well, Lady Emmauld didn't take kindly to begging for seconds.
Dagna hums to herself, picking a tiny mallet off the table and knocking it against the rune. It hums back, off-key. "Not quite," she mutters, setting her tool to the side.
"I like seagulls," she says. "They sound like water to me."
"What d'you mean?" Sera thinks she knows, but wants to hear it, all the same.
"I'd never seen much water before I saw Lake Calenhad. If I hadn't spent so much time in Orzammar poring over Surface maps, I might've taken it for the ocean. I heard the boat thunking against the docks, water roaring against the shore, and-- gulls, only I didn't know it at the time." She giggles under her mask, her bell-like laugh sounding tinny held up close to metal. "For a while I thought that was just the waves, too."
Sera returns to her back, extending her arm up to peer through her fingers, imagining the sky over Lake Calenhad unfolding between them.
Dagna hit the rune again, and it hums a new key. "They looked so impossible up there, suspended in flight. Like they were hanging from strings in the ceiling."
"You don't think they sounded a little... shrill?"
"A little loud, maybe, but how else are they gonna hear each other?" A third tap, a third new key. Sera feels it rattle in her teeth. "They just want to be heard, same as us."
"Same as us."
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For the DADWC: ‘ there is no pain like the pain of transformation. ’ for Solas?
Thank you for the prompt! Written for @dadrunkwriting. I went for some Felassan-induced angst.
In this corner of the Fade autumn leaves fall in perpetuity. A perennial state of decay, they drop from the branches and leave the forest floor awash in a carpet of orange. The knots and hollows of the trees seem to watch Solas as he walks in their presence, vacant eyes following him towards the clearing.
He never meant to come here again, but the smoke sent signals above the forest line, calling to him.
The fire burns eternal in the deepest woods. At its heart the herbs kept the memory of the summer they were harvested in, rich and warm, calling him to a fireside he may have once shared with a friend.
Tonight he sits alone, folding his legs beneath him. The last traces of Felassan linger where he fell, threaded with vain hope for a girl armed with naught but a roadmap of a ruined empire.
In the days after, he asked himself why. Why had he done it? No answer revealed itself. Agents that might have been safe within the folds of the Crossroads went missing on human roads, falling victim to bandits, Templar, and lesser beasts. Their blood watered the soil of his grave, and for what?
His answer came a year later. It came in the voice of strangers calling his name as though welcoming him home. He found it between the pages of a book of dwarven poetry, or dangling in the threads of a Dalish string game. For as often as it inspired laughter, it inspired tears. They sprung from his eyes in moments of solitude, and did not dry until he feared he would drown in their tide.
And yet from one answer begets another question.
“Did it hurt,” he asks the flames, “when you realised?”
It burns brighter, as though his question were kindling cast into the fire’s heart.
Felassan’s final arrow had found its mark. Its tip had speared him, barbed head snared in his ribs. Remove it, and he risks everything he had ever believed about himself. He had no choice but to break away the shaft, and let the wound heal around it.
“Did you know that I would learn this lesson, too?”
His friend does not answer, of course. The forest is silent, the dead leaves lay still.
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2022 in Fics
I did a little fic round-up here, but before the year is out I wanted to make a list of the things I published on AO3 this year because you can never have enough self-promotion.
Satinalia & Harvestmere | G | Dragon Age Leliana & Zevran & Isabela / Dragon Age: Origins Ensemble My two entries for the 2022 Dragon Age Annual Calendar. The first is a little celebration between a party of rogues and the second a bonified ghost story told by renown griffon-hater Wynne.
Common Ground | G | Dragon Age Vivienne & Orlesian Warden Written for Shellepink for the Platonic Ideal Exchange. Vivienne meets an unexpected former colleague in the aftermath of Marquise Bouffon’s defeat. I liked the idea of Vivienne having a friendly rivalry with the Andras Warden from Awakening, and I inventing a Warden OC for the prompt was fun.
Because I Asked | E | Dragon Age Solas x Non-binary Lavellan My first explicit fic ever! Set in Solas and Ian’s much softer Modern Thedas verse. Ian wakes up with a thirst and he decides to make it Solas’s problem. Writing the intimacy in both their domestic lives and their sex was really fulfilling, I love this couple so much no matter what universe they’re in.
Prayers of the Father | G | Mass Effect Thane Krios & Miranda Lawson Written for CelestialArcadia for the Spectre Requisitions Exchange. Mass Effect 2 is my favourite of the ME games, but one thing I often find disappointing in it is the lack of dialogue between companions. This fic was one way I sought to explore what I wish the game would. Set after Miranda’s personal quest, but before Thane’s, I wanted to set up the similarities between these characters and their desires and how they might talk to each other about them when Shepard isn’t in the picture.
Remembering Well | G | Dragon Age Varric Tethras & Solas Written for the Solamancy 2022 Zine. Solas and Varric are both two characters who are (potentially) mourning the loss of one of the oldest friends. They’re also both storytellers, albeit of different flavours. I wanted to write Solas engaging with Varric’s loss by talking about his own, and keeping Hawke’s name alive in the wake of her death.
Homecoming | T | Dragon Age Charter & Agent(s) of Fen’Harel Written for YouWoreBlue for the Arlathan Exchange. Charter attends a party in pursuit of rumours of an ancient Elvhen artefact, and finds herself in a race against the agents of Fen’Harel to find it first. I wanted to depict the agents presented here with sympathy and compare them with the Inquisiton agents still in operation because I am overly fond of paralleling Solas’s forces with the protagonists’.
Onomatology | G | Dragon Age f!Cadash & Solas This was written for my roleplay blog a while ago, but I only got around to publishing it on AO3 this year. Solas is a name I headcanon he chose for himself and I wanted to write a conversation of him sharing why with Thora. Despite the secrets between them, they have a close friendship, one where he shares a lot while concealing what he must. Depicting that here was important to me.
Good-bye Kiss | M | Dragon Age f!Cadash x Blackwall  Originally written and published on my multimuse roleplay blog. It’s a little scene exploring Thom and Thora’s intimacy post-Revelations. Him leaving without saying good-bye rocked Thora almost as much as everything else about that quest, and when they eventually reunite good-byes become an important part of their daily rituals as a reflection of that.
The Storyteller’s Game & The Last Laugh | T | Dragon Age Fen’Harel & a Miscellaneous Cast After a long hiatus I finally got around to writing more Tales of Fen’Harel! I love writing fables, and two myths I heard about Aengus inspired me to create Elvhen interpretations. The Storyteller’s Game veers much closer to the fable I heard, whereas the second I lean into Fen’Harel as the noble’s nightmare, divvying justice where Mythal can’t (or won’t?) intercede.
The Ascent | M | Dragon Age | In-Progress f!Cadash & Solas My first proper longfic! I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and deciding I wanted to start publishing it this year. It’s an expansion on a drabble I wrote years ago. Thora’s faith in the Stone and her ancestors is an important aspect of her character, and it dovetails beautifully with Solas’s own interest in remembering the past. Given Cadash Thaig’s history with ancient Elvhenan, them travelling to it together just feels right. I’m looking forward to continuing this fic in 2023!
Ten fics may not be much by some estimates, but I’m really actually kind of proud of what I’ve written. I’m looking forward to the stuff I have in the works for 2023 and I hope it’ll be another good year for writing. I even have a WIP I began yesterday which isn’t Bioware-related.
Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and promoted my fic this year. I appreciate each and every one of you. 💖 Have a happy New Year!
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I completely misread the prompt but consider this: more solas (and ian) in the early days, I'm a fool for tension what can I say
is there anything you’d to see from my writing in the new year?
I actually have chapters about this in the works! Some of it is rewriting older roleplays, some of it's new. I, too, am a sucker for tension, be it Solas being on-guard around Ian as a Dalish elf or the unresolved romantic tension their relationship evolves into.
They may not be published in 2023 depending on how progress on the WIP goes, but I'll probably at least post snippets.
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year-end meme: more of Vher. Vher and Miraen, Vher during the rebellion, Vher everything
is there anything you’d to see from my writing in the new year?
with bruno having his fic debut his year i'm hoping i can find something for vher.
fun fact tho the cat's grudge was a low-key adaptation of vher's destruction of one of june's workshops. obviously not a true adaptation as andruil isn't involved in their story, but i definitely had them in mind as i was writing it.
still, something more concrete involving them is long overdue!
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