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KiaStirling Writes Fanfiction Sometimes
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nothing pisses me off more than when i see a fic on ao3 talking about reach. "this ship isn't here but i added them for reach" "this fandom tag isn't necessary but i'm adding it for reach" "reposting for reach" STOP IT!!!! this is not tiktok this is not twitter this is an ARCHIVE this is not how it works!!!
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"the funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything else into perspective" is such a Zev thing to say, don't you think?
holds up this finely crafted Zevran/Mahariel angst for you :3
wc: 564
for @dadrunkwriting
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Sari gathered her arrows from the assassin’s cohort first, sliding them into the divided section of her quiver for later cleaning. Finally, when only Taliesen’s corpse remained, she stepped hesitantly to Zevran’s side.
“I’m sorry,” she offered, wincing as the sentiment fell flat. His answering smile was just as fake.
He knelt and pulled his dagger from Talisen’s gut, wiping it against his former comrade’s leathers. Sari closed her eyes and tried not to remember her own Taliesen, a blighted corpse burned away to ashes along the road to Redcliffe.
Zevran’s hand shook as he closed eyelids over sightless eyes. When he stood, that easy smile he’d worn when they stumbled into his trap, before they tore all of each other’s walls down, was firmly in place. But now, Sari could see the painted edges for the mask they were.
“Zev…”
“Such is the way of things.” He shook his head and shoved his dagger back into its sheath. “So: what now?”
Sari ran a hand down her braid and winced at the blood already going tacky there. “Back to Eamon, I think, with the news about the alienage—“
“That is not what I meant, my dear Warden.”
“Oh?”
“As I recall, I offered you an oath some time ago. But the Crows will assume I am dead alongside Taliesen; in theory, it would be possible for me to leave now, if I wished.”
An icy fist reached down Sari’s throat and clenched around her heart. Leave? The earring she no longer wore seemed to burn a hole through the pocket where she still kept it close.
“You see, the funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything into perspective.” An edge crept into his voice and Sari felt it as a blade sharpened on her skin. Her face fell flat.
“You have a well-assembled troupe at your back,” Zevran continued. “It seems I could leave, go somewhere the Crows would never find me, and leave you no worse for the wear. If you release me from my oath, of course.”
Sari’s gaze bored into him, hiding her own turbulent reaction even as she tried to see through his facade. Was this retribution? Fear? There was a very real chance they would all die in short order, if not at Loghain’s sword, then by the archdemon. And even if they lived—how many would be Tainted? More than would survive the Joining, certainly, if they survived long enough to accept such a fate.
It was not a consideration for her or Alistair, but at this point…how could she ask any of these others that she’d grown to cherish to stay?
“If you want to go, you should go.” In her fear, in the sharp pain she wasn’t quite acknowledging, the sentiment came out much harsher than she meant it. But it was too late to tuck the words back inside.
“But that is what I am asking you—“
“I can’t tell you what you want, Zevran,” Sari snapped. Already her hackles were raised, the defense of her preemptively wounded heart launched. “But if you have to ask, well. Maybe you should just go.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, until finally Zevran jerked away with a stiff nod.
“Very well,” he murmured. “Fare thee well, Grey Warden.”
Then he was gone. And Sari was alone.
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Fanwork Friday
Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase one fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links), and tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :)
Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)
Thanks for the tag @dreadfutures! Tagging @bluewren and @kiastirling-fanfic.
Today I'm recommending a fic that punched me so hard in the heart that I haven't stopped thinking about it since I first read it:
Cullen/Trevelyan, one shot, domestic bittersweet, 4703 words, T
It's such a beautiful depiction of love's mortality, of its enduring strength and the inevitable bittersweet ending. I wept when I read it, and it left me pondering it in stunned silence for DAYS afterward. @kantrips' writing is poignant and beautiful and emotional, and I would love to see this fic get more love and attention. BRING TISSUES! T_T
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Fanwork Friday
Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase one fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links), and tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :)
Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)
Thanks for the tags @dreadfutures and @warpedlegacy! I'll tag uhhhh @rosella-writes and @demarogue? I'm sure someone else already tagged you but hey. tags.
I'm going to rec a crossover I enjoy quite a lot! It's a WIP between a fandom I've been out of for over a decade (Naruto) and one I'm still well into (Dragon Age) and it's a great mix of funny, dark, and expanding world building based on The Implications(tm)! Also Shisui is a little shit and I love him.
In an act of classic Uchiha Melodrama, Uchiha Shisui leaps to his death… only to be thwarted when he wakes up, chained up and in a dungeon, with a splitting pain in his left hand.
Wordcount: 222k
Chapters: 32/?
Rating: T
#fanwork friday#nobody expects the shinobi inquisition#it's a good time and I love our OP little protag
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15 Lines of Dialogue - Rose Trevelyan
Thank you for the tag @the-rebel-archivist !
Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!
It would have been infinitely easier to do this with my Garrett Hawke, but I chose my girl, my rogue!Inquisitor, Rose Trevelyan. My long fic In the Shattering of Things is in first person, so I spend all together too much time inside her head. Most of her best lines are just thoughts really, but I stuck to dialogue here. The thing about Rose is that she's just a lady. It takes her ages to start to get her feet under her-- to trust that she has any capacity for leadership. And still she's out of her depth a lot of the time, so it's rare for her to have any grandiose soundbites.
But she's witty and brave. Bit of a brat. She meets the horrors of the world with compassion and pluck. And, personally, I think she's rather funny (especially in banter).
Is this the part where I learn you’re a vile rat instead of a cream puff?
If you weren’t so concerned with my melting you might have melted too!
I’m as good as an open book to someone like you. No reason to pretend I’m not. Leliana and Josephine would kill me for admitting as much, but there you have it. Only one of us was trained by Lady Mantillon.
Picking bits of chocolate out from between a stranger’s tits feels a touch bold.
Perhaps you resent her because she’s a little bit right. Elves have been denied rights and representation just as often as mages.
You put me here. On this bloody throne. You knew what I was. What I am. So imagine how I must feel when I hear something like that.
You should really rethink your height at the very least.
Given the state of the Inquisition’s finances, I’m not sure what I can hope for. A burlap sack with a wine colored sash perhaps?
That’s kind of you, Bull, but I’d appreciate knowing your objections ahead of sallying forth on the wings of my wild optimism.
Yes and with my eloquence, I’ll be lying face first in my own pile of metaphorical horseshit
I've half a mind to make a fool of myself with the Nug King. Maybe three-quarters a mind.
There’s nothing quite like a family with a storied lineage that’s managed to squander their wealth. The combination of snobbery and desperation is always a joy to behold.
It’s comforting to know I’m worth less than two trebuchets to you
I suppose the legend of the Herald has its uses, but it’s not for everyone. Some people would rather see that I’m frightfully ordinary.
It looks like the Veil is just over there up in the sky. But it’s everywhere isn’t it? Right here where we’re standing. Under the ice on the pond. Inside these tents. It’s strange to think of. Before all this it was easy to forget there’s magic in all of this.
Tagging @warpedlegacy, @skinwalkingxana, @ammoniteflesh, @kiastirling, @delicatefade, @samseabxrn , @crackinglamb, @breninarthur anyone else who wants to jump on!
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Fan Work Friday
Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase one fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links), and tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :)
Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)
Fanartist: @kiivg
The first time I saw one of kiivg's pieces, I had the thought: I've never seen anything like this. Then I did a double-take, because even though I can't pinpoint it, this style strikes me as quintessentially storybook. It should be on the cover of a comic, or it should be a bonus chapter illustration in your favorite novel--both because of the striking style and the amount of STORY King packs into each single standalone piece.
The first of King's works I saw was one that I consider really KING now: oriented so that I had to tilt my head to get the full picture. I find it only pulls me in deeper, looking really closely at every detail before I get the full picture. Here's one of my favorites (give it a reblog!):
Definitely give King a follow. When they do post art, they have plenty of Dragon Age, Cyberpunk, and BG3 art to wow you with!
Fanfic: its free son - SlinkySpiders
The note I had in my bookmarks was: "there are elotes in gotham and this author is my hero"
SURPRISE this is a fanfic for the Robert Pattinson The Batman film, which I think is a nearly perfect hopepunk movie, and the first Bruce Wayne I've ever seen on film who NEEDS A ROBIN. So here, have a batdad and his kid.
I love an awkward man trying his best to be a parent to a kid who has the same problems he did. Let's parent our inner childs through real children, that's my weakness. Also, Dick gets to be childhood friends with Barbara Gordon, so that's great.
It's "unfinished" but I think it does just fine for what it is, and I hope people enjoy!
Rating: G
Pairing: Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Alfred Pennyworth, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Chapters: 2 (unfinished)
Length: 11,678
Summary: Three years after the events of the Riddler, Bruce finds himself taking care of an eleven-year old, completely out of his depth.
That's my post for this week! I'm excited to see what everyone tags me in. It's been great to find new artists and fics through this game. :)
Tagging:
(again, for any fandoms! let's spread the positivity <3)
@thedreadblog | @noire-pandora | @wolfsskull
@demarogue | @thevikingwoman | @anneapocalypse | @fiadhaisteach | @victoriousscarf
@kiastirling
@warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren | @breninarthur
@ar-lath-ma-cully | @inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @theluckywizard | @nirikeehan
@oxygenforthewicked | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @blarrghe | @delicatefade
@leggywillow | @about2dance | @plisuu
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REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS
Too many beds
Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss
Really nice guy who hates only you
Academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class
Divorce of convenience
Too much communication
True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)
Dating your enemy’s sibling
Lovers to enemies
Hate at first sight
Love triangle where the two love interests get together instead
Fake amnesia
Soulmates who are fated to kill each other
Strangers to enemies
Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating
Too hot to cuddle
Love interest CEO is a himbo/bimbo who runs their company into the ground
Nursing home au
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Fen’Harel’s Sanctuary - Codex Entries
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IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN!!!!
ITS TIME FRIENDOS!!! NO EXCUSES, JUST RESULTS!!
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO For dadwc, Can I get Amell/Alistair "He is half of my soul, as the poets say"?????????
thank you ed!! this ended up more Amell & Anora, with Amell/Alistair mentioned, though not insignificantly. It just felt like Solona would do better expressing that feeling to literally anyone other than Alistair, lmfao.
wc: 625
for @dadrunkwriting
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“So your prince will stay a Warden.” Anora’s face was unreadable, hands clasped at the small of her back as she looked out over the smoldering rubble of Denerim. Every muscle in Solona’s body ached, her skin and bones battle weary, but she forced herself to stand tall at the queen’s side.
“He was never a prince to me,” she said with a soft smile. “Not in the sense that you mean it, at least.”
Anora snorted. “He was never really a prince in the sense that I mean it, either.”
“No, I suppose not. But I would have thought the decision would please you.”
“Oh, it does.” Anora’s canny gaze fixed on Solona from the corner of her eye. “I was simply surprised. It would have afforded you far more leverage had you placed Alistair on the throne in any capacity. Not to mention you risk the ire of Arl Eamon—a powerful man.”
“Bit of a prat though,” Solona muttered, not quite low enough as the corners of Anora’s eyes crinkled with mirth. She cleared her throat and swallowed a sigh.
“Perhaps if I were as power-hungry as they say, that would have been the course to chart. But I never wanted any slice of your throne. I didn’t even want the power afforded by the circumstances at Ostagar; I simply had no choice.”
“And yet you would not cede it now.”
Solona scowled. “That’s complicated. If I could implicitly trust the person on the receiving end? In a heartbeat. But I’ve given blood and sweat and soul to see peace restored. There are precious few I trust implicitly anymore.”
“Of which Alistair is one.”
“Yes.” The fringe of Solona’s bangs fluttered as she huffed. “But, and this may be hard for you to conceptualize, surrounded by power-hungry men as you are: Alistair does not want the power you wield. More than that, he actively abhors the thought of it.”
She wrapped her fingers around the grimy marble banister and sighed. “After everything we’ve given, after all we’ve survived…I could not do that to him, even if I wanted to. Not only would it crush him, it would be the end of us. How could he stay with someone who looked his wishes dead in the eye and said ‘that matters less than what I want’?”
“I thought Wardens were meant to put the world ahead of themselves.”
“Wardens are also meant to stay out of politics,” Solona retorted. “And it’s defeating the Blight, not the entire world.”
“So it is.” A smile cracked through Anora’s impassive mask and she relaxed, turning to face Solona properly. “Have you reconsidered my offer? Whether you enjoy the Game or not, you know the steps. Implicitly, perhaps, but you would go far at my side in court.”
Risking offense, Solona let her displeasure wrinkle across her nose. “I do not have to be unskilled at a thing to know that I would not enjoy it.”
“The Game is not about enjoyment. It is a means to an end.”
“I am not interested in the ends,” Solona shrugged. “And unless you have reconsidered my counter, we remain at an impasse.”
“You would not be parted from your lover? However brief a time, however fruitful an advantage?”
“There is no advantage that compares to his presence,” Solona answered simply. “And the time we have left is brief enough without spending it parted.”
“Then I shall see you when business dictates, Grey Warden.” Anora held out a hand and Solona clasped her by the wrist, the firm grip of equals and a mutual understanding between the two most powerful women in the country. They stood together, even as they parted ways.
“That you will, Your Majesty. That you will.”
#oh snap#the way Anora prods and pries are tests#beause she has to be *sure* Solona won't pull the rug out from under her at the Landsmeet#(the way *she* would if you don't strike a deal with her beforehand)#hell yeah#other people's fic
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Hey
Hey Ed
So y'know how we were getting a little unhinged the other night?
Well GOOD NEWS it's friday and I have an oc x oc prompt for you!!
For some Tal & Hamin, "The dark collects our empties, empties our ashtrays. ([The dark collects…], Ben Lerner)" from the poetry prompts list.
OKAY SO I DID MY BEST WITH THIS ONE. I am new to Hamin so please if I made any character errors, lemme know and I would be happy to fix. But also I love them and think they would make great friends so long as Tal isnt trying to kill her LOL uwu Anyway, enjoy!
for @dadrunkwriting
Rated G: Tension and mild violence, ~1.5k words
Stained by Ash and Darkness | By Exalted_Dawn
“There is someone watching you.”
The warning floated in the dark corners of Hamin’s mind, a low roll like thunder on the horizon. Hamin stilled, her hands going to rest upon the hilt of one dagger. She had specifically picked this route to avoid enemies. The lower valleys were flooded with dueling mages and templars– too much of a death trap to be worth the convenience of the roads. And besides, the sound of all the fighting had scared most of the game away regardless.
“An enemy?” she murmured, praying instead that it was simply a lost kid in the woods.
There was a pause.
“I am unsure. They hide amongst the trees, but they are alone, and… they do not seem to be like the rest.”
A rogue bandit perhaps? Fuck, but she really hoped it wasn’t a templar. The last thing she needed was for some deserter to try their hand at easier pickings for food and coin and get close enough to find out she was a mage.
Hamin kneeled, playing pretend at having found some fungi for harvest. If they were a threat, it would be better if they still thought themselves unnoticed. At least for a little while– long enough until she could get away “How far back?”
“About thirty… maybe forty feet back. They are hard to follow.”
That close? Hamin’s brow furrowed.
Even with the din of the forest and the far away battles, she should have been able to hear the crunching of leaves of the drag of a lazy step. Especially if they were wearing armor. But as she stood and began walking again– listening– she heard nothing at all. Ten feet. Fifty. And still not a sound. Without the ghost, she doubted she would have picked up on the presence of her tail at all. And thatshe hadn’t been told otherwise likely meant they were probably still following her.
She ground her teeth.
Fuck her poor luck harder than a bear in heat. Why did this have to happen to her now, when she was so far out from the scouting camps?
Thinking quickly, Hamin chanced a few more measures of length before ducking behind a small bend of trees and skirting her way down a sharp drop off in the rocks. It was a steep hill, and she could feel loose gravel giving way beneath her feet, threatening to either shred them or trip her. But she was willing to take either of those odds against possibly going back to the Circle. She was free now, and free she would stay.
Coming to a stumbling stop at the base of the hill, she took off in a full on sprint. They may not have been her woods, but she would still wager she knew them better than any human at least.
The world was a blur of verdant waves as she ran, launching over twisted roots and around thistle bushes. She was swallowed up by swaying shadows, a veil of the forest’s weaving. But still, she heard nothing. Not a clank or a clamor or a shout. Certainly no curse words thrown at her. Huffing hard, she did not dare look back.
“Are they still following me?” she cried out loud, ducking beneath a low branch.
“Yes, but-”
Suddenly, there was a dagger stuck into the wood of the tree in front of her, right where her head had been. It thrummed still with the power of the throw, but that is not what caught her attention most. The design– she recognized it. Ironbark, carved with a rune for-
“Ah tits-!”
She dodged backwards, just in time for the tree to explode into a shower of wood and lightning. But even if she had evaded that attack, she realized too late she had made an error in backpedaling. Before she could turn to right her balance, there was a knife held tight against her throat, another pressed into her gut. Whoever stood at her back was roughly her height– their mouth perfectly level against her ear to hear the hissed insult.
“Thief.”
She turned her face to see stark gold eyes. A sweep of dark hair. Gaunt features. Ash smudged cheeks. And Mythal’s vallaslin beneath. A Dalish elf. But what had she meant by-?
There was a slicing noise as the kill she had collected a few hours was cut free from her belt, the lack of weight causing her to stumble a little and cut her skin against the sharpened knife blade.
Hamin winced, straightening her neck away from the dagger, stumbling over her words. “H-Hold, lethallan. Aneth’ara. I am of clan Virnehn. A hunter, not a thief.” They were spat in quick succession, hoping to sway the elf before she decided to cut her throat for having wandered too close.
Just to prove her harmlessness, she lifted her hands away from her belt, where her own knives still sat sheathed. She wanted no confrontation today, especially not with someone who had her weapons to Hamin’s throat.
“If I stole from you, then it was unintentional. I was sent to empty Inquisition traps,” she explained. “I must have made a mistake.” Even though she was nearly certain she hadn’t. If it had been a Dalish trap, she would have recognized the make of it, she was pretty sure.
She chanced another glance over her shoulder when she did not receive an answer. The elf was studying her suspiciously, eyes flicking between her face and her weapons belt. Now that Hamin had a bit of a clearer look, she could tell that the woman was more than just a bit gaunt. The darkness clung to the ridges of her protruding bones, and her clothes, which hung loose on her frame, were almost entirely smothered in scorch marks and ash.
…The victim of one of the mage skirmishes then. And a very malnourished one at that.
“The shems are reckless to throw their magic around as they have been,” she tried, forcing herself to meet the woman’s sharp gaze. “They’ve been setting the forests on fire, and scaring off all the game. Scorching and starving out the woods. If you like, I can build a fire and we can share that. I can also heal you if you need…”
The voice in her head piped up, wary. “Hamin. It is not wise-”
She did it anyway, letting a bit of mana flicker to her fingers. What else was there left to lose, if she could not convince the woman to let her go?
“I’m a friend. I promise. So, sathan, if you could let me go?” Green eyes met gold, reflected in the canopy above them both. A bit of sun poked through, shining dappled light on the woman’s cheeks. A light, plum colored purple, and not the black of the forests’ shadows she had assumed them to be.
There was a single, tense motionless second where she thought she might have blown it. That perhaps, out of safety, the other elf might assume she was simply an elven apostate, among the number who have been causing so much chaos and destruction in the lands below, and choose to kill her anyway. It is what most Dalish might have done, to protect their clans, but as she breathed in, and then out in one, strained exhale, the hold on her neck loosened, and then retreated all together.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Serannas,” she said, turning as she touched the nick at her throat and sealed it with a spell. “May I have your name?”
There was still mistrust in the woman’s gaze as she watched. A flickering in her eyes.
“Where is your vallaslin?” the stranger asked, speaking with the all-too-familiar lilt of the People.
Well that was a fair question, she supposed. “A long story– and one better told around a fire, if you wouldn’t mind it.”
Slowly, the woman lowered her guard, and sheathed her daggers at her belt. Barely, she tilted her head in a nod.
Hamin walked up to the tree that had been partially blown to bits and tugged the dagger free from its center. It was undented– a beautiful work of woodcarving and smithing. She flipped the small dagger in her hand and then held it out to the woman. Tentatively, she tried again. “Andaran Atishan. I am Meldiriel of clan Virnehn, but I go by Hamin.”
Equally as hesitant, the woman extended her hand and took the knife. “Talenna, formerly of clan Ethera. Now, though, I am clanless.”
Clanless? Then they were alike.
She nodded. “Well, Talenna, if you would allow me, I would like to offer you my help.”
Another second passed, and then surprisingly, Talenna scoffed. “I would prefer your food, but… I will not deny help when it is offered.”
A small smile twitched to her lips. “I will prepare the rabbit if you build the fire?”
Talenna nodded. “It is a deal.”
#our giiirls#you totally did Hamin justice especially for early in her time with the Inquisition#and yes they should definitely be friends#Talenna Ethara#Hamin Surana#Meldiriel of Clan Virnehn#other people's fic#Curiouser and queueriouser
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Happy friday!!! For some Leliana/Morrigan, "aureate - something that is golden, shining, or brilliant" from the rare/unusual words prompt list? (maybe leli feeling poetic about morrigan?)
thank you!! this was fun! got a little bittersweet but they'll get there uwu
@dadrunkwriting
278 words
cws: none
She’s dangerous, she reminded herself yet again, and yet again the attempted conviction slipped away—like sand in a clenched fist. It reminded her of journeying alongside Morrigan, of trying to close the distance the other woman kept, trying to sneak in past her ceaseless guard… trying to keep her close, open, honest.
Like sand in a clenched fist. She, too, had slipped away.
Now Leliana watched from afar and from above. Observed the movements of a woman she had once sought to know, to hold, to keep for herself—a selfish and ignorant desire. She looked from Morrigan to the ravens perched on the rails. She had sought Morrigan’s commitment, her attention, her interest, but to bind her in that way would be no less cruel than binding her birds in their cages whenever they were not put to work. They needed freedom, needed wind beneath their wings. Over time, she had discovered that Morrigan needed the same.
She wanted to approach. But she's dangerous. Wanted to see the stunning gold of her eyes once more. She's selfish. The curl of her full lips, even if it was in mockery. She's here for her own ends. The wild, captivating beauty. A threat to the Inquisition.
Her desires. Her fears. All of them she set aside. Morrigan would not trust her if she approached, if she tried once more to win her over—if they were to have anything, be anything, other than allies of circumstance… Morrigan would need to make the approach.
We should be nothing, Leliana reminded herself firmly. She is dangerous. So she was. A risk, a threat.
Still, she could think of nothing save those golden eyes.
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happy dadwc friday kia! An Avexis prompt for you this week, solo or paired up with anyone who strikes:
I hope that I can get back to the way I was before I knew what I’d become
Hi! I think you wanted some nice fluff but like
no
anyway here's some Avexis & Cassanda angst????
@dadrunkwriting
Word Count: 548
Rating: T
CW: not entirely consensual de-tranquiling, trauma mention
Avexis spent more time crying than she meant to. More than they had expected her to.
A cure for tranquility had been found by the Inquisitor and Seeker Cassandra. The Seeker who had saved her once when she had been so young. The Seeker who saw her in Haven, long after she had chosen tranquility, and recognized her even after all those years and the brand that marred her forehead. The Seeker who had taken great pains to protect Avexis every step of the way to Skyhold and ensured her continued employment in the library.
The Seeker who returned from Caer Oswin drained and pale, with tears threatening to spill as she clutched Avexis’ hands in hers.
“I found- we found a way to help you.” Cassandra’s voice trembled as she sat Avexis down in the Spymaster’s office where none could hear them. “The Lord Seeker - every Lord Seeker - has known, but now I do. And I would help you.”
Avexis had been the calm, steady presence Cassandra needed to say everything. To unleash her betrayal and her doubts. To whisper the secret that she had been visited by a spirit as so many damned by templars had been. To wonder if even her faith was her own.
“I do not think that is how spirits work,” Avexis informed Cassandra. Her hands were starting to ache from the tight grip Cassandra held them in. “A spirit of faith is attracted by existing faith. I do not know what else came of this vigil, but your faith is your own.”
Avexis hadn’t studied spirits much in the Circle. Her brief time as a mage of the Circle was spent learning control. She had feared her magic after what was done to her, and it was a fear she had not overcome by the time she chose tranquility.
She doubted it was a fear she had overcome in her time tranquil either. Seeker Cassandra’s offer of help was not one that Avexis thought would end well for her.
“You will understand.” Cassandra assured weeks later, when her quiet inquiries brought an Avaar shaman, the Sky Watcher Amund, to the library one night. “I hope you will.” Avexis decided to trust Cassandra, though she doubted herself for the choice. It was not entirely logical, but she and Cassandra knew each other well and so Avexis believed that Cassandra might know something she did not.
She allowed Amund to find a spirit for her. She allowed him to channel it to touch her.
Hope was not a gentle spirit.
Hope was a knife excising her doubts.
Hope tore her throat as sobs wracked her body.
Hope took everything that Avexis was, found the parts of her long cast off, and pushed them forward.
Hope gave her hope, was the worst part. Hope that she could return to the bright child who spoke loving words to animals and found them reciprocated. Hope that she could see past the magics that were forced upon her and find the joy she had before she knew that what happened was even possible.
Then Hope was gone, and only Avexis remained. And it was Avexis who clutched onto Cassandra, sobbing. She didn’t know for how long.
Hope was gone, and Avexis had to pick up the pieces.
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I'm scrolling through my ao3 history looking for oneshots to rec and seeing so many deleted fics ;-;
so here's your reminder: don't delete your work!
→ You can post or make a work anonymous by adding it to an anonymous collection. Adding your work to an anonymous collection lets you retain ownership of it - you will be able to reply to comments, get kudos/comment notifications, and view it on your Statistics page. You can also de-anon it at any time.
(disclaimer: none of these collections are officially moderated by AO3, so use with caution. But you can always remove your work from collections or create your own anonymous collection!)
-> You can also orphan your work! This preserves the story on the archive but completely severs any tie to your account. It will not show up on your works page or in your Statistics, and you will not receive kudos/comment notifications. There is no way to reverse the orphaning process or re-associate it with your account.
The works I'm seeing deleted were some of the first fics I read after getting into the Dragon Age fandom, and I'll probably never find them again ;-; your writing is worth leaving in the world, even if you hate it at the moment, even if you think it's the most paltry dribble to ever exist. You never know what it might look like to you in the future, and you never know how it speaks to someone else out there.
So don't delete your work! Let the archive be an archive and save your stories, even if you can't hold onto them right now.
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dragon age oneshot fic recs
@dreadfutures said that we should do more fic recs and she's absolutely right, so I'm starting what will hopefully be a series of fic rec lists, leading off with some oneshot recs! These are just standalone stories that don't require a big time commitment and definitely stuck with me after I read them.
Check them out! and leave a comment or kudos to let the author know you did 💜
Feel free to reblog this post and add your own oneshot fic recs! Or make your own fic rec post and tag me in it so I can read and promote your awesome recs :3
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My Lover's Phylactery by FrodaB
Cullen Rutherford/Female Inquisitor | G | 1472 words | No Archive Warnings Apply
Author's Summary: She doesn't destory it
Mer's Rec: this is an excellent piece that fills the gap DAI left (imho) about Trevelyan's phylactery! There's some excellent introspection from the Inquisitor and a bittersweet but somft and heartfelt ending between Cullen and his love.
Bent, Not Broken by spirrum (@spirrum)
Fenris/Female Hawke | G | 1595 words | No Archive Warnings Apply
Author's Summary: In which Hawke doesn't run off to Weisshaupt, and an angry elf turns up at the Inquisition's door.
Mer's Rec: this is a little slice of interpersonal relationships that beautifully captures Hawke's spirit! It starts with some platonic Hawke & Varric, perfectly encapsulating the exhaustion both of them feel after HLTA, and transitions smoothly into the heart-tugging reunion between Hawke and a frustrated Fenris who's very much in love.
last man standing (perhaps) by havvke (Wintertree)
Charade Amell & Carver Hawke & Female Hawke | T | 6749 words | No Archive Warnings Apply
Author's Summary: Hawke’s teeth glinted when she grinned, except for the gap of her missing left dogtooth. Funny how they did that, even in such poor lighting. Glinting. Hawke barely seemed real. They’ve gone on a mission or two together since that initial, embarrassingly disastrous meeting, and it was still shocking that the woman lived up—if not surpassed—her nearly legendary status.
Compared to the other missions Charade led with the Jennies, this was somewhat easier than her normal fare. But while Hawke was a known figure, and by technicality kin, Charade still didn’t know her.
Mer's Rec: Okay, I'm admittedly biased toward this piece, because it was a gift for me as part of the 2023 Platonic Ideal Exchange. That being said, it is an INCREDIBLE work of sibling dynamics and I think of it whenever I think about Charade Amell. Havvke explores the relationship between Charade as a Red Jenny, Carver as a Grey Warden, and Hawke as...Hawke, in a beautiful web of complicated choices and found family. Over a year later, it still holds up as one of the best exchange gifts I've ever received.
Doggone by leggywillow (@leggywillow)
Alistair/Female Warden, Alistair & Anora Mac Tir, Alistair & Warden's Mabari | T | 3042 words | No Archive Warnings Apply
Author's Summary: Alistair and the Warden are no longer together, but they still exchange letters - through Dog. Alistair struggles to find happiness in his life as king, but he isn't entirely alone.
Mer's Rec: I read this one just recently and oh my GOODNESS it both made me laugh and also pulled at my heartstrings. Leggy alters the canon breakup between a King Alistair & the Warden to be somehow even more heartbreaking and the way that he talks to Dog is just so essentially Alistair, I could hear every line in his voice. Add to that several well done bits between Alistair & Anora and this piece absolutely delivers on the "sad" and "heartache" in the additional tags.
That Word You Call Me by thewitchofthewilds (gossamerstarsxx) (@saiyanshewolf)
Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford | T | 1768 words | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Author's Summary: The first time she tells him she loves him is the time he needs to hear it the most
Mer's Rec: I love this piece for the intermingling of angst and fluff between Lavellan and Cullen. It leads in with one of the better descriptions of nightmare panic that I've seen and the way that Lavellan grounds Cullen from it is smooth and heartfelt, as is his reaction to her comfort. It caps off with some sweet fluff and a taste of human/elf relationships dynamics, for which I am a sucker, and which end the fic on soft, heartfelt note.
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AO3 Subscribers Poll
(please reblog and share for a bigger reach <3)
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