Hi!! I'm Mil, she/her, late 20s, frequent user of the platonic heart emoji 🩷
If you're transphobic, click away now. You are not welcome here.
This blog is mostly Dragon Age, with a good sprinkling of Mass Effect. I love both series (serieses?) dearly. All the games, for both. All 4 games. There's also some other things here too on occasion.
I do write fanfic! You can find all my fic in a big jumble in this tag.
This is my current ongoing longfic, Somewhere Between Desperate and Divine.
Ghilan'nain/Andruil, Dragon Age, prequel, set in Ancient Elvhenan. Mind the tags and trigger warnings, it's pretty heavy and will get worse!! Very much a horror-romance between 2 terrible people.
This is my entry for last year's Femslash Big Bang, The Spy Who Loved Me.
Shaynor, Mass Effect, AU where Samantha Traynor joins the Normandy crew in ME1. Some light canon-typical angst, but ultimately a happy ending 💕 Ft. a cute little Jackanda side-plot, and some character development for Diana Allers.
Sharing a recently-written snippet for my ongoing longfic Somewhere Between Desperate and Divine. This is from Chapter 25, so a little ways away from being uploaded in full.
Also would you believe this is the second time in this fic I've had Ghilan'nain remove an arrow from Andruil? And it always ends up with them doing This Shit.
tw: blood, injuries, healing practices that would be questionable if magic was not involved
She considered how best to do this, settled on a method, and reached for the arrow, feeling her way over Andruil’s breastplate and up to her shoulder before wrapping her fingers around the shaft.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Yes,” Andruil confirmed through gritted teeth.
Ghilan’nain kissed her. Tangled her free hand in her hair and tipped her head back, used her height to corner Andruil against the wall. She seemed confused, at first, just for a second. But then Andruil’s uninjured arm moved, her fingers digging into the flesh of Ghilan’nain’s ass as her lips parted.
When she was sure that Andruil was suitably distracted, she pulled on the arrow with all the strength she could muster, tossing it somewhere over her shoulder and swallowing the growl of pain that erupted in Andruil’s throat.
She reached once more for the injury, intending to heal it immediately, but her mind stuttered, her anxiety spiking again when she found her shoulder wet and realised just how much blood there truly was.
Beneath her, Andruil did not seem to be in danger of bleeding out. She was still kissing her back with fervour, and when Ghilan’nain pulled away, she caught her lower lip with her teeth, held on gently for a moment before letting her go.
Ghilan’nain’s fingers swirled the blood against her skin idly as she caught her breath.
“Does it look bad?” she asked.
“I have had worse,” Andruil replied.
Almost without thinking, Ghilan’nain slipped her bloody fingers into Andruil’s mouth. Andruil curled her tongue against them, licking the blood from them, and when Ghilan’nain pulled them away and leaned back down to kiss her, she could taste it, could taste her.
Her hand found Andruil’s shoulder again, and she focused on channelling magic into it as she continued to kiss her; chased the blood on her tongue with her own as she wove her flesh back together.
She lingered longer than she might usually, far longer than she would have if she was healing herself. Only when she was certain that she had fixed everything, and fixed it well, did she stop, moving her bloodied hand up to cup Andruil’s cheek and pulling away from her, breathing hard.
-
Gently tagging: @lottiesnotebook @broodwoof @guacamolleee and if anyone else is reading this and hasn't been tagged yet-- you! I'd love to see what you're working on <3
One of the things I thought Veilguard did so well and haven't really seen talked about (unless it's negatively) is the idea that You can't go back, you can only go forward. And how that ties into grief etc.
Rook, whatever background you chose, has been exiled at the start of the game. They can't go back home. When they do, it's not exactly the same, their relationship with their faction leaders is different-- even if only because Rook is leading their own team now. They can't go back to before.
Every companion has a variant of this. You have to move on from the past. You can learn from it and take it with you, but it is gone. Big things like Bellara's choice with the history of her people, or the Wardens and the griffons. Smaller, personal things like Taash and Shathann. Dock Town vs Treviso. Even if you save it, it won't ever be the same.
The Evanuris (Solas included here!) are villains in part because they are trying to bring back a past that is gone. They're clinging to it, and to their grief and regret, and they are hurting people because of it. They do it anyway. The past is more important to them than anything else.
Which brings me to the past games. There's a reason it's Denerim that falls. It's Aveline and Sebastian trying to hold together the Free Marches. The Inquisitor talks of Skyhold, and Orlais, and Redcliffe. These are places Rook has no canon connection to. But we, the player, do.
Denerim was always going to fall. The South was always going to be hit, and hit hard. Your Warden or your Inquisitor would never have been able to save it. Because we also can't go back, and we also do not get to go home. Like Rook, like every companion, like Solas and Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. It pulls us into the story, too. This is a place that you care about. It's not how you remember. It's lost. It won't ever be the same again. You cannot fight this, or fix it, or change it. You can only accept it, and grieve, and move on. You are supposed to feel powerless.
It's immersive and it is beautiful, and I wonder what it could've looked like if they'd had more time to develop it. But I do think it would've stayed the same, because it makes sense with the entire rest of the narrative so well.
Denerim has fallen. You have to move on. You can mourn, you can be frustrated and angry and upset, you can wish you could've stopped it, but you have to move on.
Ghilan’nain tilted her head. “I wasn’t aware that I was lost.”
-
The story of Ghilan'nain and Andruil, from beginning to end.
Chapter 7 is now up here!
Or you can read from the beginning here <3
Chapter 7 extract below the cut !!
Ghilan’nain ran a soothing hand down the halla’s snout before gently moving out of the pile of tangled, warm bodies and hooves and legs they had taken to sleeping in together. She positioned herself between the eyes and the halla, hands held out, magic crackling at her fingertips and twining up her forearms.
“I am not sure what you are,” she called out, voice steady, “but I will not let you harm my children.”
The eyes moved as the creature swayed its great head, blinked, and then stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. She stood her ground as the enormous wolf studied her, bigger than any she’d encountered thus far, his head cocked, and oh but he was beautiful. So many eyes, so bright and inquisitive.
As she watched, he moved, shifted, and she felt the prickle of his own magic against her skin as he morphed from beast to man.
“Ghilan’nain, I presume?” he said, in a voice that caught her off-guard with its gentleness.
She nodded, confused. “Did Andruil send you?”
He looked away, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Ah. Not as such, no.”
Ghilan’nain’s shoulders slumped slightly as she let her hands fall, her magic fade away into the cool night air. “Then she has forgotten about me,” she concluded. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly. She had suspected as much. But the confirmation still stung more than she cared to admit.
The wolf-turned-man watched her with an intensity that Ghilan’nain recognised immediately, though she’d yet to see it from an outside perspective. Where Andruil was alien to her, all action and brusque words and death, he was full of questions. She could see them, knew from the way he wet his lips and smiled that they were on the very tip of his tongue, saw herself in the gesture.
She was unused to being on the receiving end of such curiosity.
“I wanted to see what you are like for myself,” he said. “You aren’t what I expected.”
Thank you to everyone who participated in our survey and expressed interest in the event! Based on your submissions, we compiled the following prompt list:
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hyperfixating on a fictional woman who went underdeveloped in canon is literally FUN and the 80-90% of fandom people who only do the same for background character men have no idea of the degree to which they are fucking missing out
hour 1 of thinking about an underdeveloped woman: idk it would've been nice if she had more screentime
hour 100 of thinking about an underdeveloped woman: ok but despite having only eight lines of dialogue she is literally THE most interesting nuanced and tragic character in the entire series and these writers had no idea what they even had. how is no one else seeing this it's literally so objectively obvious
We need more women characters who are Male Protagonists. You know. Slightly haggard. She's splashing cold water on her face and gripping the edge of the sink staring in the mirror for a minute. She's coping badly with her deadwife
hello, happy dadwc!! For a Veilguard prompt, for your Rook and Bellara, may I submit: “You can tell me when you’re not okay.”
Thank you for this!! Here is some just pure fluff tbh.
For @dadrunkwriting (Veilguard content-- spoilers through to the end of Act I)
ship: Rook (unnamed female Mourn Watcher) x Bellara
word count: 1364
rating: T
Leaders put their followers’ needs before their own. It was something Rook knew all too well. Ever since Treviso had fallen, and she was toeing that precarious line with Lucanis, giving him the space he needed while also letting him know she was there whenever he was ready to talk. Giving Neve room to grieve the losses in Dock Town, as well as to celebrate their win. It had all been downhill from there.
Their team meeting after Weisshaupt had been tense. Lucanis blamed himself for their losses. Davrin also blamed Lucanis- but, underneath that, Rook suspected he hated himself even more. It was all a mess, and as much as every bone in her body ached with exhaustion, as much as the scent of burning and death wouldn’t quite leave her nostrils, she knew she couldn’t rest.
She had to check in on Lucanis, make sure he knew that she didn’t fault him for missing his shot. She had to check in on Davrin, tell him she couldn’t even begin to imagine everything he’d lost earlier that day but that she was there for him, whatever he needed.
Assan followed her to the door of Davrin’s quarters, pressing his head into her hand, desperate for attention. She gave it willingly. He’d had a hard day, too.
At the top of the stairs, she waited for the door to close behind her before she closed her eyes, leant against the wall for a moment. A fraction of a second. A moment of peace, before she went to check in with Harding, see if she’d heard anything from Evka and Antoine in the hours since they’d last parted ways.
At least, that was the plan. As she hopped off the last step into the lower courtyard, Bellara came running over to her from the direction of her workshop.
“Can I have a moment?”
Rook glanced towards Harding’s greenhouse before nodding. It could wait a little bit, she supposed. She nodded.
Bellara grabbed her hand and pulled her towards her workshop.
“What’s this about?” Rook asked, mentally preparing herself for another disaster. Bellara had been in her team today, she’d been right at the heart of the action. Combat like that was new to both of them, she wouldn’t be surprised if Bellara was shaken up by it all. Or perhaps she’d heard word from the Veil Jumpers? It would be just like the old gods to strike in two places at once. They’d already done it before.
“Oh, nothing,” Bellara said, with a sort of forced casualness. “I just wanted to show you something I’ve been working on since we got back.”
Rook’s mind raced. Could this be something to do with the artefact they'd found in Arlathan? She tried to be ready for anything as Bellara pushed the door open and pulled her through and--
Everything looked the same as before. Normal. Fine.
Bellara pushed her into the chair by her desk and reached for a plate atop it.
“So, I know you cook this sometimes when you can get into the kitchen. Before Lucanis stops you. And I thought, maybe, I could try to make it for you?” Bellara said. She was staring down at the plate, avoiding eye contact. “I asked Emmrich if he knew the recipe. He said it’s popular in the Mourn Watch? He wrote it down for me. And I added a few herbs and things I thought would work with the flavours already in there. Anyway um. Here.” She thrust the plate out towards her.
Rook accepted it gingerly. “This is Nevarran rarebit,” she realised.
Bellara nodded.
“Is this the important thing you wanted to show me?”
Another nod. “I needed a taste tester.”
Rook’s eyes flicked to the door. She knew from experience that the toast would get soggy if she didn’t eat it quick, but this was her comfort food. Her favourite comfort food. She didn’t deserve to sit and indulge in it until she knew the rest of her team were as near to happy as she could get them.
“Stop that,” Bellara said, drawing her attention back to her. “Stop worrying about everyone else! Just for a moment, give yourself the same attention you always show all of us.”
Bellara turned to rest her back against the desk, beside where Rook was sitting.
“If it helps, you really are helping me. I need to know if the herbs I added work.”
Seeing no way out without hurting Bellara’s feelings (and Rook was sooner die than do that), she picked up the fork and set the plate down on the desk, tucking into the meal provided.
Bellara let out a pleased little hum. “What do you think? I was surprised at the complete lack of vegetables involved, but Emmrich insisted. He said it’s not supposed to be an everyday kind of meal? He said you have it when you need a bit of a pick-me-up usually.”
Rook nodded. “Myrna used to make it for me when I was having a bad day.”
“So it is your hearth cake. I had my suspicions.”
Rook raised an eyebrow at her, confused.
“It’s a sort of cake you can make over a campfire. Most Dalish clans have their own variant of it. My favourites were the ones we made during blackberry season, because we’d mix them into the batter and there’d be this little burst of flavour. But it’s a bit of a treat, so you only really make it when you’re really, really happy about something, or when you need cheering up.”
“You’ll have to show me how to make it sometime,” Rook said. “I’d love to try it.”
“Oh! Maybe. It’ll be hard to cook in a kitchen, I think, but maybe next time we’re in Arlathan?”
Rook finally managed to catch her eye, hold her gaze. She smiled tentatively. “I’d like that.”
Bellara smiled back, just for a moment, before seeming to catch herself and snapping her gaze away. “How’s the rarebit? As good as Myrna’s?”
“It’s different to Myrna’s.”
“It’s bad!”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that!” Rook reached for her arm as Bellara pushed off from the desk, ready to start pacing. “It feels fancier, is all. I think it’s the herbs.”
She settled back down against the desk. A comfortable silence settled over them as Rook ate the rest of her meal. When she was finished, she picked up the plate and went to stand. “I’ll get this washed up for you, alright?”
“No!” Bellara lunged for the plate. “I can do that! You already have so much to do.”
“But you cooked this for me,” Rook insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”
“You didn’t tell me to cook it, though. I wanted to give you something. It’s unfair for me to ask you to tidy up after.”
Rook’s eyes flicked down to the empty plate. “This…. wasn’t just a taste test, was it?” she realised slowly.
“You’ve been sneaking into the kitchen to make it a lot,” Bellara said softly. “It’s alright not to feel okay, but I wanted to… I don’t know, be there for you. You can always talk to me. But I know that’s hard sometimes so I thought I could show you I’m here with… Never mind, it’s stupid.” She took a step backwards, away.
Rook followed after her. “It wasn’t stupid. It was… It was really, really sweet, Bellara. Thank you.”
“Next time you’re down, come and get me, okay?” Bellara tried. “Maybe I can make enough for us both next time?”
Rook’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, was I supposed to share? Maker, Bellara, I’m so sorry-”
“No, no, no, no!” Bellara cut her off. “No, I wasn’t expecting anything today! But next time. I’ll double everything. Since my taste tester said it was good, and everything.” That tentatively proud little smirk came back, and Rook thought… Rook thought something she shouldn’t think about a friend.
“Right, well, I need to go check in on Harding,” she said hurriedly, all but running from the room, the plate still in her hand.
Ghilan’nain tilted her head. “I wasn’t aware that I was lost.”
-
The story of Ghilan'nain and Andruil, from beginning to end.
Chapter 7 is now up here!
Or you can read from the beginning here <3
Chapter 7 extract below the cut !!
Ghilan’nain ran a soothing hand down the halla’s snout before gently moving out of the pile of tangled, warm bodies and hooves and legs they had taken to sleeping in together. She positioned herself between the eyes and the halla, hands held out, magic crackling at her fingertips and twining up her forearms.
“I am not sure what you are,” she called out, voice steady, “but I will not let you harm my children.”
The eyes moved as the creature swayed its great head, blinked, and then stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. She stood her ground as the enormous wolf studied her, bigger than any she’d encountered thus far, his head cocked, and oh but he was beautiful. So many eyes, so bright and inquisitive.
As she watched, he moved, shifted, and she felt the prickle of his own magic against her skin as he morphed from beast to man.
“Ghilan’nain, I presume?” he said, in a voice that caught her off-guard with its gentleness.
She nodded, confused. “Did Andruil send you?”
He looked away, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Ah. Not as such, no.”
Ghilan’nain’s shoulders slumped slightly as she let her hands fall, her magic fade away into the cool night air. “Then she has forgotten about me,” she concluded. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly. She had suspected as much. But the confirmation still stung more than she cared to admit.
The wolf-turned-man watched her with an intensity that Ghilan’nain recognised immediately, though she’d yet to see it from an outside perspective. Where Andruil was alien to her, all action and brusque words and death, he was full of questions. She could see them, knew from the way he wet his lips and smiled that they were on the very tip of his tongue, saw herself in the gesture.
She was unused to being on the receiving end of such curiosity.
“I wanted to see what you are like for myself,” he said. “You aren’t what I expected.”
