Istg Every Post I See About How We Shouldn’t Woobify Solas Then Goes On To Woobify Him In Fun New Ways

Look at this. Look at this slutty little eyebrow on this slutty little elf 🥵 looking Lavellan up and down like that. Dread Wolf take me.

thinking about how mythal is visualized with and connected to the moon, but elgar’nan describes himself as the lord of day and night and can literally control the sun and moon to cause an eclipse. her role in the evanuris as a peacekeeper, immortalizing her as mother and wife forever. how flemeth described herself as nothing “but a shadow, lingering in the sun.” how when the mythal fragment trapped in the fade describes solas’s regrets, it’s recollections “cultivated like a tree twisting to catch the sun.” elgar’nan being the main person described whenever talking about mythal’s first death. how she reveals herself primarily to women who are hurt and abused by men over and over throughout history, reliving betrayal after betrayal for centuries…

whoops

Fact.

A goofy scene where Solas needs glasses. I've been meaning to write it for a while but the good @oldxenomorph reminded me. I think it's of interest to @plasticfreckles too.

Also on AO3: Skepticles

----

They worked in silence these days, their work entirely separate, but together still. It was an escape, in a way. Solas let Tahmina have the desk tonight so she could hunch more comfortably over letters from their outposts outlining movements and needs. He took up the spot in front of the fireplace, Tutu kneading his lap and purring.

She pulled her head up, realizing she'd hunched so far to read this blasted tiny writing that she nearly had her nose to the paper. A few ribs popped as she straightened and she stopped to stretch. Would that the Creators had built them with the ability to bend all the way backwards when the occasion called for it. She could think of at least three reasons, aside from stretching. She chuckled to herself.

Just then, Solas clicked his tongue and growled. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh -- get up, get off," he barked at the cat. "You and your tail. I've had enough. I can't see what I'm reading for all the fur."

Tutu darted from his lap.

"Solas," she admonished, "he's just a cat. He can't help it."

"Then you take him."

"He likes you! That's an honor."

"An honor," he huffed, as if he did not regularly feed Tutu far too much fish and rub his belly. "Would you like me to entertain your cat, or would you like me to find out how to remove the Anchor? Your wish is my command, Inquisitor."

Tahmina waved a hand at him and dismissed him back to his reading. He was in one of his moods. He was overall kind, generous, often sweet and funny, but had a habit of lashing out when he was irritated with something he could not correct. He reminded her of her father, in that sense, who had been particular about handling problems sooner rather than later, and scolded her mother when he could not. As if that would fix it.

He clearly needed a break, but would certainly not take it if she suggested it. But so did she, and she was quite happy to look at something other than the Comtesse's ugly handwriting.

She stood and stretched again, and more popped in her back. Her body hadn't been so sensitive when she was younger. She could read Deshanna's texts late into the night with no ill effects. Now just a handful of hours made her stiff and weary.

She made quiet kissy noises to Tutu and lured him onto the bed where she laid on her back. The cat climbed onto her chest with an appreciative murr and settled, purring quietly while she scratched his chin and neck.

He was a sweet cat, a blended brown and orange tabby, with luxuriously long fur and big green eyes. He should have been hunting mice and other vermin but she had not once, in their nearly two years here, seen him do so. That was alright. He kept her such good company instead.

From where he had laid back on the ground, Solas let out another low growl. Now what was the matter?

She tilted her head back against the bed and watched him as he leaned closer to the pages of parchment.

Then he made another noise of disapproval and pulled the papers further away, blinking rapidly.

"These must be spelled," he murmured, "to protect the contents. It must be important."

Tutu gave a quiet mrow in protest as her hand slowed to a stop.

"Sorry," she whispered and resumed her scratching.

But still she kept an eye on Solas as he moved the papers back and forth, squinting, until he found the ideal placement to read. He let out a satisfied ah and read in silence. Yet as his reading went on, careful to keep the paper at a specific distance, he frowned.

"This is a pointless account." He shook his head. "Nor does it look coded. Strange."

Tahmina picked up Tutu and set him to the side, then flipped onto her stomach to watch Solas read. Determined, Tutu stepped onto her back and settled there instead.

Solas set the parchment down in his read pile and picked up the next bundle from the stack to his left. Again he performed the little dance: too close, too far, squinting, not squinting.

"Arasha," she said, picking herself up onto her elbows, "are you alright?"

"Quite fine," he lied as he pushed the paper away and tilted his head back.

"You seem to be struggling with your reading."

He pulled it closer. "It... is fine."

"Why are you pulling it back and forth?"

Solas sighed and shot her a dark glance. "Do you not have your own reading to do?"

"Well, yours involves me, so tell me." She propped her chin in her hand.

This was wrong, of course. He was already irritated. It was certainly a serious matter -- the Anchor was developing more quickly than they had anticipated, and it was imperative he uncovered its secrets so they could remove it or at least slow down its growth. But there were too few moments where she felt she understood what was happening and he didn't.

"There is nothing of value yet," he sighed. "It is... meaningless drivel from the scribes of Corypheus -- back when he was a magister, that is."

"I see," she said. "And the back and forth motion you're doing?"

"I -- it seems to be enchanted," he said, matter-of-factly. "I see no reason why. Most of it is, as I said, drivel. Irrelevant to the focus itself."

"I thought this was a translation."

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps the translator thought it important to--"

"Arasha," she said again, gently, with absolutely no laugher or amusement, "is it possible you might need spectacles? To read better?"

He flicked the parchment down noisily and glared at her. "Spectacles?"

"Yes, they sit across your nose and provide --"

"I know what spectacles are, Tahmina."

Tahmina. Not vhenan. Bad news. She had pushed his poor mood and now he was angry at her. She had hoped to lighten his mood but alas.

"I do not need spectacles." The word was loaded with disdain. "That would imply I am..." His eyes trailed around the room until he settled on a word. "Sub-optimal."

"You are at an age where many start to lose their vision up close," she pointed out, regretting it even as she said it. She meant to indicate it was normal. That was not what came out.

Solas pushed up onto his elbows. "My age? I traipse around with you in the Fereldan and Orlesian countryside. Sera tires before I do. I am more than capable of reading some paper."

She sighed. "I am not saying this to upset you but you would have an easier time if you wore--"

"I can read just fine."

"Alright!" She raised a hand from the bed. This would be like the fade-tongue thing, apparently, which they still did not agree on. "Go on, then. Read me a line."

"This is dense material-- "

"You just said it was drivel."

"Ach!" He sighed. "Very well."

And then he did it again -- his back-and-forth dance, trying to align the paper just right, squint his eyes just so.

"Oh, this is ridiculous to watch," she sighed. "My father needed a pair, you shouldn't need to --"

Solas pushed himself fully upright and glared. "This is a gross misreading of the situation."

"At least I can read it!"

"Your presumptions are why it took so long for us to --"

"Solas, please," she cut in. "Why are you so against this? It's a bit of glass. It's nothing."

He stared up at her. There was something in his eyes that she recognized only from the mirror after she examined the Anchor. A sense that the end was near, that a consumption was happening. Why a pair of spectacles would agonize him the way the Anchor did her was elusive.

Tahmina nudged Tutu off her back and came to sit beside him. Carefully, she plucked the parchment from his hands and set it aside. She took hold of his hand -- dry, warm, not unlike parchment itself. Hers were always sweaty at the palm and dry at the knuckles. Bad for old texts, Deshanna would say.

"I want to help you," she said quietly. "Selfishly, it helps me, too. If you read faster, we find out what to do."

The mood shattered. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "A vanity. I thought I had more time."

"We have what we have." She squeezed his hand. "I'll be where you are soon enough. Hopefully."

He blinked at her owlishly, then looked back at the stacks of parchment. "Yes. Yes, we want you to have the privilege of spectacles."

"Ideally," she agreed.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I apologize."

"There are others in Skyhold who wear them," she said. "I will ask for a set. You need not wear them anywhere but here. If you find them useless, I will eat raven. If you like them, I will not say a word to anyone."

He inhaled deeply and scowled at the fire. Tutu stretched once again and dropped down to the floor. Establishing that it was safe, he crawled back into Solas' lap, who mindlessly scratched his chin.

"I will try them."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Thank you. Stop yelling at Tutu just because you can't see shit. He loves you."

"I -- " He sighed and looked down at the vastness of fur. "I will do my best."

Hermaeus Mora, unfurling his tentacles to reveal esoteric knowledge tomes: There are certain...benefits to being on my side.

Last Dragonborn: Are you trying to seduce me into the ways of evil?

Hermaeus Mora: Is it working?

Last Dragonborn: No. Should it?

Hermaeus Mora, insulted: It worked well enough on Miraak.

hey check this out *dies in front of you in every universe*

Cameo I requested from the man, the myth, and the legend himself - Gareth David-Lloyd. Inspired by these beautiful memes (1 & 2) I've made. Happy Valentine's my beautiful moots and dreadrook nation.

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