Independent Multimuse featuring canons and ocs from Dragon Age. Not strictly canon compliant.
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Important Notes
⧠I encourage reblogging MY fics/drabbles/headcanons/etc, but please do not reblog roleplay threads for the sake of my rp partnersâ comfort levels. For more specific rules I ask non-rp blogs read this page.
⊠This blog has semi-sporadic activity, my main blog is @theharellan.
⧠This blog is oc-friendly and, outside of romantic shipping, not exclusive. Not all characters are available for romantic ships, please check my muse page or rules for more specific information.
⊠I am mutuals only and will not be accepting asks or starters from people I do not follow!
â§Â Credit for the header art of this post goes to Antaarf.
⊠NOT spoiler-free for Veilguard. Spoilers tagged #da4 spoilers. After January 1st I will be loosening my spoiler tags to just include endgame information.
Character Notes
â§Â Merrill always fixes the eluvian regardless of whether Hawke agrees or no.
âŠÂ Vivienne was in a polyamorous relationship with Bastien and his wife, Nicoline, before their deaths.
â§Â Cole will always choose to embrace his nature as a spirit and forgive the Templar who killed the original Cole, regardless of the Inquisitorâs input.
âŠÂ Rather than staying in Denerim as a merchant, Gorim travels with the Warden and serves both as a merchant and trainer for warriors travelling with the Warden.
About Me
⧠My name is Tas. Iâm 25+ and I use she/her pronouns.
Characters: Solas, Original Ancient Elvhen Character(s), Non-binary!Lavellan
Pairing: Solas / Original Ancient Elvhen Character(s), Solas / Non-binary Lavellan
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: E, Chose not to use archive warnings
Other Tags: Dubcon (not Solavellan pairing), Sex as Self-harm (again not Solavellan), Solas as Wisdom, Elvhenan
Summary: Made to serve as Mythal's wisdom in matters of war, Solas seeks the answer to love's nature through the people he has loved throughout his life.
"Love is taking."
They are young, and their bodies are young. Enfenras looms over him when the question is asked, baring a freckled shoulder to wicked intention. A tremor of pleasure pulses against Ma'daras, the heat of desire tempered by the cold against his naked skin. Long-fingered hands bare his body, laying claim to flesh that was made to be possessed.
i dont remember the post i saw or who made it so this doesnt count as a vague but 'actually it's good bioware retconned the agents of fen'harel because it would've been Bad Representation to have an antagonistic faction made up of the in-universe oppressed minority' well no it was straight up cowardice and the refusal to grapple with the reasons why marginalized peoples might come to believe their best recourse for a world that wants them dead top to bottom is fundamentally changing the nature of the world in a way that, yes, may read as apocalyptic to those currently in power, but the alternative is for the forgotten to continue slowly bleeding out to sustain their comfort
Not that bioware could have landed that but don't pretend it's More Nuanced not to even try. and it's literally just narratively stupid as hell
Enfenras is based upon my concept of the enansalen, a group of seven spirits-turned-elves who serve the highest ranking evanuris (otherwise known as the gods).
Originally a spirit of Fear, convinced by Elgar'nan to take elven form. He has served Elgar'nan the longest, and is trapped in a constant state of trying to prove himself worthy of his continued usefulness.
Though he has what would be considered to Andrastians a demon's purpose, Elvhen concepts are not so binary. As Fear, he was considered as vital to the survival of the first people as any other. When his fear became a means to control others is the point where his purpose was perverted.
Basics
Nickname(s): -
Title(s): First of Elgar'nan
Profession:
Age: Ancient
Birthday: Midwinter
Race: Elf (former spirit)
Gender/Pronouns: ??? / He/Him
Orientation: Aromantic / Bisexual
Personality
Strange and off-putting, for the most part. The most important thing to know about fear is that he embodies it as much as he invokes it. Many of the things he does and hopes to do are in the hopes of outpacing it. Those who are closest to him may see he possesses a softer side, one capable of kindness, although even it has its edges. At his best, he is still afraid of being passed over, and incapable of seeing how his efforts to circumvent that possibility is often what necessitates it.
Appearance
Height: 6'0", although perception will make a giant of him
Build: Thin, most of his height is in his limbs
Hair: Dark, worn long and unadorned
Eyes: Dark Brown
Tattoos: Elgar'nan's vallaslin, full.
History
His kind came first. Before Wisdom, before Envy, before Hope. He is the terror that tightens the chests of the living, he is what keeps you alive, or keeps you from living.
Enfenras began as a spirit of Fear, a primal fear- his name translating in Elvhen to "fear of the wolf's' shadow." He embodies the fear of the early dwarven people, the terrors the Titans could not shield them from. For uncounted years he fostered those fears, until Elgar'nan found him. He came willingly, but afraid, and found in flesh horrors the spirit had never known. He was the most himself he had ever been, and it was terrifying.
He has served Elgar'nan since, and is locked in a perpetual cycle of trying to prove his worth to his god. He has no qualms about involving himself personally in the affairs of the empire, if it means the task is seen to its end, and will often work in conjunction with Elgar'nan's second Virtue, Love.
Verses
#v; in the woods somewhere ( enfenras | elvhenan )
Spans the entirety of Enfenras's life as an elf, from his birth to the moment he changes again for Elgar'nan's sake.
It is impossible to be here and not think of him. It seems the very shadow Enfenras casts misses his, how they darkened where they overlapped together upon the stone.
No longer.
Like the empire, the Dirtharas'an has been turned to new purpose for a new age. An age of enemies, an age of wolves.
His shadow is faint upon the ground as he glides towards the inner sanctum, drifting unnoticed from the crowd of his kin. They listen with rapt attention as the scholars explain their designs for this place: how it might unveil its knowledge, divulge secrets that would make the Keeper Dirthamen himself blush. Possibilities, prospects, but those are soft promises. Lord Elgar'nan has always preferred results.
The hum of an astrolabe grows silent as he enters, though it cannot help how it glows with a question, as though wondering if he had come alone. He does not answer, allowing the lonely shadow cast in its blue light to speak for him.
"They tell me you are being stubborn," he says, to all appearances, no one (though the shift in the air against his face suggests he is heard). One hand reaches within the other's sleeve, retrieving a strip of fabric that he uses to secure the folds that drape past his wrists. "We have that in common, you and I."
His name is Enfenras, which means "Fear of the wolf's shadow."
He is the first to Elgar'nan as Wisdom/Daras/Solas was the first to Mythal.
In the beginning, he and Daras are close. They are among the first, and as Wisdom, he could explain much of what Enfenras feared. Also, Daras was afraid of his own body (and in some ways remains so) and that energy was something Enfenras could feed off of. Their relationship is not what I would characterise as healthy but there weren't exactly many other pillars of support.
He embodies fear as much as he invokes it. Where Daras is confident in Mythal's love of him and willfully blind to the ways she has hurt him, Enfenras knows his position is tenuous and Elgar'nan's love conditional.
While I styled Mythal's court as holding the pillars of what make human society possible, Elgar'nan's was the beginning of humanity itself. Among Enfenras's peers are Grief, Panic, Love, etc. The things we had before we had homes.
In the same way I try to characterise Pride as not an inherently negative trait, and reject the spirit/demon binary, Fear is not meant to embody an evil emotion. It is an important feeling that keeps all living things alive, and only becomes dangerous when it becomes obsessive or informs one's whole worldview. As the ages wear on, rather than embody the fear of predators, etc, Enfenras begins to embody Fear in a society that uses it to control people. He also likely takes on a new name at this point but I've had to make up half a dozen names in the last couple weeks and I simply don't want to do that right now.
kissing your lover lazily first thing in the morning . U don't have to do this one I'm being greedy
The dawn comes without acknowledgement. Miolvun sleeps soundly, dreaming and content, unhurried and safe where they rest. Felassan's warmth is more comforting than any blanket, the weight of his cheek against their heart shifting with each breath they take.
Waking is delayed, slow, leisurely. The quiet, measured pace of moons sinking below the horizon and the sun lifting to claim the sky. Open windows invite breezes, gentle murmurs that deliver summer scents and the music of insects that click and coo from forest canopies. None of it tempts, none of it is alluring.
They are drawn from their dreams by the press of his lips, the drag of his fingers. He traces the spaces between their ribs, his touch skirting scars to find tender places, soft skin, the gentle swell of their breathing carrying them ever closer to his caress.
Miolvun blinks, trading the embrace of dreams for a bliss more near, and as their vision settles they find themself sinking into bright, violet seas. His attention is whole, rapt, devoted, the weight of him pressing them into the mattress and holding them precious. They lift their fingers, needy, tuck loose hair behind his ear to prevent its curtain from denying their view.
He allows them their indulgence, the cup of their hand against his cheek, only a moment. Only a moment, before his hand lands atop theirs, before he turns his face, lips warm against their palm. Their sigh is satisfied, savoring the peace of his presence, his attention. He sinks, catching their breath with his kiss, reaching to capture the flavor of their affection, their love.
Slow, lingering, gentle.
The sounds he draws from their lips are as soft as his touch, quiet gasps they do not disguise. Though there is no hurry, though time is theirs and so is he, they tighten their hold, pull him down to hold him as he holds them. Beneath his weight, beneath the touch of his fingers and the press of his lips, they feel the world grow distant and remake itself, until the only reality is the two of them and the places they touch.
They sink, they rise, they float, they fly, and he carries them and holds them and they bask in the infinite birthed in his embrace.
one of the funniest things that i did pre-VG was add "enemy" from arcane/imagine dragons onto peggy's playlist (and it's also on solas and thora's playlists) bc the line "what will they call you when this is over" implied to me that we would be making enemies within the game with the factions depending on our actions but then everyone is immediately our friends except the ones we don't like anyway.
Also don't know if you're taking the kisses out i want to read a mio felassan kiss, one that you haven't had the chance to write yet but have been really looking forward to. Everything I've read so far makes me feel all the feelings
[[ I never reblog kiss memes but I'm ALWAYS accepting them ]] @ourdawncomes
His hand catches at theirs, and they allow it.
A new intimacy, these open, sweet gestures with fondness as their intent.
Miolvun bumps their shoulder against his, skin warm where they touch. Where their hands meet, his thumb turns a circle, brushing beneath the gap in the bracelets that sit a little too wide against their wrist. They glance down, and so does he, adjusting his grip to slip a finger along their pulse before curling it into the smooth wood.
Felassan pulls them by the cuff, draws their fingers to his lips in a brief, affectionate press. When he lowers their hand, he does not abandon his touch at their wrist, tracing the the skin beneath the bracelets.
"These are mine," he says, pretending as though he'd never noticed them wearing them. As though he had forgotten they'd taken them, had kept them, had never removed them.
"Want them back?" they ask, as they had once before.
"No," is his answer now, as it had been then.
They grin at him, and he pulls on the bracelets again, until they step to him, until their chest bumps into his own. His other hand catches their jaw, slips behind their neck to tease at their braids as he frames their lower lip with his kiss.
My main blog has been tagged spam so I'm posting it here so the tags go through ok. Here's an exceprt from a chapter of Var Shiral'vhen that I've admittedly been struggling with. Thora visits the healing tents after they survived the night on the mountain post-Corypheus's attack on Haven.
The whole camp smells of survival, fire, and blood, but as they draw near the healersâ tents the smell overwhelms. Breakfast she hasnât eaten turns in her stomach. She knows what she will see from the scent before she arrives: rot in living flesh, the sickening sweet smell of surgery, and a thick fog of sweat. Her hand itches for the pouch of herbs Solas had given her, lost somewhere between here and Haven, but itâs for the best that she canât dive into it, she thinks. Better the woman theyâre meant to trust can look them in the face without blanching.
She peels back the tarp covering the entryway, fabric heavier than any weapon sheâs ever heaved. Beyond it, bodies turn in bedrolls and over thin blankets. Sheâs ashamed to say she doesnât know more than half of the faces in here, the Inquisition had grown so large so quickly, bigger than anything sheâd ever known before.
Between the beds are mages, threading their magic out in thin spells to mend freshly torn flesh, and former farmhands, accustomed to the sight of blood and the smell of death. She can feel the impression of the formersâ spells on herself, blows that would have bruised mottled to a pale yellow, cuts sealed to scars that will soon fade into the warm, brown skin. The thought occurs to her that more expense might have been afforded to her than the people sheâs in the company of now, a thought that twists like a Templar blade.
âHerald, Solas, Iââ The Ian who approaches him looks as tired as she feels, with dark, uneven shadows under his eyes. Theyâre nevertheless bright with panic, glancing between them, seeking answers before his voice can manage the question. âHas something happened?â
tagging: @theshirallen, @blackjackkent, @darethshirl, @compendiumcal, @rakshadow, @asexualtabris, @ anyone who wants to share something!
Thora does not want to be a parent. Expectations for female dwarves to be birthers and mothers turned her off the idea and she is, actually, very awkward and stilted with children. She barely recognises Kieran as being odd, that's just how all children sound to her.
Bruno hasn't given it much thought. He didn't want to when he was a slave, and has never wanted to give birth. He's good with kids, but he's not at a point in his life where he's been able to think about it seriously.
Emmrich literally made a son out of bones although it took him a while to realise he was his son. I don't think he would want to have children at his age, but with a love interest he might consider adoption.
Merrill wants to be a mother. She has complicated feelings about it depending on her love interest, as she expresses to m!Hawke in-game. She's quite good with children, I imagine the people from her clan who missed her most often were the children she told stories to.
Vivienne does not want children. She is quite good with them when she wishes, although she has less patience with ones who aren't self-motivated like she is.
Felassan is great with children but does not want them. He is content being an uncle figure.
Gorim always wanted children, but could never imagine himself with them. Getting Tamar pregnant would have potentially meant ruining her life (and his). After they move to the Surface, it might have happened if Tamar hadn't been made a Warden, although it would have had to be adoption.
Bellara has also not given it thought to it happening anytime soon. She wants to be one, she thinks, but she doesn't have a lot of confidence with children. I think she manages poorly with them unless they are a specific type of child, but would do well with her own children.
Peggy is a mother. She isn't particularly interested in becoming one again, although in-game where she romances Emmrich she was quite happy with the idea of her partner also coming into the relationship as a parent.
Cole does not want to be a parent. His feelings about children are complicated, as they can be both incredibly kind but also be cruel for reasons even they don't seem to understand.
an abrupt kiss that you melt into after a moment of hesitation . (bruno x bellara)
kiss meme | selectively accepting | @theshirallen
"Here, let me help."
Bruno sidles in front of Bellara, narrow hips slotting easily in between the side of the eluvian and the wall. Bouncing up onto his toes, his fingertips ease out a fitting she'd nearly popped her arm out of the socket to nab. "Aha!" he mutters, putting a cap on how impressive he's feeling. His fist closes around it, drawing it safely down, palm opening to present his winnings. "Here you go."
"Thanks," she mumbles, eyes cast down and to the right. A less-than-enthusiastic reply that steals the wind out of his sails some (even if his stomach flips when she plucks the fitting from his palm).
He nails his smile to his cheeks so he doesn't sound off when he says lightly, "You sure about that?"
"No," she answers quickly. Then, just as quick, "I mean, I am! Ugh..."
He doesn't speak, but folds his brow until it kisses his hairline. She turns sharply away, occupying her hands with her work. Magic weaves first, between her fingers; then the eluvian piece; then his ears, which flick back against his hair, disturbed by the high trill of energy. In seconds, the hum is gone, the piece settling into its usual, peaceful spin.
"That simple, eh?" he prompts lamely, hoping to nudge along whatever thought had gotten stuck between her mind and her mouth.
"It wasn't always. We only know as much as we do because of the first people brave enough to do more than ask what the eluvian were for." Bellara passes it back, the little piece weighing heavier now that it's functioning, like the magic itself has mass. He reaches, a little more careful now than before, feeling the fitting's teeth align with the appropriate spot. Behind him, a quiet breath sounds before a question, "Why are you helping us?"
Careful or no, she asks at an inopportune time. The fitting flits from his fingers, bouncing off the darkened surface of the eluvian with a high ping. Scrambling, he squats, grabbing it just a hair from the floor.
"Got it!" he announces, triumphant. His long legs unfold under him like two staves, presenting the piece between the fingers that had snatched it from the air.
He's rewarded with laughter, a high giggle that unhooks the nails from his smile so it can broaden. "I think maybe we should find a ladder," she says. "Or maybe the Professor."
"Ah, we don't need him," Bruno says with a dismissive wave of his free hand. He turns again, popping back up to his toes, realigning the teeth with the sitting place. "If there's anything I've learned working with Fen'Harel, it's that you can't let a little failure stop you." He slots it in, the eluvian humming back to life as he adds, "Or a big one, for that matter."
Another laugh, quieter, this time. Stuck again on the places their allegiances burr.
"I also learned it's not a bad thing to help people. You never know what you're going to get back."
"And what are you getting back?"
Information, for one. True, the open nature of their allegiance means he is trusted about as much as a cat on a cupboard, suddenly everything that can be pushed is moved out of reach. But Rook's team aren't trained spies, or players in any politics. Aside from the Crow, they say more than they ought to, and where Lucanis proved tight-lipped, Spite is more forthcoming.
That isn't the first thing that jumps to mind when she asks, however.
"I could say it's help in the fight against the evanuris," he offers. "But, uh, your company is- probably a close second. Em..."
As he turns to face her, dig himself out of the little hole he'd tripped into, he hears the air around her move. Suddenly, she has no trouble bridging the distances higher than her, lifting up to her toes to kiss him.
Bruno freezes, hands stiff in the air, heart trying to tear out of his chest. His lips are tingling (should they be tingling?).
He fights for instincts he doesn't have.
After a few heartbeats have passed, some corner of his mind asks if it's weird they're still kissing. Maybe she's asking herself the same question, heels lowering to the floor, but her hands- still prickling with magic- caps his shoulder, and he takes it as invitation.
Her kiss drags him with her, small sound leaks from the corner of her mouth, like the noises she makes when she's thinking. He bows, and for the first time in his life he's happy to.
