#silversiren1101

[snejkha]

Character design commission for @silversiren1101 // Thank you so much again//

[zazrichor]

OC Amellara for @silversiren1101 🍷

[wildbasil]

commission of @silversiren1101's pathfinder oc, minovae!! 🥰🥰 thank you so much for commissioning me!!

(btw my commissions are open again, if anyone's interested!!)

[outeremissary]

1B on that pose meme (or whatever it's called) has real comedy potential. Not like that person is actually hurt or dying but something melodramatic, you know? I'm picturing Regongar holding Octavia and he's shouting MY GIRL NEEDS A MANICURE STAT! in response to her "I broke a nail!" bark

I'M IN LOVE WITH YOUR VISION

edit. realizing that I read the dialogue provided wrong. forgive me. I got too excited about it.

[sacherali]

Wing-It commission done for @silversiren1101 of their precious child Minovae 💛 Working on this was an absolute delight!!

-

Commissions Price List & TOS

[milk-crafting]

Click for higher quality please!

Finished comm for @silversiren1101 of her girl Minovae!

If you're interested in a comm like this, check here!

[dujour13]

♦: Slow dancing - have to go with it, chief

@wonda-ch Thanks to both of you. 🥰 This one was nice.

There's a soundtrack to it if you want the full experience.

---

The Queen’s victory ball nearly spiraled into chaos.

First the Cavalry Sculptors started a food fight. Then after the banquet, once everyone was good and tipsy, Siavash played a couple of rousing songs and soon Sosiel and Trever had most of the guests ranged in lines, bowing, locking elbows, spinning each other around and stomping their heels in an Andoren farandole that made the chandeliers shake.

Even Woljif got swept up in it, and light as he was on his feet he picked up the steps pretty quickly. The only problem was the danger his tail posed to his partners’ shins as he spun past. Seelah threatened to strangle him with it.

It was when the Valhalflings pulled the tablecloths crashing to the floor so that they could dance on the tables that the Queen made an urgent sign to the orchestra to tone it down a notch.

At the lull in the music the dancers paused, laughing breathlessly. And then the musicians struck up a slow, romantic waltz and there was a lot of awkward bidding for partners.

Daeran bowed deeply to Ember and offered his arm. Sosiel and Aron immediately flew together as if they had been waiting for this moment all evening. Lann drunkenly threw caution to the wind and invited Queen Galfrey to dance, and then looked like he would die of embarrassment when she assented. Seelah spun around laughing, assaulted on all sides by would-be suitors, until her eyes and hands locked with Arueshalae’s.

Woljif tried to make himself inconspicuous.

Not that he had anything to hide. Everyone knew. With Siavash all but yelling it from the rooftops, not to mention the prodigious Fifth Crusade rumor mill churning out all sorts of sordid tales, he reckoned you’d have to be a deaf hermit in the middle of the Casmaron desert not to know the Knight-Commander had a thing with some street tiefling from Kenabres.

And then there was the clear blue sapphire flashing at his throat, and all it signified to him and to everyone in their entourage. Belonging. Yet also freedom.

So why did the prospect of slow dancing in front of everyone at the victory ball make him want to go invisible and slink away? Or better yet, spread his new wings and fly off with the Queen’s silverware in his pockets?

Must be the public mushy stuff that was putting him off. And he could just hear what Gran would say, rubbing elbows with the toffs like some kind of—

Before he could inch behind a floral arrangement, Siavash stepped up and bent near to the floor in a flourishing bow modeled after Daeran’s, made all the more florid by his ballroom finery: cloud-blue satin with gold embroidery, lace at his throat and cuffs, a sash the color of sunlight at his waist, burgundy trousers tucked into boots so polished they reflected the lamplight. As the leaf-green ribbon tying back his hair had lost most of the battle by now, he laughingly blew escaped locks out of his face as he rose, one hand behind his back, the other raised to Woljif.

“Chief, that get-up.”

“So rob me. Come here.”

“Fine,” Woljif sighed.

Clasping the offered hand he was drawn into an embrace, and the momentum swung him around and into the dance step before he knew what was happening.

Had a hush fallen over the ball or was it just that the Valhalflings had gone hoarse? Or perhaps everyone else had dropped away and they were suddenly alone.

He let Siavash guide his steps to the gentle three-four time of the piano. Like in bed or on the battlefield their bodies naturally fell into rhythm together, every shift of muscle against his chest an unspoken cue, the music moving through Siavash and into Woljif, lifting them along like leaves on a gentle breeze. He pulled him closer. The scent of him, the warmth, the enfolding arms. The tickle of that honey-colored hair falling across his nose. Hearts beating in tandem.

Hearts beating.

He was still here.

Woljif laid his palm to his chest, to the place where the wound had threatened to split him apart and take him away from him.

It was over and they’d survived—better than survived—and that broken, lonely future he’d envisioned at Threshold had not come true.

Tenderly a violin joined the piano as if the music were reading his thoughts.

He realized his hand had clenched the fabric at Siavash’s shoulder and buried his face against his neck to stifle the rising tide of a sob.

The music swelled and spun them together, weaving their steps. With his eyes closed he could imagine them flying side by side, the wind braided in their wake.

Free.

The violence of the Crusade was behind them now. The Worldwound was closed and Siavash’s wound was healed.

The hand at his waist braced for a dip and with unquestioning trust he went with it, the hand steadily lifting him once again.

His own wounds, too, were healed. That gaping hole of need at last closed. Everything was all right. For the first time in his life, clear skies ahead.

That crazy Andoren had grinned and told him “It’ll be fine,” and it was.

Finally.

The chief had made a spectacular bet and won. Wiped the floor with old Goat-Face, swiped a crystal right out from under Nocticula’s nose, crushed Deskari like a bug, told Iomedae where she could stuff her advice, seized the power of a demon lord and turned it into sunshine and butterflies.

And took the hand of the lowliest street tiefling in Mendev and showed him love.

The lips pressed to his forehead moved. “We did it, Woljif.”

We—not just the chief. It was true. They accomplished all of it together. In step.

It was his turn to guide Siavash into a dip and a graceful turn.

“Sure lucky I didn’t hightail it and leave you to deal with all of that on your own,” he murmured.

“I never would have managed without you.”

Woljif felt Siavash’s breath hitch in his chest. Where his forehead met his cheek a tear pooled.

“I mean that. My love.”

A whisper: “I know, chief.”

Siavash pulled him so close they could only sway with the music, and so they remained, clinging to one another, unaware everyone else had stopped dancing.

At last Woljif raised his eyes and in the soft lamplight they sought each other’s gaze through wet lashes. Siavash took his chin in his hand and raised it gently, and leaned in for a kiss.

[cassynite]

△ Ophenia - is there anything you've ever actually regretted writing? Something that got a little too close to reality that backfired?

Ophenia's red lips curl into a perfectly polite smile. "Of course not," she says. "To be written down is to be immortalized, remembered long after your body decays and the people who loved you have found your face difficult to recall. The characters in my stories are the reflections of the people around me, and I should think they would be happy to find themselves preserved on page."

She settles back, but after a few minutes, frowns. "Ah. The spell noticed there were two separate questions...very interesting. Would I be able to see this spell when this is over? It seems like an awfully convenient tool to have..."

She shifts in her seat, a little peeved. "To answer the second half of your question--yes, once. One of my very first works was...heavily inspired by a woman in my acquaintance who had passed. It contained accurate depictions of her childhood and her home life, to which her surviving family took offense once it was published. They sued me for libel, which was a righteous pain, let me tell you. The lawyer I had to get nearly cost as much as the money I made on the book in the first place. Awful mess all around.

"I won in the end, of course--really, the names were all changed, it was a story at the end of the day, not a biography. There was no need for the hullabaloo. But my publisher pulled the book out of print just to be safe and you can't find it anywhere. They also requested that I stress the fiction aspect of my writing since, and I have complied."

First part: 0/10

Second part: 8/10