I was lucky enough to snag a portrait commission from @needapotion and she gifted me with my beautiful, fierce, cold, and proud original character that I created long ago but still love with all my heart: Solverne! Though she was originally created in one universe - a dragon with the ability to guise herself as a human, she has found a space to make a very powerful appearance in my novel, so look forward to meeting her! Thank you again so much for bringing my feisty girl to life!
“Dragons know nothing of luxury or kindness, especially towards their offspring. I was raised harshly, to be void of emotion, especially since my power of transformation meant I could be a Human, which meant I could feel things. My mother never once showed me any affection or praised me and even hardly acknowledged my existence. For whatever reason, I was always a failure to her, someone she could never be proud of. I guess because of my power. Still, that doesn’t explain why she acted the same way towards my older brother, Kvimmel...” She lifted her hair and pointed to her strange scar on her neck. “That was given to me by my mother.”
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Hello, everyone!
I am coming to you today to promote our cherished friend @solverne-02.
She is eloping in August and I am hoping that we as a community can come together and show our love for her as a send off! I had my wedding/honeymoon last year and it was not cheap, so I wanted to try to give people an outlet to celebrate such a happy day for our dear, amazing, super, creative, beautiful, and genuine friend, @solverne-02
This is her Ko-Fi link go and donate!!
Thank you in advance and ilu sweetie. <3 I know so many other people here do too.
thank you! tropes are War AU (again, lol!) and Awful First Meeting.
This is... basically canon Solavellan? Lol, sorry.
alright, I will give the war thing another go. Different type of war this time.
In the time of Arlathan, there is great battles taken place, the Evanuris against the Forgotten Ones.
In any case, Iwyn Lavellan is a successful general in Sylaise’s armies. She leads with great confidence, and is one of Sylaise’s most trusted advisors. (they.. possible were lovers at some point?).
Solas is a spy who is a employed by Mythal. He has gained a position of trust with some of the Forgotten One’s leaders, but he keep reporting back to Mythal.
Mythal and Sylaise are allies, and Solas and Iwyn needs to work together. He needs to provide her information about enemies troops and so forth. However, the information is urgent, and Solas rushes in dressed as someone from the opposing side, and Iwyn mistakes him for an assassin and almost kills him. He is not pleased (what did you expect? That I had a nice badge proclaiming ‘in service of Mythal?’).
There is some close physical contact ;), but she is mortified over her mistake and annoyed at his attitude. Solas think she is simple - a blunt instrument to bludgeon enemies, and is annoyed with her mistake.
The more they work together, the more they come to respect each other, and their attraction grows. They finally give in and, well, I guess - fuck a lot.
Drabble challenge - "Hey, hey. Calm down. They can't hurt you anymore." Use this however and with whoever you wish! :)
Sorry that this took a while to write! When I got the prompt I knew exactly what to write, the question was how to write it.
This takes place roughly after the Siege of Adamant.
WARNING: Mentions of violence and blood.
Asharen wandered through the woods, the soft spring grass tickling the soles of her feet, birdsong filling her ears as it echoed through the treetops. A whispered breeze brushed against her skin, running it’s fingers through her hair, tossing it lightly around her face. Among the trees the young elven woman could spot halla grazing peacefully on forest flowers, rabbits darting in and out of the undergrowth, and various other forest life. But one thing that caught her attention in particular, was a curious orb.
It shone with a soft blue light, and it bobbed lazily among the plants, making quiet sounds akin to ringing bells. As if sensing Asharen’s gaze upon it, it leapt to attention, and seemed to beckon Asharen to follow it. Grinning, Asharen chased after the orb, following it as it weaved around tree trunks. Every time she seemed to get close to catching the light, it appeared farther ahead of her, and as she journeyed deeper and deeper into the forest, the darker and darker her surroundings become, until she could see nothing but the faint glowing orb she was chasing. Fear settling on the fringes of her senses, Asharen reached out to clasp the orb, hand outstretched desperately.
Her foot catching on an unseen root, Asharen tumbled forward, falling through never ending darkness. It wasn’t until she screamed that she landed on her back with a solid thud, wind escaping her lungs.
Coughing and gasping, Asharen struggled to sit up, a frightened sob caught in her throat. One thing was clear, she was no longer in the idyllic woods of her childhood. Below her was the ground, and above her were shattered fragments of earth, broken statues that hung in rotating suspension, pools of water gathered and faded at her feet, and everything was awash in a sickly pale green glow. Asharen knew this place, and she feared it.
Silence suffocated the air around her, and she scrambled to her feet, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each panicked breath. Clenching her jaw, Asharen strode forward, picking her way carefully around the pools, dreading what lurked bellow their mirror-like surface.
As Asharen delved deeper into the ever-shifting landscape, she swore she could hear whispers in the shadows, deterring her from her path.
“You are a beast, da’len.” They whispered. “A beast of destruction.”
“N-no.” Asharen said, her voice shaking like an autumn leaf in the wind. “I’m not.”
“Oh but you are.” The voices grew from whispers to steady voices. “You walk the Vir Banal’ras. You are a blade in the shadow, the hand of Falon’din that guides those into death.”
“I left that path long ago!” Asharen shouted to no one. “That path is no longer part of me.”
“Ma harel, da’len.” The voice grew louder, and louder, rumbling deep, the voice of an ancient magister. Corypheus. “With every strike of your blade you bring more into death. And though you deny it you enjoy killing. All around you is death. Your soldiers fight and die for you. Those in Haven died by your actions. Was it not your choice that lead to the end of the Champion’s life?”
“Fenedhis lasa!” Asharen yelled, her voice drowned out in the thousands of death cries filled the air, the memories of all that had died in Inquisitor Asharen Lavellan’s name floating past her then floating away. A blade piercing a soldier’s side. An arrow striking a scout’s neck. A blast of fire destroying an entire camp. A Red Templar Behemoth smashing an innocent woman to a bloody mess of mangled flesh and bone. A demon tearing out the throat of a child. And above it all, was Corypheus’ dark, sinister laughter.
Asharen tried to shut her eyes, finding them unable to close. She tried to cover her ears with her hands, finding the sounds unstifled. She tried to scream for help, finding her voice silent. She sank to her knees, panic and unbridled fear bubbling in her chest, all consuming. She was paralyzed, heart hammering against her chest, unable to breath, unable to move, unable to speak.
Asharen…
Asharen’s instincts screamed at her to get up, to look away, to run away, but her muscles wouldn’t respond. This was it. This was the downfall of the Inquisitor. She would remain trapped here, forced to watch everyone in their final moments. Forced to watch those she couldn’t save perish.
Asharen!
What a fitting eternal curse. So many lives depended on her, the Inquisitor, and yet there were countless lives she could not protect. So many crushed hopes. A fitting punishment, yes, for one who claimed to be a hero.
ASHAREN!
Asharen awoke screaming, clawing at her bedsheets, her skin clammy. Breathing rapidly, Asharen slowly settled back into some semblance of reality, feeling a hand on her shoulder. Crying out, Asharen quickly moved to strike whomever the hand belonged to, but was stopped.
“Vhenan, it’s alright.” Solas said quietly. “It is only me.” Solas sat on the edge of her bed, brow furrowed with worry. Moonlight poured in from the high windows of her quarters, the fireplace crackling with slowly fading embers.
“Solas…?” Asharen spoke, her voice rising to a panicked sob.
Solas quietly shushed her, running his hands through her hair then cupping her cheeks. “Focus on what is here.” He murmured, their foreheads touching. Asharen clasped his wrists tightly, desperate and needing something real to hold onto. “You are safe here. Whatever was in your dreams cannot harm you anymore. It was not real.”
“It wasn’t real.” Asharen repeated, closing her eyes, matching her breath with Solas’ slow, steady inhales and exhales. Adrenaline and fear left her body in a rush, leaving her exhausted and drained, a lake gone dry in the summer heat. Warm tears streaked down her cheeks, only to be brushed away by Solas’ gentle caresses.
“When I couldn’t find you in the Fade, I knew something was wrong.” Solas explained. “Are… are you alright?”
Asharen shook her head, hair falling around her shoulders. “No.”
Solas frowned, gathering Asharen in his arms, holding her in a tight embrace. “Do you wish to discuss it?” He asked, looking down at Asharen’s face, blue eyes brimming with concern.
28 or 32 for Rory/Cullen! You can pick which one you'd prefer. :D Both will be just as precious.
Oooh, let’s go with 32!
“Are you - are you pulling down mistletoe?”
Cullen glanced over his shoulder at the accusatory tone in Rory’s voice, lowering the handful of festive foliage from where it had been nailed over the door to his office. The other two sprigs had also been removed, even now lying guiltily on his desk.
“Yes, I ... yes.” He nodded to his wife firmly.
Rory crossed her arms, a slow smile on her face as she leaned against the wall. “Dare I ask why you’re removing the Satinalia decorations from your office?” she asked sweetly.
The commander dropped the third sprig on his desk, scowling as he rubbed his neck. He seemed to be struggling between guilt and justified annoyance.
“I find them ... inappropriate,” he informed her. Just the shortness of his reply was enough to make her smile grow.
“I have to ask now,” she warned in amusement. “In what way is mistletoe inappropriate at Satinalia?”
Cullen sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sure it has a place, but not in my office,” he insisted. “If Sera demands that I kiss my scouts one more time ...”
Rory spluttered into sudden laughter, her mind filled with the mental image of her husband having to kiss Jim just because they were both standing in the same doorway. Cullen rolled his eyes at her; he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“It’s not going to happen,” he said in a vehement tone. “I have a certain reputation to uphold, and kissing my lieutenants and soldiers because there’s a parasitical plant hanging above us does not help.”
“Oh, so you have kissed some of them, then,” she teased, her laughter rising again at the outraged flush rising on his cheeks.
“Once, one, I mean ... Maker’s breath, Rory, don’t ask me that.” The memory of the look on Rylen’s face when he’d been forced to kiss Leliana’s cheek or be teased about it every day for the foreseeable future was not one Cullen was going to forget in a hurry. At least it had only been Leliana, and not Rylen himself.
“All right, I’ll stop teasing,” she assured him, pushing out of her lean. “But, um ... without the mistletoe, how do I get my Satinalia kisses?”
He blinked, turning to look at her in confused dismay. “Your ...” He sighed, spotting the tease for what it was. “That is ridiculous, Rory.”
She offered him a teasing pout. “So I don’t get any Satinalia kisses?”
“Andraste’s flame, do you want me to put it back up?” he demanded, rubbing his fingers over his forehead in that telltale sign of a headache here to stay for a while.
Rory’s smile softened at this. “No, love,” she told him, moving toward her husband fondly. “I want you to kiss me.”
“You don’t need a plant hanging over my head for me to kiss you,” he pointed out in protest, but a faint smile chose that moment to light up his whiskey-bright eyes. “Come here.”
As she stepped into the circle of his arms, he reached out to collect the mistletoe from the desk, raising it high over their heads as he leaned down to kiss her tenderly.
