#do i think he had them during arlathan? yes.

[broodwolf221]

silly little mental image but like

a partner playing with solas' ears for some reason and feeling little bits of scar tissue and being like wait.... were these pierced? and him just being like well... ah... we were all young once

[fadedsweater]

WIP Wednesday

It is neither Wednesday nor anywhere near the date when I was tagged, but I was deep in Arlathan Exchange writing and was busy this past Wednesday. Thank you to @oxygenforthewicked and @crackinglamb for tagging me 💛💛💛

I'll tag (with no pressure to post on Wednesday or at all) @dreadfutures, @rosella-writes, @plisuu, @bluewren, and whoever else feels like participating. (Also I never know who to tag so apologies if I keep tagging you over and over gahajsjqhafa)

This not-Wednesday wip is a little solavellan kid fic thing I found in my notes app lol. It's from my modern Thedas with magic au (which is honestly more magic-tech than truly modern but there's still like TVs and stuff), and probably takes place sometime shortly after Athdhea, Dawn.

CW for postpartum health/ postpartum mental health talk and like, general baby talk.

"You don't think it's weird?" Eira said.

"I mean." Shara shrugged. "It's a little weird. So what?"

Eira felt like a mess of a creature. She was exhausted and hormonal and even as her body healed it seemed to find new ways to betray her.

Eira frowned and tapped her fingers on the table. Their lunch hadn't even arrived yet and already she felt antsy. She knew there was no logical reason to be antsy. Her baby was well taken care of and safe, and Eira didn't even plan on being away for long. Her family had stayed with them to help with the baby for weeks and weeks, and had taught Solas all they knew during that time. He was careful and devoted. He would be fine, she knew, by himself. In fact, he'd encouraged her to take some much needed time for herself away from the house and the baby. Yet she couldn't quite quell the little seed of worry and guilt that had rooted in her brain. "I actually think it's kind of cool. Like: here's the Lord of Nightmares and his....adorable little baby! That's cute! That's fun!" "He hates that title," Eira sighed. "Never say it in front of him if you don't want a lecture. Should I check in? He'd call if something -- " "It's been an hour," Shara said. "He's taken care of her for more than an hour before." "Yes, but I was in the house, still." Eira rubbed at her temple. "I know. I'm being neurotic, I know." "Eira," Shara said, her tone serious. "I've seen him take care of her. That man is so careful you'd think he was handling a bomb." "I know." Eira took a sip of water and watched the waitress set down their order. Shara thanked her with a polite smile. "Do you think we've doomed her to a lifetime of that? Being the daughter of the 'Lord of Nightmares'?" She made a face as she said it.

Shara looked at her. She reached across the table, over the food, and put her hand on Eira’s. "Don't do that to yourself. Seriously. Don't."

She thought of Solas, also exhausted, hurrying about their little house, changing diapers and making bottles and cleaning messes, humming old lullabies under his breath. For some reason the image was comforting.

"Nothing will happen," she said aloud, as if that made it more true. "If something was wrong he would call me right away. But nothing is wrong, because Adhlea is healthy and he is a good father."

"That's the spirit," Shara said. "Now eat." "I feel like my brain's been fried," Eira said darkly, taking a bite of her sandwich. It was delicious. Much better than the leftovers and hastily cooked meals she'd been persisting on. Better than the takeout, too, because she was eating it fresh, on a plate, at a table, and not in her underwear on the couch with a crying baby nearby. "I mean, it kind of has." Shara shrugged. "But it'll get better. I promise." "You're not a mom." "Sure," Shara said offhandedly. "But aunt Faya said all the same stuff you're saying, and she felt better later, too. And if it gets worse, or gets bad, or it doesn't get better, you can do what Midha did." Eira had no memory of what Midha did. She blinked. "She got some meds and it was okay. And we found her a nice Dalish therapist." "You sound like a commercial." "I was trying to be reassuring." "And I appreciate it," Eira said. "Do you think he was really confused by commercials when he woke up here? Like there's no way advertising existed thousands of years ago, right?" Eira tried and failed to hide a smile. "Do you just ask me all the terrible questions that you're too afraid to ask him?" "Not afraid," Shara said. "He's not scary. But like you said, he'll lecture. Or try to like, trap me in a philosophical debate." "Oh, he thrives on that."

[in-arlathan]

Throwaway Thursday

Since I missed WIP Wednesday, I decided to do something different this week and actually share a bit of writing I tossed into the garbage.

But first: Thank you @noire-pandora, @sinsbymanka, @johaeryslavellan and @mogwaei for the tags. I loved seeing your WIPs on my dash! They were all so good! T_T

Leaving more tags for next week for @elveny, @barbex, @serial-chillr, @faerieavalon, @musetta3, @juliafied, @dreadfutures, @hollyand-writes, @starsandskies, @emerald-amidst-gold.

But on to the material I threw away!

____

So, there are quite a few scenes that didn't make it into the final version of "The Rebel's Ascension". Most of them were written out of order while I was still in the first draft because I couldn't wait to get to them. More often than not, though, these scenes no longer fit within the story once I actually got around to writing the previous chapter. It broke my heart but I cut those scenes and stored them elsewhere for safekeeping.

There is one scene, however, that I really liked and that would have fit into the story. I cut it because I felt like it would blow up an already insanely long chapter and take away from the impact the previous scene had. And since it was part of a flashback, I saw no reason to stuff it into another chapter. It was supposed to go into Chapter 11, "Bloody Blessings", right after the first battle with the dwarves. Solas had been wounded during the fight and I wanted to show his recovery afterwards.

I'm going to share this one scene now. And I will leave in all my weird typos and the brackets in which I summarize descriptive paragraphs (when I can't be bothered to write them) for everyone's enjoyment, hehe. My process is so messy sometimes!

The sunlight stung in Solas’s eyes when he finally woke. Its brightness sent a white-hot pain that threatened to spill his skulking two. He squinted and tried to cover his face with his hands, only to realize that one of them was missing.

So it wasn’t a dream, he thought bitterly.

He tried to sift through what little he remembered. He had been in the midst of battle, despair and fear of death clawing at his guts. There had been light and a loud roar and then… nothing. No sound, no sensations. Just darkness whispering to him.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Anaris said.

Geldauran’s brother sat on a stool beside Solas’s bed, regarding him intently. The simple robes of the elvhen were covered with bloodstains that stood in stark contrast to his jade green eyes. His auburn hair tied back in braids to keep it from falling into his eyes while he worked.

“Anaris!” Solas breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s so good to see you.”

The other man’s brows furrowed in surprise.

(SOLAS LOOKS AROUND; DESCRIPTION, OTHER ELVHEN IN NEED)

“Am I–?”

“In the Halls of Healing, yes.” Anaris turned to the bedside table and picked up a bowl he’d placed there. He took the pestle within and began stirring vigorously. “The All-Mother herself delivered you here once the battle was over.”

“Did we win?”

Anaris huffed, mildly amused. “Of course we won,” he said. “You think you’d still be here if it were otherwise?”

Solas breathed another sigh of relief. Not only had they fought back the tide of enemies that had come to wipe the People from the face of the Earth, the Halls of Healing were still intact. Which meant that Arlathan itself was still intact, still safe.

“You should thank Falon’Din,” Anaris said. “His spell captured part of you in a pre-stage of uthenera. You’d be dead without him.”

“I will,” Solas muttered and tried to push up into a sitting position.

“Woah!” Anaris exclaimed and rushed to help him. “Take it easy.”

Solas nodded faintly, the world spinning around him for a moment. He closed his eyes and waited for the feeling to fade again. When he opened them again, his gaze fell upon his wounded arm. Or what was left of it. The axe had cut through bone and flesh right above his elbow, leaving only a stump behind.

“Looks ugly, I know,” Anaris said. “It will take a lot of time and effort to grow it back. But first, you must recover your strength. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

[lavellander]

hello im feeling extra “touch the stove”-y today so. i was looking for any dialogue where solas just straight up lies and (of what i could find online/transcribed, obv) i didnt find anything that was 100% untrue. he’ll completely avoid the question, change the subject, give part of the truth, etc etc etc, but nothing was just Entirely A Lie

what really gets me is that there’s a handful of convos where someone infers something from what solas says, and he will even point out that he didn’t directly say that. like, he tells people how to see through his shit, lmao

here is an embarrassingly long ass list of examples, all sorted by what kind of not-lying he’s doing lol, just bc i am unhinged<3

*note that some of these are cut from longer bits of dialogue or have been split up from one conversation into different categories*

literally just Not Answering The Question lol

Dorian: How much “will” do they have? They’re amorphous constructs of the Fade. Solas: Hmm.

Dorian: Solas, have I offended you? Solas: If you have, why would it concern you?

Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I’m sorry? Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry. What are you supposed to be, some kind of woodsman? Dorian: Is it a Dalish thing? Don’t you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some kind of statement? Solas: No.

Dorian: Let me get this straight, Solas. Dorian: You’re an apostate – neither Dalish nor city elf – who lived alone in the woods studying spirits. Solas: Is that a problem for you?

Solas: [has a whole tactical moment about the red jennies lmao] Sera: Where d’you get all this, then? Solas: Do you wish to be unnerved by another tale of my explorations of the Fade? Or do you wish to learn something?

Vivienne: You must be pleased with what was revealed at the Temple of Mythal, Solas. Solas: Why should those ruins please me, Enchanter?

changing the subject before he backs himself into a corner

Gatt: I don’t see any tattoos, but you’re carrying a staff. Are you from a Chantry Circle? Solas: No. And I would prefer not to discuss it.

Solas: I find the fall of the dwarven lands confusing. Varric: What’s so confusing about endless darkspawn? Solas: A great deal, although that is a different matter.

giving the truth, but not the whole truth

Blackwall: Skyhold. How did you find it? Solas: I looked. Blackwall: Now you sound like Cole. You looked? Solas: This world is full of wonders for those who seek them.

Blackwall: You spoke of seeing death and destruction. Did you fight in a war? Solas: There are struggles across Thedas at any given time. I doubt you would have heard of it. Blackwall: An elven skirmish? Solas: In a manner of speaking, yes.

Cassandra: Solas, have you always lived alone? Out in the wilderness, as an apostate? Solas: For the most part.

Cassandra: Have you ever encountered templars before? Solas: Only at a distance. I am an apostate, after all. Cassandra: And they never caught you even once? Solas: I am a very careful apostate.

Dorian: We found elves, living ancient elves, at the Temple of Mythal. Does that bother you, Solas? If Inquisitor allied with the Sentinels: Solas: I am pleased we were not forced to kill them, if that’s what you mean.

Iron Bull: You’ve got an odd style, Solas. Your spells are a bit different from the Circle mages or the Vints. Solas: That comes from being self-taught. Solas: I discovered most of my magic on my own, or learned it from my journeys in the Fade.

Vivienne: So, an apostate? Solas: That is correct, Enchanter. I did not train in your Circle.

Solas: You are a man who made a choice... possibly the first of your life. Iron Bull: I’ve always liked fighting. What if I turn savage, like the other Tal-Vashoth? Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor... and you have me.

from cutscene at beginning Inquisitor: [mentions the anchor closing a rift] Solas: Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct.

from cutscene at beginning Solas: [to a Dalish Inq] You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here? Inquisitor: What do you know of the Dalish? Solas: I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion. Inquisitor: [Crossed paths? dialogue choice] Solas: I mean that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.

from “I’d like to know more about you” convo in Haven Inquisitor: What made you start studying the Fade? Solas: I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.

actually telling the truth but no one picks up on the gravity of it

Solas: [...] I believe the elven gods existed, as did the old gods of Tevinter. But I do not think any of them were gods, unless you expand the definition of the word to the point of absurdity. I appreciate the idea of your Maker, a god that does not need to prove his power. I wish more such gods felt the same. Cassandra: You have seen much sadness in your journeys, Solas. Following the Maker might offer some hope. Solas: I have people, Seeker. The greatest triumphs and tragedies this world has known can all be traced to people.

Cole: No, inside. I don’t hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still. Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighted against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples.

Cole: You didn’t do it to be right. You did it to save them. Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about? Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything.

Solas: Empires rise and fall. Arlathan was no more “innocent” than your own Tevinter in its time. Solas: Your nostalgia for the ancient elves, however romanticized, is pointless.

Solas: Our people used to be here. Sera: Pfft, you say that everywhere. Solas: It is more true than you want to believe.

Vivienne: You must be pleased, apostate. With the Templars dissolved, your rebels will be most difficult to pacify. Solas: My rebels? Am I an agent for their cause, whispering poison into the Inquisition’s ears? Solas: How comforting. Vivienne: You enjoy seeing yourself as a villain? Solas: No more than any other clever man who wonders what he could do if pushed.

Vivienne: [about the Temple of Mythal] Now you know the elves were once a mighty nation. Solas: I always knew, Enchanter. The Temple of Mythal is just another reminder of what was lost.

(in the Emerald Graves): These forests have changed much since I was last here.

during the Fade!Haven cutscene Solas: It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change. Inquisitor: [romance option] “Felt the whole world change?” Solas: A figure of speech. Inquisitor: I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in felt. Solas: You change... everything.

pointing out that people assume he means things he did not directly say

Cole: There is pain though, still within you. Solas: And I never said there was not.

Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it. Cole: When did you see it before? Solas: I did not say that I had.

Iron Bull: We’ve got the alliance with my people. Given how much you love the Qun, I figured... Solas: I might scold you? Berate you for your decisions? Iron Bull: Hey. The Chargers died as heroes for the good of the mission. Solas: I never said otherwise.

Sera: Don’t you start. Solas: I’m reasonably certain I said nothing.

Vivienne: [talking shit about grey warden mages] Solas: I never claimed mages should be above the law, Enchanter. Vivienne: No, darling. You merely implied it, while offering no viable suggestions for improvement.

after infamous “side benefits” dialogue Warrior Inquisitor: You find my muscles enjoyable? Solas: I meant that you enjoyed having them, presumably. Warrior Inquisitor: Ah. Solas: But yes... since you asked.

diminishing things he does actually know by saying he he “believes” or “thinks,” or that things were vaguely “said” or “told”

Solas: I say what I believe to be true, even if it gives offense to those who prefer the lie.

Dorian: That orb Corypheus carries... are you certain it’s of elven origin, Solas? Solas: I believe so. Why do you ask?

Solas: It is said that we lived at a pace that sustained us for... ages.

making it sound like he’s talking about something/someone else, but it’s just him lmao

Cole: Do you know a lot about wolves? Solas: I know that they are intelligent, practical creatures that small-minded fools think of as terrible beasts.

Solas: No man can kill so many people without breaking inside. To survive... those you fight must become monsters. Iron Bull: The ones that kill innocent people, yeah. The rest... I don’t know. Solas: The mind does marvelous things to protect itself.

during In Hushed Whispers Inquisitor: I’m glad you understood what he just said because I’m not sure I did. Solas: You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.

misc

this one i wanted to include because it’s the only circumstance (that i came across) where someone directly asks solas to lie and he literally says he can’t

during the fucking crestwood breakup scene Inquisitor: [angry option] Tell me you don’t care. Solas: I can’t do that. Inquisitor: Tell me I was some casual dalliance so I can call you a cold-hearted son of a bitch and move on! Solas: I’m sorry.

*also note that most of these are banter transcriptions from the wiki; some are cutscene / other dialogue posted by either @/daitranscripts or u/karinini on reddit; it’s not all his cutscenes obv, but I’m not about to look up every single one individually sdlkfj*

[dinrenan]

OC Interview: Dinrenan.

I saw this going around and I am having a slow day at work so...why not?

This takes place after Trespasser, in her hidden place, the one asking questions is Amelan'lin, who wants to know more about the High priestess he, and his own ancestors, have been seeking for so long.

Introduction Can you introduce yourself?

She looks at Amelan'lin with a confused expression.

"You know who I am, but for the sake of this thing...Dinrenan, also known as Falon'din High priestess, Death singer, and other titles...Dinrenan is just fine"

What is your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

She chuckles

“I am female, I go by she and her, I don't have a real orientation, You could be male, female, neither, both, as long as you are willing to cuddle, and I say CUDDLE, for me it matters not” She stops for a minute to think and looks at Dinlin who is telling stories to the children all around him, somewhere far from them, then looks back.

“As for relationship status, I would say taken but that would be a lie, so...open for anyone who is willing to share a cuddly partner”

Where and when were you born?

She blinks for a second, then answers “As to where, in Arlathan, in a very fancy room...if you want to know where I was reborn, then into one of my Mast- Falon'din's temple, in a pool, thanks to blood magic. I cannot tell you when because I lost track of time. Why do you ask this if your whole clan passed this information for generations!"

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

"My weapon of choice...what am I supposed to say...I use whatever can get me out of trouble, be it daggers or magic, as, for the fighting style, I favor magic, it makes me cast afar from my enemy AND flee if need be.

And finally, are you happy?

She smiles fondly in the distance, towards Dinlin

"Yes, I am happy right now, at this moment, who knows about the future"

Family and friends

What is your family like? What is your relationship like with them?

She glares at the ground, trying to remember her parents.

“It's complicated, I don't remember much about my childhood with my parents, during Arlathan....I know that my father loved me dearly, while my mother always wanted a living child, but overall acted like I was made of glass.” she chuckled unamused "Considering what happened next I don't blame her" she looks back up " I did not hate them, nor did I resent them for never coming back for me. As for Falon'din and Dirthamen...I deeply cared for both of them, no matter what they did to me, I always tried to impress both of them, silly I know. Regarding my time with the Lavellans I have nothing to say apart from the fact they cherished me until I heard someone mentioning that I was just some relic or prize they wanted to keep near and never let go, as you may imagine, I started to distance myself from the whole clan and adoptive parents, but as before, I don't actually hate them, they are long dead to me anyway."

Have you ever run away from home?

" Of course! how do you think I ended up with the Sabrae clan in the Free Marches?" she raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Would you want to get married or have children?"

She just fixes him down with a hard stare and does not answer.

Do you secretly hate any of your friends?

"If I hate them how can they be my friends? The answer is no, I may not tolerate someone in my sister's circle, and some of my own sentinels, but hate is a strong word"

What friend knows everything about you?

She points at Dinlin in the distance without elaborating.

Asked by fans Can you read and write? Did you go to school?

"I...had spirits teaching me how to read and speak in Elvhen, especially in Dirthamen's care, writing wasn't that hard to learn. I admit I had some problems with the Trade tongue once awake, it was so strange, but I had Asha'len teaching me step by step" she smiles at the memory.

The scariest prediction you made that later came true?

"That I would end up looking like a monster in the eyes of other people once they found out what may happen if I starve...Varric always made sure to stay away if I mentioned I was hungry”

What is something you embarrassingly realized too late?

"Uhm...that I cannot go around always barefoot and that sleeping naked during summertime may be a problem around men..."

Do you have mental or physical problems?

“Does Cannibalism and Instincts count? if so, yes, I have a mental problem., physical...not yet"

What’s your main goal right now?

She smiles brightly

"I achieved half of my original goal, living in a place where elves can learn more about their past, the next step would be for them to regain some of the magic in them. You would be amazed at how many freaked out once I tested with their blood" She realizes to have said too much and sheepishly looks around "I don't harm them, I just use a needle to pinch them and see if in their blood has the faint music of magic, if there is, then I can wake it with my own magic, the hidden magic responds..." she then goes silent, waiting for the next question.

Drink or eat?

She looks troubled for a moment

"Depends...an animal is food to eat, water is considered a drink. Normally speaking I would say both, but I am not much for Alcohol, I don't like it...ask me when I am starving and you are both drink and food."

Cats or dogs?

"I love all animals, dogs are fun to run with, but I am a cat person" she looks around searching for some of the cats the people brought with them.

Optimist or pessimist?

"Ehrm...pessimist...although I think myself more of a realist pessimist"

Sassy or sarcastic?

"Worst combination ever, sarcastic and cuddly, at least that's what Dinlin says"

HAVE YOU EVER: Been caught sneaking out?

She laughs then answers. "Never, shapeshifting has its own benefit"

Broken a bone?

"Not on my own no, I had other people breaking them for me and other people putting them back together..."

Did you get flowers?

She looks confused for a moment

"Why would someone ever give me flowers..."

Ghosting someone?

"No...yes, maybe. There was this man, Servis, charming lad, he really was trying to understand my behavior and relationship with others, when he wasn't working as a smuggler that is. At some point, I saw a look resembling one of Dirthamen's...I started to ghost him like he had the Taint, then spoke to him about, the dangerous look, not Dirthamen, and we laughed it off, I still write to him from time to time..."

You pretended to laugh at a joke you did not get?

"I don't get jokes often, so I don't laugh if I don't get it...sorry to disappoint all those bad jokers around"

I had fun with this!

[emerald-amidst-gold]

6, 15, and 27 for somft plssss <3

For somft? For somft you ask? Oh, all the somft! All the somft for one thousand years! >:3

Warning: Solas and Fane are idiots in love. Please make sure you've seen your dentist before continuing for your TEETH MAY DECAY FROM THE SICKENING SWEETNESS!

6. How do they react to the realization that they like the other character? Is it an “oh my god I’m never going to think about this again” thing, or are they pretty comfortable with it?

Once upon a time, in a land known as Elvhenan, there was a wolf and a dragon, and they loved each very, very-- *IS SLAPPED*

I wish I could say it was puppy dogs and rainbows, but Solas and Fane's beginnings were toiled in war and stunted with loss. HOWEVER! That's not to say they didn't have their moments, and Fane's realization of his feelings doesn't come until he's 'mortal'. They were there when he was a dragon, but he couldn't make sense of them since he had never felt such warmth, such lightness, such devotion for another creature that wasn't a dragon like him. He would try and think about it, try to understand them, as is his nature, but only more confusion would follow, so Fane would opt to try and deny them.

Now, Solas was entirely aware of both his and Fane's feelings. He could see it in emerald and gold, in ivory and ebony, but Solas does as Solas does, and literally goes, 'It cannot be.' It isn't denial; it's practicality. Solas is an Elvhen. Fane was a dragon. Physically they were unable to cross that line into romance, but that's not to say they didn't invest emotionally with each other. They did. Heavily. Wherever Solas went, Fane was not far, above or behind. Wherever Fane wandered off to, the forests or the mountains, Solas sought him out like a beacon. And in those blessed moments, where they could be the creatures nature intended them to be, Solas, while allowing a large, draconic head to rest in his lap, stroking rough scales with reverence, he would instead go, 'Perhaps, in another life we may be afforded more. Until then, this is enough. More than enough.'

15. What, for them, constitutes a level of intimacy that they would only rarely share with someone? This can be physical, emotional, etc.

Fane's would be two things, honestly. The first would be allowing Solas to see his body, unwrapped, unbound, and completely scarred. Fane feels intense shame around his scars because he believed the act of protecting of his sister was born of pride, his pride, thinking he was invincible and infallible to whatever would occur to him. So, basically, allowing Solas to see them, as well as, assist with unraveling them is a great act of trust and relinquishing control on Fane's part. And Solas will offer no pity, no apologies, none of his own guilt because that wouldn't change what was done to his dragon. All he does is look Fane in the eyes, holding his face in place because even Fane spirals when he glimpses at his own body, and says, "You are beautiful. Without and within. Nothing will ever make that untrue to me. No matter your form, no matter the passing of time. You are forever you, my dragon. Remember that."

And second would have to be allowing Solas into his mind. Fane's mind is warded, by trauma and magic, the latter something the two of them are trying to investigate between everything else they need to do. They have found that this ward lessens when they 'tether', but only if both of them are in a vulnerable state (alone, weakened during a battle, emotionally compromised, or sex). However, there comes a time when they can reach out to the other and link their thoughts and emotions without being vulnerable, feeling how they run and for Fane, that's a huge, huge step in terms of trust and control.

The second would also apply to Solas' level of intimacy when in regards to Fane. We all know Solas is very closed off, very inclined to keep all his personal thoughts and emotions bottled up into his own metaphorical vial, but with Fane, he has a hard time maintaining the premise of 'cold and aloof', and is instead 'soft and malleable'. Even before the two take that step over the line into an actual relationship, Solas has a proclivity to drop his guard around Fane, his personality from the time of Arlathan clipping through to where he's more open, more willing to let light push against the darkness billowing in his heart, and to Fane, his eyes. Solas allows Fane to see the man before the fall, even if he, at times, believes it to be a 'weakness he can't afford'. As Fane likes to put it, 'You were my sky before you were Fen'harel, Solas. The sky knows no limitations nor does it bend to the will of others. You encompass all of that to me, but I also wish to see the rain fall when it must, when the clouds within their expanse can no longer hold it back. You are allowed to let your own rain fall, your own sun shine, your own clouds draw overcast, so let them, if only with me. In this, I will not judge, I will not persecute; I will only be the wings that catch you as you fall."

27. They have to apologize to their partner. Is this difficult for them? How do they approach it?

Fane, at times, does get a bit heated, but rarely because of something Solas directly did. It could be a number of things, honestly. A fitful night full of nightmares and retching, body aching and burning with scars, migraines born of the world around and above, two duties, one of kin and one temporary, weighing down on shoulders that had thus far had to carry so much. Any of these things could cause Fane to lash out at the people he cares about, and most times, Solas is the one that receives the brunt of it due to being within his dragon's radius, knowing the plummet is about to occur and wishing to mitigate it as much as possible. Fane will bite, snap, snarl, and growl at Solas' attempts, resolutely trying to push the man away with instinctual habit, but Solas isn't cowed easily by snapping and snarling. He'll take the blows, even as his heart fills with guilt towards Fane's predicament. However, all it takes is one flash of indigo in blue and grey and Fane's own heart fills with guilt and self loathing, and that's when he'll wrangle the beast inside and pull Solas to the side to explain what could be going on and apologize accordingly.

"I'm sorry. It was a bad night and--"

"Hush, Fane. It is of no concern."

"Would you quit that? You're not fodder for my outbursts and I shouldn't treat you like that."

"And that is why I say it is of no concern. You recognize that you were remiss and that is what truly matters. My feelings are of no import."

"Yes, they are, Solas. So, once again, I'm sorry. It isn't your fault. None of how I am is. Stop beating yourself down for things that were my own fault."

"...None of what happened was your fault. Never."

"Don't discount my role in it all, my sky."

"I am not, but the end result was all my own doing. You were--"

"I know. I know..."

"...Ir abelas, ma'isenatha. Perhaps we should speak more later, minds clearer, emotions more stable."

"...I'm sorry."

"...As am I."

SAD BOYS, BUT SOMFT! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK! <3

[silvanils]

Interview with your OC

Thanks to @noire-pandora​ and @morganlefaye79​ for the tags!

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

I’m Ashiran Talin Lavellan, but most of my friends call me Ash. I’m also known as the Inquisitor, Lord Lavellan in certain circles, but I’m still not particularly used to that. It gets stuck on my tongue.

What are your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

Haha, are you serious? That’s a bit nosy of you. But if you insist… I’m a man who has enjoyed the company of many different sorts of people, but I am very happily taken by a wonderful man from Tevinter.

Where and when were you born?

I was born in the Green Dales in 9:16 Dragon. I was fourteen when the Fifth Blight happened in Ferelden and twenty-five when I became the Inquisitor.

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

I use daggers or a bow, depending on the situation and terrain. I’ve always been pretty stealthy and good at hand-to-hand fighting, but I’ve really honed my close combat skills during my work with the Inquisition.

Lastly, are you happy?

Absolutely. Things could be better, of course, but that’s always true. I’m taking things one step at a time, and enjoying every day as it comes.

Family and friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

I have three younger siblings: my sisters, Saeris and Tamaris, and my brother Isasha. They’re all much younger than I am, so I was a third caretaker for them when they were small, but we get along well despite the years between us.

Tamaris wants to be just like me, and Saeris is such a little tease. Isa’s a bit shy and skittish in general, but he came to me a lot when he got scared and wanted someone to be there with him.

My parents, Faron and Sena, are the clan’s head craftsman and Keeper’s First, respectively. They’re both always pushing the boundaries of their crafts. They always used to joke that I got the best of both of them - my mother’s wisdom and my father’s bravery.

My father also has siblings who still live with his original clan, and my mother has family in Wycome — but I don’t know any of my distant relatives very well.

Have you ever run away from home?

No, never.

Would you consider marriage or having children?

Yes, on both counts. I’d like to tie the knot whenever my lover is ready for it, and… maybe once things settle down, we could talk about raising a child together, too.

Do you secretly hate any of your friends?

No? If I hated someone, I wouldn’t call them my friend.

Which friend knows everything about you?

Well, I’ve told Varric and Dorian plenty of stories, and Leliana and Bull are good at gathering information even when I don’t tell them things… So, those four would probably know the most about me. But I doubt anyone knows everything about me.

Asked by fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

My mother taught me to read and write, and I studied a lot of different things with our clan’s teachers and hahren. Ultimately, I chose to apprentice as a hunter, but my parents still taught me about their trades as well.

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

I’m not sure if this counts, but not long after we came to Skyhold I told Cassandra that historians would probably try to forget I was an elf and she told me that was preposterous. Then, when we were investigating the Jaws of Hakkon I started to think “well, this feels familiar.” So I told Cassandra “I think Ameridan was like me.” And I was right.

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realise?

My father likes to embellish stories and make up silly stories just to entertain the little ones. This only dawned on me when he started telling stories to my little sisters, and I was already about fifteen then. I called him out on it when they were asleep and he just ruffled my hair, pinched my nose, and told me I was still a “silly little wean.”

Of course, he did grow up near Arlathan forest, and that place does have some weird shit going on. So, who knows. Maybe his stories are all true, and I’ll be embarrassed again later...

Do you have mental or physical problems?

As far as I know I’m mentally sound. Of course, I am under constant stress, worry about a lot of things, and have mild social anxiety, but it’s nothing I can’t cope with. Physically, the anchor is my worst problem — it does hurt sometimes.

What is your current main goal?

To keep the peace and mend any rifts that still remain. It’s… no easy task. I’ve had less trouble getting little children to behave.

Choices

Drink or food?

How is this a choice, exactly? A person needs both to live?

I will say my favorite drink is coffee and I love a good hearty stew with meat and tubers. Or sweet pastries. I probably enjoy those a bit too much...

Cats or dogs?

Cats, though I never had one of my own before coming to Skyhold.

Optimist or pessimist?

Optimist, usually. I think it’s better to look on the bright side and remain hopeful that things will turn out all right, even if you have to be prepared for the worst case scenario.

Sassy or sarcastic?

A bit of both — it depends on the situation.

Have You Ever

Been caught sneaking out?

Oh, yes. Several times. My family lived in a little aravel, it was nearly impossible to sneak out without waking someone up. It was a bit embarrassing, sometimes, all things considered. My father eventually told me I might as well stay over with my lover instead, if this was going to continue happening.

Broken a bone?

Yes. I snapped my left arm falling out of a tree, once. And I fractured my right femur when I slipped in a shallow river. My mother was able to heal my femur because she was there when that happened, but I broke my arm when I was out scouting. She was able to mend it once the clan caught up with me, but the other scouts had to set that one for me.

Received flowers?

A girl at an Arlathvhen once gave me a whole bundle of wildflowers to let me know she liked me. And a pinecone, for my hair, later. Ithelan used to bring me moss and mushrooms he grew himself, which was awfully sweet of him. And one night, Dorian brought me flowers, wine, and chocolate all at once because I’d been teasing him about wanting to be properly wooed.

That was nice, though. Very nice.

Ghosted someone?

Not intentionally. I wasn’t exactly able to reach out to my family for a long time after the Conclave, and a LOT happened in that short span of time...

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn't get?

On occasion, but I’m not very good at it. Everyone always seems to know.

[pikapeppa]

Professor Solas/Lavellan: Oceanic

Chap 4 of Inadvisable (professor Solas modern AU) is posted!

In which Nare Lavellan throws caution to the wind when she officially meets Professor Solas for the first time. 😏 Featuring both Nare and Solas POV!

~4300 words; read on AO3 instead. 

*********************

- NARE -

Nare tapped her fingernails on her empty glass as she scanned the bar. I don’t see him, she thought in disappointment, then turned back to face her new labmates with a somewhat perfunctory smile. 

Merrill was in the middle of telling a story. She covered her mouth with one hand as she giggled. “After that, Professor Abelas has never eaten any of the baked goods I bring in. It was only the one time, though. I don’t usually put a tablespoon of salt in my cakes, I swear.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Tamlen said. “Professor Abelas doesn’t even eat storebought baked goods that are brought into the lab.”

“I think that’s how he got so tall,” Dagna said. “Not eating baked goods.”

Tamlen smirked. “Dagna, you think everyone is tall.”

She tutted and poked his hip. “Silly. I’ll let you get away with that comment since you always get the files down from the top shelves for me.”

Athera tilted her head quizzically. “Is Professor Abelas going to come to this mixer?”

“He already came and went,” Merrill said. “He always comes right when it starts and leaves within the hour.”

Athera’s eyebrows jumped up. “He came right at eight o’clock? I bet no one was even here yet!”

“That’s why he comes on time,” Tamlen said dryly.

Athera snorted. “That makes so much sense, actually.”

Nare briefly stopped scanning the room to grin at her. “Are you going to gossip about him now since you know he’s not going to show up?”

Athera scoffed. “I’m not going to gossip about a faculty member at the campus bar. I’m not stupid.” Then she smirked and elbowed Nare. “I’ll keep the gossip for when we get home.”

“Oh good,” Nare said brightly. “I still can’t believe you told Tamaris about your day while I was in the shower.”

Merrill clapped her hands. “Athera was so impressive today. You didn’t cry once!”

Nare looked at Merrill and Athera in genuine alarm. “Cry?” she exclaimed. “Why would you cry?”

Athera rolled her eyes, and Tamlen helpfully replied. “Professor Abelas is, uh, stern.”

“I think his face will crack if he smiles too much,” Merrill said. 

Tamlen cocked his head thoughtfully. “His frown does kind of look like a golem, doesn’t it?”

“Yep, it really does,” Dagna chirped, “and I would know. Golems were the focus of my undergrad thesis.”

“Were they really?” Athera said keenly. “I only had one single lecture during my undergrad that even talked about golems. What can you tell me about them?”

Dagna launched into an excited explanation of the role of golems in ancient Orzammar, and Nare took the opportunity to scan the room once more, even though she knew she shouldn’t be. Really, if she saw Professor Solas at this mixer, it would be better if she stayed away from him. 

But at the same time, if she stayed away from him and he saw her, that would be worse, wouldn’t it? She was his new Master’s student and they’d run into each other earlier today, even though he didn’t know who she was. If he saw her here tonight and she didn’t talk to him, it would be weird when she formally met him tomorrow in his office, as if she’d been avoiding him. And she had no real reason or excuse to avoid him.

Aside from the juvenile but persistent fantasies she kept having about his height looming over her and his gorgeous voice curling out of those plush full lips. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek and tapped her empty glass. Then Athera nudged her. “You’re starting to make me nervous now,” she murmured. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Nare smiled at her. “I’m fine, I promise,” she said. Then she looked at her new labmates. “Does Solas — er, Professor Solas usually come to these mixers?”

Merrill nodded. “He does, yes. He’s probably here somewhere talking to someone.”

“Being told off by someone, you mean,” Tamlen drawled. 

Merrill tsked. “They only tell him off because they’re jealous.”

Dagna giggled. “Or because he embarrassed some Orlesian professor in one of their lectures by pointing out something wrong.”

Nare looked at him with wide eyes. “He does that in the middle of other people’s lectures while everyone is watching?”

“Yep,” Tamlen said smugly. “It’s kind of awesome, actually.”

Nare laughed, and Athera sighed happily. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

“You can, if you want,” Tamlen said, to Nare’s surprise. “Solas is insistent that all his lectures be open for anyone to audit. The administration almost had a fit at first because his classrooms were so packed that it violated fire regulations, but it’s calmed down a little bit in the past couple years.”

Nare stared at him. “Open for auditing? Wow.” That basically meant that Solas was doing his world-class lectures for free for anyone who wanted to listen. 

She sighed to herself. As if she needed more of a reason to have a crush on him. 

Merrill seemed to agree. “I think it’s brilliant. He’s trying to share the knowledge of Arlathan so openly! After so many years of their borders being almost completely closed to outsiders!” She sighed wistfully. “I hope I can go on an exchange to Arlathan someday.”

Dagna nodded enthusiastically. “That would be pretty amazing. Can you imagine how much we could learn?”

Nare smiled in agreement and glanced around, and her heart stopped.

There he was. Professor Solas was standing near the bar in a fitted blazer and a collared shirt, smiling politely as a dark-haired man spoke animatedly to him. 

Her frozen heart bolted into a galloping pulse. Oh gods, she thought. Oh gods oh gods. He was here. She was hoping he would be here, and now that he actually was, she thought she might pass out from excitement. Or from anxiety. One of the two. 

She tore her eyes away from him and smiled idly at Athera and the others, but she could barely pretend to be paying attention anymore. Professor Solas was there, standing right there not twenty feet away and drawing her attention more readily than a lighthouse beam.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t resist the beacon anymore.

She held out her glass to Athera. “Can you take this? I’m going to the washroom. I’ll be right back.” 

“Sure,” Athera said, but Nare was already walking away.

She twined her way through the crowd and slipped into the washroom, then stepped in front of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, but that could be chalked up to the crowded bar. Her hair looked good, half pinned-up and the rest spilling down her back in loose waves, and her makeup was surprisingly unsmudged. 

She took a deep breath to try and calm herself, but it barely helped; her anxiety was burning away and being taken over by excitement alone — a kind of reckless excitement that Nare was not accustomed to feeling. But then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of spine-tingling excitement about anyone. 

Honestly, she couldn’t remember ever being this desperately attracted to anyone. Too bad he had to be her fucking supervisor. 

It’s fine, she thought. I’ll just introduce myself and talk to him a little bit. It’s fine. It’s perfectly innocent. 

She smiled at herself, then pressed her lips together to quell a stupid little giggle. Then, before she could lose her courage, she swept out of the bathroom and back into the bar. 

- SOLAS -

Dorian raised his eyebrows winningly. “Come now, Solas, you have to admit that a collaboration would be a huge opportunity. An exhibit developed and created by both of us focusing on the interplay between Tevinter and Arlathani culture over the centuries? People across Thedas will be discussing it.” 

“I will consider it,” Solas said. 

“You should,” Dorian said. “At most, a collaborative project could garner patrons and sponsors for several years’ worth of funding for both of our departments. At the very least, it will get people talking.”

“That’s not something I have had particular difficulty with over the past few years,” Solas said wryly.

Dorian chuckled. “True, true. You and Abelas and your controversial theories. Come, my friend, your glass is dry.” He leaned over the bar and signalled the bartender. 

Solas hastily held up a hand to stop the bartender’s approach. “Thank you, but no,” he said to Dorian. “And I’m afraid I will have to cut our conversation short. This mixer is intended for mingling with the students, after all.”

Dorian sighed playfully. “I hear your message loud and clear. You’re sick and tired of me nattering your ear off.” He stepped away from the bar. “I will let you be. But promise me at least that you’ll consider a collaboration.”

“I will,” Solas said. And he meant it. But just because he considered a collaboration with Dorian didn’t mean he would agree to one, even if it did mean more sponsorship and funding. The Ancient Elvhen Studies program wouldn’t need funding beyond the next couple of years, after all. 

Dorian clapped him on the shoulder, then wandered into the boisterous crowd. Once he was gone, Solas let out a sigh of relief. He was far more adept at these sorts of gatherings than Abelas was, and truthfully, Solas didn’t mind coming to these events; he was always willing to engage in a rousing academic debate or an in-depth discussion of art over drinks. But just because he enjoyed the debates and the discussions didn’t mean he wasn’t exhausted by the time the night was done. 

And tonight was only half-done. He’d only arrived about a half-hour ago, and he really ought to stay for at least another hour. It was simply unfortunate that tonight’s mixer happened to fall on the sort of lazy weeknight that Solas would have preferred to spend on his couch at home with a book in hand and Fenor purring happily in his lap. 

He sighed and glanced around the room. Then his heart flipped in his chest.

A beautiful young elven woman in the crowd was smiling at him. A young woman he recognized, actually. Long russet hair, big blue eyes, long bare legs in a dark red dress…

It was the woman he had bumped into this morning on his way to the library. 

Collided with, more like, he thought ruefully. He really should have known better than to read while he was walking, especially when he’d forgotten his reading glasses at home and had to squint hard at the page. 

He nodded politely to her. Her smile widened, revealing a dimple in her right cheek, and she slipped deftly through the crowd until she was standing in front of him. 

“Hi,” she said. “We meet again.”

“So it seems,” he said. He was a bit taken aback by her confidence; it was a contrast with how shy she’d seemed earlier today.

“I didn’t realize that you were a student here,” he said. As soon as the words left his lips, he felt foolish. How could he have realized she was a student? They hadn’t even encountered each other on campus.

Thankfully, she didn’t point out his inane comment. “That’s okay,” she said. “I wasn’t heading toward campus, anyway.”

He blinked. “That’s right, you weren’t. Where were you headed?”

“I went to the modern art museum to see the neo-Avvar exhibit.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Ah. It’s a fascinating display, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she said enthusiastically. “I love the range of mediums they use in their work. The textiles were especially beautiful. I don’t know anything about textile art, but I feel like it would have been so hard to dye the tapestries in that kind of colour blending without any modern tech.”

“The textiles are truly impressive, aren’t they?” Solas agreed. “Incredible that such meticulous weavework could be done with bare hands. The Avvar are known for not using machines for their weaving.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? I just assumed that they used a loom of some kind.”

“No looms,” he confirmed. “Those tapestries were made entirely by hand.” He chuckled. “I believe my fingers would seize if I ever attempted such a feat.”

Her smile curled mischievously. “I can’t imagine that. I think you have the right kind of hands for weaving.”

He looked at her sharply, amused and surprised by her boldness. “Do you, now?”

He was further amused when she blushed. “I just… I can tell you’re an artist by your hands,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, and her cheeks flushed even further. “I just mean that your… you have beautiful hands.” She laughed and patted her pinkened cheeks.

Solas smiled helplessly at her. There was something utterly charming about her confidence combined with her embarrassment, and… fenedhis, he knew he shouldn’t be encouraging this. He had no idea what department she even belonged to. But regardless of department, she was a student, and he shouldn’t be encouraging any kind of flirtation.

His wayward mouth opened of its own accord. “Do all artists have beautiful hands then, in your estimation?”

She waved her hand haphazardly. “No, no. I’m just being silly. Mine are nothing special, for example.”

He studied her with fresh interest. “Are you an artist yourself, then?”

“I… yes, actually,” she said. “I’m, um… I’m a painter. Digital and traditional.”

A painter as well? That was a happy coincidence. “As am I,” he said. “If you are a painter, you should know that you ought not discount your hands as being nothing special. A person’s hands speak of their character, whether the hands themselves are considered classically beautiful or not.”

She tilted her head. “Can you tell me more about that, professor?”

A warm feeling bloomed in his belly, and he eyed her carefully. Her tone and her expression were innocent, but there was something about the way she said his title that felt… not entirely innocent, somehow. 

Against his better judgment, he held out his hand. “Certainly. May I?”

Her eyes widened. But before Solas could retract his unwise words, she lifted her left hand and placed it in his. 

He studied her palm and her fingers for a moment, then turned her hand over. “You are left-handed.”

She let out a breathless little laugh. “I… yes, I am. How did you know?”

“A writing bump, right here.” He brushed his thumb over the small callused bump of skin on the knuckle of her fourth finger. “Incidentally, you may want to reconsider the way you hold your stylus or your brushes in order to avoid fatigue.”

She gave him a teasing little smile. “Oh please. You should know better than to mess with how a painter holds her brush.”

He chuckled. “You make a fair point.” He studied her the back of her hand. “No nail polish, tidy short nails: also indicative of a painter.”

“Nice try,” she said. “You knew that already.”

He looked up in surprise at her drawling tone, then grinned and released her hand. “You have caught me. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything of note about your hands.”

She laughed. “Don’t say that. You figured out that I’m left-handed.”

He bowed his head politely. “You are overly generous with your praise.”

“Maybe you can make it up to me,” she said.

“What do you suggest?”

She cocked her head. “You could draw my hands sometime.”

His belly flipped. Her eyebrow was quirked, and there was no mistaking the coquettish angle of her head.

He cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. “I… don’t think so.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“I… anatomy is not…” He faltered before he could tell the lie that anatomy was not a specialty of his. “It has been a long time since I did any anatomy studies,” he said instead. 

“Really?” she said. “I got the feeling that you’d be an expert at handling anatomy.”

The warm feeling in his belly flared hotly — and perversely. He gave her a chiding look, but he could feel his traitorous lips curling into a smile. “This is… hardly appropriate,” he said in a low voice.

Her cheeks flushed once more. She smiled at him, then dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I know. I’m terrible, I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

No, he thought. Truthfully, there was nothing he wanted more than to continue this conversation with this alluring young woman. But he couldn’t keep this up. It was against university regulations. 

“It would be inadvisable for this conversation to continue,” he said carefully.

Her answering smile was sheepish this time. “You’re probably right.”

“The faculty handbook confirms that I am,” he said dryly. 

She laughed. “I guess so. Well, will you have a drink with me? Just a drink,” she said quickly. “A collegial drink, I promise.”

Her sky-blue eyes were wide and innocent – deceptively innocent. Solas eyed her shrewdly for a moment, then gave in. “I suppose one drink can’t hurt.”

She beamed at him and leaned over the bar to signal the bartender, and Solas idly studied the shape of her spine. Then his disobedient mind conjured an image of her bending over the desk in his office with her spine curved in a similar shape. 

Mortified by his own thoughts, he hastily tore his eyes away from her, but her voice instantly called back his attention. “Professor, what would you like?” 

Professor. She couldn’t keep saying his title. It was doing things to his imagination that it shouldn’t be doing. 

He looked at the bartender. “Half a pint of Arlathan pale ale, please.” He looked down at his overly-tempting companion. “And for you?”

“Vodka tonic for me,” she said, and she pulled her wallet out of her purse. 

Solas held up a hand to stop her. “Allow me.” 

A slow smile began to curl her lips. By the time she was grinning, Solas’s heart was pounding in his throat. 

She laughed softly. “Buying me a drink? That’s very collegial of you.”

Her tone was suggestive, and he liked it far too much. “It is collegial, in fact,” he said. “I can charge it to my department since this is a university-hosted gathering.” He gestured for the bartender to add the drinks to his tab.

 “Ooh,” she said teasingly. “That’s a clever loophole.”

Vixen, he thought incredulously. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought she was shy. She was bold and beautiful and tempting, and she made him want to be bold as well.

And that thought – that wish to meet and match her boldness – was one that he absolutely could not entertain.

He forced himself to hold back the flirtatious comment at the tip of his tongue. “It is not a loophole. It’s the truth,” he said instead. 

She nodded and sipped her drink. Her expression was pleasantly neutral, but her eyes on his face were sly and warm, and Solas knew he ought to look away. He ought to break from her gaze and look at something else – anything else, really, aside from this beautiful woman that he absolutely should not be thinking about in increasingly carnal ways.

But he couldn’t look away. Her eyes were so clear and bright, and even in the dim light of the campus bar, he could see that they were an unusually lush shade of blue: not quite sky-blue like he’d originally thought, but a deeper, richer shade closer to cerulean. 

Solas gazed into her cerulean eyes and sipped his ale, and she stared back at him as she sipped her vodka-tonic. By the time Solas had finished half of his drink, he still hadn’t broken from her steady gaze. Neither of them had said a word, and as he stared into her eyes and mindlessly sipped his drink, he slowly realized that not only were they not talking, but that they shouldn’t talk.  

No, he shouldn’t talk to her anymore. If he said another word to her, he would only be digging himself deeper into the hole she’d started. 

He finally broke from her heated gaze to drain the last drops of his ale, then placed his glass on the bar and leaned toward her slightly. “This is an impossible situation.”

She blinked at him – such an innocent gesture, but her pinkening cheeks betrayed her. “What do you mean?”

He lowered his voice. “You know precisely what I mean.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she grinned at him again: a bold, beautiful grin full of mischief and heat that made him want to sink into her right here on the spot. 

He licked his lips, and her cheeks flushed even more. Then her purse chimed loudly. 

He hastily stepped away from her, and she exhaled loudly. “Damn,” she muttered. She pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the screen. 

She wrinkled her nose, then looked up at him once more. “I have to go. My friends are leaving and I said I’d leave with them.” 

He sighed – with relief, of course, certainly not with disappointment. Truly, he should be thanking whoever had sent her such a timely text. “I see,” he said. He nodded politely. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You too,” she said. But she didn’t step away. She was studying him thoughtfully, and as Solas met her gaze, he realized what her eyes reminded him of. 

They reminded him of the ocean: the perfectly clear ocean off the coast of Arlathan. And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to drown himself in her oceanic eyes. 

He stared at her, his heart pounding and the blood thrumming through his body in a way that was really not appropriate for such an event. Then she stepped close to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. 

He froze. She was lifting herself on her tiptoes and leaning in close to him. Her heated eyes were coming closer, and his lungs were frozen and his brain was completely paralyzed with excitement as she raised herself higher and nearer to his face…

He parted his lips – to tell her to stop, to back away, certainly not to invite a kiss – but before he could say a word, she brushed her lips over his cheekbone in a demure Orlesian greeting.

She lowered herself slowly back to her heels, and her hand left his shoulder. “Goodnight, professor,” she murmured. 

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply. The sound of his title in her voice and the brush of her lips on his cheek had left him utterly stunned. 

She smiled at him one last time, then turned away. His hand moved involuntarily to reach for her, but he stopped himself in the nick of time. 

A second later, she had disappeared into the crowd. 

Solas stood stock-still at the bar for a long moment. His pounding heart was a drumbeat in his ears, drowning out the cacophony of conversation and music and laughter in the bar. Heat and disbelief and desire were thrumming through his limbs and into his cheeks and — fenedhis, he couldn’t ignore it any longer: he was hard. Shamefully hard and throbbing, his mind totally preoccupied with the feeling of her lips on his cheek, brushing over his cheekbone so close to his mouth — such pretty smiling lips. Ah, to imagine those smiling lips wrapping around his shaft and taking him deep into her throat…

He rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn’t think like this. He didn’t understand why he was so deeply affected by this particular woman. It wasn’t like this was the first time a student had come onto him, and it had never been a problem before to tactfully rebuff them while making it seem as though he was unaware of their intentions. 

So what was it about this particular young woman — this particular student — that had so captivated him that he was suffering from all sorts of tawdry thoughts that he really shouldn’t be having?

I should avoid her, he thought. If he avoided contact with her, he could avoid having any further carnal thoughts about her. Perhaps if he asked the administration to look up her name, he could…

Suddenly he realized something: he didn’t know her name. 

She hadn’t introduced herself before launching straight into a conversation with him. 

He laughed softly at his own sheer idiocy. Had he even introduced himself to her? Had his wits entirely left him the second she’d graced him with that mischievous smile?

He drew a deep breath, then exhaled heavily and stepped away from the bar. Enough of this, he thought. You must stop thinking about this. He ought to spend more time speaking with the students; he hadn’t even spoken with any of the students from his own lab yet tonight. What he really should be doing was looking for his new Master’s student, Nare. Surely she was here tonight. Perhaps she had found Merrill and Dagna. 

I should have stayed home with Fenor after all, he thought morosely. With one last sigh, Solas stepped back into the crowd. 

[5lazarus]

White Nights, Ch. 2: The Docks

A year or so after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a brief vacation from mapping weaknesses in the Veil to Val Royeaux, and brings a new lover with her. She steps out to her balcony to enjoy the melancholy night, glances over curiously when a man steps out to the balcony attached to the room next to her, and freezes. It looks like the Dread Wolf had the same idea.

She says, “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ch. 2, The Docks: They walk, and they keep on talking. CW: Discussion on whether or not Solas "laid with her under false pretenses." Neither comes to a satisfactory conclusion. Read on AO3 here. I made the banner, and yes, it’s from the movie adaptation of the Dostoyevsky novella of the same name. It’s a good watch! I suppose you can call this a Dostoyevsky/Dragon Age crossover :’’’’)  read Ch. 3: The Broadsheet here. read Ch. 1: The Balcony here.

In the dull lamplight Solas is almost unrecognizable, with the gray in his closely-cropped hair, the carefully groomed beard. Still, she recognizes the silhouette, and part of her thrills to see him. She had hoped he would have already left. She draws closer and notices the embroidery of his shirt: a gift from Clan Lavellan. She touches the filigree at the collar and traces the edge of his jaw. His breathing catches. He is also afraid. They are making a mistake, and she knows she will have to hold herself partly culpable for this. “So,” she says, and waits for him to fill in the silence. Instead Solas puts his hands behind his back, and she rolls her eyes. “This is a mistake,” he says tightly. Yet he came anyway. “So you’ve told me, from the beginning,” Lavellan says pleasantly, “one of many horrible little things you did to me. Still, you keep cropping up. Unavoidable, actually. Like a fungus.” A smile ghosts across his face as they both remember Cassandra. “I am sorry. Loving you--” “I wish you wouldn’t apologize,” Lavellan interrupts, “when you are going to repeat what you did, over and over again. Banal’nadas. The Blight is inevitable. We don’t have time to relitigate this.” Solas takes a shaky breath. “No. We don’t.” He lets his arms fall to his sides, relaxing his shoulders. She takes his hand. He looks at her ring ruefully. “You have always liked symbolic gestures. Your vallaslin--” “I want to show you something,” Lavellan stops him. She lifts her chin, makes a face. “To show you what you mean to me.” She squeezes his hand. “Come with me.” Solas winces dramatically. “I suppose it was foolish to hope you would not remember my worse words. Where are you taking me?” She says drily, “Not a swamp.” Solas rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “It wasn’t a swamp when I was there last...perhaps two thousand years ago.” “What was it then? A sewer?” Solas thinks for a second then twists his mouth wryly. “I have called it a cesspool before.” He laughs at the face Lavellan makes. “Fine,” she says. “Keep your secrets.” She starts forward, tugging him along, and she both enjoys and hates the slight bounce to his step as he matches her. Walking with him was always like a dance, twisting in and out of each other’s magnetic orbit. “It was my house,” Solas bursts out. “Or at least the place that held my laboratory, when I was still…working with the Halla-Mother. Where I decided to break with the Evanuris and Geldauron’s clique both. I had planned to tell you everything.” She stops so suddenly he stumbles. He looks at her, afraid, and she lets go of his hand and touches the plastered wall of the building at the corner to ground herself, closing her eyes at the sudden rage that has swept her. He waits, awkwardly, as she breathes. They have done this routine before, of course, she has always struggled with her anger. She reminds herself of what she can feel: cobblestone worn smooth below her feet, ocean-cold air on her skin, the metal end of the prosthetic digging into what is left of her arm. The Veil is so thin now, and she does not want what could have been to tear it. Solas says, “I should not have told you that. That I was going to tell you.” “No,” she agrees. That possibility sits between them, and throws its arms around them companionably: there could have been another way. It should not be like this. Lavellan rubs the bridge of her nose, trying to calm herself down. “You are angry,” Solas says warily. “Did you expect applause?” She flexes the fingers of the prosthetic, as if to check if they still work. The middle finger sticks slightly, and she bends it back into a fist. She does not want to look back at him and see the pity and shame cross his face. She has built her life out of the ashes from Haven, and he has not been the worst thing to happen to her. She has survived worse humiliations. She smiles grimly. At least she is still moving. Solas says, “I have always been too rash in matters of the heart, and even after these long years, I have not yet learned moderation. I indulged myself at the wrong moments, and held back too. And for that, I am sorry.” He sounds like his Keeper has made him sit and think about his apology before reciting it aloud. It has the touch of rehearsal--but Solas has always thought themselves in some tragedy. Lavellan had always thought she was the lead of her own play, but it seems she has been upstaged. Lavellan musters herself to look at him. His eyes are pleading. The beard is ridiculous. She touches it, tracing where he has trimmed it along his jawline. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch like a cat. “I am not your Keeper,” she says. “There is no reason to confess. And I don’t forgive you, anyway. As you said. This is yet another one of your mistakes.” Solas does not rise to the bait. He rarely does. “Where are you taking me?” Lavellan does not know. She picks a street and keeps moving, and he matches her stride. His arm brushes against hers. They look in opposite directions, lost in their mutual self-pity. The night itself is liquid, a wet breeze teasing through the narrow streets. Magelight spills onto the cobbes, worn smooth by three hundred years of human occupation. Her great-great-grandfather on her mother’s side had been from Val Royeaux. He had died in yet another failed raid on Halamshiral, long before her mother was born. The streets are as old as history, and she misses her misspent youth, running goods from Orlais to the Free Marches, taking the Minanter through half of Thedas and leaving friends and enemies in her wake. Tomorrow she and Anders will visit some of them, and see what has changed. She has to clean her mother-in-law’s grave, too. She wonders what her late husband would have thought of this, what he would say. He would say something clever about her moving from the slapstick comedy of their smuggling career to epic tragedy. She says casually, “You know I met my husband here. When I was a student, working for Briala. And then when the Carta began paying me better.” Solas has always been amused by her past. He enjoyed the rumors flitting about her wake, and how they twisted him into it. The truth was stranger than the story, and the story served to entertain. He says, “Mahanon? Yes.” They duck into an alleyway that has an unguarded gate into the alienage--an example of Briala’s munificence. Before Solas stole the key, Briala had kept an eluvian there. A sick hatred rises up her throat, and Lavellan swallows as they turn into the elvhen quarter. A statue of Fen’Harel faces outward, away from the Vhenadahl. Solas grimaces and pats its head. She steers them away from the Vhenadahl--he does not deserve it--and towards the docks. Jasmine vines up the ancient buildings that date to the Exalted March, and she breathes in that heady scent with a rush of nostalgia--for whom, for what, she cannot tell. Perhaps herself, before--before all of this, before love. As they pass, Solas plucks a blossom and places it in his pocket. A perishable souvenir, she thinks: quickling memory. How apt. Solas says, “I was surprised to find how effectively you and Briala had seeded the various great ports of Orlais and the Free Marches with your organizers. And you joined the Friends of Red Jenny, did you not? An interesting move, considering their decentralization cripples their coordination. But it does leverage you into the back alleys of Denerim, Antiva City, and the Grand Necropolis. Though the Qunari invasion has stymied their recruitment efforts in Tevinter.” He is wrong, but she will not tell him that. “The Qunari,” she hedges. “They think if they find out your name, they can reveal your true nature and master you.” Solas chuckles. “I was, and always have been, Pride first. Fen’Haril, and then Harel,” he grimaces, and Lavellan cannot help the rush of affection at how he is still affronted over the name, Keeper Deshanna reckoned the vowel shift must have occurred over two thousand years ago, he has been quietly seething over it since before the fall of Arlathan, “--came during the war. And if Mythal could not master her pride, I have no doubt the Qunari will likewise fail.” The street widens as they approach the dock but he bumps into her anyway. She tucks her good arm into his. They can pretend they are old lovers and not political enemies locked in a cold war. They can accept that they are old lovers, currently locked in a tense nonaggression pact. Lavellan’s mouth twists. Leliana will be so horribly pleased with the whole situation. It is all so terribly Orlesian. Lavellan asks, “Who named you?” She does not expect him to answer. They reach the docks, and he turns to her, smiling. “Do you know,” he says, “you are the first person who has bothered to ask me that? Most assume I chose the insult for myself.” “Yes,” she says. “You’re far too proud to laugh at yourself.” He is avoiding the question, but he has still revealed that he has kept a close eye on the Red Jennys, which Sera suspected but could not confirm. “I have you to do that for me. You keep me humble.” “And here I thought it was Cassandra and her Smite that kept you from picking fights. With anyone but Vivienne, Iron Bull, Thom, Sera--didn’t you have a go at Varric once? What did you call Orzammar? Ah, yes. ‘The severed arm of a once-great empire.’ But now I know you were projecting. Is that what you call the Dalish? Twitching to give the appearance of life. Never dreaming,” Lavellan says bitterly. “Left for dead.” Solas looks at her strangely. “Not anymore,” he says quietly. He walks to the edge of the dock and sits down gingerly, avoiding wet spots and fish guts. He leans back, feet dangling above the water, and looks up at the stars. It is a beautiful night in Val Royeaux, and Lavellan’s heart catches. She remembers too much--friends long dead, friends lost, her first husband. She sighs and sits next to him. He shifts closer to her, pressing his leg against hers. He still smells the same. “Tell me about this place,” he requests. “It holds some significance to you.” “It doesn’t matter,” she says. Those stories are not meant for him. In another world, she would tell him about the Portinari boys, about Sylanna and Garta and Briala’s first girlfriend, and maybe she would have even told him how she asked Mahanon to leave Val Royeaux, on a night as cool as this. But, as he himself told her, that world is not this one. It cannot be. She says instead, “You were going to tell me your name.” She rests her head on his shoulder. He nuzzles into her hair and breathes deeply. Such an odd thing, scent: he must miss it too. He puts his arm around her, tentatively at first. When it is clear to both of them she will not pull away, he holds her tighter, and takes her hand. Solas says, “You know my name.” Lavellan says mildly, “You know lying by omission is still a lie.” “No--” Solas draws back, and the wooden pier creaks beneath them. “Careful,” Lavellan says. “Don’t fall in.” Solas stares at her. “I never lied to you. I...may have misled you. My meaning may have been ambiguous. Our language is one of intents, my heart.” Lavellan’s frown deepened. “You know my intent. In that I have always been clear.” He looks at her, afraid, and he braces himself for what she will say next. Lavellan thinks, oh I don’t want to talk about this oh but there’s no going back oh I should’ve stayed with Anders and ignored this white night. Solas says, desperation in his voice, “Our time together may not be kind for either of us--it isn’t. We both know that. But I did not lie to you. I did not lie with you under false pretenses!” Lavellan says slowly, “Is that guilt I hear in your voice?” Her mouth twists, and Solas’ lips thin. “I do think you protest too much, Dread Wolf. Fen’Harel, or Haril --whatever you call yourself.” Solas opens his mouth to interrupt but a furious look from Lavellan silences him. “You know you did wrong by me. You know what your name is, you know what you should have told me. You--dishonored me, you lied to me--do you think I would’ve fucked you if I knew--” “Then why am I here?” Solas demands. “Why are you here? Tell me--why do you keep tormenting --” “Me or your conscience?” Lavellan snaps. “Nosing at the edges of my dreams! You use me to torture yourself, because you’re guilty and you know you’re guilty, but you’re too proud to admit it so you’ll keep wearing me like a hairshirt--” “I did not force you,” Solas hisses. “I asked you to leave. You pulled me back from the door. Every time. Time and again, I warned you. This...connection has been cruel from the beginning.” He puts his head in his hands and breathes deeply. Lavellan is momentarily concerned, but anger is burning below her skin, despite the chill off the ocean. “If that is what you think…” He is at the brink of tears. “If that is what I have done to you.” He swallows hard. Lavellan is unmoved. “I have been nothing but myself, and my worst self, with you. I was Solas first and I have been Solas since. Did you expect me to tell you, when Cassandra held us both prisoner--oh, to keep us on even standing, I am the monster of your people’s mythology.” He laughs bitterly, wiping furiously at his eyes. He smiles at her sardonically. “Do you think I did not rehearse it constantly in my mind? From when I gave Tarasyl’an Telas, to Wisdom’s murder--and what would you have done? Would you have treated me fairly? Would you have given me hearing?” “I don’t know,” Lavellan says. “Did you, for me?” She meets his gaze steadily. He is at the brink of tears, which brings out the almost violent tinge to his gray eyes. She tells herself she is unmoved. She has watched him cry before, in fear and loneliness, when he could not sleep for the nightmares in the Emprise. They had both been haunted by the mines, and he had been particularly upset at the report that the red lyrium had taken root. Now she knows: he understands the rot has sunk into the soil, eating away at the people, and he was despairing. Then she had been worried for him, now she is glad. Finally, Solas looks away, ashamed as he had been in that ridiculous armor. They both enjoy a good costume performance, but she has him as stripped as she feels. Solas says, “Why are we here? To growl at each other like two territorial wolves, and sniff out what the other knows and does not know. Now you know the Blight that is upon us. You know this world have been doomed since Corypheus slaughtered the city of Kirkwall to break open the Black City.” “Before,” Lavellan says. “The Titan. I found your bolthole in the Crossholds. For a man who keeps his secrets close, you do like to dangle half-truth all over your walls.” Solas laughs hollowly. “I paint. That is what I am, before I am called to Mythal’s service.” Lavellan notes the change in tense, but allows it to pass without comment. “So now you know.” “Dread Wolf,” Lavellan says. “Fen’Harel. Fen’Haril. Rebel. At the feet of Mythal. And Pride first, Pride before all. I’ll spare you the pun about the fall.” “Two millennia too late for that,” Solas says. “But you are the only one counting.” She cannot help but smile at that. She stretches her legs and throws herself down to the pier, looking up at the still-visible stars. Solas looks down at her, fondness mixed with sadness. She squints and picks out a familiar pattern to the embroidery of his shirt. “I gave you that,” she says. “My clan sent that to you. I didn’t know you kept it.” She lifts a hand to his collar and examines the filigree. The magic responds, familiar: her aunt Ithilien sewed the pattern, but Deshanna enchanted it. They thought she would bring him home. From his collar, she moves her hand to his neck, traces it down to his collarbone, and contemplates tightening her grip. Solas closes his eyes. “Stop,” he says. She does not remove her hand. His heart beats steadily under her palm. They wait, listening to the waves gently lap against the shore, the planks of the pier creak, the carousing from beyond them, in the alienage cafes. She remembers fucking her first husband down at the docks, both daring in plain view of the moonlight, then more slowly in the shadows, even overturning, laughing, a boat, grabbing at some poor fisherman’s net. She looks up at Solas. She can imagine him grunting, half in pleasure, half in pain, her scrabbling to get him out of his clothes--perhaps someone opening their shutters to see what the noise is about and rolling their eyes at these two horny middle-aged elves. What good would it do, what pleasure would she take from it? She misses sharply the feel of his skin against hers, she misses him holding her hot against him, all those freezing nights. She says, “Do you remember those nights in the Hissing Wastes?” He says, “And those languid days.” He wraps his hand around hers and removes it from his neck. “My heart.” “Melodramatic,” Lavellan says. “Cassandra will love it.” “High intrigue,” he adds. “Devastating to us both.” He lies down next to her and caresses her shoulder. “Varric will pillory me in song. More than he already has.” She snorts. “Truly, he could not have helped Maryden come up with a better rhyme? And the book . That book--is the moonlight still glinting off my ears? Or has the effect changed, since I grew out my hair?” “He misspelled my name,” Lavellan says. “Called me by my matronym. I think he did it on purpose.” “Entertain me,” Solas says. “What ending will Master Tethras write for us? Because I do not know how to leave this gracefully. Though I suppose any ending is better than the last one, when I left with your arm.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Lavellan says, “you’re not allowed to make me laugh after I’ve made you cry.”

“Rules of engagement,” Solas says. “You do not strangle me, I let any cancers you encounter strangle  you--no laughing, but we can both cry.”

Lavellan presses in closer to him, eyes sparkling. “But only in the moonlight, under a,” she glances up quickly, “waning gibbous moon.”

“Obscure as your wit,” Solas says. “Agreed.” A draft of wind shivers over them, and they pull together. Lavellan feels hollow, exhausted, as emotional as the tides sucking at the Val Royeaux beach. Solas is  watching her. He always is. He says, “We will  not meet again.”

“One hopes,” she says. “Why that inn? Why Val Royeaux?”

“Because I am tired,” he says simply. “Because I like this city. I did not want to stay in the alienage and think  of you, and the hotelier did not sneer and call the guard when he saw my ears. And you?”

She parrots back, “Because I am tired. Because I love this city. Because I cannot bring a human to the  alienage, and the hotelier did not call for the guards when me too.” Solas’ eyes flicker, and he pulls away from her. She thinks, jealous? Good. He thinks of her in Val Royeaux, he thinks of her in the  alienage--just this one, or in general? They stayed in the alienage, when Cassandra brought her to testify to  the Chantry. The four of them had had a good time. “You should go to your lover,” Solas says. “Before he wakes.” Lavellan smiles thinly. He thinks she lied to him--a lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless. “And you to your empty bed?” He snorts. “Empty, and lonely, and ever-desiring what I should not. I have not changed much.” She is flattered despite herself, and triumphant, but then remembers that he has always laid the flattery a little too thick. “Desire?” she says teasingly. “What do you want?” He stares at her. “Life. More life. And not to die alone.”

[cornfedcryptid-archive]

Three OTP Questions: Ita and Cullen

@serial-chillr tagged me idk how many days ago(as you can see, me getting to tags days later is a common theme with me...there’s no fixing it at this point. I am stuck in my ways lol) and I saw it as the perfect opportunity to write about my newest diabeetus fluff pair Ita Tethras and Cullen.

I really had to amp up the fluff after reading @elveny‘s work, so I could regain some semblance of emotions....still not able to feel proper emotions bean. Thanks for that! lol

I saw other people filling the questions out in different ways, and it’s when I saw @pikapeppa‘s interview with Fenris and Rynne (lowkey love them so much btw) that I wanted to copy how she formatted her answers.

Anyways! I’m going to pass the tag on to @ranawaytothedas, @elveny, @rivainisomniari, @lyrium-lavellan, @faerieavalon, @solas-disapproves, @soulconsumingginge, @dharma-writes, @perhapsrampancy, @roseategales, @in-arlathan, @icanscribblestuff, @jacklyn-flynn, @kita-lavellan, and @schoute. I think that’s everyone? Sorry if I forgot you! Just consider yourself tagged and just berate me for forgetting lol

Also my first time really writing Cullen...so hopefully I got his voice down somewhat decently lmao

[Interviewer is escorted into a spacious cottage by the former Commander of the Inquisition troops. They sit down in the chair opposite of the couch, where Cullen joins the former Inquisitor. He rubs his hand across the small baby bump and kisses her temple before draping his arm behind her.]

Ita: Welcome to our home. It’s still a bit of a mess from the move. But what is this interview for again? [looks up at Cullen] Cullen [sour look on his face as he pulls her closer]: I believe Varric mentioned something about the nobility wanting to know about our ‘star-crossed’ romance or some such nonsense. Ita [disgusted noise]: Fucking nobles. Cullen [chuckles]: Agreed.

1. How did they first meet? Ita [barely containing laughter behind her remaining hand] Cullen [shakes his head and chuckles]: Maker’s Breath, love. Do you ever not find this amusing? Ita: Nope. It’s the perfect storm: a haggard and awkward templar, a brothel, a merry band of misfits following an apostate, and a mabari. You have to admit it’s funny. Cullen [snorts]: Where do you fit in with that perfect storm? Are you part of the merry band of misfits? Ita: Of course. Where else would I be? Cullen: If I remember correctly, you weren’t supposed to be there. Didn’t Hawke scold you for leaving Merrill’s house? Ita [squeaks and covers his mouth]: Hush! You can’t prove anything. Cullen [laughs and places a kiss on her fingers as he pulls them away]: Of course…I had gone to the brothel in Hightown, because one of the templar recruits had gone missing. I was hoping to glean some information from the…women there. [clears his throat and rubs the past of his neck] Ita[snorts]: And I, being the naturally curious loveable scamp that I was, had followed my dad, Hawke, and the others to the brothel. We didn’t talk that day. I was hiding behind Fenris the whole time…I don’t think you even knew my name until months later. Cullen: Varric and Hawke mentioned it the day they helped me with the camp outside of the city. Ita: Oh yeah, I remember that one. It had the demons right? Cullen: Yes.

2. What did they think of each other at first? Ita: Oh I was utterly terrified of him. [chuckles] Anders taught me at a young age templars weren’t to be trusted. The second time we met you could cut the awkward tension with a rusty spoon. Cullen: I…a spoon? [pulls back and gives her an incredulous look] Really? Ita: Well the last time we saw each other wasn’t exactly a ‘Bye! Don’t forget to write!’ kinda farewell. [looks over at interviewer] We fled Kirkwall thinking the Divine was sending an Exalted March. Hawke thought if we fled the city it would force the Divine the split up her forces….and the Conclave. I thought I was dying, and even if I didn’t I didn’t know if the Chantry would let me live. You were the last person I thought I was ever going to see again. And during that time, you were honestly the last person I wanted to see. Cullen [sighs and rubs the back of his neck]: No. You are right. My time in Kirkwall fed into my fear of mages. Towards the end, I was not kind to you. Ita: Luckily I got past the fear and wanted to ride you like a halla…bareback [snorts and kisses his jaw] Cullen [laughs and kisses her temple]: Thank the Maker you were...how did you put it the other day, ‘incredibly horny for a man in uniform with a tortured past’ I believe? Ita: So horny [sighs wistfully]…how else do you think I got pregnant so fast? Cullen[chuckles]: As she said, she was a child when we met. The second time we met…[coughs] Ita [sits back and looks up at him]: I know that cough. Spill it Commander. [pokes his side] Cullen: Maker’s breath. Do I have to answer this one? Ita: Yes! Why are you afraid? Think I’m going to make fun of you? Cullen [gives her a pointed look] Ita: Okay, fair point. I swear on Andraste’s sacred knickers I won’t make fun of you. Cullen [chuckles]: Alright…the second time we met, I won’t disagree there wasn’t an awkward tension. But all I could think about when I saw you was how relieved I was you were alive. I had missed the conversations we had before Meredith...[looks away from Ita] Ita[sighs and glances at interviewer]: Before Meredith threw me in the Circle as a hostage to get Hawke to do what she wanted her to do…and before you treated me with such disdain. [turns his face to look at her] Cullen, I have forgiven for what happened at Kirkwall. I wish you would forgive yourself. Cullen [exhales and bumps his forehead against hers]: I know. Ita: Though if you’re really wanting to make it up to me, I can suggest a few things after this. [wiggles her eyebrows and smirks] Cullen [laughs]: I shall endeavor to try my utmost to make it up to you. Ita: Oh Commander. [fans herself]

[Interviewer clears their throat, trying to steer the conversation back to the interview. Both look at them as if they were caught in a compromising position. The two cough and mumble something as they each turn their attention back to the interviewer.]

Ita: Sorry.

 3. Were they immediately interested / attracted or did that come later? Ita: Well, as we’ve already established I was a kid when knew each other at first [pats his stomach] and 18 year old me was just horny for everyone. I didn’t really develop feelings for him until after the fall of Haven. He was the one who found me. [smiles and lets out a low hum as Cullen kisses her temple] I was in and out of consciousness for I have no idea how many days. Cullen [presses his lips to the top of her head]: It was three days. Ita: Ah. Well there you go. During that time, it seemed like any time I woke up he was there. He was so gentle every time he touched me. I’d listen to him pray to the Maker any time he didn’t realize I was awake…I’m convinced that’s why it’s so easy for him to get me into bed. All he has to do is start talking and my clothes just disappear. Cullen: Your clothes do not just disappear. They are strewn about the house. Ita: Half the time it isn’t my doing! Ever since I started showing you haven’t been able to keep your hands off of me. Cullen[chokes]: Maker’s breath, Ita! Ita[snorts]: What? I’m not complaining. I believe I have said, quite enthusiastically, how much I enjoy it…and I’m pretty sure I said it twice this morning. Cullen [groans and hides his face behind his hand]: I do not think that is the type of answer they are looking for, love. Ita:  Ah well. It’s the one I’m giving…your turn, husband. [pats his stomach] Cullen[clears his throat and looks over at the interviewer]: I am not sure when it is I developed feelings for her. Ita: Really? Why? Cullen[turns and looks down at her]: There was a physical attraction that day at the Conclave. You weren’t a teenager anymore…Maker’s breath I am going to sound lecherous. [sighs] You were a beautiful woman, but I found myself thinking back to the you I knew in Kirkwall. I tried to get closer to you in the hopes the you I knew was still there. Ita: Wait, is that why you suggested chess the night before I closed the Breach when I couldn’t sleep? Cullen[stammers]: I…Maker’s breath. [clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck] After we talked about Kirkwall, I wanted to see…and you remembered where the pieces were on the board from our last game in Kirkwall. I knew then you were still you. I think that might have been the night I fell in love with you. [chuckles] Ita[looks over at the interviewer]: I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to finish this tomorrow. I really want to kiss my husband right now, and I don’t think you want to be here for that. [winks and turns her attention to Cullen. She grabs him by the collar and climbs onto his lap, as she pulls him in for a kiss.]

[Interviewer hastily gathers their papers and leaves the cottage.]

[theaologies]

We’ll Continue (to be disappointed) [fic]

Fandom: Dragon Age Ship: Solavellan (implied) Rating: Gen Summary: Charter delivers some news Wordcount: ~1700 Notes: I haven’t written anything in... so long... god. A drabble, some character introspection mostly Read on Ao3

HEAVY SPOILERS for TEVINTER NIGHTS

“Is that all?” Cassandra asks, dropping the bundle of papers that has occupied her hands for the past hour or so on the small, stained wood table their little group stands around.

The basement they find themselves gathered in this time is small and damp, the scent of fish drifting in from the port outside mixing none too sweetly with old ale that has spilled through the floorboards of the tavern above. The cramped space barely fits the four women with their table, which tilts precariously whenever something heavier than a dagger is placed upon it, and Leliana has joked more than once that if Cullen had joined them he and his pauldrons would have had to play door for them.

But this isn't a matter to disturb Cullen with. Not while he's enjoying his retirement and time with his family.

No, this little party is made up only of those absolutely necessary; Cassandra, Leliana, Lavellan, and Charter.

Charter, who is the one who retrieved this information for them.

The Elven woman nods as she watches Cassandra drop her notes, folding her arms across her chest. “That is all, yes. And since I was the only one spared we won't have to concern ourselves with cleaning up loose ends.”

Cassandra sighs, frustration evident in her voice. “I suppose you're right.” She nods, rubbing at her chin, “though I admit my confusion at your survival- he'd kill all those others in attendance, yet not you? Just because you... asked?”

“I had done nothing to wrong him,” Charter tells her, leaning over to gather the papers up once more. “The others had lied or slandered him or posed some kind of risk. I merely sought out information- and it was information he was willing to share.”

“He doesn't want to kill Elves,” Lavellan supplies, finally speaking up for the first time since their meeting began, “he will if he absolutely must, but Solas is... trying not to kill other Elves. He's still trying to recruit them into his army.” She glances up at the other Elf, violet eyes both hard and exhausted at the same time, “you said it yourself- he asked you to join. And it probably would have looked worse for him had you not returned.”

“He wants us to know he can be anywhere at anytime,” Leliana says, “even though we've officially disbanded he knows we're still working against him- he wants us to know just how big of a threat he, personally, is to us. Any of us. All of us.” The Divine, cloaked in a simple disguise, spreads a hand out over the small map of Tevinter tacked down on the table, looking over it dutifully. “We'll have to be more careful from now on- well, even more so than we have been.” She sighs, a frown etched across her lips, “I'm afraid our infrequent meetings will have to become... even more infrequent. And those of us who are traveling will have to do more to cover our tracks. It will be difficult but we can't afford to get lazy now- or ever.” Nimble fingers pluck at the tacks, carefully rolling the map back up before depositing it in a tiny canister. As she straightens she eyes both Charter and Lavellan, “I'm sorry to say, but that means being more careful around other Elves, as well- if he'd go so far as to attempt to recruit a known spymaster-”

“No, you're right,” Lavellan agrees quickly, though she doesn't meet her eye, “anyone could be one of his agents, at this point. There's no telling. Caution must be taken, especially with those Elves coming out of Tevinter.”

Leliana gives a single nod, seemingly pleased with her understanding. “Yes, exactly. We cannot, at the moment, take any unnecessary risks. Now-” her eyes sweep over the other women as she tugs at the hood of her cloak, ensuring her hair is completely covered, “I'm afraid I must take my leave. Cassandra and I must be present later tonight at the Viscount's banquet- there had to be some excuse for use to travel all the way to Kirkwall, after all.”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise from the space by the door as she dons her own cloak. “Politics.”

“Now, now, Cassandra,” Leliana chides playfully, a smirk replacing her serious expression, “I'm sure Varric won't make it too unbearable for you. Perhaps our dear friend will even give you the next copy of his book.”

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes, turning toward the door quickly to hide the blush that creeps its way up her neck.

“Charter, if you wouldn't mind passing this information to Harding when you have the chance?” Leliana requests, “she'll need to know the details of this meeting in depth and what to keep an eye out for in the future.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Charter agrees, tucking the papers away into a leather pouch hidden inside her vest, “I will get this to her as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Leliana says, then turns to Lavellan, “I'm sorry you can't join us tonight,” she tells her sympathetically, “If there were a way-”

But Lavellan just lifts her hand to stop her. “It's fine,” she says, “I spent some time with Varric yesterday- we caught up then. Had lunch. It's no big deal.” She shrugs. “Besides, I'm to start trek toward the Arlathan Forest early tomorrow. Varric gave me information to catch up with one of his and Hawke's friends who's been working on dismantling the slave trade there. Thought I might be some help.”

Leliana doesn't miss the way she fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, though; fingers tugging at the fabric to try to hide the dragonbone contraption Dagna made to replace her missing arm. “You had said before,” the redhead starts carefully, “that you were considering stopping by Wycome on your way. Do you still-”

“I might,” she cuts her off again, still not looking her in the eye, “I haven't decided yet. I know reports have said that some of my Clan might still be out there- but-” she sighs, rolling her shoulders to try to stave off the shudder that threatens to run through her, “I just don't think it would matter if I went back. I doubt they'd want me back, after everything. If they even recognized me at all.”

Cassandra turns back to look at the Elven woman, a soft pity in her eyes, “Inqui-”

“Don't,” Lavellan says quickly, sharply, then deflates, letting the sudden anger rush out of her. “I'm not the Inquisitor anymore, Cassandra,” she tells her with a wavering smile, “let's not pretend I still am.”

The other woman frowns, though instead of her usual frustration it's one of sympathy. “Yes, of course.” She agrees softly, “I- just know- if there's anything you need-”

Lavellan nods, looking up at the human women, a fake smile plastered across her face. “I know, and thank you. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. Truly.”

There's a pause. Lavellan returns to her subconscious fidgeting. Leliana chooses not to say anything of it. “Very well,” The Divine relents, moving to join Cassandra at the door. “We'll be seeing you, then. Just be sure to keep in touch, wherever it is you end up. I've never met Fenris personally but I know he can be... a bit touchy, as Varric's said. And perhaps... don't mention your mage sympathies.” She then looks over toward Charter, giving her associate a nod. “And you know where your duties take you next?”

“Of course, My Lady. I will continue to inform you of any developments in the Imperium.”

“Thank you. Walk in the Maker's Light, both of you.” She tells them, and then follows Cassandra out the door, the dark haired woman giving a nod in farewell to both of them.

The door shuts with a click, leaving the two Elves alone together.

An awkward silence blankets the room as they wait until they are clear to leave. Lavellan has no idea if Charter is one for small talk- they never were more than acquaintances during their time with the Inquisition- but where Lavellan used to be, she's found she hasn't had the spirit to summon the casual lightheartedness that had been so central to her demeanor all her life.

At least not for the past year and a half.

So she lets the silence be. For about an hour the two Elven women simply sit in silence; Lavellan finding a discarded crate and fiddling with the more mechanical components of her arm while Charter perches on the table itself, pouring over a small, well worn notebook. Once, Lavellan briefly catches her sleeve in a joint and curses under her breath, waving Charter off when she looks up in question. It proves to be the extent of their interaction.

At least, until right before Lavellan rises to leave.

“Wait,” Charter stops her, just as she goes to tug her hood over her head. A scarred brow quirks in the spy's direction, watching as she tears a leaf of paper from the little notebook. She looks at it for a brief moment, as though second guessing herself, before holding it out for Lavellan to take. “I don't know that Leliana would... approve of me giving you this information,” she says as the other woman carefully takes it from her, “but for him to have said it...” she hums softly, tucking away the notebook, “he allowed me my life. Delivering it to you- it's a debt paid.”

Lavellan wills her hand not to shake as she looks down at the parchment, a sudden weakness trembling in the pit of her stomach.

“When you report back to the Inquisitor... Say that I am sorry.”

“For all that it's worth,” Charter continues, moving to stand, “it did sound like he meant it.”

There's the silence once again as Lavellan's eyes stayed glued to the page, that weakness trying to decide whether to manifest itself as sadness or anger. It's such a shock, for him to address anything directly towards her after all this time, that when if finally hits her throat it culminates as neither- a tiny, humorless chuckle escapes her mouth instead. “A teahouse.” Is all she can bring herself to say; just a whisper of the word, with an almost unwilling fondness trapped behind her teeth.

Charter smiles- just a little, with just a hint of pity- and lightly claps Lavellan on the shoulder as she slips past her and out the door, disappearing into the quickly setting sun.

[tropicoola]

Character backstory and explanation for one of my main inquisitors under the cut. Will feature images.

So I wanted to write about one of my main inquisitors, this is Levant Lavellan. She’s not really a Lavellan, because she was adopted into the clan when she was exiled from her home to the west. 

She’s a teenage inquisitor (16 when Inquisition starts and 20 when Trespasser ends) and a descendant of Ghilan’nain’s mutated slaves who escaped slavery before the fall of Arlathan/Elvhenan. It’s been referenced in the game that Ghilan’nain would create creatures and even experimented on her own followers/slaves so this was where I took the idea from, I suspected that there were at least some failed attempts. Anyways, eventually the slaves grew fed up  with how they were treated and attempted to flee. Fortunately (or unfortunately) Fen’harel had heard of this and wanted to help them, so he did but they were terrified. Having heard the terrifying stories of him. In addition, they were afraid they would no longer be treated as Elvhen for how beastly they looked and the fact that they were no longer immortal due to their mixed bloodline. So when Fen’harel was not looking, they escaped him and fled to the west over the Hunterhorn Mountains.

It was a mass exodus of grand peril, for the journey was filled with monsters, dark jungles, chilling mountains, scorching deserts, and, for the most part, uncharted territory. A normal Elvhen would have died, however they were no normal Elvhen. For they carried animalistic traits. For having the blood of animals and beasts, they had claws that could help them climb, some had wings, others had gills, others had fur that kept them warm, and most had unnatural colored skin (green, blue, silver, etc) that helped hide them from predators. Despite their different powers, there was one thing they all had in common - a deep tie to the nature that surrounded them. These people were almost entirely cut off from the Fade and instead they turned to the Earth beneath, but not to the Titans. They paid close attention to the sun, the stars, the winds, and all the creatures that crawled on the crust of the world. They did not talk to animals, but they understood that animals knew the way through these places the best and so they listened to them, followed them, and eventually found a clearing far from monsters and even farther from Elvhenan. It was here where they built their first settlement, living in peace with the animals. Eventually the settlement turned into an Empire and they dubbed it ‘Neo-Arlathan’ and closed its gates from foreigners for a very long time. Ever since, paying respects to natures and having beastly roots have become an intrinsic part of their culture.

I made art of what Neo-Arlathan would look like and although it is by no means as beautiful or intricate like Arlathan, it does have a charm of it’s own. Much of it and the people - I have taken inspiration from myths and legends of Faeries and their courts, their politics, and their appearances. Here are examples of the kind of aesthetic it would have: x, x, x, and x, x, x, x. The last four are mainly to point out how beastly they can look and yes, some do look exactly like that (also follow the artist!! they deserve a lot of love!! i admire them a lot).

(Pictured above, Levant with her claws coming out during Trespasser - a sign she is slowly maturing into whatever form she’ll be in as an adult)

In much of Faerie lore, the Fae are depicted as having pointed ears and dressed in clothes woven from insects (butterfly wings, moth wings, etc) and plants. They are known to be tricksters and volatile when even the slightest bit offended, their politics are commonly divided into two - the seelie and unseelie court. The first being filled with kinder Fae and the latter with more malevolent ones. Levant belongs to the latter, specifically the Autumn court. I won’t get into too much about this but if you think human politics is complicated, Fae politics is ten times more. Taking inspiration from this, the court Levant is in has a High Power (the king or queen) and needs an advisor because of how dangerous the politics are. Levant was studying to be the next advisor and was close to becoming one until a dispute between her and the High Power caused her to get exiled. 

In short, the High Powers (plural because the others in different courts were involved) wanted to 1) destroy any remnant of Arlathan/Elvhenan and 2) rename Neo-Arlathan under the basis of ‘why should we keep records of our abusers? let us burn it and move ahead’. Levant was extremely against this, especially because she was a scholar who was very interested in her people’s past. She even started a rebellion with her colleagues but that was stopped fast by the ones in charge, although her colleagues were allowed still in the Empire - because she was their leader she was sentenced to be exiled into Thedas under the basis of ‘if she loved Elvhenan so much, she can live there for the rest of her damn life’.

Distraught and alone in Thedas, she was surprised to find.... well... a lot of things (racist things, war things, apparently Elvhenan was dead things, and did you know about the Fade? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF THE FADE things). She literally did not understand anything, that was until she met the Dalish - until she met clan Lavellan. They were literally everything she could have hoped for. Unlike her people, they cared for what was left of Arlathan and Elvhenan. They also worshipped the Evanuris/Creators, unlike her people who saw them as slave keeping monsters (Levant is a rebel, at this point she’s everything against her people). This, in retrospect, is incredibly funny for me. Because she has been fed nothing but the truth since she was born, ‘Evanuris bad, they keep slaves’ ‘We have actual records of them being bad’ ‘Why do you think we look like this, Levant’ and Levant’s just ‘(in Dorian’s mocking voice) tRiTE pROPagANDA’. 

Anyways, although Levant wanted to share what she knew from her home she knew they wouldn’t believe (after meeting with other Dalish that didn’t really agree prior to clan Lavellan). She simply went along with the ‘City Elf who wants to be Dalish’ and she was in (reminder that she was 14 when she was exiled into Thedas)! She became a hunter and was much loved, and she loved everyone back just as much. Yet over time, it seemed like her secrets could not be kept for long. Eventually it got out, drama ensued, and after so much time trying to be Dalish - something she was not, Levant felt something in her broke.  She knew she would never be Dalish, never be like them, so she refused her Vallaslin and told them she had to leave - she needed to see Thedas and find out where she really belonged. Her clan forgave her over time and advised her to be careful, for an unmarked elf meant something - usually easier prey for slavers. Understanding this, Levant made it routine to draw her Vallaslin on every morning with a special ink and wash it off every night. She chose Mythal and clung to her religion of the Creators like a child to their mother’s skirts, praying she’d find her place.

She just never imagined it would be the inquisition. 

Now since we know how inquisition plays out, here are just a few tidbits:

Nobody believes her at first (typical)

Until they find her notes and books she took with her from the Empire (at which point Solas is ??????? ???????? SHE KNOWS ?????????)

Solas’ reactions are the funniest because while she sees him as a mentor and eventually a father figure he is almost constantly on the verge of ‘she has so much potential’ or ‘i need to get the fuck out of here’

Also it’s funny to see him going absolutely crazy at the fact she’s like ‘yeah my people said the evanuris were bad and they kept slaves and vallaslin r slave markings but they’re really not’ and he’s like (in a croaked voice) ‘oh??? who said so?’ ‘the dalish’ (in an even more croaked voice) ‘and you believe them?’ ‘i swear by the creators’ (cue solas’ inner monologue going absolute bonkers) IT’S LIKE SHE’S HITTING ALL THE MARKS BUT SHE KEEPS MISSING THEM AT THE SAME TIME???

‘oh but my people said fen’harel was bad’ ‘at least your people and the dalish have one thing in common’ ‘right?’ ‘.... yes’

which only makes the ending of inquisition and trespasser hurt even more

finding out that her people were right and Levant has been playing ‘know-it-all’ for the past 6 years of her life, that the creators really were bad, that mythal is in a form of a human woman, and that a man she considered her father figure and mentor was the dread wolf? who tried to help her people but they refused him? and now he wants to destroy the world?

her troubles with identity (inquisitor? levant? a lavellan? elvhen? an elf? a fae? a beast? a person? an imposter? a fool?), religion (who to believe, the maker? the creators? the earth and beasts, as her people do?), family issues, and culture.

culture because she suddenly finds it unfair that her people got off this train wreck of a history before the fall, how many lives were spared because they left early. how grateful and horrified she might have been when she saw the shattered library, heard the voices of the distant brethren of her ancestors.

standing before solas at the end and wondering if she should just go home, beg for a place in her court, wait for the world to end - what hope did thedas have? after having her heart shattered like that?

were her people right? was burning anything they had of arlathan/elvhenan justified? were her emotions just stupid, insensitive of the truth of it all? were her people being prideful and haughty as usual, or was there an act of kindness and progress in it? what if they were right? what if they really should just move on? should she move on as well?

god knows if she doesn’t, she might end up like Solas.

but like... despite that i feel like she’d still come to believe what the dalish believe. sort of caught in between her leaving thedas to go back home or just fully 100% acknowledging herself as a lavellan or just being a silent and distant protector of the dalish

yknow, like a wolf (considering she’ll grow to have a wolf and lion-like appearance)

like a neo-fen’harel.

O SHIT I LIKE THAT!!!!!

anyways sorry for all the word vomit but this is what i have on levant so far!

also cool tidbit: instead of Solas offering Abelas another place in the world, it’s Levant who offers him the secret to getting to the Empire in the west. After a lot of talking, he takes it and leaves.

[in-arlathan]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Read on AO3 | Start on AO3

New week, new chapter. I can’t believe this is chapter 4 already. With this, the setup for the rest of the story should be complete and I can’t wait to write the rest. I wish you a wonderful time reading this. More notes at the end of the chapter.

–––

Chapter Four: Dirthamen’s Offer

“I’ll be right there,” Felani said without looking up from the piece of glowing metal she was working on. “Give me a second.”

Solas smiled and watched, as the elvhen blacksmith raised her hammer and brought it down on the red-hot metal in a powerful blow. The metal shrieked and sparks flew in every direction, as the hammer hit home.

Felani worked with focus and precision, bringing down the hammer again, and again, and again, until the metal had formed into something new. A new blade, Solas noticed.

Of course, the blacksmith could have forged it with magic. With the primordial energy of the Beyond, it would take her but a second to melt the metal and shape it into something new. That was not how Felani liked to work. She had no desire to further her powers or impress the elvhen with her magical artifacts. She enjoyed the act of crafting as a reward in its own right. And so, rather than bending reality to reshape it to her will, she had crafted her physical body as her most powerful tool and used it to create new wonders. Solas had to admit that he admired that about her.

With a satisfied smile, Felani dipped the freshly forged blade into a bowl of water next to the anvil. There was a loud hiss and a puff of smoke rose from the water as the metal cooled down instantly. When the blacksmith was sure that her work was done, she placed the piece on a workbench made of solid stone. 

Wiping sweat from her forehead, Felani turned to Solas. “Well, here’s someone I haven’t seen in quite a while,” she said, teasing him with her smile. “Nice to see you again, Solas. What makes you come down here to my personal hell-hole?”

Solas couldn’t help but smile at that. The Forge, as Felani called her workshop, was indeed hot as the deepest depths of the earth. She had built it with her own two hands (and a considerable talent at magic) in a cave system cavern beneath the city of Arlathan. And despite the dark stone walls and the absence of daylight, Felani’s home was as comfortable as any accommodation. Glowing motes emitted enough light to simulate the sky, while the fire in forge provided warmth and energy. 

“It was never my intention to stay away from you, believe me,” Solas told her. “I would’ve come sooner, but my duty kept me away.”

“Yeah.” Felani grabbed a piece of cloth that lay on a nearby table to clean her hands. “From what I hear, you are a very busy man, Solas. Roaming the south, helping people.... being dragged before the Evanuris to kill some mysterious creature.”

Solas smiled before he could stop himself. “So, you heard about the Hahren’al?”

Felani winked at him. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn about the world, even down here.” She tossed the piece of cloth aside and started to take off her work clothes. When she was finished, she asked, “How may I help you?”

“What makes you think I came here for help?”

Her lips split into a wide grin. “Oh, please,” she teased him and waved a hand. “I haven’t seen you in ages and then you show up on my doorstep just a few days after the Evanuris decided to send you to your almost certain death? Only a fool would think you have no ulterior motive.”

Solas put a hand to his chest, pretending to have suffered a painful blow. “You hurt me, lethallin,” he moaned. 

Felani chuckled. “That’s because I know you so well.”

“I should be more careful then,” Solas replied, spreading his arms and bowing slightly. “Before I suffer a fatal blow.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said and nodded towards a small passage to her left.  “Come. Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable than this. I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”

Solas followed the blacksmith through the passage and inhaled the persistent smell of earth and dust and ash that hung in the air. It reminded him of the Darkest Days, this long lost age before the founding of Elvhenan when the Titans roared deep beneath the earth. He had been young then, too young to fight alongside Mythal and her warriors, but he had watched carefully, as the All-Mother struck down one of the might Titans to save her people from their wrath. 

In the distance, he heard the faint sound of water dripping from the stone ceilings. It wasn’t an unusual sound down here. The earth beneath Arlathan was, although floating high in the sky, full of water and minerals and even gems. Surely, a cistern was close-by, supplying Felani’s workshop with fresh water. But there was⎯something else. A sound like croaking or…

“Ah, no place like home!”, Felani exclaimed as they entered the cavern that served as her private chambers. The stone walls had been polished and painted with floral patterns, while curtains of silk and satin hung from the ceiling, creating smaller spaces within the cavern. Motes of various shapes rested on the walls, detaching themselves from the stone as Felani and her guest entered. They followed the two elvhen through the cavern, emitting warm yellowish light throughout.

“Sit,” Felani urged when they reached a section of the cavern that was decorated with seat pads and lounge chairs. Solas thanked her and slid down onto one of the larger cushions, his legs crossed. Felani picked up a silverite plate with a metal teapot and two small cups that rested on a side table nearby, then sat across from him on another pad. Holding the plate with one hand, she waved with the other and heat the water inside the teapot. 

Felani poured each of them a cup of fresh tea, then gave Solas one of them and took to the other. 

“Tell me,” Felani said, taking a sip from her cup. “What have you been up to these last few decades?”

And Solas told her. About his journeys to the south, about the elvhen he had encountered, about the new wisdom he had learned from spirits in the farthest regions of the Beyond. Felani listened to all of it, asking him about this and that, laughing occasionally. 

“You lead a very remarkable life, Solas,” she mused after he had finished his tale.

Solas pursed his lips, emptying his cup of tea. “That is a matter of perspective.”

“More?”

Felani nodded towards the cup in his hands.

“No, thank you.”

The blacksmith shrugged and helped herself to another cup of tea. 

“And what about you? What have you been up to while I was away.” 

“Ah, my life is not that interesting.”

“That seems highly unlikely,” he replied. “Please, I insist.”

She sighed and took another long sip from her tea. “Have you met the Lady Andruil, lately? Besides your brief encounter during the Hahren’al, I mean.”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Did you happen to see her in a new armor?” 

"Hm." Solas tilted his head. “That’s odd.”

Felani watched him carefully. “Yeah? How so?”

“Because it is Andruil’s new armor I wanted to talk to you about,” Solas admitted. “To find whoever made it for her.”

Felani huffed out a laugh. “So, you did see it.”

“Yes, and I found it quite⎯extraordinary. Whoever made the armor must have a rare talent,” Solas said without the faintest trace of irony. “Only a true master could manipulate metal in such a way.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment,” Felani said, raising her cup as if she wanted to drink a toast to him. “Though it seems I only did the groundwork for someone else.”

Solas blinked. “You made Andruil’s armor?”

Felani nodded. 

“But you don’t seem very content about it,” he deduced. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“You are correct.”

Solas set the cup aside and leaned forward, regarding the elvhen blacksmith carefully. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

Felani looked at him, stalling. A moment of silence fell between them before she let out a frustrated sigh and began. 

“This damn armor has caused me more trouble than I expected,” she admitted. “One day, Andruil showed up and demanded, I’d make her an armor that no creature could crush. She even brought the schematics and materials along with her. I’ll admit, I reckoned she was up to no good, but at the time, I was starving for a new challenge and this armor seemed like one. So, I made it for her. She seemed pretty–– I don’t know––content when she came to collect the armor. She put it on right away and told me she couldn’t wait to take it out. I guess she went to hunt some poor creature right after her visit. Anyway, when I saw her again, she had done something to my work. Infused it with something, so to speak.”

“The red light in the armor,” Solas mused. “Do you know what is it?”

“I have no damn clue,” Felani said, disgruntled. “When I finished my work, the armor was dark grey, coated with black paint, with lyrium embellishments. But when Andruil returned from her hunt in the south, the metal was glowing red with Evanuris-knows-what. It pissed June off pretty bad.”

Solas frowned and his gaze flicked to the blood writing on Felani’s face. Ever since she had manifested in the Waking World, she had worn the vallaslin of June. In the Darkest Days, the Master of Crafts had taught her everything he knew about the manipulation of stone and metal, while she helped him create the many marvels of Arlathan. In the war against the Titans, they had forged the thousands upon thousands of blades for Mythal’s army. Never, not even once, had Felani tried to surpass her master, showing nothing but respect and gratitude. Yet, the elvhen god seemed set on the idea that Felani would one day exceed him, challenging his place among the Evanuris.

He’s just like the rest of them, he thought bitterly. Hungry for power and afraid to lose it.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

Felani shook her head. “No, but he threatened to have me executed if I ever create anything like that again.”

“Of course he did,” Solas replied, his jaw tight.

“You know what bothers me the most about this?” Felani asked. “Why Andruil didn’t ask June to craft the armor? They are both Evanuris, after all. But she came to me, which means…”

“Which means she didn’t want June to find out about the armor,” Solas concluded. “Or at least, she wanted to keep it hidden from him until she had worked the red light into the metal.”

Felani weighed her head, thinking. “Possibly. But what does any of this have to do with you?”

“Andruil came to see me, wearing this peculiar armor for yours,” Solas told her. “She wanted to send her hunters with me, presumably to help me in my quest to find and kill the creature in the south. But knowing Andruil as I do, I suspected she had plans of her own for me and reclined her offer.”

Felani pursed her lips. “Let me guess⎯she wasn’t to happy about this?”

It is Solas’s turn to force out a sardonic laugh. “No, she was not.”

After a short pause, he continued, “Andruil told me she sent her entourage alone, but I can hardly imagine this to be true. This creature must be the biggest game of all, the greatest of trophies. Andruil wouldn’t miss a chance to hunt the creature herself. So, if we presume this is a fact, we must also presume that she was there when the creature crawled out of the shadows and killed her hunters.”

Felani’s eyes went wide. “Well, shit,” was all she said.

Solas took a moment to consider this new line of reasoning. Apparently, Andruil had omitted her own part in the hunt for the creature when she came to talk to him about his mission. But to what end?

“They were… apart from themselves,” he thought, remembering his conversation with Andruil. “Their minds were ripped to pieces, barely able to remember what has happened.”

Did the same thing happen to the Great Huntress herself? Had she been infected by some kind of madness that eroded her memories, weakened her body? If so, the only reason Andruil was still alive must be Felani’s armor.

“You need to recreate Andruil’s armor for me,” Solas said before he could stop himself.

Felani sized him up and down, lips pursed as if she had a bitter taste in her mouth. “You do remember that June wants to kill me if I make an armor like that again?”

“I know,” Solas said, his voice full of honest regret, “and I would never ask this of you if it weren’t necessary, but the armor might be the key to this entire mystery. Somehow, it was powerful enough to keep Andruil alive while her hunters perished when they faced this dreadful creature. Maybe it will give me the chance to face it and uncover whatever Andruil is trying to hide from the rest of the Evanuris.”

The sceptical look on Felani’s face was enough to tell him that she didn’t like his plan. For a moment, he expected her to shout at him for his selfishness, but then her face relaxed the tiniest bit, and he knew he had won her over.

“I will help you,” she said, still watching him carefully, “but I want something in return.”

Solas sighed. Despite all his respect for the skilled blacksmith, he should have known she would try to bargain with him. “And what would that be?”

Felani’s eyes sparkled in a way that made Solas feel uncomfortable. With one hand, she traced the lines of vallaslin on her face as if it was mere paint, then gestured towards Solas.

“I want what you already have,” she said, her voice still and steady as the earth itself. “The All-Mother’s protection.”

Solas’s brows furrowed. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the vallaslin on his own face. His skin tingled where the white lines of Mythal’s blood writing graced his face. 

“But you already bound to June,” he pointed out. “It’s impossible to remove the vallaslin, let alone change it.”

“Oh, please, you don’t really believe that, do you?” Felani asked with a sly smile. “For a powerful mage like Mythal, removing the blood writing must be like child’s play. I mean, the woman created an entire moon. Alright, I took her a century or two, but in the end... My request seems like ordinary magic by comparison.”

Solas sat up as a cold shiver worked its way down his spine. The magic of the vallaslin was far from ordinary, despite anything Felani believed. It was a powerful bond, conjured by the elvhen creators to ingrain their own magic in the skin of their subjects. Mythal herself had told him so when she gave him her blood writing vallaslin, white as the moon she had crafted so long ago. June would know that Felani abandoned him as soon as anyone tinkered with his work. He might carry out his threat after all.

Solas opened his mouth but closed it again when he heard the cawing sound again. It was closer this time. His gaze wandered around in the cavern, searching for the source of the sound. Another squak, then a soft rustling.

A raven? he wondered, closing his eyes. No... two ravens.

“What’s wrong?” Felani asked, nervous.

“I should go,” Solas said without looking at her. In one single movement, he rose from the seating pad and made for the passage through which they had entered the cavern. “I’ll show myself out.”

“Wait!” Felani cried, getting to her feet as Solas walked to the passage in long strides. “Do we have a deal?”

Stopping by the entrance to the passage, he turned around to look at Felani. She was a stout woman with broad shoulders and strong arms. Even in light clothing, it wasn’t hard to reimagine her in battle armor, swinging her sword. Still, something about her startled Solas. His friend looked frightened, scared.

It made him shiver all over again. 

“We do,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t come to regret his decision. 

***

The ravens were waiting for him in the Crossroads. Sitting on an nearby eluvian, the birds cawed when Solas came through from the other side, eyeing him suspiciously. It made him wonder how much of his conversation with Felani they had overheard and passed on to their master.

Annoyed with himself for not having locked the eluvian to The Forge behind him, Solas takes a look around, regarding the dim scenery of the Crossroads. Everything seemed just like before, from the eluvians to the dark buildings towering in the distance. Yet, he can feel the presence of another.

“Come out,” he said loudly. “I know you are here.”

He felt a wave of energy rippling through the air, followed by the rustling of thick fabric and heavy boots. A moment later, a large silhouette emerged from the shadows and walked towards him. The shape wavered like a fata morgana, then stabilizes to reveal a tall man in a long nightblue cloak.

“Dirthamen,” Solas stated in a way of greeting.

The god of secrets smiled. “My dear Solas,” he retorted. “It is so good to see you.”

Solas squared his shoulders, taking in the sight of Dirthamen. Other than his twin brother Falon’Din, the god of secrets had never decided for a physical form in particular. Instead, his appearance shifted constantly, keeping his true nature concealed. On this particular day, Dirthamen had chosen the form a man with pale skin and long hair the color of the dawn. Golden eyes regarded Solas with care and amusement. 

“Please excuse me, if I’m being rude, but I highly doubt that,” he said.

The elvhen god chuckled. “Such verve!” he coed. “I always admired that about you. No wonder my mother chose to name you Pride instead of Wisdom.”

Solas grit his teeth. “What do you want, Dirthamen?”

“I came here on behalf of your quest for the Evanuris,” the god said. “Although I admit that I have designs on my own that will displease the All-Father, so I hope you and I will keep this conversation in strict confidence.”

“Of course,” Solas said without feeling truly compelled to oblige. No wonder Elgar’nan looked so displeased with his son during the Hahren’al. He must know that Dirthamen is plotting behind his back, or suspects it, at least.  

If Dirthamen caught up on Solas’s reservations, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he raised one arm and called for his ravens. Fear and Deceit flapped their wings and flew over to be with their mast. Stroking their feathers, Dirthamen said, “My father asked you to go to the south and kill whatever dreadful dark is lurking there, but I’d rather you keep the creature alive.”

“Why would you want that, hahren?” Solas asked, his voice cold as steel. “Whatever this creature is, any encounter with it is most likely to end fatal. If we allow it to live, it will continue to threaten our people and consume their spiritual essence.”

“True,” Dirthamen mused, “but only if it stays out of control.”

“And you think you can control it?” Solas asked. “How?”

The smile the elven god gave him seemed to cool the air around them, turning their breaths into thick white mist. “That’s my little secret, my dear Solas.”

“You must think me rather foolish to give in to such a request so easily,” Solas replied. “What do you wish to gain by approaching me so openly, Dirthamen? Spit it out because I have no time for your tedious games and riddles.”

Dirthamen groaned softly. “I don’t understand why you are so distrusting, my dear Solas. Have I not been upright with you? Unlike my sister, I don’t have to hide my intentions from you. The creature is more valuable than my father or any of the other Evanuris know, and I wish to study it, learn from it, for the benefit of all of Elvhenan.”

No, you only pry on other people’s secrets, Solas thought. 

“And I am to believe you? Just like that?”

“My request is a simple one, and honest at that,” Dirtham replied, huffing. “But if you need some kind of encouragement…”

 The elvhen god twisted his arm and his two ravens soared up into the air. “Seek this creature, locate it and return to me. I will take care of the rest. No fighting, no bloodshed. You will have done what is best for The People and can go on living your life. Isn’t that what you wish for?”

Solas had to admit that Dirthamen had a point. If he could chose freely, he would abandon Arlathan forever to wander the wilds and help those in need of assistance, whether they were elvhen or spirit. But he had devoted himself to Mythal and was bound to her until she decided to set him free. It was the deal he’d struck with her when he had first manifested in a physical body⎯her protection in exchange for his loyalty and wisdom⎯and he would honor that deal, no matter what. 

“And what about your father?” Solas asked, shaking his head slightly.  “I reckon he will be most displeased to see me return without the creature's blood on my hands.”

Dirthamen smiled. “Let me worry about my father.”

More half-truths, Solas said, sucking in the cool air. If only Mythal were here… She would know how to end this.

“I see you are not convinced,” Dirthamen said before Solas got the chance to recline his offer. “I understand and respect that. Yet, I can’t help but wonder what your plans for the creature are. What is your game, my dear Solas?”

“What makes you think I have plans of my own?”

“Of course you have plans,” Dirthamen said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Why else would you drag poor Felani into this mess?”

The sound of Felani’s name made Solas jolt upright. “Leave her out of this,” he warned Dirthamen, his voice cool and controlled.

“Oh, I will. If you give me the location of the creature instead of killing it,” Dirthamen replied. “Do so, and I assure you, nothing will happen to you or your blacksmith friend.”

The offer was tempting. Still, every fiber in Solas’s body urged him to turn and run from Dirthamen, as fast as possible. 

First Andruil, now Dirthamen, he thought. They are fighting for control, seeking more power. I must be careful or I’ll be caught in the middle.

“If you are willing to give me time. There are considerations to be made,” Solas said. 

Dirthamen pressed his lips together. “Take your time, if you must,” the elvhen god said reluctantly, “but be careful about the decisions you make. They might lead to your untimely death, and I would rather not see that happen, yet.”

Solas stifled a cocky retort. Wasn’t this the solemn purpose of this whole endeavor⎯to get rid of him as well as the dreadful creature?

“Thank you for your patience,” Solas said through gritted teeth. “If you’ll excuse me. I have other matters to attend to before I leave.”

“Of course,” Dirthamen exclaimed, returning to his usually jovial behavior. “Would you please give my love to our mother,” he cooed. “Tell her, I miss her.”

Solas forced himself to smile at Dirthamen. “I will.”

With that, he began to walk past Dirtheman and towards the eluvian that would lead him back to Mythal’s tower. He could feel the god’s gaze on him all the way, tickling his skin. It took him all he got not to burst out into a run just to get away from Dirthamen. 

The sooner I venture south and kill this damn creature, the better, he thought, walking through the eluvian and sealing it safely behind him.

____

A/N: This chapter was such a piece of work, phew. I was so frustrated with the conversation between Solas and Felani at one point that I wanted to delete it all. But I didn’t, thanks to you guys! Your encouragement gives me the strength to carry on. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one shall be up on Dec 9. Have an awesome week!

[salexectrian-heir]

Loki: Chapter 9

Pairing: Solavellan Rating: E* (not every chapter is E, most are rated T. Chapters containing explicit content will be marked with an asterisk*) Summary: Lavellan rescued a mischievious sphynx kitten outside her work who loves her dearly. But his destructive habits start to get out of hand when he steals her attractive neighbor’s underwear… repeatedly. [Previous Chapter]      [Read on AO3]

“Honestly, I think you should quit your job and be a chef, or one of those stay at home hipster-food bloggers that instagrams all their meals and gets sponsored by food industry monopolies.”

This earned her one of those rare and coveted chuckle-snorts she had grown attached to. She peered at him from over her shoulder where she stood in front of his kitchen sink, cleaning up the dishes of their--once again brilliant--grilled shrimp taco dinner. It had been over two weeks, since they had their first formal dinner together, since they slept together. A make-up of sorts for missing out on celebrating the new year. Naturally, the E.R. was filled with those who had made not so wise choices, blown off parts of their bodies with fireworks they should not have been setting off...and thus Anise was other was preoccupied. Solas had agreed to feed Loki for her while she was called away. So at least that spoiled brat got a new year’s kiss. Her heart fluttered when he met her gaze, lips pulling into a smirk where he sat lounging on his couch.

“There is only one problem,” he said, pouring them each another glass of wine from a fresh bottle. They had already killed one during dinner. “I don’t have an instagram.”

She shifted her weight and placed a hand on her hip. “Then how do you post all your mundane life updates?”

“Facebook?” He shrugged as she let out a mocking hiss of disapproval, “I don’t use it that often. Not much occurs in my life that demands a social media update.”

“Well, you should friend request me anyway so I can post random updates on your wall for you.”

Another tipsy chuckle and a smile that reached his eyes. “I’m sure you would.”

Dropping the towel she had been using to dry the counter, she made her way over to settle on the couch beside him. She swiped her glass from his extended hand and tucked her feet beneath her.

“What you don’t want to be connected?” she teased as he glanced down at his wine. “Are you still friends with an ex that would stalk me or something?”

His whole body went still.

“I was joking,” she playfully shoved him with her foot, and it brought a small smile back on his face.

“Joking as it were, you are...not entirely wrong.”

She stared at him expectantly. “Go on.”

“It’s complicated.”

He made to stand but she caught him by the elbow. He send a sideways glance towards her, a hint of apprehension in his eyes behind the mirth.

“Oh no, you don’t get out of that so easily.”

He sighed and brought his fingers to steeple over his flushed face. “My life revolves around my work."

“I know."

“Literally. My social circle, including my previous romantic relationships…” He straightened, his hands knotting together in his lap. “One more reason I was hesitant to get involved with you. I do not want to subject you, or anyone, to the chaos that is my life. My last relationship was a mistake. One I never should have made.”

“As they often are.”

“But because we work together... “ he exhaled sharply, “that’s not accurate. Because I work for her, I am still in frequent contact. It’s a bit a of a mess.”

She choked on her wine. “ You’ve slept with your boss, too ?”

Surprise rippled over his face at her outburst. “What?”

“Oh we’ll delve into my romantic disaster history in a minute. Please continue, you have a lot to unpack here.” She smiled behind her glass of wine, and nudged him again with her foot. “Go on, I want to hear this story.”

“Oh, no I would love to hear anything you have to say this point,” he turned to face her, tucking one leg beneath him, mirroring her position, “because what I’m about to say next will make everything worse.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. She decided putting wine in it was the best course of action and so she drained her glass. “Nope, you gotta finish embarrassing yourself first. Then I’ll layout my baggage.”

“I warned you,” his mouth split into a chagrined smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I got involved with the Chief Operating Officer.”

Anise gasped and immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, “The C.O.O.? Solas!”

“I was young and stupid and it lasted far longer than it should have. And of course, like all things doomed to fail, it got out. Her husband found out--”

“ Her husband!?”

“The CEO.”

“You’re playing with me right now.”

“No, I am being honest.” The humor left his voice. “It’ not even a subject we should be laughing over… but…” He drug a hand over his face, wiping  away the fragment of a smile from the moment before. “For once I am able to talk about it without hating myself, so that must count for something.”

Anise said aside her empty wine glass and scooted closer to him on the couch.

“Sorry I pried. I didn’t mean to open up things better left--”

“It’s okay. I should talk about these things.” He allowed her to take his hand in her own. “The point was that we are all connected on social media as well. I would like to just keep this new part of my life, my life with you , private. Something I don’t have to share with the world that demands every second of my existence.”

“Is this why you choose to live here, and commute to Arlathan?”

He nodded. “Obviously there were repercussions for our actions. I was demoted. She was suspended from her position. And that caused a lot of unrest in the company. She was admired by many. I was blamed for her downfall. And in a way, I am directly responsible.”

“What were you before a rep?”

“I worked in the labs. It’s where my true talent lies.” He shrugged. “But my clearances have been revoked and I was repurposed, as was she. Apparently we were still valuable enough to the company to be tethered and leashed for the last five years. Or perhaps it is a punishment.”

“Why don’t you just quit?” When he didn’t say anything she felt the need to add, “I’m being serious, Solas. If they’re treating you this badly, and it makes you this unhappy, walk away .”

“Could you walk away from your job after a major mistake knowing you might be able to fix , or make a difference?

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “No. I couldn’t.”

“Yes, the company itself is corrupt but the medicine they create saves lives. I used to be a part of that process.” He squeezed her hand. “I created this mess. My pride won’t just let me walk away from it.”

He may be a stubborn fool, but now he’s my stubborn fool.

“I want you to know that I’ll support you--no matter what you stubbornly choose to do.”

“You may regret that.”

A brief moment of silence enveloped them, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I also, have made some… less than wise decisions. And that is saying it nicely.” His thumb began idly tracing designs on the back of her hand as she spoke, and it gave her courage.

Here goes nothing.

She took a deep breath. “I was engaged, once.”

He sat up a little straighter, giving her his full attention. “You were?”

“Yeah,” with her free hand she tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, “clearly didn’t end well.”

“Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

They shared a quiet laugh. “Hah, exactly.”

“Was it to your boss…?”

“Oh creators, no.” she shook her head vehemently. “A man from my clan. Arranged marriage type thing.” He stared at her sympathetically. “We wanted to start a family... but I…. we had a falling out and he cheated, I didn’t handle it well, I decided to go to med school instead, something that would take a long time and basically give me an excuse to never go home and...”

Face reality. Face the loss of a child, of a family. Too much, too painful. Change the subject, this is one for another time.

“The boss story though, that was more recent.” She changed the subject, adjusting her legs so she was sitting cross legged.  “ I got involved with one of the attendings when I was just starting out as an intern. Not my brightest moment. It was messy, and I quickly realized he was entangled with many other people, and not just me. It was a shock but once I figured it out I ended my part in it.”

If he noticed the abrupt topic switch, he made no comment. “Which attending did you sleep with?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Do you think you know him?”

“I might,” he gave a small smile.

“Anders is a remarkable doctor. I swear the entirety of his personal life puts your sleeping with your boss story to shame.”

That made Solas laugh, a real one this time. “I do know him.”

Anise blanched. “Oh, gods.”

Solas’ mouth curved into a teasing smile as one brow arched. “I’m surprised to hear the hospital staff fraternize so… frequently.”

“We’re not supposed to, but when you spend a sixteen hour high stress shift literally inside someone together...well…” she gestured with her free hand. “It happens. It’s a cesspool honestly. Every week I’m trying to figure out who’s sleeping with who so I don’t step on toes or accidentally out a relationship. It’s tiring.”

“I can imagine. No wonder you always look so wiped when you come home, avoiding all those bleeding hearts.” He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Admirable.”

She shoved him with her shoulder, a blush beginning to color her cheeks. “Stop.”

Leaning his elbow on the back of the couch, he propped his head up with his hand. “I just divulged a secret that would have sent any sensible person running from my apartment. And yet, you’re still here.”

“I pretend to have my life together, but it’s a mess.” A soft smile formed on her lips. “And yet you keep inviting me back.”

He gave a small shake of his head before he reached for her face, cupping her jaw in the palm of his hand as he leaned towards her. “As is mine, and yet you keep staying.”

His lips brushed her own.  She unfurled her limbs and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him gently down over her on the couch. He shifted to lay between her legs that wrapped around his hips once he had settled.

Pressing her mouth to his she whispered, “I never claimed to be sensible.” His tongue darted between her lips, coaxing a moan from her. “I don’t plan on starting to be now, either.”

[selenelavellan]

Finding You

Raised by Uthvir AU

Previous

Mana’din, Selene’s family (mentioned), and Dirthamen are @feynites

It is a short conversation with the disguised spirit.

Apparently she is being asked to Lord Dirthamens lands, though when she asks for what purpose they are particularly vague in details.

They assure her she will be gone no longer than three days.

It means three days away from her posts, but if she is being summoned, then surely her absence has already been cleared with her Lady Mana'din.

She leaves a note for her family to keep them from fretting, complete with a doodle of her sword beside her name so that they know she is not leaving unarmed.

She clasps her favorite cape to her shoulder guards, hooks her sheath to her hip, and follows the spirit through the crossroads without hesitation.

Selene has never been to Lord Dirthamens lands before. Has only been to cities under Mana'dins protections, and her one trip to Arlathan.

It is very exciting to be so far from home, she thinks.

The spirit is quiet for much of the journey. They remain a bird, flying a few feet ahead of her and opening the necessary eluvians, until they finally arrive nearest to their destination.

She is expecting a meeting hall somewhere. Perhaps someone's home, or place of business. But the spirit leads her through the gates, and into the castle of Lord Dirthamen himself.

Whoever has summoned her must be very high ranking here, she realizes.

She glances back up at the spirit; a raven, still. Nearly identical to the one she had found in the garden in Arlathan, that had been so close to her mysterious dancing partner.

She wonders....hm.

There is very little time to ponder the possibilities, before she hears the music. Low, and slow, and nearly muted through the heavy stone walls. It becomes louder and clearer as she continues behind the spirit, a grin spreading over her face as realization dawns on her and she picks up her pace, sure of her situation before the 'surprise' is revealed. Two large doors are pulled open by Lord Dirthamens sentries, revealing a man standing inside of a large ballroom. It has been decorated in a similar manner to the one they had met in, back in Arlathan, and she wonders for a moment if he has actually gone and borrowed some of the decorations for re-use. There are musicians arranged by the back wall, and her dancing partner is staring back at her through his mask. The same one he had worn that night.

I'd have brought mine if I had known, she muses internally as she steps towards him, no longer needing the spirit to show her where to go.

She can't stop her smile from spreading as she moves towards him, sweeping her cape back in a flourish as she moves into a deep bow before he might make yet another grand gesture of his own. He has had enough upper hands for the day, she thinks.

She extends one hand towards him, palm upturned.

He places his own in hers, still gloved as a palpable feeling of relief emanates from him.

“You found me,” She grins as the orchestra strikes up a new song for them.

“When I asked you if I might, you did offer permission,” He points out, following her lead as she glides them through one of the classical steps.

“Still. Sounds like an awful lot of work for a dance,” She teases as she spins him out before pulling him back towards her.

“It was a very memorable dance.”

Selene hums in agreement, moving them into a more complicated step. His own cloak billows behind him as they twirl across the dance floor, feathers fluttering across his neck and shoulders. If she had known why she were being summoned, she might've worn something more aesthetically pleasing for the occasion. Her armor is meant to cling close to her, to keep from making shadows move in the wind and giving away positions, to be silent during patrols so that her quarry won't know she is approaching. It is white and stark in contrast to the dark of his gown, the crimson of her cape a brilliant burst of color around them as he briefly changes their position to spin her himself, switching quickly back into the following role as Selene turns back to him with a laugh.

“Why did you summon me?” She finally asks as the song comes to an end, her hands resting on his waist, his own settled onto her shoulder and hip.

“I wanted to see you again,” He admits.

Selene laughs again, shaking her head fondly. “You could have come yourself, if you knew where I was. Why didn't you?”

He hesitates, and she frowns as doubt starts to rise in her gut at the silence.

Her eyes dart across his face, and she moves one of her hands up.

“May I see you without the mask?”

He hesitates again, but gives her a slow nod before she can become too uncomfortable.

Her fingers carefully tuck beneath his chin, pressing gently between the smooth material of his mask and the skin beneath. The mask falls from his face and lands in her palm. There are four slate blue eyes looking back at her nervously from dark skin that reflects the multicolored lights of the room beautifully. Selene licks her lips anxiously, not in any way off put by the extra features, but concerned about the absence of any kind of markings.

“You don't have any vallaslin,” She says. Not that he probably needs to be notified of it, surely he knows already.

“That is true,” He nods.

“...I do not suppose that is because you are so young that you haven't gained them yet?” Not that that would be a better situation. It might even be worse, really. But they are alone, in a ballroom, with a private orchestra, and he is very finely dressed. There is an obvious answer as to why he wouldn't have any markings, even if he were very very old.

...and he would indeed, she realizes, be significantly older than herself, if it's true.

“It is not,” He admits.

Selene nods slowly.

For a very long time.

Much longer than she means to.

“You're Lord Dirthamen, then.” She finally says.

“Yes.”

She nods a bit faster, now, anxiety starting to override her usual confidence.

“That's great! Congratulations,” She blurts, unsure of how she's supposed to act. She's met Mana'din on more than one occasion, but she's also been assured that the way Mana'din interacts with her people is far from the norm of most of the Evanuris. Selene has never been very good at stopping her mouth when her nerves overtake her though, and they've never overtaken her quite so suddenly before, either. Her voice begins to rise in pitch as she continues, “And you were Lord Dirthamen back in Arlathan then, too. When the spirit of Deceit was your spirit of Deceit. Which means I...called you a spy. Did I ever apologize for that? I didn't mean any offense or anything, some of my best friends are spies you know-”

“I found it very endearing,” he assures her as her voice starts to crack. “You do not have anything to fear from me.”

“Good, that's-that's great! Fantastic. Awesome, really. Not that I was afraid of you. You're not scary or anything like that-unless you want to be scary?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Good,” Selene repeats. “Because I don't think you are.”

“What do you think I am?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head and a note of curiousity.

This time it is Selene who hesitates.

“...I think you're very pretty,” She says honestly. “I think you are a very good dancer, and very romantic, and I like serving your daughter so I think you might not be so terrible, really.”

The skin around his cheeks and ears darkens, as his lips quirk up in a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Silence pervades for a moment, before the orchestra decides to break it and begins a soft tune around them.

“Would you like to dance again?” He asks. “If you are hungry, or would like to see more of my home, we could do that instead. You are my guest, during your stay here. Most everything is available to you.”

Selene glances back at the orchestra, takes a deep breath, and resolves herself. Just because she knows his name now (and what a name it turned out to be) doesn't change things. He's still the same man with the beautiful laugh she met in the garden and spoke with at the party. He seems to like the way she's been behaving around him so far, so...probably there's really not any danger here.

“I'd love another dance,” She admits, moving back to a starting position with him. “Thank you.”

–

She doesn't expect it to be comfortable.

It's surprising when it is.

When he has food carried in for them, when they discuss current events like old friends, when he lifts her off the ground during one of their dances and she makes an embarrassing squeak at the motion and he only laughs again and radiates more affection around them.

He shows her to one of his gardens, and the two decide to rest together beneath a tree that is probably older than she is, a small stream passing near them that carries all the way down to the river near the base of the mountains.

“Is your job dangerous?” he asks as his shoulder brushes against her own and he readjusts his position slightly against the tree trunk. His mask has been re-affixed to his face since they left the ballroom, but it does not seem to impede their conversation in any way.

“Not really,” Selene shrugs. “It can be, certainly, but I'm not usually sent on the more dangerous excursions. I mostly stick to a patrol around my lady Mana'dins council chambers and various locations in and around the palace. Most of my job is just shooing people away from places they shouldn't be.”

“And you enjoy it?”

Selene shifts awkwardly, eyes drifting upwards to leaves above them. “S'okay.”

His head tilts, and she glances down to see him staring back up at her. 

“You are lying.”

“It's a good job,” She asserts, because it is, and her Nanae had been very pleased when she had gotten it. “It's not, perhaps, what I would like to spend eternity doing. But it is a very honorable position that allows me the freedoms to pursue my hobbies in my off time. The land there is still trying to repair itself; we're in need of people who can do physical and applicable jobs. There is less of a need for...theoretical positions right now. But one day things will be better, and maybe if I have come up with a real, quantifiable hypothesis by then, I could present it to my lady. And perhaps if it is good enough, she will permit me to do real research on it.”

Dirthamen rumbles slightly beside her, perked up by her admissions. “Do you have a topic in mind?”

Selene flushes slightly. “Ideally? Yes. Quite a few. I have several journals filled with them, though most will only make minor changes, if any noticeable ones at all. I've dropped a few off with those who could use them; equations for magical inputs to help promote growth and necessary erosion in the soil, or to better distribute some of our limited resources. A few were even implemented, which was very gratifying! But change on a large scale takes time, no matter what. And when your basic principles are faulty...”she drifts off, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Which principles?” Dirthamen pushes.

“It would be treasonous to say,” Selene sighs. “Even to you.”

“I am very good at keeping secrets,” he notes.

Selene gives him a wry grin.

“You will almost certainly have to keep this one, if I tell it to you.”

He nods, suddenly serious as he raises a privacy barrier around them.

She rubs slightly at the back of her neck, the ends of her hair tickling her knuckles as she does. “Elvhen and spiritual sacrifices are a poor energy source,” She says quietly. “It is wasteful, and cruel. There are better options out there, if only we could be given the option to find them.”

Blue eyes blink from beneath the mask at her, as the air goes suddenly somber. “You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

“Do you have any evidence, to such a claim?”

Her nails scratch at the skin on her neck “...I do. There was a dwarven woman I met once, during a patrol. I was still young, and new, and I had never killed someone before. Nor did I wish to. So I...spoke to her, instead. The dwarves do not sacrifice people and spirits the way we do, but still their cities are powered from deep beneath the earth. They are doing it somehow, without bloodshed or shattering, which is proof in itself that there is another way. There are other sources of power, of magic. Perhaps they are even more efficient! There is so much run off from shattered spirits, it is...it is wasteful, and it leaves so many scars....”

“Oftentimes, that runoff finds its way into the dreaming,” Dirthamen explains. “New spirits can be born from it.”

“I am aware. However, many of the spirits in my home have been touched by death. Even if they do not always realize it...” she shakes her head. “The experience lingers. Even as new life sprouts, and new experiences overwrite the old, it does not make them vanish. Those spirits are more likely to succumb to corruption, sprouting from the scars left in the spaces where they pulled themselves back together.”

“They are a risk, then.”

Selenes face scrunches in distaste and tension. “No! It is still a very small percentage that corrupts. Not nearly enough to draw attention to it, unless you are looking for the pattern. There is no reason to give them such a dangerous label. It would only sow panic, and distrust. I only meant it as one possible positive outcome of solving the issue.”

Dirthamen blinks beneath the mask. “I did not mean to offend you. My apologies.”

She lets out a breath, and leans back against the tree. “I forgive you,” She says. “You promised to keep this a secret though, remember.”

He nods in agreement, and the privacy barrier falls away from them.

Selene takes a moment to allow herself to be bold,in the aftermath of her admission, and carefully places her hand over his.

“Your home is very beautiful,” She tells him, looking out over the mountain range, the expanse of soft greens beneath their feet, and the river where the two lands meet. “I can see why you wouldn't want to leave it.”

He stills for a moment, before his fingers find their way between hers, and his head leans against her shoulder.

“I am glad you enjoy it.”

–

After her admission in the garden, Dirthamen decides that Selene might enjoy seeing one of his libraries.

He is not wrong.

The sun sets and rises while they pour through the aisles together, pointing out their favorites and discussing various subjects as they arise. She is making a mental list of authors and articles to search for when she returns, even knowing this library is far larger than any near her own home.

They are debating over the merits of an old eluvian security measure when Selene lets out a long, rather loud, yawn.

“Ah, I forgot to show you to bed,” Dirthamen realizes, glancing up at the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows. “That was inconsiderate of me.”

“It's fine,” Selene says, covering her mouth as yet another yawn tries to escape. “I'm fine.”

“You should sleep,” He frowns.

“I'll sleep tonight,” She assures him.

Dirthamen seems dubious, but does not push the issue. Instead much of their day is spent doing activities that permit her to sit for long periods of time (although she will concede that some of them are necessary responsibilities of his). He shares a very large dinner with her before escorting her to his rooms for the night. His rooms.

Selene is no stranger to sex. She is very familiar with it in a theoretical, anecdotal, read-several-stories-about-it, sort of way.

She's just never quite gotten around to the act herself before.

As she walks out of his (private) baths, one of his robes pulled tightly to her body, she feels like this is something she should probably tell him.

So she clears her throat and does just that.

He blinks.

“...not even with a spirit?”

“There was a desire spirit I almost tried with once,” she admits “But we were too similar, and then time passed and I just...never got around to it.”

“But you are very popular,” He blurts.

Selene raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“The...When I was looking for you. I was told you were a 'heart-throb'. I understand that to mean you are very popular in manners such as this, yes?”

“Oh. Oh! That's-no. I've been courted a few times, and there have been a few dates, but I've never done sexual activities with a partner before.”

“Oh,” Dirthamen notes, and she's glad to see there's no judgment or disappointment at her admission, that he seems to simply be filing away this new information like any other. “We do not have to have any tonight either, if you do not want to.”

“You're not going to be upset?” she checks.

His eyebrows crease in concern as he places his mask down on a small table beside the bed. “I did not bring you here for sexual purposes. I only wished to dance, and to speak with you again. We have done both of those things, extensively. There is very little you could do to upset me, I think.”

“Good to know,” She grins, her grip on the robe relaxing slightly as she crawls into the bed beside him.

She falls asleep flat on her back, her sword within arms reach as it leans against the side of the headboard.

When she wakes, she is curled almost entirely around Lord Dirthamen. 

His back is pressed tightly to her chest, her legs tangled up with his and one arm laying over his hip, and the arm she can no longer feel because it somehow made its way beneath him is being tenderly held between his own hands.

It might be embarrassing, if it were not quite so comfortable.

Instead she nuzzles her head gently against the back of his neck, shifts to a more comfortable angle, and falls back asleep to the soft snores of Lord Dirthamen.

–

On the third day, he arranges a picnic in the garden for them. She is wearing an outfit he gifted her, made of silk and starlight and feathers, her armor safely stowed away in a new leather pack as well. Her legs are bared, and she thinks her Nanae might disapprove of the vulnerability, but it is very comfortable, and he has not shown himself to be untrustworthy.

“I had a very nice time with you,” She smiles as he finishes off a small sandwich. “Thank you for finding me.”

“You could stay, if you'd like,” He offers slowly. “I could send a messenger to your family, tell them your summons has been extended...”

Selene snorts at the mental image of some poor messenger having to tell her Nanae that their daughter is staying an unspecified amount of time longer in Dirthamens lands when they have likely already been fretting since they found her note. Probably they would return full of holes with much of their past dug up and an angry, buzzing Nanae in their full armor behind them demanding to see her and verify that she is still alive and unharmed.

“I do not think that would go over well,” She admits without further detail. 

Dirthamen does not push the matter, and she stretches and lays out in his lap instead. His fingers card carefully through the strands of her hair, and she lets her eyes close in contentment at the motion.

“I would still like to see you again,” Dirthamen muses.

“You could come visit me,” She offers.

“I cannot leave for long periods of time. In truth, I do not usually have as much free time as I have given you these last few days. I had to reschedule several tedious but necessary appointments.”

“Well, thank you for making the time for me anyways. It was very sweet.”

“I would do it again, if I could.”

“I don't doubt that,” She grins.

Deceit arrives in the late afternoon to escort her back through the crossroads, to ensure she makes it back to Mana'dins lands safely.

Selene stands, slinging her pack over her shoulder and verifying her sword at her hip and turning around to see Dirthamen one last time. The look he is giving her makes her ache; like he is missing someone who hasn't even left yet, and she will blame that, she thinks, on what she does next.

Her fingers slip beneath his mask and pull it away from his face, as she presses a kiss to the soft skin of his cheek. She watches in pride as the skin begins to flush and one of his hands darts up to touch the space.

“Come find me again sometime pretty boy,” She hums, carefully placing the mask back on and straightening. “I could always use a dance partner like you.”

He nods, his exposed throat bobbing as he swallows down his nerves. She strides off behind Deceit, a bit more sway in her hips than usual.

It was a very good trip.

[sacrificialarrow]

rules: repost, don’t reblog. just pick a muse of yours and fill it out.

basics

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? Just shy of being almost suspiciously tall, he is -- for a modern elf, who rarely reaches any taller than 5′8″. But for one of the Ancients, who rarely were under 6′ tall? Solas is rather on the short side. But then again, in his spirit ‘body,’ or rather, how he actually looks, he’s tall enough to incite heart attacks, particularly during an age where buildings were likely at most about half his height or less.

▸ are they okay with their height? It’s never been something that bothers him. And I’m sure if it had, he could’ve make himself larger.

▸ what’s their hair like? Practically sentient in its wildness; nothing he ever does tames or controls it spare for the dreadlocks he used to wear. But still, it’s actually really pretty when it’s grown out, bc it’s this nice like foxy brown colour ( you know, reddish, but also brown, but still more red than anything else ) and it’s halfway in between soft and coarse -- though still thick. His bald ass head is nice too, I guess.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? In the past, he spent time enough taking care of it that he blended in well with the nobles of Arlathan, ( so a fair amount ) but nowadays, the most he does is shave off stubble. I must say, however, he is a very clean individual who keeps himself properly groomed; it’s just not entirely immaculate anymore, where he doesn’t care that much.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance? Honestly.... Not really. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but his whole attire aesthetic is literally just what’s comfortable and not irritating to deal with and or take care of. And that in and of itself is a good part of the reason why he puts up with Dorian’s input and changes to his closet when they start happening; as long as it’s comfortable, Solas unapologetically just doesn’t care. ( And you know, it makes Dorian at least a little happier when he’s well-dressed, so he especially doesn’t mind putting up with being dressed by someone else.... As long as he cares for them, anyway. )

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? If he cared even a little bit about that, he wouldn’t be able to waltz through life being as often genuinely mean, or else as brutally honest as he does, never mind with such great ease. There is, however, one aspect that he does care about and that bothers him a great deal: the reputation that Fen’harel is painted with. He has fought fang and claw and with everything else that he’s had to right the wrongs of the Evanuris and attain some semblance of peace for his people, however small it may be. And yet at every step, he’s met with accusations of a malicious and monstrous nature. At first, it was little more than irritating that the elves could be so blind as to not think for themselves, but it’s stuck with him, grated on him over the years. And nerves can take only so much rasping before they begin to fray, and the spot begins to become tender, and the abused flinches away in agony from any more licks. Of course, should it continue, one grows weary and hopeless, and merely takes what they are dished with unmatched sorrow.

preferences

▸ indoors or outdoors? Outdoors. ▸ rain or sunshine? Either. ▸ forest or beach? Forest. ▸ precious metals or gems? Precious metals. ▸ flowers or perfumes? Specific perfumes, namely those at least similar in body to Dorian’s, otherwise flowers. ▸ personality or appearance? Personality. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd? Solitude. ▸ order or anarchy? Order insomuch as it is fair to its people, anarchy insomuch as it is beneficial. ▸ painful truths or white lies? Painful truth for most situations, although this changes if he’s acting the part of not the Dread Wolf, or if dating someone. Though even then, it’s more of a ‘I didn’t lie, I simply didn’t tell you’ sort of situation rather than outright lies. ▸ science or magic? Both. ▸ peace or conflict? Peace.

▸ night or day? Night. ▸ dusk or dawn? Dawn. ▸ warmth or cold? Either. ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? Many acquaintances. ▸ reading or playing a game? Reading.

questionnaire

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? Frankly, he’s often quite happy at leaving people at his baser assumptions of them, and they usually have to fight to prove him wrong before he’ll budge -- and even then, it tends to be a process, unless the evidence given is damning enough. Of course a lot of it’s out of a sheer desire for people to not be too terribly agreeable, so he doesn’t have to like them much, but that doesn’t make it any less shitty of a thing to do. Though that does rather lead into another of his bad habits, which is actively isolating himself whether he’s starved for social interaction or not. Partly out of cynicism and partly because people have, over the years, given him more than plenty of reasons to distrust them and their company. ( Especially given who he is and the reputation he has ) Nowadays, the way that his brain’s wired means that if he's to have any hope of processing something, he has to be away from people to do so. ( ie, when Wisdom dies, and he leaves for a couple of weeks. )

Of course, there’s also the smoking too, ( infrequent as it is by Inquisition ) though it’s not as interesting to talk about.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? The better question is really who hasn’t he lost that was close to him? There’s been Wisdom, whose loss left Solas quieter and more muted for a solid month and a half, and much more likely to become volatile at the improper treatment of spirits. There’s of course Mythal, who no doubt made him that much more isolated with her absence -- yet altogether that much more vicious towards those who wronged their people and killed Mythal. Countless friends and or lovers over the years have either died, left, found out who he was and tried to kill him for it, or else have forced him to kill them, and for it, he’s been less trusting, and less willing to let people into and or to stay in his life. Though of course, the latter ( letting people stay in his life ) has become ubiquitous over the centuries for having lost so many, as the lesson has been thus: people never stay, so remove yourself before you’re hurt further.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? He looks back on his naming with some fondness. ( Of course, the scene is someone tainted with upset and anger by sheer nature of what had happened at the time, though the affection he felt for Mythal, particularly in that moment, outweighs the rest. ) As well, being taught to paint by one of the slaves he’d freed was an incredibly pleasant time period for him as well, as it was something that he got to create, for once.

Probably one of his favourites, though, are the generalized memories of his life on the plains before he sought out Mythal, and the feeling of grass against his paws and fur for the first time. ( Because of course, this was during his Great Wolf period, wherein he was nothing more; not the Dread Wolf, and certainly not an elf. At most, he only changed in size. )

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? Ironic to his seeing himself as a guardian of sorts, it’s probably easier for him to kill people than it is for a trained assassin. Bitch doesn’t even bat an eye at it, whether they be friend or foe. I do think a lot of that’s due to how the world used to be when he developed his mind, in that there was no difference between the waking world and the fade; those who died only really became simpler minded spirits. Still not who they used to be without guidance from someone else, and no doubt no longer a threat or a problem or whatever, but? Still there. Still capable of being sought out. And I don’t really think Solas has removed himself from that mindset in the slightest, because even though there’s a barrier, the principle remains the same.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? Kept at bay by the sheer distance put between itself and Solas, the world is. He intentionally sought this out himself, yet he’s never felt more alone. Only the ground itself gives him any semblance of comfort, but it’s still not enough to keep the tears, baleful as they are, yet soft and kept to himself all the same like a howl not quite able to face the breeze. Whether he laid down, or whether he collapsed, he doesn’t recall, but it barely matters; numbness will catch up soon enough, and watching the leaves blow past the end of his nose will become the all-encompassing salvation that never does nearly enough.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? Capable, yes. Likely to, absolutely not. One must understand that each time he’s entrusted himself to someone before, it’s ended in regret, and likely even bodily damage, and so it takes him a great deal to work through the process of giving that kind of trust to someone. At present, there’s only been Mythal and Dorian who have both earned and kept it.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? He absent-mindedly makes small sketches of them, and quietly takes note of, I kid you not, every available detail of the person. Each new thing he finds is a gift for him to treasure, even if it remains something for him to treasure at a distance with no real use for what he knows. It’s all very subtle, and if others are present, nothing more than softer expressions and likely kinder attitudes towards said person, but even if it’s not something he acknowledges in any real way, it’s still obvious.

Though... If he’s actually with the person he loves, he can’t really keep his hands off them. Not even in a sexual way, really, just light, sometimes lingering touches here, hand holding there. And ofc, he tries to refrain from it in public or around other people, bc he’s not one for public displays, but it’s often unsuccessful where it’s something he does subconsciously. ( And unfortunately for him, that makes his lack of contact with people normally pretty telling. )

And I wish I could say that his overall attitude improved, but no. He’s still an asshole as equally ready and willing to verbally tear you apart; literally, he’s only nicer to the person he’s in love with.

tagged: I stole this like 20 years ago. tagging: If you wanna do it, do it and tag me so I can learn.