Sleeping Beauty But Make Is Solavellan

Sleeping Beauty but make is Solavellan

Cassandra: I feel like I don't really know you, so where are you from? Ghilara Lavellan: Why do you want to know hmm??? 🤨😒🤔 Cassandra: I mean, I just think we should start trying to get along more...? *later in that same conversation* Ghilara: I feel like I don't really know you, so where are you from? Cassandra: Why do you want to know hmm??? 🤨😒🤔 Ghilara: I mean, I just think we should start trying to get along more...?

Happy Friday! If this inspires you how about - [ knowing ] sender has been holding receiver's hand all this time without realizing it and hurries to let go - for Ghilara Lavellan and Solas?

Hope you enjoy angst hehe :P The context is that Solas was injured from the ritual before Ghilara stopped it and faked both their deaths. @dadrunkwriting

536 words

He was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. There were no creators who cared to listen, no last trick she could pull. It was up to chance and all she could do was sit, watch, cool his fever with damp cloth, try to feed him watery soup and sugared water inbetween his fevered tossing. The stream- where she was now- was as far out as she dared to venture. When- no. If he died, she wanted to be close. She wanted to be there to see the person she had thrown away everything for passed over.

The icy cold of the water shocked the thoughts out of her head as she waded in barefoot, one of the clay pots in her hand. She dipped it in, listening to the gurgle and glug as the water flowed in, fingers going numb from the snow melt waters. She hauled it back onto the river bank next to the second one- already filled. It was hard work, and she probably spilled a good quarter of the contents trying to get it back into place on the carrying pole. Checking the rope attachments were secure she hoisted the pole up onto her shoulders, let the hanging pots stabilise from the initial swing and then began trudging back to the cottage. It was only a few minutes walk, even laden as she was, and she set about the mundane activities of bringing the water inside, pouring it into bowls, some which would go onto the small stove to warm, others which would be used to try fight the fever. She didn’t look at the man lying in the bed as she did it. He was still right now, and without the tossing and the turning, and the crying out in spiels of elven, she could pretend he wasn’t who he was. She could pretend he was just some poor anonymous soul she had given charity to. “Sathan! Sathan ar halani! Sathan ar halani sa’lin! Letha’len!” She rushed over and was by his side in three quick steps. Her eyes swept over him, checking, checking to see if anything had changed, if anything was wrong. “Halani letha’len! Ane ar rya’halani!” She sat next to him on the bed, feeling it sink underneath her. “Ir abelas Solas,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “I am doing all I can. You have to fight. You must. Please Solas. Endure Solas. You must endure this. Please.” It was only when she stood, only when she went to make some desperate attempt at being useful, to weigh the dice in their favour however she could, that she noticed. She noticed her hand clasping his, gripping it so tight she must have been afraid that he was going to float away. Her eyes stared down at it. The pallour of his skin against hers, the faint sheen of sweat and the heat radiating into her skin. Her hand released his as if she had been burned, letting it fall back down onto the bed. She couldn’t afford to let her grief get in the way. She had to be useful. He was just another patient. He had to be. She couldn't afford to break. Even if it wouldn't change anything.

I'm curious--how do you guys go about creating your OCs?

reblog to bonk the person you reblogged it from with a hollow cardboard tube

Do you ever start writing something that you’re excited about and that seems like it’s turning out well and that you’re getting eager to share, and then you start typing it up or doing an edit pass and it’s just awful it’s awful its premise is fundamentally flawed and it’s out of character and the prose is clunky and the plot is badly paced and ludicrous and the whole thing is embarrassing, how could you have done this, how could you have sunk so much time into this, you can’t even look at it, how is this that shining thing you were so excited about, how could you even have considered finishing it let alone sharing it with anyone, you’re crying, your mother is crying, nuns are spontaneously exploding in the streets,