#lyrium lovesong

Tagged by @lyrium-lovesong to post a selfie and the urban dictionary definition of my name.

thank you! :)

26. my biggest pet peeves: when people randomly stop walking or stop to chat with friends in high-traffic areas and block the way! ugh it makes me so mad probably because i’m a city dweller and a primarily pedestrian traveler but still! other pet peeves include people spelling my name wrong in emails which happens ALLLL the time and also people trying to do fake accents as a joke because it’s never funny and always annoying! and it makes you look really ignorant!! (sorry, i’m salty about this)

38. my childhood career choice. oh wow i don’t even remember really! i wanted to be a writer definitely. i also wanted to be an FBI agent at some point lmao?

🌈 Rainbow Ask Game 🌈

I am soooo sorry for taking so dang long to get to this but I was a bit overwhelmed with things and then worried that nothing I could say would be quite enough to do you justice so I froze. 😅 [insert nervous laughter]

Anyway, here goes nothin'!

@lyrium-lovesong Christina, I think you are an amazing and brilliantly talented artist and writer. Kind, and compassionate, with an awesome sense of humor. You always make me laugh! 

You're a great mom and a badass, proud bisexual (and dude, bi and lgbtq+ pride is so damn important) who always sticks up for what she believes in and I have mad respect for you for that. 🌈✊

And you are incredibly supportive, not only to your friends, but also to fellow artists and writers and fellow fans in the community. You care, and it shows. I can't say how much I appreciate, and am grateful for, having met you.

Not gonna lie, I followed you for a while before we became mutuals because your blog is always filled with greatness. And now, because of the Rowdy Crew, I've had the wonderful opportunity to speak with you more personally. 😊

I am glad to call you a friend!

OC Kiss Week 2019

Featuring @lyrium-lovesong 's gorgeous Freya Lavellan, my Ayelet, and their canon LIs.

“I have never heard of this game, lethallan.” Solas leaned forward in his chair, his expression cheerful even in the low light of the remaining candles. The hour was late, and only the two couples remained in the Inquisitor's private dining quarters. Warmed by wine and ale and pleasant conversation, affection was flowing as freely as the drink, and there was no shortage of embarrassing stories from their childhoods.

“Something you haven't learned in the Fade, then?” Freya tried to muffle her laughter in Cullen's shoulder. “It's Cullen's game. He played it in Templar school.”

“Training.” Cullen's voice had no edge as he feigned taking Freya's drink away – she scoffed and put up a small fight until he gave in – then took a sip of his ale. “And I never took part in this one. It was popular among my less studious peers.”

“So let's have it, then. Another card game that ends with you naked?” Ayelet threw a leg over Solas's lap and his hand fell on her thigh, somewhere he'd never dare touch her while sober and in mixed company.

Cullen's face, already ruddy from drinking, burned at the memory of last month's game of Wicked Grace. He shook his head. “No, no. It's… a kissing game.” He put his bottle to his lips, downed what was left, then laid it on its side in the center of the table. “Take an empty bottle of ale, spin it like this, and whoever it lands on has to kiss the spinner.”

“Well the first one's easy, vhenan.” Cullen's lazy demonstration of how to play landed on Freya. She turned his face towards hers.

“What- now?!”

Ayelet whistled, a sorry sound coming from drunken lips, but Freya winked at her effort to cheer them on.

“Yes, now! It's only us down here, live a little, Commander.” She lowered her voice at the use of his title. Ayelet and Solas exchanged a sideways glance, neither questioning how or why Cullen's spirit was suddenly bolstered.

Freya pulled Cullen to her by his collar, grazing her lips across his before kissing him properly. She released his shirt but, to everyone's surprise, Cullen was slow to pull away.

“Commander, we've never seen this side of you!” Ayelet fanned herself. “Alright, my turn.”

She gave the bottle a strong twirl, but after a couple of spins it stopped unnaturally on Solas.

“That's cheating!” Freya pointed at him!

A triumphant smirk on his lips, he shrugged. “There were no rules against it. I suppose Templars cannot plan for everything.”

Solas slid an arm around Ayelet's waist and pulled her against his side. The hand that once sat on her thigh came up to rest under her chin, his thumb stroking her bottom lip.

“Oh, Creators, get on with it,” Freya groaned and poured herself another cup of wine.

Ayelet leaned into him, mouth already parted and a hand bunched in his shirt.

They separated when Freya cleared her throat. “A little excited, were we?”

They went on spinning for a few more rounds after establishing that Solas could not magically stop a spin. Between the increasingly intimate couples’ kisses there was one mutually blush-inducing kiss between Yel and Cullen, two awkward pecks for Solas and Freya, and a kiss between Cullen and Solas that was more well-received than either expected.

Ayelet glanced between the men and her friend. “I think I saw some tongue in that one. Freya?”

“Definitely tongue. Definitely a lot of tongue, I can tell by that thing Cullen does-”

“Alright!” Cullen clapped and handed a bottle to Freya. “Shall we have one more spin before bed?”

Still giggling, Freya took the last spin. Around and around the circle it sped, and with that same unnatural jerk as before, it stopped on Ayelet.

“Solas!” The disgruntled chorus didn't bother him in the slightest as he leaned back in his seat with a fresh cup of wine.

“It's the only match we haven't seen tonight. If anything, this keeps things balanced.”

Cullen nodded. “Actually, he's right. Balance is important. This is fair.”

“Fine,” Ayelet scolded, “But next time, no. magic.” Solas lifted a hand in defeat.

Freya and Ayelet stood and shook off their annoyance, took a deep breath together and focused on each other.

The first kiss was soft, a quick press of Freya's bottom lip between Yel's. Enough purchase to keep them close even though Solas and Cullen were already congratulating them on the task.

Foreheads still together, the warm breath of the other on their faces, they leaned in again. Firm this time, bodies close; the click of teeth dampened by tongues, the tug of a bitten lip, a soft moan that could have been from either of them; and hands wandering from waist to ribs, into curls, squeezing backsides and hips, until finally a breast was palmed and Cullen stood, his chair squeaking across the sticky floor.

“I think it's time for bed, don't you, Solas?”

Tagged by @lyrium-lovesong 😁 Thank you!

Name: Sacha

Nickname: Sacharoo (yes, that is where my blog name came from. Only, Roux is my dog's name, so homage to her too), Sash, Smasha (I played hockey and did a little roller derby for a bit).

Zodiac Sign: Technically I'm a Capricorn, but I have both Capricorn and Sagittarius personality traits (my bday is right on the cusp of both).

Height: 5′4"

Languages: English, French and a very little bit of Spanish.

Nationality:  Canadian

Favorite Season: Fall

Favorite Flower: Gardenia

Favorite Scent: Vanilla, Musk, or anything spicy and sweet like baking.

Favorite Color: Any shade of teal, or variant of blue-green

Favorite Animal: Foxes

Favorite Fictional Character: Error - cannot compute - system crash imminent

Coffee, Tea or Hot Chocolate: Coffee! However, I do love tea as well, I just prefer to have coffee most days.

Average Hours of Sleep: Umm...I guess like a solid 6-8? Sometimes less.

Cat or dog person: I love both equally, but if I was to get another pet it would be a dog.

Number of blankets you sleep with: 1-2 depending on how cold it is that particular night.

Dream Trip: Tour of Scotland, Ireland, England and Wales, and then a jaunt over to Iceland. I'd also love to get over to NZ as well.

Blog established: Uh, I have no idea how to find the exact date, but sometime in late Summer of 2018 I think.

Followers: 😏

A random fact: I can fold my tongue so it looks like an S, I have double jointed pinky fingers that I can dislocate at will, and I hold my pen like a weirdo.

it’s been a minute, but i’m finally back doing @dadrunkwriting for at least one prompt this friday! :) here you go, and thanks for asking!! (this one will take place after A Bitter Pill but before Act III)

***

the hanged man: suspension, potential, indecision; “I can’t stay here, but I don’t know where to go. I’m stuck.”

The ale she swishes in her mouth, over her tongue, between her teeth is lukewarm when she tastes it. Bland. She’s about to ask Corff his ratio of beer to water when he diluted it but it’s Isabela who hollers at him instead, something far bawdier, far more witty than she’d have come up with if she’s being honest, and on most nights she might banter back but they’ve put the barman through enough trouble for one night already and it’s hardly passed sundown.

“Tastes like piss,” she mutters, and Isabela takes a long swig for herself before grinning.

“Smells like it too.”

They’ve played through three rounds of Wicked Grace already. At this point, three bargoers owe Varric a few coppers each, Varric owes Aurelia three silvers and a hot breakfast up in Hightown, and Aurelia owes Isabela two sovereigns, three ales, and her shirt, though Isabela had deemed it too early to lose your shirt, Hawke and insisted she hold onto it until the hour is late enough.

It’s fun.

Or at least, fun enough for a hot summer night in the literal ass crack of Thedas. And Lowtown’s the ass crack of Kirkwall, Aurelia thinks to herself. And the Hanged Man’s the ass crack of Lowtown. So really, it’s the ass crack of the ass crack of the–

“Your hand, Hawke?” Varric calls, flashing the Angel of Death before her.

And now, she owes Isabela four sovereigns.

“Another round?” 

Hawke has no problem with losing–in fact, she’s quite used to it–but it’s Isabela who’s an insufferable winner, and at the very suggestion of a fifth game, the majority of the table groans, Hawke among them.

“What?” Isabella whines. “You’re all so boring, playing it safe all the time, and–”

“You say ‘playing it safe’ like we ever had a chance at winning, Rivaini,” Varric mutters, tipping the remaining contents of his tankard into his mouth.

“Practice makes perfect,” Isabela retorts smugly. “And anyway, we…”–her smile flickers for just a moment as she looks over Aurelia’s shoulder–“and anyway, Hawke, I think I’m ready for one of the ales you owe me!” She shoots Varric a look, and for a a duelist and a rogue as herself, she’s hardly subtle about it.

Varric looks up as well, eyes widening for a moment before looking back down and coughing. “I could also go for an ale, Hawke,” he says–a miraculous recovery from “surprised” to his normal sing-songy, storytelling flair.

“Perfect!” Isabela says–a little too eager.

Aurelia furrows her brow.

They’re distracting her.

“What’s going on?” she asks, any previous warmth vacant from her voice as she turns around to see the cause of their odd behavior. It’s nothing, she thinks; a familiar crowd has arrived and let the humid summer air in with them but it’s only Donnic, off from his shift, and a couple of other off-duty guards and then–

Oh.

She feels the color drain from her face when she sees him. It’s the kind of surprise that sends ice through her veins and prickles over her skin. The kind that makes her glad she’s already sitting down. He looks the same and yet it feels so different. The same armor, the same shock of brilliant white hair she’d combed her fingers through the last time she’d seen him, the same gait and posture and tight frown upon his lips when he turns his head enough for her to see his face. 

And the same red cloth around his wrist. Faded and worn, but the same.

I gave him that.

“Hawke,” Isabela says, and for a moment she hates the pity she hears in her voice, the last desperate attempt to divert her attention.

It doesn’t work.

It only draws his.

And when he turns around, looks at her, piercing green eyes on blue, his face relaxes, his eyes soften, he bites his lip.

Hawke, she thinks he says, but the tavern is loud and his voice too quiet and the distance between them feels greater than the few feet they stand apart.

She can’t bring her lips to move.

And when she hears her name again, it’s Isabela and Varric once more, each grabbing her by one arm and pulling her through the crowd, out the door, and when she looks back again she can’t find him. She might think he’d never been there at all if it weren’t for the insistence of her friends that the Hanged Man is boring tonight and let’s find something else to do and maybe off to your place, Hawke?

“I’m fine!” she shouts finally, shaking them off of her, her voice to high-pitched and her words too rough for either of them to believe her, really, but they let go, and she squeezes her eyes shut, takes in the muggy, dirty air of Lowtown in in one deep breath.

He’s back, she thinks, and he hadn’t even stopped by to tell me and he never even said goodbye in the first place and he saw me and he said my name but it doesn’t matter and it’s in the past.

Isn’t it?

And when she opens her eyes again, stinging and wet against the Foundry dust hanging in the air, she cracks a wry smile, rakes her hair back with one hand.