Fanfic writer with a passion for exploring romantic relationships // Fandoms: Horizon Zero Dawn, Mass Effect, and Dragon Age // Fandom: Dragon Age, Horizon Zero Dawn, Mass Effect
“The balance you need for a lucid dream is like standing on the precipice of climax,” Solas says. “The pleasure rises inside of you, but you must hold it back if you wish to truly enjoy it. It is a heightened state of torturous ecstasy.”
“So you want me to learn lucid dreaming by withholding orgasms?” she asks in a strained voice.
“Exactly,” he replies in satisfaction. “When you feel you are about to come, you will tell me to stop. Then we will repeat. You will not come until I decide you are ready.”
“And when will that be?” Elia retorts. Her voice is sharp, she knows, but her arousal is such that she’s feeling irate already.
“When you have learned this lesson, vhenan,” he whispers.
@nsfwfrosch drew me some Dirty Dirty Solavellan™ and I’m in blissful, blissful hell. Thank you and good night. I’m dead. xoxox
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Blackwall wearing the Ardent Blossom crown is the BEST. He is PERFECT. Almost as perfect as this to-die-for sketch of Baewall and Arya Lavellan by the inimitable @nsfwfrosch!!!
I had to write a drabble to go along with this – I just had to. See below the cut!
Blackwall sighs quietly, but sits obediently still as Arya threads a flower into his beard.
She bites her lower lip as she trims the stem of another blossom, and Blackwall eyes her poorly concealed amusement with a weary sort of patience. “My lady, is this really necessary?” he pleads.
She lifts one brow at him. “Of course it’s not,” she said. She crosses her legs comfortably on the bed and tucks the flower into his beard.
He raises his eyebrows. “Arya,” he says warningly.
She widens her eyes at him. “Blackwall,” she replies, in a deep and mocking voice.
He shoots her a chiding look, and she releases a tinkling laugh as she sticks another bloom into his facial hair. “Come on, Ser Blackwall, don’t be so grumpy. I need your beard to match your hair.”
He sighs again, then continues to sit passively until she’s decorated his face with flowers. Then she rises on her knees and solicitously adjusts the magic-infused flower crown she found in an abandoned chest in Emprise du Lion.
“There,” she says softly, then sits back on her heels. Her glittering gaze slides over him, and his faint exasperation melts at the obvious affection in her eyes.
She lifts her eyes back to his face, and suddenly her cheeky grin is back. “You are the cutest man I have ever seen,” she announces.
He snorts indelicately; no one has ever called Thom Rainier cute. But he can feel his cheeks turning pink with pleasure all the same.
She shuffles close and straddles his lap, then her smiling lips capture his own with a kiss. He happily wraps his arms around her, his hands sliding under the loose fabric of his own cotton shirt that she’s commandeered for herself, his palms smoothing over her skin to stroke the line of her spine.
She melts into his embrace, and he drinks her in for a long, luxurious moment before she pulls away. She carefully adjusts one of the flowers in his beard.
Then the mischievous dimple of her smile is back. “You know who would love to see you looking so adorable? Dorian. And also Bull. And also Solas! I’ll go grab them.” Suddenly she’s off his lap and halfway toward the stairs.
“Wha- Arya!” he blurts. He leaps off the bed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Of course I would- hey!” She shrieks with laughter as he snatches her around the waist and lifts her off her feet.
She kicks her little elven feet and struggles in his arms like a demon, but Blackwall doesn’t release her until he’s back at the bed. He tosses her onto her back and pins her down palm-to-palm. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls.
But his forbidding tone is ruined by the infernal flower crown slipping down over his eye.
Arya bursts into laughter and batters his flanks playfully with her knees. “You can’t tell the Inquisitor what to do! Sheer insubordination!”
Her mirth is infectious, seeping into him more thoroughly than the brilliant warmth of a winter fire, and his attempt at sternness abruptly melts without a trace. He beams at his joyful Dalish lover, then cradles her precious face in his hands and kisses her hard.
She wraps herself around him in a tangle of lithe and loving limbs, and Blackwall breathes in the bliss of her embrace. She might have stripped his gruff persona as surely as she stripped him of his shirt, but he doesn’t really mind.
If Arya thinks him cute, then a flowery beard he’ll keep.
More Blackwall and Arya here on AO3, for anyone who’s interested! xo
His hands cradle her neck. His thumbs stroke the fine lines of her jaw. Her lips are parted for him already, and he captures them without hesitation.
Red. Everything about her is red: her scarlet lips, her flushed cheeks, the flames of her hair… Nil had always loved the sanguine colour, but now as he wraps his fist in the hair at the nape of her neck, he realizes he is obsessed with it.
to everyone who’s ever said something kind about my work: you help me get through the day. thank you.
This is 110% me each time
This is so true
Responses are what every writer, or any artist, need to brighten their day
If you love something you read, SAY SO! I love leaving long adoring comments on people’s work, and I love getting them as well! Nothing makes a day better! ❤️
This is a three-word prompt fill for the adorable @littlesnowarrow. The prompt was wise, lip, feel. The fill got out of hand. There is cake, and sneaking around, and Solas being embarrassed.
Ma’av’in literally means ‘my mouth’ in Elvhen, but it is very personal and slightly sexual endearment meaning “I love and desire you so much that my mouth tastes like yours,” but also “we understand each other on such a personal level that you could talk for me”. I encountered this first in Message Sent by Aicosu and this phrase, much like that fic altogether, murdered my feelings… so here it is.
Athera poked her head cautiously into Skyhold’s kitchen. “Hello?” she called softly.
When no one replied, she relaxed and turned to Abelas with a smile. “It’s clear. Everyone’s gone to bed.” She scurried into the kitchen and made a beeline for the large icebox that held the leftover sweets.
Abelas followed her at a more decorous pace. As Athera opened the icebox and poked around, he studied the icebox itself with clear disapproval. “This cooling spell is inefficient,” he said. “The magic is slowly dissipating. It will need to be recast in less than a year.” He frowned at her. “Who was the spellcaster here? Someone on your staff is in dire need of training.”
Athera shot him an exasperated look. “Who cares about the icebox? Look at what’s inside!” She enthusiastically pulled out a platter, then removed its metal lid with a flourish to reveal a selection of bite-sized desserts.
Abelas’s disapproval melted into a tiny smile, and Athera’s cheeks warmed with pleasure at having wiped away his frown. She happily set the platter on the table. “Those cakes I gave you were the first kind of Orlesian dessert I tried when I first started hanging out with humans,” she said eagerly. “They all have funny names.” She pointed to each of the desserts in turn. “This is a macaron. Chocolate-raspberry, it looks like, and this one is… a blackberry macaron, maybe? This cake is called le coup de grâce. It’s made with a lot of brandy – they’ll actually make you drunk if you eat enough of them. This one is la langue fourchue– I think it contains dragonthorn, it’s weirdly spicy – and this one is la belle rose. It’s made with rosewater. That’s what Josie said, at least.”
Abelas listened carefully as she named the various cakes. Then he selected a small square cake with pink fondant icing and a tiny flower on top.
Athera wilted slightly in disappointment; the cake he’d picked was the same kind she’d given to him when he first arrived at Skyhold. “You don’t want to try something new?” she asked. “You’ve had that kind already.”
He settled his gilded gaze on her face. “I am fond of this kind. They remind me of you.”
The tips of Athera’s ears suddenly felt hot. She bit the inside of her cheek to hide her stupid grin, then selected a rosewater cake for herself. “Well, I guess that’s all right then.” She lifted her cake and gently touched it to his. “Cheers.”
“On’enansal,” he murmured, and Athera smiled and popped the whole cake into her mouth.
The Sharper Edge of Love: Romance, Sex, and Fanfic 