Tag: solas

All New, Faded For Her

Quick and poetic Solavellan smut inspired by the anagram of All New, Faded For Her. Read on AO3 here.

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She shifts in shades beneath his hands. Porcelain, ivory, the icy blue of Emprise, sunkissed and sandy-gold, the ever-changing colour of her skin as they move from moonlight to candlelight.

Do you like that

He traces every inch, memorizes every bruise and scrape. The marks are fleeting, not unlike the moments they spend pressed together. Sparse freckles form constellations, eternal waypoints for his curious tongue to taste.

Run your hands across my body

Salt spreading over his tongue, inviting saliva to flood his eager mouth. He presses his fingers tight, feels the firmness of her flesh beneath his fingers, pebbled nipples beneath his solid palms.

Easy, slow down, let me look at you

His head is often in the sky, his mind flitting over ancient ruins and broken memories. Pressed against her bed, her lips flit across his ear and fill his head with whispers. She brings him back, towers over him, her weight draped across his lap and holding him firmly to the ground.

All I could think about was this

She shifts in shapes beneath his hands. Curves that rival the grandest sonallia; fingers arched into dragon’s claws that scrape across his skin; angled knees and elbows and hips, a masterpiece of geometry to put the oldest dwarven thaigs to shame.

Don’t stop

Threads of her hair slide through his fingers, dark as a starless night. Her neck resists the press of his teeth. Sweat and sweetness and salt fill his lungs on every inhale. Tighten the fist, pull back and breathe her in: the sweetness is most intense just behind her ear.

What are you waiting for

Every dip and crevasse is highlighted by his gaze. He stares at the bow of her lip, the blade of her cheekbone, the notch at her throat, the shallow groove at the base of her sternum, the path it traces to her navel. He follows his gaze with fingers and tongue.

Oh please, yes

Smooth and soft shift to slick and slippery as he spans the rippling landscape of her skin. His lower lip is the perfect brush for this type of canvas; he strokes from the edges of her skin towards her center and uses her honeyed juices as his paint.

Lie back, close your eyes

He tilts his head, a flash of tongue and mouth. Coax her in a certain manner, and she sings a certain note. If he plays her just right, he can hear an entire symphony.

Face me, I want to see your face

Shivering, shuddering, an earthquake against his mouth and hands. She erupts in a shower of sound and sensation and scintillating colour, vivid and vivacious, everything he failed to appreciate until she erupted into his shackled life.

Fuck me please I can’t wait anymore

Hot and gripping, no hesitation, a hand on his shoulder and a hand between his legs. She presses the pillows of her breasts against his cheek, a shameless coaxing of her own. He pulls her close to his greedy mouth, soft skin and softer flesh and a pearlescent nipple against his teeth.

Eager, aren’t you

Soft and breathless laughter sinks into his mind, a compulsion that numbs his eternal worries. Canvas becomes creator as she traces the planes of his body with her hands and mouth, and he tries to remember how to breathe; her lips spread a network of fine delicate fissures across his limbs, into his throat, through the backs of his eyes.

Now, right now, I need you

He pulls her up and ravages her luscious mouth. This mage calls to him, summons him, pulls him from the Fade like nothing else ever could. She welcomes him, a willing host clutching him in eager arms, an intoxicating press of skin to skin.

Harder, harder, oh yes please

She gasps against his cheek. Fine bones of her skull beneath his fingers, soft skin beneath his palms, insistent hips pulled tight, a pleading moan against his cheek. He soaks her in, every whimper and every scratch, every drop of sweat against his tongue and every trace of heat from that sugared spot behind her ear. With every wisp of her that he takes, he leaves a piece behind.

Ar vara prear nasan in’na ga’man tuatha

Electric, fizzling beneath his skin, pressure at the juncture where they meet and flex, a thrumming through his limbs, it feels like magic but so much more: solid, so solid, this is real, did anything ever have any substance before her, he can’t remember now, forgetting everything except the woman twined in his arms.

Right there – that’s it – yes –

Fracturing, shattering, their pieces meld and meet, his jaw clenching so hard he hears the grinding of his teeth. He grips her nape, breathes in her lips, falls into the depths of her shining eyes.

Everything. I want everything. I want every part of you

The shuddering tension of her arms clutching him close. Her nose burrowing against his throat, seeking the same scent that he stole so happily from the crook of her neck. Her lips pour words into his ear, words of adoration he shouldn’t take, but her heated body is a shield deflecting the guilt he knows he should feel. He buries his face in her neck until he can’t see or breathe, can’t taste or feel or smell anything but her. He brushes his words against her skin, a fine layer of love that will crystallize and coalesce over time.

Lathan na, vhenan

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Elvhen phrases, thanks to @fenxshiral:

– Ar vara prear nasan in’na ga’man tuatha = I leave a piece of my soul with you every time we join
– Lathan na = another way to say ‘I love you’

irlaimsaaralath:

lavellangarbage:

beginnerfanartist:

Page 2 here

It says 50 pages, so… this is my excuse to continue the Solas smut challenge. Who am I kidding, I don`t need an excuse to continue this.

Necklace or no necklace? I think he looks better without, but since I already drew it; here, have both.

how am I only seeing this for the first time now???

I…can’t?

No words.

Status update: D E A D 😂😍

Source: beginnerfanartist

accidentalapostate:

Solavellans

My favorite thing about the Solavellan fandom is the complete oxymoronic nature of everything we do.

*posts sweet, beautiful, sad, amazing Solas art/fic/etc* “I love him.”

“But also, fuck you to hell you piece of shit.”

“I still love him tho~”

*sobs* “ITS JUST SO SAD. I NEED TO WRITE FLUFF FICS”

*writes angst*

“Like, I want DA4 to happen to see my Lavellan reunited with her vhenan.”

“I think I just want DA4 to happen so that my Lavellan can kick Solas’ ass”

Just wanted to point out some banter with Varric and Solas

chifra151:

ceylonsilvergirl:

the-queen-of-thedas:

Solas: Is there at least a movement to reunite Orzammar and Kal-Sharok?
Varric: What is it with you, Chuckles? Why do you care so much about the dwarves?
Solas: Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars.
Varric: I can think of worse lives.
Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight?
Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice.
Solas: So it seems.

And 

Varric: What’s with you and the doom stuff? Are you always this cheery or is the hole in the sky getting to you?
Solas: I’ve no idea what you mean.
Varric: All the “fallen empire” crap you go on about. What’s so great about empires anyway?
Varric: So we lost the Deep Roads, and Orzammar’s too proud to ask for help. So what? We’re not Orzammar and we’re not our empire.
Varric: There are tens of thousands of us living up here in the sunlight now, and it’s not that bad.
Varric: Life goes on. It’s just different than it used to be.
Solas: And you have no concept of what that difference cost you.
Varric: Oh I know what it didn’t cost me. I’m still here, even after all those thaigs fell.
Solas: You truly are content to sit in the sun, never wondering what you could’ve been, never fighting back?
Varric: Ha, you’ve got it all wrong, Chuckles. This is fighting back.
Solas: How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight?
Varric: In that story of yours—the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone—you thought he gave up right?
Solas: Yes.
Varric: But he went on living. He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was alone.
Varric: That’s the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you’ve got, it takes—and it’s gone forever.
Varric: The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept going. That’s as close to beating the world as anyone gets.
Solas: Well said. Perhaps I was mistaken.

Maybe I can’t change the world, but I can keep living.

The message is too important to keep within the fandom

Holy fuck. I never took these two out enough to get this dialogue.

Solavellan Fluff: Flower Crown

Read here on AO3. 

Solas holds the veilfire torch high and peers curiously around at the gloom in the hidden cave. Vivienne and the Iron Bull stand ready as well while Elia crouches beside the chest. Solas hears a soft creak as she opens the chest… then Elia snickers.

Bull turns at the faint sound of her mirth. “What’s in the box, Boss?”

“Just a minute,” Elia says, and Solas raises one eyebrow as she putters around with the contents of the chest, then tugs surreptitiously at her cowl. She gives a tiny, subtle cough, and a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips; Elia is in a playful mood, and he has no doubt that something amusing is about to ensue.

Finally Elia rises to her feet and faces them; then, biting her lip to quell a grin, she lowers her hood.

On her head is a crown.

A crown made of flowers.

Bull snorts with mirth and shakes his head. “Damn. How come you get first dibs on the flower crown? It would go perfectly with my eyepatch.”

Vivienne sighs musically. “Oh, darling. You can’t wear that. Nobody will take you seriously with a flower tiara on your head. You might as well run barefoot through the streets yelling about riding a halla all the way to Halamshiral.”

Elia smiles sweetly at Vivienne, but Solas detects the subtle bite in the Inquisitor’s words. “I don’t mind if they talk,” she says lightly. “I’d rather be known for what I do than how I look.” She shoots the tiniest sidelong glance at Vivienne’s opulent silk-and-velvet gown as she delicately readjusts the ludicrous crown on her head.

Solas watches with a rising tide of affection as she tweaks one ivory petal, but his admiration is for deeper things than the blossoms on her brow. It’s her attitude that truly makes him stop and stare. The only thing that Elia boasts is a quiet conviction. She lacks pretension, focusing on her goals rather than her image, and her methods are so idealistic and unjaded that Solas can’t help but admire her. It’s how he once wished to operate, yet he’s forced now to do the opposite: he must occlude the things he’s done and project a completely benign persona, hiding his true goals behind a duplicitous mask.

Elia rests one hand on his forearm, pulling him from his brooding. “What do you think?” she says, and bats her eyelashes flirtatiously. Her eyes are clear and free of guile, and Solas wishes he could protect her from everything bitter in this world – even him. Particularly him.

He gazes seriously at her. “You are beautiful,” he says softly.

A slow smile lights her face and sets her eyes aglow, and Solas is helpless to do anything but smile back. Vivienne tuts impatiently, and Bull wolf-whistles. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, Boss, but how about you two save your foreplay for later when there aren’t a bunch of insane lyrium addicts around the corner?”

Elia chuckles, then gently takes the veilfire torch from Solas’s hand. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s show these Red Templars my new crown.” She shoots him a tiny wink, then leads them toward the quarry.

Solas follows the eerie glow of the torch as she runs back up the stairs. The veilfire highlights the velvety glow of the petals on her head, and despite his melancholy, he smiles at the sight of her.

He might be forced to hide many facets of himself, but his love for Elia Lavellan is a truth he’s free to show.