Tag: solasmance

KISS on a Scar for blackwall/lavellan OR solas/lavellan whichever inspires you most! 🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for the Friday night @dadrunkwriting ask, lovely! I have no ability to pick between Solas OR Blackwall so I will be doing both in time, LOL.

For now, here’s the prompt fill for Solavellan! Read on AO3 instead if you prefer.

It makes reference to a (fairly popular) headcanon/fanon that Solas started life as a spirit, then took a body to help Mythal and wore her vallaslin for a time. My understanding is that the seed of this headcanon is one particular line of dialogue with Cole, which I can’t unsee as being about Solas: “He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”

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Soft and gentle lips drift across Solas’s cheekbone, and he smiles.

His eyes are closed, allowing him to focus on the silken heat of Elia’s skin as his fingers drift lazily along her back. She’s slightly sticky with sweat, and he can only imagine the salt that must be meeting her lips as they brush across his cheek.

She drops a whisper of a kiss on the tip of his ear, then the corner of his eye, then the upper edge of his eyebrow. “Is this a scar?” she asks.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles, and she chuckles softly before kissing the marred patch of skin a second time.

Then she leans away slightly to touch the tiny dent on his forehead with the tip of a finger. “This is the only scar you have, isn’t it? I haven’t seen any others anywhere on your body.”

Solas finally opens his eyes. Her voice is still languid from their tryst, but he recognizes the light of curiosity in her turquoise eyes.

She’s not wrong, but he’s reluctant to confirm her question just yet. He knows his Elia, and he knows the answer will only lead to further queries. “Perhaps you have not looked hard enough,” he teases. “You may need to inspect my body more carefully next time.” He slips his fingers up along the back of her neck and into her short raven hair.

He pulls her down to kiss her smiling lips, and his dreamy satisfaction returns when she enthusiastically returns his kiss with a firm press of lips and a gentle slide of her tongue. But then she raises herself on one elbow again.

“I’ve seen you healing your wounds with magic. I truly can’t recall any other marks on your body,” she says. She gently strokes the mark on his forehead again. “Why keep this one?”

Her tone is gentle and her expression sympathetic, and he knows what she’s thinking: that he’s kept this scar by choice to mark something important.

Again, his insightful Dalish lover isn’t wrong. This mark is the only remaining evidence of the vallaslin he used to wear so long ago. But this is not a tale that he can share with her, as much as he may want to.

And there is a part of him that wants to. He wishes he could tell Elia everything: the spiritual origins of his life and the reason he took a body; the eons of war he suffered and the countless comrades he lost; and above all, the truth about the Dread Wolf.

He can’t tell her any of it, not now. He loves Elia, loves her more than he can remember loving anyone in a very, very long time. But there are duties that must come before the desires of his selfish heart.

He tells her a careful version of the truth instead. “It was the result of a serious fight,” he says. “If I had lost the fight, I would have lost myself. The scar is a reminder of… sacrifice. And determination.” He sighs and closes his eyes again, suddenly feeling weary down to his bones.

Elia’s gentle lips brush the scar again, then drift along the side of his face to arrive at his ear. “I’m sorry, Solas,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He shakes his head, eyes still closed as he absorbs the warmth of her words. “Do not apologize, vhenan. I am the one who is sorry,” he murmurs. “I… will tell you more in time.” It’s not a lie, not truly. He hopes to tell her some part of the truth someday, once he has sorted out which parts he can safely share.

A kiss brushes across his ear, sweet and gentle as a summer breeze. “I’ll be here when you’re ready,” she tells him. “I’m right here.”

He swallows hard. “I know,” he says softly.

pikapeppa:

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.

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. 

— All New, Faded For Her on AO3

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So many thanks and KUDOS to @nsfwfrosch​ for this insanely beautiful sketch. I’m going out of my mind about all the art you did for me this round… THANK YOU!! ❤️

pikapeppa:

“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.

– “Stop The World And Melt With You” on AO3

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@nsfwfrosch drew me some Dirty Dirty Solavellan™ and I’m in blissful, blissful hell. Thank you and good night. I’m dead. xoxox

“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.

– “Stop The World And Melt With You” on AO3

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@nsfwfrosch drew me some Dirty Dirty Solavellan™ and I’m in blissful, blissful hell. Thank you and good night. I’m dead. xoxox

Solavellan Angst and Smut

pikapeppa:

Read on AO3: Outside the Realm 

When Elia Lavellan finally finds the Dread Wolf, he’s not what she expects. Or perhaps he’s just not what she hopes.

He glances over his cloaked shoulder at her. “You should stop searching for me,” he says.

“Fuck you,” she hisses.

He looks down at her sharply, his hands folded behind his back. “Words are powerful, vhenan. Do not say what you do not mean.”

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This is a short oneshot that was meant to help me process my feelings after Trespasser but it backfired and now I’m even sadder. Oops. 

Angst, arguing, sex and sadness. Sorry in advance.

three word prompt 15 for solas/elia, fluffy if possible :) thank you <3

pikapeppa:

Perfect timing for this prompt – thank you @bronzeagelove! I just finished reading a soul-crushing Solavellan fic for the second time and am utterly destroyed, so some nice fluffy Solavellan is a soothing balm to my soul…😉

The prompt: grace, dark, holding.

Read on AO3 instead.

Elia leans her elbows on the balcony and sighs.

“Is something wrong?” Solas’s quiet voice floats out from her bedroom, followed by the man himself. His barefooted steps are silent as he comes to lean against the balcony at her side.

She smiles up at him. “Quite the contrary, actually. I was just listening to the music.” She nods her head vaguely in the direction of Skyhold’s grounds. “Someone is playing… something. It doesn’t quite sound like a lute…”

Solas cocks his head to listen to the delicate serenade, and Elia watches the thoughtful creasing of his brow. Then he shifts his weight and folds his arms. “Lyre, if I am not mistaken. It is a lovely duet.”

Elia gazes at his handsome profile with a rush of affection. He always seems to have an answer, even for her unasked questions, and he rarely requires more than a few seconds to pluck the information she requests from the depths of his mind. She wonders what it must be like to have such an excellent memory.

Eventually he meets her gaze, and his expression softens. “What are you thinking?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing much,” she says, not wanting to gush all over him like the hopelessly besotted woman that she is. She leans affectionately against him instead. “Just that this is nice. The quiet, the music… it’s so peaceful.”  She closes her eyes and smiles, savouring the fine sound of the lyre duet as it slides through the darkness of the night. “It sounds like… raindrops tinkling against metal, but fuller. Or maybe… like pearls falling against a mirror, but less strident.” She sighs, frustrated by her inability to properly put the sound into words. “That distinct resonant plucking… I just really like stringed instruments.”

She sighs again and opens her eyes only to find Solas staring at her with such warmth that her breath catches in her throat. Without breaking her gaze, he steps back from the balcony and extends a hand to her. “Come, vhenan,” he says softly. “Dance with me.”

Keep reading

three word prompt 15 for solas/elia, fluffy if possible :) thank you <3

Perfect timing for this prompt – thank you @bronzeagelove! I just finished reading a soul-crushing Solavellan fic for the second time and am utterly destroyed, so some nice fluffy Solavellan is a soothing balm to my soul…😉

The prompt: grace, dark, holding.

Read on AO3 instead.

Elia leans her elbows on the balcony and sighs.

“Is something wrong?” Solas’s quiet voice floats out from her bedroom, followed by the man himself. His barefooted steps are silent as he comes to lean against the balcony at her side.

She smiles up at him. “Quite the contrary, actually. I was just listening to the music.” She nods her head vaguely in the direction of Skyhold’s grounds. “Someone is playing… something. It doesn’t quite sound like a lute…”

Solas cocks his head to listen to the delicate serenade, and Elia watches the thoughtful creasing of his brow. Then he shifts his weight and folds his arms. “Lyre, if I am not mistaken. It is a lovely duet.”

Elia gazes at his handsome profile with a rush of affection. He always seems to have an answer, even for her unasked questions, and he rarely requires more than a few seconds to pluck the information she requests from the depths of his mind. She wonders what it must be like to have such an excellent memory.

Eventually he meets her gaze, and his expression softens. “What are you thinking?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing much,” she says, not wanting to gush all over him like the hopelessly besotted woman that she is. She leans affectionately against him instead. “Just that this is nice. The quiet, the music… it’s so peaceful.”  She closes her eyes and smiles, savouring the fine sound of the lyre duet as it slides through the darkness of the night. “It sounds like… raindrops tinkling against metal, but fuller. Or maybe… like pearls falling against a mirror, but less strident.” She sighs, frustrated by her inability to properly put the sound into words. “That distinct resonant plucking… I just really like stringed instruments.”

She sighs again and opens her eyes only to find Solas staring at her with such warmth that her breath catches in her throat. Without breaking her gaze, he steps back from the balcony and extends a hand to her. “Come, vhenan,” he says softly. “Dance with me.”

She smiles and takes his hand without hesitation, and he carefully slides his arm around her, the heat of his palm settling firmly at the centre of her back.

Slowly and carefully, he guides her in the dance. His thighs graze her own as they move, and she can feel the warmth of his chest through his tunic; he’s holding her more closely than would have been considered decorous at Halamshiral, but Elia doesn’t mind at all.

Solas leads her smoothly around the balcony, his movements imbued with the grace of long practice, and Elia wonders at his smooth control. She’d noticed at Halamshiral how well he danced, but she’d been too exhausted to remark on it then. “Where did you learn to dance like this?” she asks.

Without pausing in their graceful dance, he brushes his lips against her cheekbone. “I could ask you the same thing,” he murmurs. “Your dance with the Duchess was a stunning spectacle to behold. Where did a Dalish mage learn to move so beautifully?”

A tiny shiver tickles her spine at the touch of his lips on her skin, and she gives a breathless laugh. “I have no idea,” she admits. “I never learned to dance. Not like this, in any case. We had our celebrations in clan, you know, and we danced then, but that was for fun.” She pauses for a moment as Solas carefully twirls her, then pulls her back against his chest, and she lifts her chin to meet his glowing grey eyes. “I think it was a fluke,” she suggests. “The pressure, the anxiety of the moment… Maybe it came together to make me a really good dancer for that one moment. Who knows?”

Solas murmurs a quiet acknowledgement against her temple. “You are fortunate, then. That dance with Florianne was more dangerous than you realized. Facing such an unknown risk can bring a person to their knees. To master that anxiety, to channel it into strength and skill, even for a moment… That is a rare fortune indeed.” He spins her delicately, then whispers against her ear. “Of course, it helps that you have a natural dancer’s grace, ma vhenan.”

Elia smiles dreamily. The lush satin of his voice, the cadence of his words… this is better than music. His voice loosens the tension in her muscles more thoroughly than the floating strains of the lyre. It heats her blood more warmly than the rushing rhythm of a drum.

And then Elia realizes that his voice is, in fact, carrying music.

Solas is humming.

She inhales slowly through her parted lips, afraid he’ll stop if she mentions it, but she can’t stop herself from pressing more closely against him, wanting to soak in everything about this moment. She tucks her head beneath his chin and closes her eyes, her attention fully focused on his musical voice.

His arm tightens around her, sliding close to encircle her waist. He twines the fingers of his other hand with hers, tucking their hands close against his chest. And all the while, he continues to hum against her ear in perfect tune.

Elia swallows hard. Her mysterious lover’s arms are holding her close, his voice gliding smoothly into her ear as their feet move with a slow and quiet grace in the dark. Their day-to-day travels are a mess of chaotic urgency and uncertainty, but in this exquisite moment of stillness, Elia can be certain of one thing.

Ar lath ma bell’ana, Solas, she thinks.

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(Elvhen translation: ar lath ma bell’ana = I love you forever.)