#solas fluff

[rosieofcorona]

In the Blue Morning

BELOVEDS, a soft little Solavellan fic for you. Mostly fluff this time around to soothe the eternal, unyielding hurt. Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

She cajoles him, some mornings, away from his office, from his maps and his books and his paintings and out among the newly-planted gardens, all their tight, unfurling blooms. 

It’s always empty at this hour, when most of Skyhold is still asleep save for the guards in their high towers, the recruits in the practice yard. The only sound is the clang of their swords ringing through the mist like distant bells, the only light the pink and gold of the nascent sun.

They have been careful, desperately careful not to draw undue attention, not to generate rumors that could harm the Inquisition in the future. It is easier on the road to find a quiet moment alone– to steal a kiss or hold a hand or put words to their love– but the castle, however safe, is full of eyes, forever watching.

It is only in the narrow, muted hours before dawn that Solas weaves his fingers with hers as they orbit the courtyard, side by side.

He names the blossoms as they pass, first in the trade tongue and then in Elvish, the softened syllables like music on his tongue. She repeats them half as gracefully, but he smiles at every attempt, correcting her gently now and again, praising her efforts.

“Gail’lealis,” he says, pointing out an elegant bellflower, its blue-white petals bundled tightly in green sepals.

It sounds off, even to her ear, when she says, “Ga’lealis,” back.

They pause for a moment, and Solas turns and bends and plucks an early bloom from the same plant, rotating it slowly between his fingers, holding it up for examination. 

“Ga-il,” he repeats softly, separating the sounds. “Meaning ‘bell,’ in the common parlance.” 

“Ga-il,” she says again, correctly this time. 

“Followed by lealis, meaning ‘glass.’”

“Gail’lealis.”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tucking the flower behind her ear, the meaning vague yet all-encompassing. It is all beautiful– the morning, the garden, how she catches the light, his ancient language in her mouth, her mouth– 

Solas kisses her in the empty courtyard, parts her lips with a linguist’s tongue, and she kisses him back again and again as if each time might be the last. He wants to stay like this forever, wants the sun to forget to rise, wants the castle to sleep and sleep in an endless dream.

But the light keeps coming, every moment. The castle will wake, and they will see. 

And this will cost them, in the end. 

She is pink as the sky when they finally come apart, and continue their long walk around. 

“I hear you were out here yesterday,” she says, breaking the silence as they turn a corner. “Cullen says you beat him soundly at chess.” 

“It was a closer game than he thinks,” Solas says, but she has learned when he’s just being modest.

“Must not have been that close, because Bull says the same. As do Blackwall, and Varric, and Dorian, though he swears that you cheated.”  “I did no such thing!” 

When they turn again, the chessboard in question comes into full view, set and waiting on its table beneath an awning. 

“He seemed very certain,” she shrugs. “Though I suppose I could find out for myself.”

They stop again before the table, and Solas looks at her intently.  “Is that a challenge, dear Inquisitor?”

“That depends on your level of skill.”

She’s teasing him now, enticing him, a dynamic he’s come to enjoy. There are so few who impress him with thoughtfulness, who make him work at being clever.

“Very well, but you should know that I am merciless,” he warns, a contradiction to the chivalry of pulling out her chair. “Even to one I love.”

He takes the seat opposite her, the board and the pieces adorned in glittering dew. 

“I believe the Lady Inquisitor moves first.”

**********

He sets a dozen little traps for her, a dozen clever gambits, and she evades them every time, to his astonishment. Where he moves to attack, she counters; where he baits her, she defends or retreats. By the end, with the sun fully risen overhead, they reach a deadlock, both depleted, neither victorious.

“Again?” She asks cheerfully, when they’ve finished. Already she is freeing her captives from his end of the table. “Don’t look so stunned, my love. Unless you’re trying to offend me.”

“Forgive me, vhenan,” he says, shaking his head. “You surprise me as always. It is rare to find an opponent so…discerning.” 

His beloved laughs with the morning breeze, a sound like air that surrounds and envelops him. 

“Rare to find one you can’t beat, you mean.” 

She’s right, of course– it is rare that he loses, even rarer that he plays against someone so evenly matched. He still can’t quite puzzle through it, where he went wrong, where she figured him out. 

He had gotten a lead on her early on, or so he thought– he had taken a tower, a mage, and two pawns– and left his queen open for the taking, which she had entirely ignored. She caught onto him quickly, though too late to win, and when she realized she couldn’t beat him, she had blocked him instead. 

Solas leans thoughtfully back in his chair, replaying their game in his mind. No matter how he tries to beat her, he finds no way through. She sees his scheming, sees him coming, cuts him off. 

“Why did you not take my queen, given the chance?”

“Because you gave me the chance,” she reasons. “You wouldn’t do that except to win.” 

“It could have been a tactical error.”  “It wasn’t,” she says assuredly, resetting the pieces along their battle lines. “If I had taken her, it would have left my king undefended from your mages.”  “You could have moved him.”  “For a turn or two. Then your knight would have circled back. Isn’t that right?” She looks up at Solas, her eyes smiling and sharp, affirmed in her answer already. “Or shall we call that a ‘tactical error?’”

“Mm,” Solas nods his approval. “You’ve become quite the strategist. Have you been spending time with our Commander?”

“I’ve been spending time with you,” she counters. “Learning all your little tricks.”

Not all, it occurs to him, but Solas smothers the thought with a laugh. “It seems to me you have a few of your own.” 

“Our Keeper used to call me harellan,” she tells him. “Trickster. Though I needn’t explain that to you.”

He fights to keep the easy expression on his face, feeling suddenly caught in the snare of her gaze, as if she sees directly through him, sees him fully, all he is.

Harellan, his mind echoes. How could she know?

The wait for her judgment feels infinite, inevitable– but it does not come, and does not come, and does not come. She only moves a white pawn toward the board’s center, the leaves rustling softly around them. 

No, he decides. She does not know. She only means he knows the word. 

Solas mirrors her opening move, their pawns face to face on the battlefield. “And still, your Keeper named you her First.” 

“I was more troublesome as a child,” she says, with a grin that implies that the mischief has never left her. “I’ve settled down a great deal since. Can’t you tell?”

This time, when Solas laughs, there is nothing else hiding beneath it. No uneasy feeling, no great fear that she will discover him, cast him out. There is only happiness for a moment, the war reduced to a board between them, as if sorrow and death are nowhere, and the end of the world is far away.

[pinacoladamatata]

The Dread Wolf's Heart...

[bishicat]

we all know Solas definitely sketches Lavellan, but what if she could draw too?

[an-established-butt-dent]

One of my many Solavellan head cannons.

They traveled together for months, years even. Don't tell me these lovesick fools didn't regularly disappear into the woods together, to have a quiet romantic moment away from the prying eyes of the other companions.

Mixed media on paper.

[stargirl273]

Remus: *reading his book in the library*

Remus: *Hears soft classical music in the distance*

Regulus: *Reading a table next to him, having his earphones on full volume*

Remus: James, do you hear that to?

James: Oh, the classical music? That is reggie. He loves that kind of music

Remus: *Walks up to Regulus* What song is that?

Regulus: Oh, just Solas from Jamie Duffie. Don't think you know it.

Remus: *stares at him* That's my favorite classical song.

Regulus and Remus: *Dark academy fangirls squealing*

Sirius: *just walked in to the library* Is that my brother? And my boyfriend? Bonding?

[eeriemothz]

I've made a deal with myself to let Bull and Solas interact a lot in any Solas fics I write (which won't be too long or plot heavy until I'm happy with how I write Solas) bc I think their dynamic is really fun. I need them to give each other shit and by the maker I'll be the one who makes it happen.

[hellomehlo]

We're BACK with more!

(because I can't get enough of our infuriatingly beautiful, complicated, multi-layered egg man)

Thank you for the love on my last one! <3

~

Sugar & Spice

Solas' penchant for fancy Orlesian desserts is taken advantage of.

aka Solas discovers how down bad he actually is.

Words: 2,473

~

[an-established-butt-dent]

'Dreamers' A quiet evening

Solas x Lavellan, available as print here.

Mixed media on paper

[spikedlynx]

I am SO mad at Solas rn.

So I’m playing DA Inquisition for the first time rn and I’m a female elf romancing solas. Just got to the Vallaslin reveal about it being the marks of slaves.

He offers to remove it and I deadass spent minutes agonizing over the choice. I decide to remove the vallaslin and THIS BASTARD.

HE LEFT! Now I wasn’t expecting much. But I was expecting him to at least NOT panic and leave.

And yeah Ik who he his bc tumblr spoiled it and that there’s a lot of fear and doubt going through him. BUT DUDE.

Your girl just GAVE UP a large part of her heritage. That means she’s in an extremely vulnerable emotional state rn. She needs comfort and reassurance. YOU DONT LEAVE HER. Have your panic attack after she’s in a stable place!!

[ontherocks21]

Someday I'll Write It (Sneak Peek):

“A little advice?” Sola smirked.  “Inside right elbow.”

“Sola!” Padmé cried out in protest.

“Padmééééé,” Sola whined back, before lowering her voice and pressing a raised finger to her lips. “Keep it down, would you? My kids are trying to nap.”

Ignoring Padmé’s glare of betrayal, Sola winked a conspiratorial blessing at Anakin, then quickly disappeared down the stairs, leaving the young couple to sort themselves out.

Squirming for all she was worth, Padmé sought to use Anakin’s momentary distraction against him.  Her efforts weren’t worth much; already at an advantage with her up against the wall, Anakin easily smothered Padmé’s futile attempts to escape.  Pressing his hips further into the cradle of hers freed his hands to capture her flailing right arm, twisting it gently but purposefully up and away from her so that he could discover more about the traitorously revealed tickle zone.  Methodically, Anakin peeled back the long sleeve covering Padmé’s right arm, and when her narrowed gaze did nothing to stop his fingers from descending to her exposed elbow, Padmé frantically tried to use the only form of rebellion she had left in her dwindling arsenal.

Deliberately, Padmé ground her hips into his though it was to no avail.  Her movements to distract him became less focused and increasingly wilder as his thumb dragged deliriously back and forth over her vulnerable, delicate skin.

“Ani, no! Ani, please!” Padmé cried, laughing helplessly between gasping protests.  With her free hand, she shoved hard at his immoveable shoulder, writhing in one last ditch endeavor to halt another barrage, squealing loudly when, “No, no, no, Ani!” suddenly became a breathless,  “Ohhhhhhhh…”

The shudder that went through her when he traded his roving fingertips for lips sprung from pleasure of a completely different variety.  That betrayingly familiar tremor more than anything stopped Anakin instantly in his torturous track.

Pulling back, his own eyes wide with pleasant surprise, he grinned devilishly at her.  “Really?”

“I… I… I didn’t…” Padmé stammered, coherent thought suddenly difficult with the cerulean hope staring down at her.  Licking her lips, she tried again, “I didn’t know about that.” 

“Should we find out more then?” Anakin whispered huskily, nuzzling his way back and placing an open mouth kiss to her elbow’s soft crook.  Tantalized by his touch, her tender flesh erupted in chilled goosebumps even as her insides dissolved with molten heat.   

“Please,” Padmé practically begged.

[teamdilf]

The sun wakes Iris up and she takes advantage of the quiet of the morning at Skyhold to cuddle with Solas.

Rolling over so she’s half on top of him, she adjusts so her head is resting on his chest, the palm of her left hand resting flat against his right pectoral, his heart beating steadily in her ear.

Solas stirs, letting out of a soft little moan that she soaks in. She may not yet know what he sounds like at the height of his pleasure, but there’s intimacy in these little details: the noises he makes when he first wakes up, how he sleeps, and his heart beating beneath her cheek.

She smiles and lifts her head just long enough to press a kiss to his chest.

“Having fun?” Solas croaks, voice ragged from sleep. He reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand and takes a long drink.

“The sun woke me up.”

[inquisimer]

IT’S FRIDAY MER!!!!! Let’s see some Solas x Lavellan for the prompt ❛ i’m sorry that i can’t save you. ❜ from the hit 'em where it hurts sentence starters? 🤷‍♀️👀😈

takes your angst and rotates it into fluff

some pre-ship solavellan for @dadrunkwriting

wc: 994

~~~

Irosyl frowned at the chess board, trying to make her confused expression one of deep thought. Across the stone platform, the Commander was very politely pretending not to watch her from the corner of his eyes. She hesitantly lifted a rook and rolled the marble cylinder between her fingers.

It clicked against the board when she set it down. Cullen gave up his pretense of ignorance and immediately folded his hands under his chin, considering. Suppressing a sigh, Irosyl’s gaze darted out across the gardens.

The things shemlen did for fun. And the things she apparently did to appease the shems.

She meant to look back, to pretend that she could do any sort of analysis on the Commander’s strategy, but the glint of sunlight off a bald head caught her eye. Solas was in the gardens, collecting elfroot by the looks of it.

“Savhalla!” she called, a bit louder than strictly necessary, but she wanted to be sure Solas could not pretend not to hear her. Plate metal scraped in an unpleasant screech as Cullen jumped slightly, but success! Solas turned so that she was looking at him in profile, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Elfroot in hand, he came closer. “On dhea’him, Inquisitor,” he said at a much more reasonable volume. His low voice slipped down her spine like silk and she suppressed a shameful shiver.

She frowned, though. “I thought we were over the nonsense of that awful title.”

A distressed noise came from across the board. Cullen gave her an exasperated look as he moved one of his smallest pieces to capture the rook she’d just placed.

“Fenhedis,” she muttered.

“You really must stop disparaging your title in public, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, the honorific rolling from his tongue pointedly. He tilted his head toward where a number of agents and servants were clustered, mere paces from their game. “It does poorly for morale and faith to have our leader so…”

He trailed off, probably searching for the least offensive way to phrase his concern. Ever merciless, Irosyl crossed her arms and frowned.

“Impertinent?” Solas suggested, the hint of a glib smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“I am not—“

“It is your move, is it not?” Solas cut her off smoothly, unquestionable with the infuriatingly smooth authority. He glanced over the board and this time his smirk reached the surface. “Well. They always did say losing was it’s own art form.”

Irosyl huffed, wondering why she’d called him over in the first place. “What, could you do better? It’s not as if chess was a common pasttime in my clan.”

“I could, yes.”

Irosyl rolled her eyes. She gave Solas her back and considered the board, as if looking at the pieces would actually help her. As she lifted one of her pawns, Cullen offered her a sympathetic smile.

“Do not feel bad,” he said gently. “They say chess is a skill learned over a lifetime. I’ve been playing since I was a child, myself.”

“Is that so?” Irosyl hummed curiously. She couldn’t imagine any of the wiggly, high-spirited children in her clan sitting still long enough to learn even the basic rules of this game. Nor would it occur to any of the elders to insist that they should. A pang of longing struck her heart and for a moment she longed to flee but—

“Oh, fenhedis,” she hissed. Cullen slid his queen along the board and a self-satisfied smirk pulled at the scar on his lip.

“I do believe that’s checkmate.”

“Of course it is,” Irosyl groaned, burying her hands in her hair. “Oh, Bull is gonna have my head over this. He’ll know I haven’t been paying attention.”

“I’m sure he knows already,” Solas commented. “He would be a poor spy otherwise.”

Irosyl’s face twisted in distaste. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Stone scraped against stone as the Commander stood, sketched a bow to the elf across from him. “Thank you for the game, Inquisitor. I’m afraid I must take my leave and return to work.”

“Of course,” Irosyl waved her hand. “It was a…pleasant distraction, Commander.”

“Was it?” Solas asked, surprising Irosyl by sliding into Cullen’s empty seat as he walked away to the battlements. The other elf reset the board with deft, knowing hands, ignoring his partner’s surprised look. Lacing her fingers together, Irosyl rested her chin on them and regarded him with ill-disguised curiosity.

“And if it was?”

“Then I would have expected you to come up with a better way to express it.”

Something halfway between a laugh and a scoff escaped Irosyl. For as unreadable as Solas had been—since the beginning—he could certainly read her like a book.

“Yes, well…” She pursed her lips, considering the fresh alignment of pieces. Solas had given her the ivory half, so she was expected to move first. So he could gauge her style, no doubt. Bull had told her that intellectuals used such analysis to learn intimate details of their opponents.

Intellectuals. Irosyl wrinkled her nose.

“The commander is someone I must appease,” she said, nudging a pawn forward. “As opposed to this game which—“

She folded her hands and regarded him intently over them. “I will enjoy. Immensely.”

“Yes, well.” Solas cleared his throat—was it Irosyl’s imagination, or were the tips of his ears going pink? It should be able to tell against his lily white skin, but as in all things, he was hard to read. “I couldn’t quite save you from the Commander’s attention, so the least I could do is replace it with something more…palatable.”

“What high praise you give yourself,” Irosyl teased.

He rolled his eyes, then raised an eyebrow as she moved her pawn forward rather aggressively. “Is that the kind of recklessness the Iron Bull has been teaching you?”

Irosyl pouted.

Leaning forward, Solas pushed her pawn back to where it had been before. “Let me teach you how to beat him, falon.”

[theelibugs]

I love making Solavellan fluff, it always makes me feel better about my day.

Anyway solas is warm fight me.

[wavvymania]

My Instagram For You Page accidentally gave me a Natanael/Hassan “Peso” imagine, where Natanael catches himself sizing Hassan up and Natanael is frozen with surprise as he finally acknowledges that he’s crushing on Peso.

[secret-treasury]

Can someone recommend me some Lavellan x Solas fluff? I watched him break up with me 6 times because I didn't know what choices I wanted.... don't judge me, it's my first playthrough...

ANYWAY I NEED HELP CAUSE MY HEART IS BROKEN.

[lilllithdraagon]

Fanfiction Fridays!!!

Henlo. It is I. Chapter for the week is up.

We're getting close to the end of Book 2 now.