#solavellan fan fiction

[amaryllislavellan]

Need | 590 Words A study in how words feel as they exit the mouth, or maybe over analyzing is just a defense against really feeling what they mean. (Best if the words he's analyzing are said out loud!)

"Need is such a weak willed word. It’s short, callous, and overall falls fast in the mouth as if you’re trying to hide the vulnerability of yourself behind your front teeth. No. I do not need her."

Need is such a weak willed word. It’s short, callous, and overall falls fast in the mouth as if you’re trying to hide the vulnerability of yourself behind your front teeth.

No.

I do not need her.

I could brace myself against the flowery tones and the roll of my tongue when I say desire. The way the breath escapes in an attempt to flourish the thought, extending it out within the room on heated breath and a softly opened mouth. But that too, would be inaccurate.

I can attempt to articulate my feelings into words but none of them resonate with the way my heart bursts when I see her. The gentle moments we spend together that make my blood burn up through my chest and the air escape my lungs without being exhaled. Her smile traps the air there, held in the embrace of her warmth. Instead of searching for an escape I draw in a deep breath that comes out as a tremble and I fight back against my heart, losing my true purpose. My composure.

I-- I don’t need her.

Perhaps I simply want her. But want is a curt word, ending on a pop. It’s a short term proclamation that ends in a puff of air that resides in the forefront of the mouth. It is a word begrudging of neglect once obtained and my body would not do me the courtesy of abandoning her. With fevered fingers I indulge in tangling in her hair by the fistfull, pulling it back until she makes that golden sound. No. Want is far too small a word.

It falls as short in tone as need.

I can’t begin to define what happens when she looks into my eyes with genuine affection. She trusts me and my council, and I shatter. I shatter into thousands of tiny fragments that reflect back the many truths I have withheld to show me who I am. Who I was? No. The deep pools of trust she gives me--- I feed off of them. I drink it in and spill myself in turn, overflowing with greed. I am her reservoir of knowledge, always guarded and protected by the unseen corners of my mind. But, I find myself allowing the real truth to slip through the dam, like tiny cracks and rivulets that condense on the surface. She’s been clever, and attentive, and strong. I both fear and long for her to see the truth I have laid out for her in tiny admissions.

I refuse to think the word that rushes through my pulse. That rolls my shoulders forward with longing when she comes too close. I will not say the word that makes clever use of its consonants. The word that pushes the admission out of my mouth by forcing the tone across my lower lip held back and then permitted across my upper teeth. It betrays me. The movement of my mouth releases the end of the word in a way that almost vaults the confession faster to her ears. It leaves me open and willing to tell her anything.

I want to tell her everything.

I need to fight this feeling with all of who I am; hide my weakness tight in my throat. I have to rebuild these walls she so easily collapsed and make myself again in iron. I have to find the right words that will force this wall to collect between us. But the thought of losing her--- I.

I don’t want to need her.

[vespaer77]

Not sure what day you posted this, but I'm doing the thiiiing as soon as I saw it =)

This is a snippet (a WIPpet? no... no, don't call it that, GenX flashbacks... bad) from my current Solavellan piece. I haven't posted it yet, was hoping to post it as a complete work. I'm planning on 3 chapters and I'm nearly done with ch2. Just got interrupted with holiday travel plans =)

Anyhoops, I hope at least you enjoy, as well as anyone who might stumble past it.

She felt a brief pang of envy for Ameridan. How he could be frozen in time, trapped in his last great battle while centuries passed around him unnoticed, preserved in his purpose, never altered yet never finished. Never forced to figure out how to forge a new life for himself from the ashes left behind. Never begging to bargain back the one he'd sacrificed to become an ideal. An ideal born from a mistake. A sound heard in the night. An orb dropped and then picked up.

Helllloooooo! I know people are maybe tired/busy/unavailable today, so no pressure or anything, but I thought we could all share WIPs today?

Writing, art, whatever you want! (I’m gonna tag DA bc most people are here for that, but feel free to share no matter what you’re working on!)

I’ll post mine in a bit! Rb + add !

No pressure of course— have a great day! ☀️

[kestrelsansjesses]

The Dread Wolf's Chambers

A a room in the Lighthouse that appears and unlocks only once Rook has met the Inquisitor. It adjoins the meditation chamber, directly connected with a door. Though it's small, it contains a great deal that seems directly personal to Solas. There is a small bed, comfortable but with worn sheets. On a mannequin, there hangs a red uniform with blue belt and sash, as well as a hat. Taash can be heard saying "stupid bucket" at least once in reference to it. On the wall, there's a mural painted in a similar style to others throughout the Lighthouse environs, depicting a figure identified as Solas and one that looks remarkably similar to the Inquisitor on what appears to be a balcony, with very little space between them. At the bottom, below the railing of the balcony and painted far smaller, almost difficult to see, is the many-eyed wolf and a white raven. It's theorized the raven may also represent the Inquisitor, or another figure entirely; much has been made of the relationship between wolves and ravens. There is also a small desk and chair, both unremarkable and plain, though the lines suggest an ancient elvhen origin. There is a stack of unsent letters put on the desk. Degradation of ink and paper suggests they span years of writing, and though some attempt has been made to blot out the text entirely, it's possible to see each begins with 'vhenan.' The room also contains a large window perfectly positioned to capture afternoon light.

[faded-mage]

The Story of the Dread Wolf & His Emerald Knight Solas & Avise Lavellan Solas felt a strange mixture of pity and annoyance as he watched the unconscious prisoner at his feet. She looks so small. Fragile. A simple, mortal thing. He did not expect her to last long in her current state but he needed her to. The elf below him lay motionless on the floor with her wrists bent at an odd angle due to the shackles that adorned them. Delicate pointed ears poked through the curtain of dark hair that spilled across the stone floor. Dalish, he noted, the vallaslin that curved across her face indicated as much.

Part I:

Chapter 1: Ashes to Ashes Chapter 2: Dust to Dust Chapter 3: Facing the Breach Chapter 4: The Inquisition Returns Chapter 5: Of Refugees & Dreams Chapter 6: The Non-Elfy Elf Chapter 7: Cold, Wet & Angry Chapter 8: Curiosity Chapter 9: The Man from Tevinter Chapter 10: Return to Haven Chapter 11: Mending Bridges Chapter 12: The Moment of Truth Chapter 13: Tarasyl'an Te'las Chapter 14: The Flooded Town Chapter 15: Dirth'ena Enasalin Chapter 16: What Was Lost Chapter 17: To Save a Spirit Chapter 18: A Heady Blend Chapter 19: In War, Victory Chapter 20: In Death, Sacrifice Chapter 21: Maraas-Lok Chapter 22: The Forgotten Mage Chapter 23: The Lost Inquisitor Chapter 24: Stolen Moments Chapter 25: Din'an Hanin Chapter 26: The Well of Sorrows Chapter 27: Loved and Lost Chapter 28: Into the Desert Chapter 29: Attempts at Compassion Chapter 30: The Final Piece Chapter 31: Doom Upon the World Chapter 32: Bittersweet Dreams Chapter 33: Trespasser Chapter 34: A Murder & A Sanctuary Chapter 35: Under the Earth Chapter 36: Memories in the Fade Chapter 37: Vir Dirthara Chapter 38: A Race of Time Chapter 39: The Wolf & His Knight

Part II:

Chapter 40: A Lost Decade Chapter 41: Chaos in the South Chapter 42: The Key Chapter 43: Tell Me More Chapter 44: Simple Regrets Chapter 45: Hidden Treasures Chapter 46: Welcome to the Lighthouse Chapter 47: Reminders of Hope Chapter 48: The Emerald Knight Chapter 49: Ar Lasa Mala Revas Chapter 50: Vhenan Chapter 51: You Bring Life Chapter 52: Epilogue

Spoilers:

Heavy lore spoilers for Dragon Age Inquisition, Inquisition DLCs and Veilguard.

AO3: Honey & Wildfire Are Both the Color Gold

AO3: Golden Thread Does Not Bind

[s0lavellan]

some of you remind me why I left the Fandom Menace and that’s not a compliment.

[awwwokay]

(WIP) Ancient AU | Solas x Elgar’nan x Lavellan x Mythal (+18 | Explicit)

She felt so warm and heavy as sweat trickled down her forehead, her chest, her neck. Mixed in with her other lovers’ sounds of passion, Ashinnas labored breathing could be heard from the corners of the dimly lit room. She happily agreed to this, wanting the presence and attention of them all at once.

Her mind began to register her surroundings a bit more, and she suddenly felt the large, soft bed shaking as the two men beside her shared a moment of intense passion. She felt soft hands grazing her soft, thick thighs, as the woman below her began to lick and kiss her abs.

Ashinna let her gaze wander, and finally saw him. His moans were intense and loud as the large figure behind him thrusted into him with such force,

“S-Sola-“ Ashinna let out softly before her sentence turned into a soft whimper as the figure between her legs began to gently comb through her light patch above her core and spread her open.

“Hmm.. Every part of you is undeniably beautiful”, Mythal softly said before delving her tongue into Ashinnas warm center, her right thumb trailing from above the patch of curls to the sensitive, small bud above her opening. As Mythal began to gently massage her clit, she let out raspy moans with every breath she took.

Elgar’nan watched as the scene unfolded beside him as he thrusted roughly into the man below him. His large hands trailed along Solas’s sides, gripping him tightly. For so long, Elgar’nan wanted to see Solas losing himself under him. To feel his skin against his own and to listen to the sounds that came out of that beautiful mouth of his. His own deep moans filled the room, aiding in the symphony of intimacy that echoed throughout the large space.

Elgar’nan leaned over slightly, allowing for his thrusts to hit a spot inside of Solas that made him cry out. He reached one hand towards Ashinnas amble breasts and began slowly massaging one, taking in a nipple between his fingers.

Solas kept his gaze towards Ashinna as he felt himself being pounded into the mattress. The skin of his soft, yet ample buttocks could be heard hastily hitting against the large man behind him. Solas was lost in please as that spot inside of him kept being prodded over and over again. He admired watching her lose herself to Mythal; Strands of her brown curly hair was plastered against her sweaty face as she began to lift her back off of the bed and cry out with each breath. Her eyes closed as she grabbed a handful of Mythals black locks and gently tightened her thighs around the woman’s head.

Mythal took her hand off of Ashinnas bud and pushed two fingers inside of her dripping center, bringing her mouth to her swollen clitoris as she did so. She angled upwards and started to piston them at a fast pace eliciting a brigade of moans from Ashinna.

Elgar’nan took his hand off of Ashinnas breast and lightly smacked Mythals soft buttocks.

“That’s it darling”, Elgar’nan moaned deeply as he reached beneath Solas and began to strike his aching member.

“Allow her feel that rush of intense, numbing ecstasy. Leave her prepared and aching for me”

[wrenbee]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age) Characters: Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Fade Spirit(s) (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Angst, Eventual Healing Summary:

Aura has been a beacon of light and hope for a world at its darkest hours, but when she loses the light within herself how can she find it again? What can be grown in the dark?

[dustplustars]

Out here writing and finishing my second Solavellan monster fucking fic because this fandom inspires me to no end. I was already writing it a few days before the new trailer came out AND THEN WELL....

here it is!

Wolf and I

[bitethebulette]

Ya’ll are sleeping on a damn good Dragon Age: Inquisition fic. I’ve been reading this to fill the emptiness the end of DA:I left in me while I wait for DA:TV to come out. If you are a Dragon Age fan I highly recommend it. It’s a bunch of extra scenes and conversations with not just Solas, but the other followers and advisors. Their interpretation of everyone’s voices is impeccable.

[elf-trash]

lmfao I finished replaying Inquisition and my fingers somehow slipped and I accidentally wrote a second chapter to this Solavellan one-shot I posted literally 9 years ago (almost exactly to the day) ☠️

[eluvianarts]

He felt her fingers weave back and forth across his skull, shaping and folding each strand of hair into place like a song. It was extremely calming for the both of them. She often braided little plaits into his hair for practicality or for fun. Sometimes they talked and joked about life, sometimes they stayed silent and contemplated it instead, but neither mattered. It was the pattern, the rhythm, that was so meditative and soothing as though with each exhale, with each comforting chuckle, the weight of all their duties washed clean from their souls. And when her hands had finished, the lovers found themselves imparted with a fresh outlook on their individual responsibilities and a brighter spirit within with which to tackle them. Before her, he’d rarely ever reached this level of relaxation outside the fade. She’d opened his heart in more ways than one and he was unsure how he’d ever manage without her.

[wendynerdwrites]

Chapter 23: Prepping for Deez Balls, is up!

Featuring art by @rexodusart!

[seeker-ophelia]

HEY EDDIE

@unifadewalker

Hi.

Number 1, WhEreS tHe DWAARPH

And number 2, I did what you asked, ser.

From Yesterdays Stream:

Why does The Well matter? The fact that the well exists gives it relevance, gives it meaning. Mythal has control over your Inquisitor if they drink from the well. It could be told so well. Could you Imagine if Mythal made Inquisitor do something, do something she didn’t want to do, and Solas went batshit crazy about it? That’s why Solas yells at you, because you’re now in servitude to an ancient Elvhen god. (Ou, gimme the spice) someone write that.

[faded-mage]

Aseradiva / "Isathe" Of The Forgotten Ones

[emotionally-masochistic]

My goal is to make you horny-sad.

Chapter 13 - An Enjoyable Side Benefit

He would never lie with her under false pretenses, but with all the cards on the table…Well, that's another story entirely.

"At last the drought was over, and he drank of her like a man who hadn't seen water in days. The space between their bodies had dwindled to such a minuscule distance, and yet when they finally came together it seemed as though they had bridged hundreds of miles to get there. It was like coming home; they fit together perfectly. Though either of them would have been loathe to admit it; it was the bittersweet and beautiful reunion they'd both been desperately hoping for."

[vespaer77]

Everything about this is sleepy and cozy and beautiful and reminds me that I also need to do my stretches..... thank you for that haha!

I also love that you and I are a couple of the few that don't hold to the "Solas is a spirit" theory. I actually just finished Jaws of Hakkon again and I'm getting ready to put my own last minute theory before Veilguard.

Solartist was 100% my favorite, though!

I truly hope you write more of these if you have time, and now I want to know more about your thesis. I'm in IT and also a songwriter, and AI is a very hot topic in my life right now. I'd love to get your perspectives on it.

I'm super glad I found your blog, friend!

🌙 early riser solavellan enjoy 🌙

"Vhenan, what are you doing?" She usually wakes before him, and usually, he does not mind her going about her morning routine by herself. He can barely hear the rustle of the sheets, usually.

How she does it, go to sleep after him, wake up through the night, rise before him, dashing to and fro in the keep all day, so fast he might as well see her double, and still function, day after day after day, he has no idea.

Usually, however, she waits until after chickencall and sunrise to get up.

"Abelas, ma lath," she whispers, tugs his blanket up around him and cups his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Come back to sleep," he counters. Trying to find her in the dark strains his tired eyes more than staring directly into the sun would, despite the low fire in the hearth and the green nightglow in her eyes.

This morning (this night, really), she's taken to her stretches still on the mattress. Likely in an attempt not to wake him. She's convinced she once woke him unrolling her cork mat. When he tells her again and again he awoke from a nightmare anyway, she never listens.

Butterfly, she calls it, a modified cross-legged seat where her heels touch the center of her and her knees are splayed out in front of her. She leans forward at the hips, so far the tilt in her spine is the only thing preventing her sternum from resting on the worn cotton.

She does not answer.

"Vhenan.."

"Josephine has me meeting.. somebody at the crack of dawn today. Some scholar from Rivain, I think. I'd like to get a head-start on all of their reports." A groan at the realization of more dreaded paperwork, her hands leave her feet and run through her hair when she buries her forehead in the mattress.

"Let them wait." He tries to lure her back into his arms, walking his fingers along the curve of her spine, curling a strand of her sleek waves around his index and middle. "Rivain has made you wait long enough." She had waited for their arrival for weeks now, without notice.

If she lets him, he'll wrap himself around her like barbwood until the midday sun in their faces wakes them yet again, and then he'll sneak beneath her nightgown and lazily rock their bodies together until the haze of their pleasure makes them both forget they ever had this conversation.

He does not remember having felt this much desire for another before he went to slumber through the Ages. Lusting for people, sure, especially those with long curls and curved hips and an eye for the arts, but never to the point to wanting to forsake the world and everyone else in it if it meant he could slip home inside them just one more time. If he spends too much thought on that, it scares him.

But alas, she shifts under his hand, and for a moment he thinks he succeeded, but then she stretches her legs out on either side of her and bends her chest back forward. There's a delicious gasp from her at the stretch in her hamstrings.

"I have enough things to do that aren't paperwork that would keep everyone here occupied for a week. Much as I want to climb your panadahl-" A sigh, now, from them both.

"...and all I have to do today is paint."

"Lucky you." She twists her body, her right hand on her left knee, her left hand holding onto his.

"No work, no title, no responsibilities."

"You can have a title, if you like. Gods know the responsibilities aren't for me to delegate. But the work you've got cut out for you. I would trust no one else with the chronicling of my journeys in art."

He forgoes the compliment, the way it makes his chest warm and fuzzy with her sincerity.

"And what would that supposed title be? Solas the Painter?" He rubs at the back of her hip with a hand.

"So long as they don't call you serving man anymore, I don't really care." She is, still, after weeks and weeks, deeply offended on his behalf, the way he used to be offended for those like her, marked and unknowing.

Somewhere deep in his past, Father rolls his eyes at him. Get your head out of the skies, stop chasing skirts and start to do something about it, Son, he tells him, seemingly oblivious to his own hypocrisy as he turns and starts clawing through Mother's skirts.

Here, in his present, Lavellan looks at him, a little knot between her brows as she considers if he's fallen asleep with his eyes open again.

He blinks, squeezes her hand.

"Humor me, vhenan."

"Husband?" Her nose crinkles with amusement. The suggestion caught him off guard, and she had caught the wonder in his expression immediately, even if he showed it for even less than a heartbeat.

"Scholar Solas?" Ah. Misplaced jokes, poor wordplay. Her favoured way out. "Scholas. No, Solartist. That's the one, because it's the truth."

"And you? Lavriter? Lathweaver." She snorts.

"Seam-vellan."

That is good, but the words disappear in his yawn. Her eyes are apologetic again.

Such an unbecoming expression on her.

"I'm sorry I woke you, vhenan. Go back to sleep, get some more rest." She leans over to kiss him, thumb in the dimple on his chin, before she rises to get dressed. "I'll come by to watch you paint as soon as I can."

Even so, she stokes the fire in the hearth and drapes her blanket over his own before she washes, dresses, leaves.

Solas calls out to her before she walks down.

"Hmm?"

"If you ever feel you need to escape - come find me. I shall hide you from their sights."

"Thank you, lath'in." She hushes down the stone stairs in small, nimble steps.

Home of my heart, Love says once he returns to the Fade. Its smile is wide and gap-toothed and fingers with brittle nails pluck petals from a neverending bed of daisies to its feet. She does not know you mean a spell, not to run away with her.

I know, he replies.

Still, he resolves to tell her that, later that day, when they settle down for the night, that no one ever made him question his very being like she does, and when she will inevitably construe it as criticism, then he will lure her into the sheets, underneath him, and whisper his professions to her until they claim residence in her as deep as her bones.

The next time he finds her alone, anyway.

🌙

I'm spending every waking minute either writing or thinking about my thesis so I got no other excuse for this one exept I want to put something else to paper than portrayal of AI in contemporary science fiction lmao

Also I wanna get the Lathlas ficlets out before I get to the Great Solavellan Reunification of 9:65 Dragon or Whatever so I gotta get them broken up lmao

I wrote a lil experimental Dorian POV ficlet about how hung up they are with each other bc Dorian is every Inky's best friend would anyone like to read that lmao

@vespaer77 as per your request 💕

[should I sign these? lmao ~rina]