#solas fic

[fadedsweater]

Hey! I finally finished the solavellan winter palace smut!

Summary: She has never seen Solas quite like this before. He's had at least as much wine as her and it shows. His face is flushed, his eyes dark, his hands clumsy, and his mouth tastes like candied fruit.

They're a mess of limbs. The closet is too small. She can hear, faintly, voices and passing footsteps outside. She can't stop laughing under her breath and that makes him laugh, too.

Solas and Eira find some time alone at the Winter Palace.

Rating: E

No Archive Warnings Apply

Words: 2,424

Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)

Characters: Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Solas (Dragon Age)

Additional Tags: Semi-Public Sex, Closet Sex, Quickies, Vaginal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Drunk Blow Jobs, they're more just tipsy than actually drunk, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Sex in the Winter Palace (Dragon Age), the ethics of leaving a cumrag in a broom closet, Solas: the hat stays ON during sex

#solas fic #solavellan fic #solavellan #female lavellan x solas #my writing #my fic #fic #solas x lavellan #lemons #dragon age fanfic

[psalacanthea]

A lil’ bit more of Solas hanging out with the Arainai-Mahariel-Tabris kiddos (and their mom).  Just a blood mage and a traitor god teaching four year olds about how change requires suffering.

Adaia   Ashalle  Cyris and Tamlen

...

Liana glanced up from her food as Cyris and Tamlen came barreling into the Skyhold kitchen, the courtyard door thrown wide.

The servants glanced over, but when it was only the Inquisitor’s children, they went back to work.  Much like Lia herself, her children had become an expected thing, as all of them preferred to use side entrances and be out of sight, rather than marching through that big noisy hall.  She wished desperately that there was an alternate exit to her rooms, but alas.

Her nearly four-year-olds were both scuffed and red-faced, but Zevran had kept his word and they weren’t muddy.  When they came to a stop at her side, Cyris beaming delightedly up at her, she returned the smiles and tilted her head.  The twins shared a look.

“Yes, loves?” she prompted.

Like usual, Cyris took the lead.  “Mumae, Tamlen wants an earring.”

“Can Tamlen tell me that’s true?” she asked, and then sighed and reinforced when the twins immediately looked at each other again instead of at her.  Creators that could be frustrating.  “I need Tamlen to tell me himself, please.”

“Tamlen says–”

“Cyris, let him speak for himself,” Lia interrupted chidingly, and turned her attention to her solemn, blond-haired, golden-eyed son.  He looked, much to everyone’s eternal amusement, almost exactly like his papa Zevran, but was the quietest and gentlest of their children.

All of their da’len were rather pragmatic apart from Tamlen, who would cry over a crushed flower and agonize over every mistake.  Instinctively, all the other children tended to protect him.  It was sweet, but it would make things difficult when they tried to do everything for him.

Tamlen nodded, eyes serious and calm.  “Yes.  Cyris too, mumma.”

“Like papa an’ da!” Cyris agreed, voice scaling up in excitement.

“Well, we’ve had this talk before, and you know the rules.  I will do your ears, or just one ear, but when you say stop, I stop.  Because it will hurt.  If you’re ready, you’ll be able to sit and not say stop for the whole time.  Yes?”  Lia smiled at their shared nod, giving one of her own.  “It’s okay if you need to cry, you can even yell!  Nobody likes pain.  But if you want to wear earrings, there has to be pain.  Yes, cubs?  Do you understand that?”

She got her ‘yes mamae’s before she would relent.  Lia had known this would happen eventually, all of the children loved to emulate their parents.  An earring wasn’t too far, in her opinion, they were so young that even if they healed the ears with magic, they would still grow over in time.  There was no reason to say no.  

Well, she doubted either of them would actually manage to go through it, but she’d been surprised too many times by children to rule it out.

Especially hers.

“Well, let us see if Hahren has time to help us,” she decided, before gathering up her chicks.

Once she’d retrieved her kit and informed Derry and Zevran of what was happening (and they’d bet on if the twins would go through with it), they found Solas and asked if he would come be their healer.  Lia was annoyed with the necessity, but she’d promised herself to limit her blood magic usage when in Chantry custody.  Every time she called it custody she knew Leliana would get annoyed, which might have been why she was still saying it.

They’d even forced her to be Inquisitor, she’d say what she wanted.

Things were…rocky between her and Leliana.

Solas seemed interested in the proposition, and they adjourned to a nearby balcony, where there were no witnesses to berate her for piercing her four year olds’ ears at their request.  Humans could be odd.  Even some city elves– their grandfather Cyrion still would fuss over the idea of the children getting tattoos.

As if she would deny them a perfectly reasonable request.

Clasping the brightly-dyed, felted piercing kit her foster mother had made for her, Lia gazed down at her sons, crouching before them as they sat on the balcony.  She met Cyris’ fearless brown eyes, and then Tamlen’s sober golden ones.  They still seemed steadfast, though Cyris was upset because he wanted a ‘ring earring, not a dot’.  But she had her limits, and risking a ripped earlobe on a four year old was one of them.

“Now,” Lia said once they were settled, Solas standing by with curiosity, his hands clasped behind his back.  “It is time for an important speech, because you decided you’re old enough for this, yes?”

The twins looked at one another, and then Cyris nodded firmly.  Lia waited, though, until Tamlen nodded as well.  It wasn’t hesitance, just his usual habit of forgetting that he had to speak for himself.  She returned the nod.

“You did not choose your body.  You were born with it, yes?”

“Not like Cole,” Cyris said, as quick as always.  “Cole was a spirit, mumae.  Like Justice!”  He confided this with the air of someone sharing a great secret.

“Mmh.  Like your friend Justice.  But we are talking of your bodies, little mischief.  A body is important for many things.  It keeps you safe, and can keep others safe, and helps you take care of others.  It lets you make life, like mamae and papa made you.  It lets you experience joys spirits do not understand.  Like sweets, and swimming–”

“An’ frogs,” Cyris interrupted, gleefully off-track as usual.

Creators, they were probably too young for this talk, but it had to be done.

“And frogs,” Lia said, and she knew she hadn’t hidden her exasperation as much as she’d wanted, because Solas smiled faintly.  “We must take care of our bodies, so it can bring us joy.  But sometimes our bodies don’t look the way we want, so we change them.  With clothes, art, or jewelry, or even bigger things, like when Uncle Gaharan from clan Lavellan removed his breasts.  Do you remember?”

Cyris shook his head, but Tamlen nodded hesitantly.  That was fair.  They hadn’t seen any of the clans since they were newly turned three, and a four year old’s memory could be quite short.  

“Do you remember when Tamlen cried because we had to cut off some of his hair that got caught in the bramble?”  This time she got very emphatic nods from both of them, and even a little tearing up from her most sensitive child.  Cyris took his hand firmly, a little protective gesture that softened her heart as always.  “It hurt Tamlen’s heart, but things like tattoos and piercings hurt your body.  Earrings will hurt.”

“A lot, mumma?” Tamlen asked nervously.

“It will.  To change is difficult,” Lia said, lifting the needle in two fingers.

“Mumae, does it hurt the frog?  To be frog?” Cyris asked, little voice stilted by his concern.

Lia understood why it was coming up again– Derry had told her frogs and tadpoles were a current obsession for Cyris’ very hands-on curiosity.  Very well, if frogs it had to be, frogs it would be.  “To change from a little pollywiggle to a frog?  I don’t know if it does, but…growing up always hurts a little, I think.  Do you think hurting a little to have legs and to be able to jump up is okay or–”

“Yes!  Up, up, up!” Cyris agreed, throwing both hands into the air.

“Sometimes to gain something we desire, it hurts,” Solas said quietly. 

Tamlen nodded, voice quiet.  “It’s trade.”

Lia beamed, all the more amused to see Solas’ proud smile as well.  She knew they would wriggle through his defenses eventually.  She’d known it all along.  He had a temperament to get along with children quite well, if he let himself.  Which he had.

“Very good, da’len.  You understood very well,”  Solas complimented Tamlen, who glanced down and fidgeted with his fringed belt shyly.

“When Addie got her t’too, mum said it’s trade for hurt, Hahren.”

Lia flushed, embarrassed to have been caught out.  Solas lifted his gaze slowly, and gave her a condescendingly knowing look.  With a little huff, she rolled her eyes to the side.

“Well, perhaps I’ve given this speech before,” she admitted, ignoring his silent laugh.  Creators.  It wasn’t like she could be blamed for some repetition, she was trying to teach the same things to four very different little people.

“Adaia has a tattoo?”  Solas asked, both eyebrows raising.

“A small one, in a spot that will be easy to cover over when it stretches as she grows,” Lia dismissed, finding it silly to hear Solas say things she’d heard a thousand times from Derry’s side of the family.  “Her da and papa are covered in them, it’s natural to her.  If a child is prepared for the consequences and the discomfort, who am I to say no?”

Solas didn’t bother to hide the subtle smirk that curved up the corner of his wide mouth.  “Their mother, perhaps?  She is only six, Lianalle.”

Lia lifted a hand and flickered it in dismissal, annoyed with him for the very rare usage of her full name.  She knew he did it on purpose.  Smug old man.  “A tattoo does no harm but the pain of receiving it.  Besides, it will be good practice to know what it feels like, for when she receives her Vallaslin.”

Solas’ silence was sudden and profound.  She glanced sidelong at his face, absently using a hand to pull Cyris away from the balcony’s edge.  Although Solas’ face was placid, there was a sudden tension in the muscles at the back of his jaw, a curiously pained emotion in his eyes.  He was hiding something.

She followed his gaze down to Tamlen, who was sitting on the floor still holding Cyris’ hand, gazing at his twin with a small, gentle smile.

Why did it give Solas such an uneasy expression?

“I'm going to poke your fingers with the needle,” she informed her sons.  If Lia was right, that would be enough for one of them to give in, which would make the other one give in.  “If you can stand the finger poke and still want your ear afterwards, I will do your ear.”

“And I will heal you,” Solas agreed.  They shared a look, and he shook his head slightly at her, obviously amused.

She wasn’t as certain as him that they would give up after a single poke.  While neither of them was nearly the bulwark of stubbornness that Adaia was, nor as carefully thoughtful, they were quite adventurous.  For four year olds.

They both took the needle to their cautiously outstretched finger quite well, though Tamlen immediately teared up when he saw the little drop of blood.  Luckily his brother was there to kiss it better, and then Solas to heal it afterward.  Much to her surprise, however, it was at that point that they diverged.

Usually when Tamlen decided to back down about something, Cyris would immediately follow him.  But this time, after their small twin conversation that involved more significant looks than words, Cyris decided he wanted to keep going.  And Tamlen…was all right with that, instead of immediately bursting into tears.

She was rather proud of them both for that choice.

Of course, she only got halfway through piercing Cyris’ ear before he gave up, left with a little bloody hole that Solas healed over.  Thankfully without judgment.  Solas seemed highly amused by the whole process, but interested as well, as she’d rather thought he would be.  

It was an endlessly fascinating thing to watch children learning the rules of life.

When the boys ran off after she dried their tears, unharmed and declaring they would be ‘brave enough soon’, Lia opened the soft felted case again, gazing down at the gleaming needles.

She had no doubt they would be ready sooner rather than later.

“Liana…”

“Mmh?” she asked, glancing up at Solas as she rose from the stone, knees chilled.

“The Vallaslin…” he trailed off, but not out of awkwardness.  More because he knew just how far to push her by now, she thought.  His face was still perfectly composed when she met his measuring gaze.

“Were you going to say something about ‘Dalish nonsense’ again?” she asked him mildly, not worrying too much about it if he were.  By now, at least, she felt comfortable scolding him.  “I thought we already agreed not to have that fight any more.  I let my children call you Hahren, Solas, don’t make me regret it.”

Solas chuckled faintly, the sound a hint strained.  But when she glanced sidelong, his face was placid, and his voice even as he spoke.  “I wonder, as a mother, do you ever fear that the teachings you impart to your children may be…wrong?”

Lia considered that for a moment, and then took a moment longer to filter it through her understanding of his mind.  He thought her gods a farce, or worse, dangerous.  He found Dalish culture to be a misshapen thing because it did not conform to the truths he thought he had seen in the Fade that contradicted it.  Yet he could not truly understand Dalish culture.

How could he educate that which he didn’t first understand?

She knew that he was earnest that the Vallaslin was what bothered him, but wouldn’t doubt for a moment that there was more to his distaste than the process of tattooing young people.  “The details may not all be correct, and I will make mistakes, and pass on some of the mistakes that were taught to me.  But what I worry about are the things the world will teach them when I am not there to protect them.  So I suppose, Solas, the best I can do is teach them to understand the world, how it works for ones such as they, and why it is better to live in it with kindness, nobility of spirit, and resilience.  So that when I, or their fathers are not here, they can pass through the trials and suffering of this world with those qualities intact.”

“Resilience.  Well, their mother certainly exemplifies that quality,” Solas said with an incline of his head.  And then he chuckled.  “Fathers as well, though with a great deal less…dignity.”

Lia laughed, not needing to argue that point with him when he was so very correct. “Zevran and Darian are far more good-hearted than I, however.  I am not kind.  Perhaps that’s why I need them both, to anchor me.  You know, if you found someone to temper your need to always be correct, falon, you might be a good father yourself.”

“You claim I require a partner to correct me?  Do you not find that sentiment as distasteful as I?” Solas countered, raising an eyebrow.

She hid her amusement that she’d needled him.  “Everything we do and everyone we meet changes us, doesn’t it?  Life isn’t a road, and it isn’t a lonely one.  It’s a pond that is constantly shifting, surface rippling with even the most delicate of contacts.  Everything we are touched by changes us, in curious and unexpected ways.”  Unbidden, she glanced down at her marked hand, forehead furrowing as she flexed her fingers.

Solas’ voice eased, softening as it always would when they spoke of her difficulties with the Anchor.  “You would know.  This is your second world-ending cataclysm, after all.”

“The Blight was…different,”  Lia said, troubled as always.  Would that saving the world twice followed the same pattern– she would have preferred it.  “We were so young, and we never had time to look at the scale of what we fought.  It was not so entangled in complications and Thedas-wide politics.  They claim they need these politics to garner the forces we–” She cut off, swallowing her many tearful, terrified speeches that she had only shared with her husbands.  Face and mind calm; emotions should not be so easily shared.  “I fear what ripples I am being forced to make.  And for whom I make them.”

“Yes,” Solas said, an echo of many other conversations they had engaged in, once she had trusted him enough to be honest.  His voice was sober and quiet, thoughtful.  “But necessity must drive us, da’len.”

Lia shot him a sidelong look, lips pursing.  “Da’len?”

“Ir abelas,” Solas said, with the faintest twitch of his lips.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “You should be calling me hahren.”

“I beg your pardon?” Solas scoffed.

She lifted a needle, spinning it in her fingers.  “Will you be brave, then, Solas?  I’m here prepared, but with nothing to pierce.”

“I find myself in no need of decoration,” he replied, eyeing the needle in her hand.  “We struggle through a time of great change, and there are enough without my adding to them.”

“Or you could embrace the change, and let yourself change as well, falon.  Even if only a little, and frivolously.  In a way that brings you joy.”  With a sad smile she tucked the needle away into the felt case, voice slowing.  “Joys are in short enough supply.  We must take what small ones we can.”

Solas was quiet for a time, but when she glanced away from the vista of distant mountains to his face, there was a ghost of a smile at the very corners of his eyes, nearly reaching his lips.

“Perhaps another time,” he said quietly.

With a small nod, she turned back for the door, slipping the woven leather cord around the case and tying it securely.  She had a foot past the threshold when Solas spoke again.  She was pleased to hear a hint of humor in it.

“Were you aware that your husband cheats at cards?”

Lia smirked to herself, tucking the case into the front of her tunic.  “Oh my, yes.  Zevran mentioned you’d demanded another game.  He will cheat again.”  That thought was tinged with overwhelming affection.

“And he will lose,” Solas replied with calm confidence.

“I look forward to seeing it.  It will doubtless be very entertaining,” she said, smiling to herself as she departed.

A small joy– a brief reprieve from the pain.

#Solas fic #Cyris Tabris #Tamlen Tabris #Liana Mahariel #(yes Inquis is Mahariel) #zevran arainai #Darian Tabris

[moonlightheretic]

WIP WEDNESDAY: The Heretic

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE LAST CHAPTER.

The war anthem that poured from their mouths in the form of bellows and shouts erased any doubt. They advanced upon us with great speed, a wave of flesh, iron and deadly intent swept across the shallows. Hundreds of them. A stone thrown in the wasp’s nest.

“For the Inquisition!”

Solas scooted me behind him further onto the stone, before he crunched down, one hand held aloft to maintain the barrier and the other a curled fist launched into the rock.

Spires of red lyrium erupted from the earth, launching the templars and soldiers alike and crushing others under crimson spite.

I was too weak to remorse, I slid down Solas’s leg as he feverously repelled anyone who entered the lake.

The forest jeered and not a moment later did the flaming spheres quickly crash into the columns he built, shattering most in a red haze.

They stormed through, more men, more swords, and proud banners. They ambushed us from all sides and I knew that Solas’s barrier could no longer protect us. The Templars dug their shields into the lakebed and held together, moving as one. I could feel their presence, like the moon slowly eclipsing the sun, subduing Solas’s magic, cutting him from the fade.

“Keep out of the water!” He bellowed over his shoulder and I lethargically dragged the tips of my feet from the lapping waters. I couldn’t argue with him in my current state.

I felt it before I saw it, the singe in the air, my hair raised from my shoulders, and Solas raised his fist. Violet, spitting sparks, crooked snapping serpents funneling from his shoulder to his fingers. He allowed it to charge, flexing his fingers, all the while waiting, waiting, waiting.

They drew closer, and I was able to just see over their helmets that they weren’t alone.

Multiple templars lashed out with chains, ready to snare one of us.

“My men…” I muttered, but before I could provide them with a warning, Solas plunged his hand into the water with a splash.

#The Heretic #WIP Wednesday #Solas #daific #epictragedy #solavellan #darksolas #post trespasser #dragon age fanfic #solas fic

[rosieofcorona]

oh man what if i wrote a solavellan fic post-trespasser in which they remain secretly (and hopelessly) in love despite being on opposite sides of a war, haha

haha and what if i made it sadder somehow

what then

#yes this is probably too self-indulgent to share but #i'm at peace with it #also honestly he would prob not be a great father but that is what makes the idea compelling TO ME #solavellan #my fic #solas #solas dragon age #solas fanfic #fen'harel #dragon age fic #WIP obvi #dragon age trespasser #dragon age inquisition

[morningwitchy]

i was looking up cole's dialogue to see what it means and apparently his nonsense convos with solas are refs to movies/shows with angels in them. cole and solas discussed supernatural of all things 😭😭😭

#where are my modern au fics where cole and solas discuss supernatural together #dragon age inquisition #dragon age

[saintlethanavir]

You ever think about the fact Solas did some healing experiments on the Inquisitor and found out that he probably could take power from them and that's one of the only reasons he was able to get to a place where he could actually get to where he is now in his plans?

Doing another playthrough of DAI and just realized that they were just passed out for 3 days while Solas watched over them. And his 'healing' was probably him leeching power from the Mark. Which is probably why the Inquisitors body started going nuclear reactor after he left.

#solas dragon age #dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition #just thinking about this and staring into the void #something to consider for my fic

[vroomian]

Solas is the most fun when he’s a powerful machiavellian immortal war general and a stuffy poetic nerd who somehow escaped a Victorian romance novel

#he contains multitudes #vrrm vrrm #dai #like real people do: the fic #I think solas could pull off a mr darcy impression

[eff-plays]

Honestly a lot of the romance pipeline joaks just aren't relatable to me at all.

Zevran > Fenris > Solas > Astarion? What is the man of mid Solas doing among those kings? He's nice like they're not, powerful like they're not, and doesn't play into the trope of being mean/"evil" and sexy. He also has so much power over Lavellan, which the others do not have over their love interests. Get him out of there. Yes they're all sad elves but that's it. Surface level reading.

Also I don't think Cullenites who are now obsessed with Astarion like Astarion for the same reasons I do. That is all I will say on the matter because I am seeing a large gathering of people outside my window and they seem to be chanting wishes of my death and gripping pitchforks.

#also fun fact the reason i deleted my old DA blog was because i was an avid cullen despiser and people hated that #so ppl going from cullen to astarion is like oouf ... why #explains why all the astarion fics are like that though #if someone fell for cullen's bullshit they will miss a lot of astarion's depth probably I MEAN WHAT AHHAHA i would never say that #ALSO i actually quite like solas and would've loved to romance him with my trevelyan #he's a great character and i love his demeanor and voice and personality and he was great friends with my trev #so adding a romantic angle to that whole angst would've been delish #solavellan in particular just gives me the ick #esp the popular fandom perception of it #anyway haha *gets shot and killed by the DA fandom* #bg3 #dragon age

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: When the breach opened in the sky, spirits and demons were “driven mad” as they came through. No one mentioned all the people who were driven mad at the same time. Except they weren’t, you know. They were just dropped here, into a place most people know nothing about. People like me.

Author: @thereallonelyagain

Note from submitter: the best Modern Gril in Theda Fic I've ever read

#official fic poll #haveyoureadthisfic #pollblr #fanfiction #fandom culture #fanfic #internet culture #tumblr polls #fandom poll #Dislocated Souls #dragon age #Solas/Original Character

[mogwaei]

[Dragon Age: Ouroboros Codex - Precipice]

~

[Fen’Harel ⚔ Ouroboros]

The bad ending.

(codex text below cut)

“You are my dream. When you think yourself a nightmare, becoming or living one…remember that.”

He gripped her hand, heart lurching, “How would you stop it? If it exists within me?”

Her mouth twitched, briefly in to something forlorn, “Let our fortress protect you from it. You say I am a knight? Then you will have my sword and shield. Slip through the secret door and be free. I will follow, when I can.”    

The simplicity of her answer stunned him into a silence of deep contemplation and he could only watch her walk away, returning to the camp alone. ‘A fortress to protect us from ourselves. Swords to cleave through the darkness. A secret door for the two of us.’

That night when he lay alone on his bedroll, Fen’Harel dreamed of a knight in the Fade that shattered a crumbling pillar holding the sky apart from the earth. As the heavens crashed into the land, through the chaos he witnessed the knight gather the pieces of the pillar heedless of the danger around them. Then, without looking back they secreted it away to a fortress built in a remote reach of the world. Far though the knight ran, they were pursued, for the pieces once holding apart the domains were highly sought after. He could not discern their hunters, whether they were armies mortal or mindless darkness, he knew only that they were intent on destroying their quarry in totality and finality.

Within the walls, the Knight prepared, shutting and barring all the doors and drawing up the bridges. Ghostly sentinels patrolled the battlements and he overheard talk of setting wicked traps and calling forth beasts from the Fade to guard the inside.

He felt a wrenching sorrow when at last the enemy arrived at their threshold and beat upon the walls with steel and magic. He did not know why, for any of it.

He found himself gripped by the dream as he watched the walls finally give way and the invaders flooded inside. He followed behind, through the ruined portcullis and into a wide courtyard, only to find that the shadowy invaders had come to a stop, emanating a perplexed air. He saw why.

There were no traps nor grotesque guardians. Of the sentinels there was no trace—perhaps an illusion all along.

Instead, they were greeted by frescoes adorning every surface, painted with pigments no mortal in present could possibly imagine. A thousand beautiful scenes that shifted and changed before his very eyes—mosaics made of gems and glass and stone glinting as though each piece contained its own soul. Gardens flourished all around that could only have been grown from dreams themselves.

The ache sank ever deeper, where no sword could reach as he watched the army disperse in search of the Knight and the Pillar. He seethed with anger, as they tore apart the sanctuary they had made. But he was powerless to stop them and he was filled with hate as desolation replaced beauty. Though he did not understand why they sought to capture the two, nor the enmity between the sides, he hoped the Knight and the Pillar would not be found.

After following what appeared to be the leader of the force, it seemed his hopes weren’t for naught.

They encountered a hidden door, overgrown by syl’sils. His throat constricted as the rare and fragile blooms were crushed and torn by hacking sword and clawing gauntlet.

When the door was finally revealed, only then did the hateful trespassers cease their assault.    

For the secret door was already cracked open. They had escaped after all.

He treaded forward, not quite believing what he was seeing propped up against the wall, just to the side of the portal.

But before he could get a closer look, the cobblestones dropped under his next step and the dream collapsed around him.    

When he woke, his cheeks were wet and he had no explanation why.    

#solas #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age origins #da4 #dragon age dreadwolf #solasmance #solas x oc #digital art #illustration #artists on tumblr #solas x maordrid #otp: ouroboros #i reused a passage from my fic..still one of my favs :3 #maordrid #mogwaei arts #mogwaei ocs #I AM SO WEAK FOR THESE TWO #maelgwn

[displacer-beasts]

I love OC fics but it's always so funny to me whenever the author character immediately hates and/or is suspicious of the secret traitor character

Like it's just the author's meta knowledge and projecting their dislike of the character but the instant hate comes off as the OC being an asshole for no reason

I was reading a pokémon fic where the character was immediately suspicious of Volo..... because he challenged them to a pokémon battle...

(but when Ingo does the same thing a few chapters later it's charming because he's 'enthusiastic about Pokemon')

And then when Volo heals their pokemon after the battle, that somehow also gets twisted to being a suspicious act because he gave them free potions instead of charging them for it

("he's a merchant who chose basic decency instead of capitalist greed... that's surely a sign of an evil character")

Or the DA fic I started reading (and then quit because it was very anti Solas to ridiculous levels)

The character first meets Solas and finds out he helped keep them alive and is immediately like 'how does he know how to keep me alive? He must know something secret about the green mark. It's suspicious that he knows healing magic for some reason' and yet somehow no suspicion of Adan who was canonically also there keeping them alive with herbs and potions

Cassandra locks them up and accuses them of mass murder with no evidence and gets a "well I was your only suspect so it's okay, I understand your reasons" and yet Solas gets instant dislike because... he helped keep them alive and that's... sketchy for some reason I guess

I mean it's one thing when it's a self insert with meta game knowledge but when it's an OC character it doesn't come off as "oh they have good instincts about bad people", it comes off as "I was an asshole first, but thankfully later on I can say it was justified"

#volo #solas #fic pet peeves

[moonlightheretic]

WIP Wednesday: The Last Straw

CW for Mind Control MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE HERETIC

“No, no, no they provoked me! They started it! I defended myself! Talek has nothing to do with this! He exacted my orders! I told him to take Dal’nim! How is hurting him a mercy afforded to me?!”

“Then he will pay triple.” The air took on a greenish hue, twisting and churning and I quickly realized it was originating from Solas’s palms.

“Solas--!”

“Sleep.” He hissed.

Talek collapsed, his body crumbling to the ground unceremoniously. To my horror, his eyes opened, trancelike, pupils dilated to the maximum, and he stood back up and faced away from us.

“Talek…! What are you doing to him?!” I swiftly flew to his side and waved my hand in front of his face. No reaction, he stared ahead or rather---through me.

My brother knocked into me as he stepped forward, I pushed all the weight into my heels as I held him back.

But he possessed in-human strength as his body was compelled to walk.

I clung to him like a drenched blanket, and he dragged me behind him like a flag rippling in the wind.

Solas walked behind him in tandem, in fact, Talek seemed to be mimicking him. Every time Solas lifted his foot to take a step, Talek did the same, they covered the same amount of ground, even though Talek’s lanky legs could cover more.

Fen’Harel had merely reduced him to a puppet sentenced to deathly uncertainty.

I jumped to Solas, tugging on his arm violently as I now attempted to hold him back instead.

“Stop!” I hurled the word at him as if it still bore any weight. As if any command from me meant anything. He ignored me as I slipped to my knees.

“Please, stop!” I wailed.

Nothing would end their pursuit.

They strolled ahead with measured steps and that is when I noticed where they were heading, an empty eluvian glinted at the end of the room.

“Maker, no.” I whispered. “No…no…no.”

I watched Talek’s shoulders list from side to side, the eluvian growing nearer, then I saw the bulge under his hooded cloak. I scrambled in between them and pulled down Talek’s hood and reached inside, I withdrew his proud sword and aimed it at Solas.

“We sent Dal’nim away to protect her from you!” I pinned the blade to his neck.

Solas halted and Talek did as well.

“You seek to use her as a vessel for Mythal’s soul! You will resurrect her with the flesh and bone of our daughter! I won’t let her become like you!” I cried out, rage fumbling my words into mouthfuls of venom. “You elevated a Pawn into a Queen; I know how you play this game.” I gritted my teeth and dug the edge into his skin.

Solas dipped his chin and rested it on the blade of the sword and shut his eyes for a moment, I watched his eyebrows draw into a knot in the polished reflection. His sharp eyes opened to glare into mine. “How foolish. I said I wouldn’t use her. You can bestow me with as much villainy as you please, but there are lines I will not cross and designs I will not enact. You made such a careless decision based on paranoia alone.”

Solas veered backwards suddenly and slashed the sword away with his wrist, successfully dislodging it from my hands, the sword spun upwards, and I scrambled to catch it.

Before my fingers could grasp the hilt, Solas had me by the throat with his thumb pressing down against my thundering pulse. 

#The Heretic #post trespasser #darksolas #solas is fen'harel #solas fic #epictragedy #WIP Wednesday

[cullens-babe]

ANOTHER QUESTION TO THE FANDOM IM SO SORRY:

Solas’s outfit. What are the green things he wears?? Stockings?? Leggings?? Pants??? I’m talking about the beige sweater with the wolf jaw necklace. His like casual outfit, you know???

I’m writing a different fic, literally so sad and in character depth for my lavellan, and I have to describe his outfit and I am STRUGGLING.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solavellan #solas x lavellan #lavellan x solas #help me PLEASE. IM SO SORRY FOR ANOTHER POST BUT I JUST #can’t describe it properly. or at least I think I’m not. I just want to check so ppl know what I’m talking about #I’m so bad at describing outfits bc I have almost no idea what right words describe clothes #I read so many fics describing their clothes yet I forget each time I start my own fic like??? #somethings wrong but I can’t figure it out lol #anyway thank you 🙏 😭.

[rosieofcorona]

it's WIP wednesday! and if regular solavellan hell isn't enough for you, lemme introduce you to my post-trespasser fic in which they continue to be in love and also at war 🥲

#am I dealing psychic damage to myself with every chapter? absolutely #wip wednesday #my writing #my fic #solavellan #solavellan hell #solas #solas x inquisitor #dragon age inquisition #dragon age trèspasser #dragon age dreadwolf #fen'harel

[ghastlytofu]

do you ever think about the fact that sera's adoptive human mother convinced her AS A CHILD that a total stranger hated her because of her race - to protect the woman's own pride, mind you!! it wasn't even true!! racist AND self-absorbed!!!! (which tbqh the venn diagram is a circle) - and the ramifications of sera cutting herself off as soon as she starts to say, "i hated her, and i hated- (myself)" and how ungenerously the fandom interprets her pain and makes it all about their picture perfect elf oc. because i do.

#i read a fic ages ago that literally had EVERY companion just absolutely ripping into sera on lavellan's 'behalf' #meanwhile #s*las????? #no one called him out on how he condescends to the dalish #or calls qunari savages #or calls dwarves barely alive because they don't dream #this is not actually an anti-solas or anti-lavellan post tbc it's just #the lack of grace sera receives for being like 19 and homeless and dealing with very real trauma is just......... #sera #sera dragon age #fandom critical #solas critical #just to be safe #like there are Issues™ with sera's own writing #but don't use that to invalidate her feelings or her trauma damn #especially not to prop up the heterosexual male fave and his romance with one (1) iteration of the Inquisitor #maybe let wlw have something for once #maybe just. consider it.

[psalacanthea]

this is an old thing, a little during DAI Solas-perspective Solavellan for anyone needing something sweet this Saturday.  For all my ‘nah, they totally boned there’ Solavellans.  NSFW at the end.  2.8k.  (i might put in on AO3 later, unless I forget [i will forget])

...

Solas had a feeling that if he asked Ellana to stop, she would.  No, it was more than a feeling.  A certainty.  Whenever he paused, she pulled back, whenever he resisted, she stopped.  To the outside it might look as if she was aggressively pursuing him, but he knew she would cease in a split second if he asked her to.

And yet, he did not.

It was a surprisingly pleasant thing, to be hunted in this manner.  He knew she was skilled, but the talent extended to other areas besides her grace and the deadliness of her bow.  After the kiss in the fade - still a sweet, stomach-clenching memory – she had allowed him all the distance he desired without a word of complaint.

Then she started courting him.

It was merely small things at first; she would see Leliana and afterwards bring down the books he'd asked for from the library.  Cakes pilfered from the kitchen with an impish child's humor were presented to him proudly.  They would have given them to her if she'd asked, but she seemed to find endless delight in thievery.  

Her unflagging brightness, her sheer determination to find joy in her circumstances was admirable, and it amused him as well.

That alone was a revelation, the way she brought a smile to his lips even when she was absent.  He would find a small note she'd written him slipped between the pages of a book, generally biting, witty commentary about the tome itself.  She was sharper than the edges of her arrows, and he found it endlessly fascinating.  The way she'd laugh and charm the people they met and then turn around and make some sort of sly, dark comment about it all.  

There was no naivete in her humor, no denial; she saw her circumstances for the great and terrifying farce that they were.

Sometimes flashes of vulnerability would show through it all, depths of sorrow that she hid behind a smile.  He could see how much she hated it all, the titles, the worship of the Andrastians.  She flinched, every time someone called her Herald.

At first, in her posture, and then when she tempered that, he could still see it in her eyes.

Self-mockery and pain, and a bitter resignation.

He understood.

She kept it from him apart from the occasional dark and sarcastic joke, until the first note appeared anywhere but a book, left inside his bedroll as they camped at the outskirts of Crestwood.  It had been folded into a small bird, and he smiled and admired it for a moment before carefully unfolding it.  It almost seemed a shame to do so.

The words within were a shocking vulnerability, a heartbreaking confession.

Sometimes I wonder if they know how terrifying they are.  How horrifyingly cruel and brutal.  They say to me, 'You are the Herald of our greatest martyr', and they expect me, her victim, to be glad of it.  I should be honored to be raised so far above my people, to be allowed to murder for them instead of being murdered by them.  I laugh because it is easier than crying, or screaming.  I wonder if they will burn me, too, when they are done with me.

I hope they choke on my ashes.

That was the first night he wrote her a note in return.  He folded his into a star.  It seemed appropriate.  Not that the new vulnerability meant she had stopped pursuing him.  If anything, she grew all the more flirtatious.  

And indiscreet.

Solas became intensely aware that Dorian and Sera were very tired of her sighing about him over her drinks.  Gossip traveled, and quickly.  He struggled to hide his flushes as Dorian complained at him about it over the railing, reciting some of her more choice phrases with absolutely no shame whatsoever.  It seemed she was very fond of his legs and had waxed poetic about them.  At length.  And his jaw, apparently, and nose, freckles, eyes, lips...it was getting to be a bit much, but the second-hand flattery was undeniably pleasant to hear.  If embarrassing.

He did not ask her to stop, though Josephine did.  Repeatedly.

After a week of this new assault, the next letter appeared, on his pillow in his chamber.  

No one had seen her enter or leave, but his window had been open.

They say I should behave.  But I will not, until you tell me to.  Is it inappropriate?  I wonder. They need me, so I will keep doing as I like.  Dorian says that you smile, and so I think that you don't mind, even if you haven't said anything to me.  I wonder about a lot of things.  What your lips would taste like if I kissed you, what sort of sounds you would make if I snuck up behind you as you stand at your desk and slid my hands down the front of your pants.  Do you moan?  Would you say my name? You kiss as if you might.  You kiss as if you might suck all the air out of my lungs, and make me glad to die of suffocation.  I will remember it tonight, when I touch myself.  Sleep well.

That note, he kept in a book next to the bed.  

And then, for the next week, she had the oddest habit of popping up behind him while he was working.  Innocent, oh so innocent her expressions, asking curious questions, smiling winsomely.  There was absolutely no one who wasn't aware now that she was interested in him by then.  Of all people, Cassandra seemed utterly invested in it all.  She would ask the most prying questions, watch them with a hawk's gaze when they were in the field.  It was not a threatening gaze, if anything it seemed soft.

Hopeful.

All of her wicked machinations, all of this playful and overt courtship, and she had yet to even touch him.  If she was planning to drive him mad, she was doing a rather good job of it.  She chipped at the edges of his restraint, slowly whittling it away.  Eventually it was curiosity, more than anything else, that kept him from saying anything about it all.  What would she do next?

She, apparently, asked him to dance.

He did not know she would have handled the Winter Palace with such grace.  Knowing her fear and hatred, he was staggered at how flawlessly she had navigated it.  When she stopped to speak with him, he could feel the tension in her, the exhaustion and wariness that she let show in her eyes.  He wanted nothing more than to sweep her away to a quiet corner and let her relax, but they both knew he couldn't.  That such luxuries could not be afforded.  Instead they shared quiet, wry words about the artifice and intrigue, enjoyed what there was to be enjoyed.  She made some cutting remarks about a some particularly egregious gowns, just to make him chuckle.

He saw her shoulders relax as he laughed for her.

Later, leaning against the railing of the balcony outside, he watched her slump as Morrigan swept away, releasing it all.  It was then that he finally broke that distance between them, in the only way he could think of at that moment.  The first time they had touched, apart from accidental brushes in the heat of battle, or when he healed her wounds.  He gently placed a hand on her back, offering comfort in that moment when she let her vulnerability show in more than little hidden notes.

It was if that single touch, and then the dance that followed had broken some wall inside of her.

Suddenly her hands were everywhere, when she had been so careful not to intrude on his space before.  Pressing too close when she passed him in a cave, the curve of her hip nudging between his thighs, making his breath catch. She'd smile in the low light, and then move on before he could decide if he would reach for her.  She sat next to him around the fire, thighs touching, arm brushing against him when she leaned forward.  

Large things, small things.  Light touches on his arm when they spoke, a playful push against his shoulder when he offered a sly joke.  And then, one particularly pulse-pounding afternoon at the base of a circular stairwell, when she poured herself against his chest to whisper a message from Josephine in his ear.  Utterly ordinary, that little report, something that could have been sent with any servant in the fortress.  Instead, she lazily murmured the status of his book requisition in his ear, a hand to either side of his chest, voice a breathy little sigh.  

He nearly grabbed her by the thighs and pushed her up against the wall right then and there.

When it had turned to love, he didn't know, but he recognized it at some point when he was watching her, so serious and calm, lean over the war table with her braid spilling over her shoulder.  Or maybe it was when he'd caught her delaying their departure from Skyhold to indulge in a game of chase and catch with the small gaggle of children that belonged to the servants.  She looked so happy then, free, free of the weight of their titles and expectations, free of his mark that burned like a brand in her palm and poisoned her veins.

It made his heart ache, the knowledge of it, and then the acknowledgment of those feelings.  It was the most unwise thing he ever could have done, falling in love with her, but how could he avoid it?  She was...everything.

He hadn't known what he was going to say until they were on the balcony, but he knew he had to say something.  Something to express even a fraction of the change she had wrought in his life.  And again, she charmed him, until he almost found himself saying what he had decided halfway through their conversation not to.  He simply couldn't.  It wasn't right, it wasn't wise...

“Don't go.”

Her fingers caught in the curve of his elbow, a beckon that only asked, didn't demand. Never had she demanded anything of him in all this time, but nor had she stopped pursuing.  He hadn't stopped her.

He wouldn't stop her.

The inevitability washed over him, the weight and knowledge of it crashing down on him as he turned and drew her in to him.  He knew then, at last, how her lips tasted, how it felt for her to be as desperate as he had been all this time.  The crush of her body, the way she gasped in against his lips as he pulled at her, her hands against his back.  It was...

His body pulled back, but his heart stayed, escaping his lips in a confession of what she doubtless already knew.

He loved her.

Space.  Time.  He needed both, to try and decide what this all meant.  The kiss had roused something in him, young and impulsive, and it was nearly impossible to cross those few feet to the stairs, especially with her bed out of the corner of his vision, inviting.  A constant invitation, never withdrawn.  An offering of comfort and peace for both of them.  Even if only for a moment.

And then he made the greatest miscalculation in all of this, a mistake that would haunt him every night thereafter.

He looked back over his shoulder.

Ellana stood there, a hand on her hip, leaning against the door with the smuggest expression on her flushed face.  Hair tousled, lips swollen and ruddy, the feline satisfaction in the look she was giving him was unmistakable.

She'd won.

He'd made the first move.

How had she tricked him?  It left his mind blank for a moment, a laugh startled from the depths of his chest at being outmaneuvered by her, trapped into a corner until he had no choice but to react.  What could he do now? She hunted, and he had been caught.

The fragility, the melancholy of his feelings for her shattered, leaving behind a fierce and uninhibited affection.

What a horrible vixen she was.

It was as if a dam had burst, as he succumbed to it, to her.  She was so sweet under his lips, under his hands, and he took it all.  There would be time for tenderness later, for now there was only the frantic need she'd been forging for ages now, that she'd sharpened to a hunger so acute that he was starving for her.  

It was unwise to fill a starving belly too quickly, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Somehow they found the bed, leaving tangled clothing behind, both of them tripping at one point or another.  They fell onto it in a tangle of limbs, her with her shirt still half on, him in his leggings, pulled partway down his hips.  They were laying the wrong way across the bed, but it was big enough not to matter, though his feet dangled down as he bit a line up her breastbone, making her back arch.  She whimpered, and he found it absolutely fascinating.

Suddenly, his own need wasn't so intense.  He heard say his name in protest, but breathy and moaning, token noises and not any desire for him to stop. His hands slid up the underside of her thighs, feeling the muscles shift under his palms, before he pushed her knees up, and then up again, letting them spread to either side of her chest, her stomach rolling in a smooth arch.

He knew she was flexible, he'd seen her fight.  It was hard not to gloat over her like this, his torturer, all red cheeks and hazy eyes.  Exposed, with her swollen, slick arousal so plain to see.

“You had to know...” he murmured to her, words breathed out between her thighs. “That you would eventually pay for all your wickedness, vhenan.”

And then, with tongue and lips, and his fingers firm around her knees, he found just what sorts of noises she could make.  It was very little surprise that he found them all as captivating as her whimpers, especially when they involved his name.

He loved the way it slid off of her tongue, sinuous and breathy, preceded by a quavering intake of air.  The way it became more and more frantic, until she lost the syllables in a cry of ecstasy, whole body shuddering.  The strength in her lithe frame was astounding, the spasm of her hips so dangerous that he was forced to pull back.

How could he resist it?  

She was so close, so exquisite, on his tongue and under his hands.  Her hands were pulling down his leggings as his own slid over the curves of her calves, moving for her ankles, encircling them.  He held her legs to his chest as he felt her fingers slide along the length of him, guiding him to her.

And then he took her, claimed what she'd been offering, sinking deep into her in triumph and surrender.  There would be regret, and he didn't care in that moment, she was too wet and warm and alive, her vitality setting his nerves afire.  She was all smooth, toned lines, but he could make her shiver and squirm, and so he did, watching the tumble of her hair, the bounce of her breasts.

It was over too quickly, greedy thrusts that made that fascinating rear end slap against his thighs, hunger that had settled too deep for anything but devouring satiation.  Her sweat-slicked, supple body folded under his as he pressed over her, hilting deep, his hands finding hers and pinning them against the bed as he shuddered and let his hips grind against her.

The satisfaction that followed had been worth it all, he decided, as he tried to catch his breath while she nuzzled against him.  He would have been content to hold her then, savor it all, try to understand just what was happening and what it meant...but he learned then, as he would learn in the weeks to come...

He had taken a step that there was no coming back from.  She only gave him fifteen minutes to kiss and caress her before she pushed him on his back and kissed down his stomach.  That night he learned a very sobering lesson, that he wished he had known before he'd looked over his shoulder that day in her chambers.

There was no escape now that he'd let her in.  She was irresistible.

And she was insatiable.

#Solavellan #Solas x Lavellan #I am all for ace Solavellan and I think a lot of the fics I've read are better than sexy ones #I just know my Lavellan and she would fuck that old man