#solassanweek2026

Prompts:

Day 1 (March 9th): Betrayal | Trust

Day 2 (March 10th): Spirits | Bodies

Day 3 (March 11th): Empire | Rebellion

Day 4 (March 12th): Yearning | Teasing

Day 5 (March 13th): Touch-Starved | Hedonism

Day 6 (March 14th): Farewell | Reunion

Day 7 (March 15th): History | Mythology

Alternatives: Vallaslin | Lone Wolf | When did I say I would save you?

NSFW Prompts:

Day 1 (March 9th): Hot Blooded and Cocky

Day 2 (March 10th): Kneeling

Day 3 (March 11th): Celebratory Sex

Day 4 (March 12th): Coming Untouched

Day 5 (March 13th): Power Play

Day 6 (March 14th): Marathon Sex

Day 7 (March 15th): Emotional Sex

'Oh, I see!' the other elf says. 'You're an asshole!' But he doesn't sound annoyed at all. In fact he seems positively entertained as he offers his hand and whispers, 'I'm Felassan.'

'Solas,' Solas says, shaking Felassan's hand and then looking back down at his book.

After the lecture he stuffs the novel into his satchel and takes the steps down to the bottom of the theatre two at a time, but Felassan quickens his pace to catch up. 'Hey,' he says as they step into the red-golden day, a little short of breath. He's wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans over scuffed doc martens, his hair bound up into a loose knot behind his neck. 'You seem like you know what you're doing. Want to come do the homework with me?'

Solas sighs, winding his forest-green scarf around his neck. 'Felassan, was it? I apologize, but the problem sheet looks very easy and I intend to get it done quickly. You will only slow me down.'

Felassan does not seem offended. On the contrary, he looks almost gleeful. 'Oh all right, if that's how you see it!' he says. 'We can have a race!'

Solas blinks at him. 'You want to race with linear algebra?'

'Why not? It's trivial, you said so yourself.' Felassan eyes him narrowly. 'Or maybe you're worried I'll be quicker than you.'

Solas shakes his head. 'You will not,' he says confidently.

Felassan grins. 'Come on then, prove it,' he says, and Solas sighs deeply but for some reason he finds himself following Felassan down the street, weathered stone arches rising on either side of them, leaves crackling beneath their feet. A man goes by on a bicycle wearing full academic dress, his robe billowing like a lick of black flame behind him

They go into the library - a cathedral of sunlit mahogany and whispering paper, smelling inexplicably of bergamot. Felassan strides authoritatively through the stacks, some more than twice his height. He clears a pile of books off a desk set into a bay window, then removes his watch to set the stopwatch, and looks up at Solas. 'Ready? Ok, let's go.'

It is quite ridiculous, of course, but nonetheless Solas has no intention of losing, so he picks up his pencil and begins scribbling matrices in his little black notebook. When he glances across the desk, Felassan is chewing absently at the end of his pencil, his T-shirt riding up his bicep where the sun falls along it, and Solas looks quickly away.

He finishes first, of course; he pushes his notebook across the table and then sits back and folds his arms smugly. Felassan rolls his eyes, but continues writing. Some minutes later he finally lays down his pencil and then picks up Solas' notebook to examine the answers.

'Well, you were faster,' he concedes. 'But number three is wrong.'

'It is not!' Solas says indignantly.

'Yeah it is,' Felassan says. 'It should have a negative sign.'

Solas seizes the notebook and glares down at the offending answer. Unfortunately, Felassan is right. He scowls. 'Well,' he says, all wounded pride. 'I was still quicker.'

'We can call it a draw,' Felassan says, and he reaches up to take his hairtie out, so his sleek black hair falls over his shoulders, picking up notes of soft pink from the sunset glow filtering through the window. 'Anyway, we did the homework. That means it's time for the pub.'

Solas takes too long to respond, because he does not immediately process this as an invitation. 'Ah,' he says finally, and then, 'I do not drink.'

Felassan shrugs. 'No problem. You can watch me drink.'

And yet, somehow, when they arrive at the pub Solas ends up with a beer in front of him. The beer is possibly the most horrible thing he's ever tasted, but he likes the way it makes him feel - light and effervescent, like he's floating out of his skin, leaving his body behind. He's always wanted to find a way to do that.

The pub is too crowded. It smells of wet leather and the hubbub of conversation reflects sharply off the winking green bottles stacked behind the bar, so Solas can barely hear what Felassan is saying. But he can see that Felassan is laughing and so he laughs too, and Felassan's eyes crinkle, such a sweet lilac. 'You're fun,' he says, more loudly. 'I like you.'

In all Solas' life no one has ever called him fun. He blinks, owlish and befuddled, at Felassan. Felassan smiles back at him and he seems so happy just to be here with Solas and Solas simply can't understand why.

He looks down, tracing a finger along a ridge in the table. Felassan is so bright and joyous and so patently in love with the world, and meanwhile Solas has already done too much, lost too much, hurt too many people. He has nothing to offer Felassan. He could only drag him down, away from this radiant youth, out of the light.