#opalapparition

[opal-apparition]

Latest Fanfics

Rules: post the beginning lines of your most recent 10 published fanfics, then attempt to tag 10 people!

Thank you for the tag, @gefionne! <3

I have a mix of ongoing and WIPs, so I've thrown them both in here on this list below. It was near to take a look back and see which pairings I've been into recently!

Oathbreaker (Cullen/Lavellan, WIP, M) - Cullen wiped sweat from his brow as noon sun beat down on the courtyard. Guards hurried across flagstones, hauling benches and tables from storage while servants strung lanterns between elm trees. The Saint's Day preparations transformed Lavellan Hold into something less defensible with each passing hour, and already the smell of slow-roasting venison on spits and baking honeyed bread clung to the humid air.

A Matter of Pride (Solas/Lavellan, WIP, M) - The Viscount’s private chambers were familiar to her now after so many evenings and hours spent inside, wrapped in the paint-smell of oil and sickness. At some point, she’d become comfortable here. Surrounded by campaign medallions and sparse appointments, flanked by the jaw-bone of a wolf and an entire private gallery barely-hidden behind a wooden panel divider.

A Crown of Laurels (Solas/Lavellan, WIP, M) - "Fenedhis," Ellana hissed as she collided with someone in the shadowed alcove, their goblets meeting in a disastrous splash of spiced wine. She'd been so intent on escaping, her skirts gathered in one hand, goblet sloshing in the other, and Lord Cathiel’s voice carrying down the corridor from behind, that she didn’t notice the man moving in opposition to her own retreat. Wine soaked through his fine doublet, ruined with crimson stains just like her own sodden velvet. In the dim light filtering from the feast hall, she could see his lips part in surprise. Then they curled, pursed and tight, into a scowl.

Bloodmage (Cullen/Lavellan, Complete, E) - “Alright, fine, laugh all you want you bunch of twats,” Garret snapped, a grizzled scout with a scar running through his left eyebrow. He leaned forward in his seat by the fire, and the embers crackled low. The green of the Hinterlands stretched endlessly around them, hills rolling beneath a canopy of clouds, the pine-sweet night air damp enough to cling to their cloaks. Laughter echoed down the ridgeline, swallowed quickly by the woods. Their rations were damp from the mist that never seemed to burn off, and the fire smoked more than it burned. Stories were the only thing left to give at least the illusion of warmth. “But I swear on Andraste’s tits meself: my cousin’s sister-in-law’s neighbor saw one. A Dalish vampire.”

What The Tide Keeps (Asatrion/Male!Tav, Complete, M) - The sea was restless tonight, and fog had swallowed the shore. It curled over the black water in lazy coils, draping the crags and the remains of old ships, which was typical for this cesspool of a coast, though, always caught between storm and squall with hungry, chopping waves. Sparse clusters of salt-bleached dune grass clung stubbornly to the higher ground, bending in perpetual submission to the relentless coastal winds.

Black Mass (Cullen/Dorian, Complete, E) - The priest's fingers were cold against Cullen's wrist, guiding him to the altar's edge. "You understand, Brother Rutherford, that to be chosen is an honor few receive?"

Dead Inside (Solas/Rook, Complete, E) - The door slammed shut behind Rook just in time, rattling on its hinges, the echo of her own ragged breaths louder than the shriek of the infected chasing her. She stumbled forward, her boot catching on the uneven floor, and barely caught herself on the edge of a broken table. Blood ran sticky down her thigh from a gash just above the knee, not deep enough to cripple her but enough to slow her down. She’d torn part of her sleeve to bind it and made it two days on the bandage alone, but it was hardly enough to keep the wound protected… and she did far too much running these days to allow it any rest to actually heal.

I do, I do, I do (Solas/Lavellan/Felassan, Complete, E) - Tiny pearl pins in her hair caught the dying light as Ellana stole away from the crowd, half-empty champagne flute cool against her palm. Leaning against a stone balustrade, she took a moment to take it all in, committing the scene like a snapshot to her memory. The people, this party, the smell of wedding cake and spilled champagne, the view. The low sun sank into the horizon of the Pavus estate's sprawling vineyards, gilding all the meticulously decorated gardens in sunset gold. Behind her, the thrum of music as drunken guests danced—their shoes kicked off to the side and forgotten—mixing with toasts, cheers, and the twinkling of crystal glasses as more aged Pavus wine bottles popped open like fountains. Before her… the first night of a new, shared, life. She caught her husband’s eye across the garden. Her husband. The word settled in her chest like a bird coming to rest after a long, long flight.

Wicked Grace, Wicked Night (Cullen/Dorian, Complete, E) - The Herald's Rest was unusually crowded that evening and crammed full of Chargers, scullery maids, scouts and every other sort—Maryden's lute had been joined by a traveling minstrel with a drum, and the combined music had drawn in folks from all corners of Skyhold. The tavern's warm, ale-soaked air buzzed with conversation and laughter, a rare reprieve from the constant shadow of Corypheus’s growing reach with Red Templars. In the back corner near the oak casks and a spitting hearth, a game of Wicked Grace had been going for hours.

Sacrament (Solas/Trevelyan, Complete, E) - Monfort’s grand Chantry loomed before Evelyn, its once-pristine facade now marred by cracks hastily filled with mortar and flaking gold leaf. The towering arches still reached for the heavens, but the stained glass windows—once vibrant with scenes of Andraste’s martyrdom, the Maker, the Golden City—were patched with clear panes where the original artistry had been smashed, the rest of the building cased-in by wooden scaffolding for repairs.

Ten people to tag: @dayntee, @ghostfire, @tiredtruffle, @tulipathy, @beccacoffindaffer, @christinabindon, @reiconcorpse, @elynnism, @luzial, @solrookera

And of course... anyone else who would like to play that I have not tagged!

[opal-apparition]

Reblogging AGAIN because...

Chapter 14 - A Matter of Pride - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Summary:

As Solas recovers from his wounds, Ellana navigates growing political pressures, unexpected visits, and the slow, uneasy shift from adversaries to something more complicated.... all while guarding both their reputations and her own conflicted heart.

Excerpt:

That night, after the Countess’s departure, Ellana sat in the chair beside Solas’s bed, a book open in her lap, its pages illuminated by a nearby smattering of candles. Several more sat in a neat stack within easy reach. On a normal night, she would have retreated back to the now-familiar confines of the library or even her own chambers to read, but tonight… the Viscount was still feverish and ill.

Why that meant she had to stay, even when there were willing staff, was something she tried very hard not to examine in herself.

The leather-bound collection of Elvhen poetry had been a fortuitous discovery three days prior both because it satisfied her need for something light in a time of heavy stress and because… she had discovered something odd within the worn pages. Some of the margins were filled with annotations writing in neat, flowing scrawl. Each note revealed a scholarly mind, translating phrases and adding context to verses, adding tidbits of thought and further reflection beneath underlined prose.

Writing in a book was odd when she considered the cost of them—leatherbound, good rag paper made from linen, gilded edges… and this particular text, Bowle’s Fourteen Sonnets, was imported which further drew up the price when she considered transportation and tariff.

No servant would dare deface a volume of such cost. Even without recognizing the hand, though she had come to know this particular style of flick and stroke of ink, she knew the annotations must be his.

It wasn’t too odd, she thought, for the Viscount to read poetry. Rather, she already knew it to be the case, having seen him in the library reading Blake. They’d debated before, too, about graveyard loves and tygers but that had seemed more out of his desire to spite him rather than an enjoyment of verse. These sonnets had remarkably little, less than nothing, to do with her, and instead the collection fell back on reflections of ruins, of paintings, and the slow wearing away of time. Is this what he enjoyed to read?

She tried to picture him, curled up in a chair, perhaps with his boots off and his jacket loose, sinking into the pages with soft eyes and hair spilling over one shoulder. Maybe he would tap the quill to his lips as he parsed through the lines, muttering a verse under his breath to feel the way the words fell from his tongue, and then scribble out some note to himself. Maybe he read like she did: laying down in a sprawl atop the cushions with a little tea-tray of shortcake biscuit to nibble on within lazy reach, the book pressed flat or held aloft overhead so the text could tumble down like rain. Maybe he was like her, too, in that he liked to read things about—

Ellana caught herself, and shook her head to fling the absurd idea elsewhere. She frowned down at him—sleeping, breathing, resting on his little throne of pillows on his bed, and doing little more than existing—in her displeasure that he might ever inspire a thought of symmetry between them. Him? Like her? Absolutely not. The austere, controlled Viscount doing anything as carefree as sprawling across furniture was about as likely as fogbows or parhelia. Like frost fairs or a surprise shower from the Leonids, like blue moons or… or…

… or… any other number of highly improbable, nearly impossible things that almost never happened.

Ellana snapped the book shut, troubled with the realization that almost never wasn’t quite the same as absolutely never, and she could not sit here with any certainty that there would never be parts of her that mirrored him, or that he would never be unlike her. Worse, she was ill-equipped to know the likelihood because her fundamental understanding of him was so flawed.

For all her months at Vi'Revas, what did she truly know of the man whose home she occupied, whose name she would soon bear?

Ellana glanced at his sleeping form, the proud features now slack with illness. Without the sharp edge of his contempt, without the rigid posture and cutting remarks, he looked remarkably normal, almost softened.The mystery of his selfless act hung between them, unanswered: why had he shielded her from the assassin's blade? Surely if he truly despised her as he claimed, creature that she was, as every interaction between them suggested, he could have simply let her… die. The marriage contract would have been nullified, his obligation ended. He would have been free with hardly a black smear to his name.

But… he’d thrown himself into battle, rather run into the direct path of danger, twisting his body to violence with hardly a hesitation or a pause.

It made no sense if viewed through the lens of their mutual antagonism.

… Unless... he was as honorable a man as he was a detestable one. The thought settled uncomfortably in her mind, disrupting the carefully built and curated narrative of disdain she had constructed around him. A dishonorable man would’ve left her to down in scandal at the garden party, would’ve left her where she lay to finish their race when she fell from her horse, would’ve simply waited another minute to let the assassin’s blade find its happy home in her heart. All of those choices would’ve better served him than the difficult alternative of going out of his way to preserve her interference in his life, and.. then, Ellana wondered, if he was in fact an honorable man with a level of integrity that superseded his own personal gain… then… perhaps his campaign against Dalish businesses stemmed from something more complex than simple prejudice or hatred. Perhaps there was depth to him she hadn’t seen yet, that she’d refused to see, ignoring the prose of his person simply because she’d been so decided on hating the subject of him as a whole.

It was a troubling notion. She had spent these months nurturing her loathing of him like the wildflowers she’d seeded in the rose gardens, finding comfort in the clarity of their shared enmity. If she admitted he might be honorable—might possess qualities worthy of respect—what other assumptions might crumble under scrutiny?

And what would that mean?

… did… he enjoy music? Did he prefer the mountains or the sea? Had he loved someone before? What memories haunted his feverish dreams, and who was Felassan? The questions multiplied, each one a reminder of how little she truly knew of the man whose life had become so inexplicably entangled with her own.

What if he never woke up, and she never got to ask?

Muttering a Dalish curse, she glowered at the man one last time before flipping the book back open, and traced an accusing finger across one of his annotations, the ink long dried but the impression of his thoughts still vivid on the page. Here was evidence of a contemplative mind, one that savored the beauty of language and meaning and of crumbling stone structures and fields of flowers and… and... it seemed at odds with the cold, calculating lord who had systematically undermined her family's business, who had regarded her with such disdain at every turn. Here were answers, in part, to the questions she’d never asked, and slowly, a picture of a man entirely unlike the one before started to take residence in her mind.

Then a sudden restlessness from the bed drew her attention. Across the bedsheets, the Viscount’s fingers twitched then clawed, pulling at the linens. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts, each breath whistling slightly at its peak. Beneath closed lids, his eyes darted back and forth. Dreaming? Another nightmare?

“Lord Fen’Harel, it’s alright, just—one moment—”

Ellana abandoned her chair and set the book aside, floorboards creaking beneath her slippered feet as she approached the nearby basin. Water splashed over her fingers as she submerged the cloth, wringing it until it no longer dripped. Then she snatched up the bottle of laudanum and its little silver spoon.The tincture was already prepared, its dark liquid rippling faintly in the candlelight. Once back at the bedside, Ellana slid an arm beneath his shoulders, and lifted him as gently as she could manage.

"Just a little now," she murmured, easing the spoon to his lips. He resisted at first, head shifting weakly against her hand, but when she touched his chin and coaxed his mouth open, he yielded. The laudanum stained his tongue as she tipped the dose forward.

"There," she said. "That should ease the worst of it."

As he swallowed, breath hitching, she lowered him back into the pillows and reached for the damp cloth, candlelight painting copper shadows across his face, highlighting the unnatural scarlet blooming beneath his pallid skin. Droplets scattered as she pressed the cool, damp linen to his temple.

“There, shh,”

His reaction was immediate. A low sound escaped him—something between a groan and a whimper—that raised the fine hairs along her arms. His fingers scrabbled against the sheets, seeking purchase where there was none. When she touched his shoulder to settle him, his eyes snapped open, the gray irises bright and unseeing. His hand snapped around her wrist.

“No, don’t—you—you—Felassan—”

“You’re dreaming, my Lord,” Ellana said, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. There was that name again! The mattress dipped when she leaned against it, fighting the downward drag of his grip to remain standing. “It’s Ellana Lavellan, I’m Ellana, my Lord, and you’ve been taken by fever. I swear, I’m not here to harm you.”

His unfocused gaze drifted across her face, seeing something—or someone?—beyond her. Gradually, his breathing deepened, the frantic rise and fall of his chest slowing to something approaching rhythm. Though sleep reclaimed him, his fingers remained locked around her wrist like a vice.

“... L..ady Lavellan?”

You can read the rest on AO3!

Fever Dream'

Based on @opal-apparition 's WONDERFUL fic, "A Matter of Pride" [procreate & photoshop]

[ao3feed-bakudeku]

by OpalApparition

A sharp and beautiful free-thinker, omega Izuku's steadfast refusal to marry has frustrated his hapless mother. And so she creates a "long-forgotten" agreement and sends her rebellious son away, only maintaining that Izuku has been promised since childhood to the handsome, insufferable noble whom he must now accompany to his homeland of Taeral to wed.

Dismayed to find himself suddenly engaged, the alpha Lord Katsuki Bakugou plans to repulse his unwanted fiancee by driving the omega away... at all costs. Only, he's unaware that wily Izuku plans to follow a similar path. But the road to deception is a rocky one and its many unexpected turns can lead two reluctant companions to a most unanticipated destination...

Words: 5101, Chapters: 1/40, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, Ashido Mina/Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Inko/Yagi Toshinori | All Might

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Omega Midoriya Izuku, Alpha Bakugou Katsuki, Slow Burn, Violence, Blood and Injury, Strong Female Characters, Arranged Marriage

[roleplayfinder]

Hi there, I am in my mid 20’s looking for some (or multiple people in separate threads 1x1) to RP My Hero Academia. My ship is Katsuki Bakugou / Izuku Midoriya, and I’m fairly open to plots. I would like to play Izuku in this roleplay. I do tend to prefer aged up AUs since we can bend the rules a little bit more, and I have a vague idea of a post-apocalyptic setting that could be fun to play around in, but I am really open. I prefer discord, and you can reach out to me there! OpalApparition#6213

OpalApparition#6213

[dmgdvs17]

https://bakudekuficlibrary.tumblr.com/post/184600336006/drive-it-like-you-stole-it-by-opalapparition-in

[opal-apparition]

Vibes

I was tagged by @callme-becks ! <3

The rules are simple: go to Pinterest, search “your name + core”, post six pictures, and tag six people.

Unsurprisingly, 'OpalApparition' core was filled with lush abstract sparkle goodness:

How'd these pictures of me get on the internet? Weird. I'm tagging: @theriothag, @dayntee, @psykergirl, @tulipathy, @luzial, @gefionne !

[opal-apparition]

Okay I am looking at your Ao3 and feeling COMPLETELY spoiled for choice. I like the look of everything! Is there anything in particular that you recommend/hope readers go to first? 📚

Thank you thank you!

😊Ahhhh I am so honoured you’re taking a look! I hope you find something you like!!

To answer your question… I… actually haven’t really thought about that too much, so I had to think about this answer a bit.

The vast majority of my posted works are oneshots, so I would say if someone is looking to have an entire story without the wait of updates to maybe start there. Of those 24, I have a BUNCH of different pairings and themes, so really just see what and if anything speaks to you. Many are NSFW, but I also have several on the fluffier/introspective side. From my biased side of things, some of my favorite oneshots that I wrote are Fen’Nydha (Solas/Rook), Feral (Solas/Lavellan), The Pour-Over Effect (a SFW Solas/Lavellan), Cramped Quarters (Dorian/Iron Bull), and Wicked Grace, Wicked Night (Dorian/Cullen)! There are more, but these are the ones off the top of my head.

If you’re looking for a more complex story… I think I have to recommend my longfic A Matter of Pride, which is a Regency-Era enemies to lovers romance between the Viscount Fen’Harel and the Lady Ellana Lavellan! I am told this is my best work, and it does have some of my ‘strongest’ character voicing overall in my opinion. Historical works have been a favourite for me to read and write, so I think I have the most fun overall with these. There is 15 of my planned 29 chapters posted at this time!

And lastly if the 140k+ word count is more than what you’re looking for, I am really enjoying working on these two medieval AUs: A Crown of Laurels (Solas/Lavellan) and Oathbreaker (Cullen/Lavellan). Both of these are also have some of my stronger character writing/voicing and in particular A Crown of Laurels is likely my best dialogue!

But really… my hope for readers is just that they have a good time. I really try to have something for everyone. This was such a thoughtful ask, and thank you for it!

[opal-apparition]

(on my hands and knees) please when can we expect the next chapter of oathbreaker… it’s so perfect i need it…. (positive)

Your Grace, I beg you hold fast a little longer! Be strong! I set quill to parchment even now, though the coming weeks find me much upon the road with travels of business and duties that grant me scarce a moment for such creative labors. Yet I strive to bring forth the next part of the telling for "Oathbreaker" ere the month’s end or soon after, should the fates allow.

[opal-apparition]

Just wanted to share that I love all the medieval AU’s you’ve been doing recently! Also the tags you use after “pre-marital kissing” (the sluts) (the scandal) Made me giggle.

I was curious what is your favorite AU to indulge in?

Firstly thank you so much and genuinely it makes me so happy that you’re enjoying the 3 historical WIPs I have going on - they’ve each been such an indulgent and fun thing for me to write for different reasons, and I’m really happy other people are finding joy in them too. And I’m glad you’re laughing!! 😆 originally I was also planning including a few more tags along the lines of #UnglovedHandholding and #BareAnkles but the tags were starting to get away from me…

Of the 3 I have now, A Matter of Pride being Regency and Oathbreaker/A Crown of Laurels being Medieval, it’s hard to pick a favourite. The Regency era is fun to write because of the strict societal structure that I have to play in which makes for a really dramatic sandbox; I feel like that story is a lot more cerebral with the plot elements with actual politics are coming to play and that’s been a puzzle I’ve enjoyed! My two Medieval stories are definitely more simplistic in terms of plot… but the settings themselves are just… *chefs kiss*, I love writing about the different courts and tournaments and knightly chivalry. Also, the manner of speaking in those is just super fun to write!

I guess to answer your question, I like indulging in my Regency story when I want to challenge myself, and my other two historical stories are more for fun and ‘heehoo fun setting and now kith’ type writing!

[opal-apparition]

Most worthy gentlefolk, attend—

Chapter the Third of A Crown of Laurels hath at last been set forth upon the venerable Archive of Our Own.

CH.3 - A Crown of Laurels - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Summary:

The Queen's Champion has won six tournaments but never courted a lady—until a sharp-tongued girl crashes into him and calls him a fool. Now the court whispers: has the wolf finally been caught by a vixen? or A Medieval Story about Tournaments, Turnabout, and a rather fortunate Tryst in an alcove. Ch.3: This borrowed crown of laurels grows heavier with each toast as Ellana realizes she's not just playing queen—she's become a target in a game where the stakes are life and death.

Excerpt:

"The court thinks you're corrupting me," she murmured as he set her down.

"The court thinks many things." His thumb brushed across her ribs as he lifted her again. "Most of them wrong."

They turned again, leaning apart just far enough that the tension caught in her arm. For half a beat they held the distance, then snapped forward into the next lift—volta à deux—her feet catching just short of his thigh as he raised her.

"And what do you think, my Lord?"

"I think you were perfectly capable of your own corruption long before I found you."

She laughed despite herself, and his eyes brightened at the sound. "Found me? I distinctly recall finding you first."

"Assaulting me, as I remember it."

"You rather enjoyed it, as I recall, fool."

Instead of lifting her, he let her fall back into a controlled dip, his hand tight at her spine. The curve of her body met the air as he held her just shy of imbalance, then brought her upright again with a flex of his arm.

"When may I see you in private?" he asked, his voice low enough that the words stayed between them.

"In private?" She arched an eyebrow. "That is very bold of you; have you forgotten, my Lord? I am a Queen now."

"Ah yes." His mouth curved, lush lips bent into a wicked bow. Up close, dizzyingly close, she could make out that his hunter’s smile was framed by freckles. "How thoughtless of me. Shall I make a formal petition then? Present myself before your morning court? Shall I kneel at your feet and properly show you my most ardent devotions?"

“I—you—”

You can read the rest on AO3!

[opal-apparition]

Feral - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

In the Fade, the man Ellana knew is gone. Solas is something else now—wild, dangerous, and though she knows she shouldn't... he is impossible to resist.

Rated E / Oneshot / PWP / Regressed Solas / Adventures in The Fade / Happy Ending

Excerpt:

She woke to heat and need, awareness creeping in like morning fog...

Solas burned against her back, his body a brand of fire through their clothing. His breath came hot and heavy against her neck as he nuzzled her skin,, snuffling at the back of her neck. The hard length of his arousal pressed insistently against the small of her back, and Ellana shivered all over, a low, shocked moan escaping her lips before she could stop it. Behind her, Solas made a hungry noise that vibrated through her bones like thunder. Her heart slammed against her ribs as something fundamental shifted inside her, ancient instinct overriding reason. She realized, with sudden clarity that stole her breath, that she ached with want.

"Solas," she breathed, his name half-plea, half-question.

Solas rumbled against her skin and rolled her onto her belly, settling heavy atop her and pressing her into the mound of leaves and grass. His hips ground against her with urgent need, and Ellana made a broken noise she'd never heard herself make before, needy and wounded like another animal he’d cornered to kill. An overwhelming rush of heat burned through her veins like liquid fire, and she lay trembling beneath him as Solas stripped away their clothing with efficient, almost savage movements. Those hands could paint frescos. Those hands could split skulls. Those hands deftly undid buttons and belts like they remembered how to be gentle, leaving trails of heat on exposed skin.

Those hands skimmed down her sides, nails scraping, mapping her body and marking their territory, the swell of her hips, the peaks of her breasts, and the tender valleys between. Then his weight shifted, and she felt his hot breath against the shell of her pointed ear before he moved lower, flowing down her body until he was between her legs, lifting her hips up, his tongue unabashedly dragging against her cunt. A broken cry escaped her as the wet heat of his mouth sent sparks racing up her spine. His growl of approval vibrated against her most sensitive flesh as he tasted her arousal, lapping eagerly.

Fingers joined his mouth, first one, then two sliding into her with careful insistence. Was this something he remembered to do? Ellana tried to think despite the overflow of feeling, he was wild, gone, but still so determined to please–

Read the Rest on AO3! :)

[opal-apparition]

A Matter of Pride Chapter 13 - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter Summary:

The Viscount, struggling to heal from his injuries, drifts into laudanum-laden nightmares of his past.

No excerpts this time :)

[opal-apparition]

A Matter of Pride - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Ellana Lavellan never imagined the man who orchestrated her family’s ruin would become her husband, but an ancient contract leaves her no choice. Lord Fen’Harel, cold, calculating, and fiercely proud, loathes everything she represents—and despises himself even more for the way she begins to unsettle him. Proud and sharp-tongued, Ellana refuses to bend to his disdain for her Dalish heritage, sparking a war of wit and will that neither can afford to lose. Yet, as intrigue and danger close in, their battle for dominance may reveal a truth far more perilous: that hatred and desire are closer than they dare admit.

Rated Mature / Long Fic / Slow Burn / Regency AU / Enemies to Lovers

Excerpt (taken from Chapter 3):

Lord Fen'Harel's arrival created the sort of silence that rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water. Conversations faltered mid-word, dancers missed their steps, and even the music from the band seemed to fade in submission of his presence. 

He moved through the crowd with measured grace, each step deliberate as if stalking prey even though his days of hunting enemy soldiers had ended. Ellana’s eyes went to his face first, to his hair, where the sides were  shaved close, exposing the sharp angles of his skull and the pale curve of his pointed ears, a contrast to the long, sleek cascade that fell down his back. It was a style that eschewed vanity, instead emphasizing the harsh symmetry of his face—the severe cheekbones, the narrow bridge of his nose, and the slight downward tilt of his mouth. Then, her gaze trailed lower, to his clothing. The Viscount’s formal attire, impeccably tailored in shades of deepest green and black, made most other gentlemen's clothes look garish by comparison. No ornate embroidery or excessive decoration—just clean lines that emphasized his tall, lean frame and the aristocratic tilt of his head. There were no gilded embellishments, no embroidery to flaunt wealth, and there was no need: 

Viscount Fen’Harel had commanded legions on the battlefield in chaos, he would command the same awe here through understated silence.

"Well," Dorian murmured beside her, "he certainly knows how to make an entrance. Though I must say, he seems in an particularly stern mood tonight. I do hope you've considered your approach carefully, my dear."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ellana's fingers tightened on her evening bag, the documents inside suddenly feeling both inadequate and absolutely essential. "Though you sound concerned, Lord Pavus."

"Concerned? No, no—fascinated, perhaps. Intrigued, certainly." His smile held a hint of warning beneath its charm. "It's not often someone willingly seeks to bait the wolf in his own den. Though I suppose if anyone could manage it with grace, it would be you."

Before she could respond, Countess Mythal appeared at Lord Fen'Harel's side, every inch the gracious hostess in elaborate silver silk that caught the light like moonlight. Even from across the room, Ellana could see the family resemblance between aunt and nephew—the same aristocratic bearing, the same ability to command attention without seeming to seek it.

"How fortunate," Dorian commented, watching the pair with sharp interest. "Countess Mythal always does enjoy a bit of drama at her gatherings so long it is not at her own expense. Though I doubt even she expects quite the entertainment you're planning to provide."

Ellana straightened her spine, summoning every lesson in deportment she'd ever learned. "What makes you so certain I'm planning anything at all?"

"My dear Lady Lavellan," Dorian's voice held genuine amusement now, "no one, especially a Lady, carries a portfolio of documents to a ball unless they intend to cause absolute chaos with whatever is inside them. It's simply not done in polite society." He raised his glass in a small salute. "Needless to say, I heartily approve.”

Across the ballroom, Lord Fen'Harel was now engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion with several council members. Even from this distance, Ellana could see how others deferred to him, creating a subtle but clear circle of space around his tall figure. A young debutante attempted to catch his eye and was summarily dismissed with a mere glance.

"Ah, poor Lady Rosewood," Dorian commented, following Ellana's gaze. "Third attempt this season to gain his attention. Though I must say, she lasted longer than most before wilting under that particular look."

"Does he always affect such disdain for company he considers beneath him?" Ellana asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.

"Oh no, not at all." Dorian's smile held a hint of mischief. "Sometimes he's much worse. Though I should warn you—" He paused, dark eyes glinting with sudden interest as he noticed something over her shoulder. "Ah. Speaking of warnings..."

"Lady Lavellan." The voice behind her carried the crisp authority of someone unused to being ignored. "How... unexpected to see you here."

Ellana turned to find herself face to face with Commander Cassandra Pentaghast, her formal uniform making her seem even more imposing than usual. The Commander of the City Guard rarely attended social functions, preferring her duties to society's games. Her presence tonight suggested more than casual interest.

"Commander." Ellana dipped into a slight curtsey. "I wasn't aware the City Guard took such interest in social gatherings."

"We take interest in anything that might disturb the peace." Cassandra's direct gaze left no doubt about her meaning. 

"Particularly when certain parties seem intent on causing... disruptions."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Ellana replied smoothly, though her fingers tightened on her evening bag. "I'm merely here to enjoy the hospitality of Countess Mythal's renowned gathering."

"Of course." Cassandra's tone suggested she believed this about as much as she believed in flying nugs. "Then you won't mind if I—"

"Seeker Pentaghast!" Dorian interrupted with perfectly calculated enthusiasm. "I've been meaning to ask your opinion on that fascinating report about the new harbor patrols. Perhaps you'd care to discuss it over here?" He gestured toward a less crowded corner of the room, smoothly inserting himself between Ellana and the Commander.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed, but something in Dorian's expression must have given her pause. "Very well, Lord Pavus. Though we will continue this conversation later, Lady Lavellan."

As Dorian led the Commander away, he glanced back at Ellana with a slight nod toward the opposite side of the room, where Lord Fen'Harel had moved away from his admirers and now stood somewhat apart, studying the dancers with apparent disinterest.

The message was clear: If she meant to confront him, now was her chance.

Ellana took a steadying breath, touching her mother's pendant for courage before making her way across the ballroom. Each step brought her closer to Lord Fen'Harel, the rustle of her silk skirts marking time with her heartbeat. He stood alone now, a glass of wine untouched in his hand as he observed the dancing with apparent disinterest. Up close, his presence was even more imposing—something in his bearing suggested barely leashed power, like a storm contained in crystal.

"Viscount Fen'Harel." Her curtsey was precise, measured to the exact depth appropriate for their relative stations - deep enough to show respect, but not so deep as to suggest submission. "I believe we haven't been formally introduced. I am—"

"Lady Lavellan." He continued studying the dancers, as though the act of turning to face her fully would be beneath his dignity. His voice carried the crisp authority of someone unused to being questioned, each word precisely measured. "Your reputation precedes you."

Something in his tone suggested this was not entirely a compliment. Ellana felt heat rise in her cheeks but kept her spine straight, her chin lifted. Let him dismiss her if he wished—she had not come this far to be deterred by cold manners and colder eyes.

"How fascinating." She allowed just a hint of steel to enter her own voice. "I wasn't aware I had garnered enough notice to warrant a reputation. Though perhaps you're referring to the impact your latest trade proposals will have on traditional merchants? That would certainly explain your reluctance to acknowledge me directly."

Now he did turn, fixing her with a gaze that had made lesser nobles stumble over their own excuses. The full force of his attention was like standing too close to a storm—crackling with barely leashed power and the promise of imminent destruction.

"You presume much," he said softly, dangerously, "to question policies you barely comprehend. Though I suppose that's something of a tradition among your people.”

" My people?" Ellana's fingers tightened on her evening bag. "You and I are both elvhen, my lord. Or have you forgotten that in your rush to destroy centuries of shared heritage?"

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Heritage," he said, the word precise as a blade, "is not synonymous with progress. Though I realize not all are capable appreciating the distinction."

Around them, other guests had begun to notice their exchange. Conversations quieted as nobles shifted to better observe what promised to be the evening's most interesting entertainment. Ellana was acutely aware of the growing attention, but she pressed on... You can read the rest on AO3! :)

[opal-apparition]

Beneath the Breach - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Solas has worn many masks through the centuries, but this one is beginning to feel like his true face... and the sickly green Breach in the sky is nothing compared to the one forming in his resolve.

Excerpt:

Crackling firelight cast soft, cozy shadows across the camp, and for a moment, Solas allowed himself to linger in the warmth of the moment and even more reluctantly… their company. Just this once, just for this moment, he was a man, himself, Solas, and nothing else.

The feeling was rare. He’d played many roles before: advisor, rebel, spy. He’d worn masks so convincing even he sometimes forgot what lay beneath. But here, watching Ellana trace constellations in the night sky with the same hand that bore his mark, even the armor of time, guilt, and purpose were beginning to buckle. This current mask—this simple apostate helping the Inquisition—was beginning to fit too comfortably, fusing with this skin. Becoming his face. Twisting his purpose.

She asked questions that made him think, challenged assumptions he'd held for millennia. Worse still, she did so without guile or agenda—just genuine curiosity that made him want to answer honestly, despite himself. It was a dangerous path, one he hadn't planned for when he chose to guide the bearer of his anchor in the hopes of regaining the Orb.

“Solas,” Ellana’s voice broke through his thoughts, her tone light but probing. “I’m sorry to break your broo—ah, reflections. But do you have a moment? I’d been meaning to speak with you since we last spoke about the Fade in Haven, how you sleep in old temples and travel to discover new places within. I… I’ve been thinking back on that, frequently, but it’s hard for me to imagine what it’s like to walk in it… just… stepping in like through a threshold into a home and striking up conversation with a spirit. Is it as strange as it sounds? I wish I could remember what it had been like for myself, I…”

Her face scrunched, the lines of her vallaslin bunching up in wrinkles around her nose.

“... everyone says that I stepped out of the breach, but I can’t remember how I stepped in, or what happened to Divine Justinia. I wonder if you explained it to me more, if it might help. Or, hah, I suppose I just like hearing you speak about it so endearingly, it is a wonderful place for you. I’d like to see it in that light, too.”

Solas’s eyes darted off to the side to gauge the others before answering. Varric had moved a few paces away, crouched by his half-pitched tent as he wrestled a stubborn support pole into place, muttering under his breath. Cassandra stood further off, tightening the straps on her bracers before turning toward the darkened treeline, scanning it with the same wariness she carried even in moments of rest. They were absorbed in their own tasks, their attention elsewhere… so… perhaps he could indulge in a real conversation.

He hesitated a moment, weighing his words.

Held back by Dalish teachings and no connection to the Dreaming, it was a difficult concept to parse into words that she might understand. The Fade, the real, raw, expanse of it, would be like explaining an emotion to a Tranquil in these harrowing times. But Ellana always asked. She asked about his thoughts, his travels, his opinions. More bizarrely, she listened, even if she couldn’t fathom some of his answers. There were several spirits of wisdom and study that he could think of that would be enamoured by such a being: one earnestly asking for the pleasure of hearing an answer, and sometimes doubly pleased if an answer led to yet another question.

The difficulty in speaking with Ellana wasn’t that she was difficult to speak with, it was because how alarmingly easy it was.

It would be alarmingly easy, too, to say too much.

Read the rest on AO3!

[opal-apparition]

A Matter of Pride Chapter 10 - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter Summary:

The aftermath of violence at Vi'Revas.

Chapter 12 Excerpt:

Here was a man she didn't know at all. There were all of his closely kept truths in varying stages of wet paint.

The Viscount was asleep, although barely, and there was hardly a person that would dare to think to stop her from simply… standing. Crossing the space into the parlor to look, as long as she pleased, at whatever works she found within, and assign whatever foul, crude, savage interpretation to highborn artistry that she liked just because she could, and just because she knew it would twist him again to be deliberately misunderstood.

Solas groaned, drawing her attention back in an instant.

His face was pinched with pain, even in sleep. Ellana reached for the basin of cool water on the bedside table and wrung out a cloth, gently pressing it to his fevered brow. How strange, she thought, dabbing the cloth across his temples, to be reaching out to him willingly, gently, like this. Theirs was a relationship of stomped toes and sneaky elbows into ribs. They did not like each other. They did not soothe and comfort, they did not… look… at each other’s face’s like this, up close and unguarded.

Ellana caught herself staring at the severe angles of his face. They looked softer like this, smoothed out by fatigue and vulnerability instead of the haughty disdain he usually wore. The strong line of his jaw relaxed in sleep, no longer clenched in irritation at her presence. His cheekbones, high and sharp, cast subtle shadows beneath them in the dim light. The furrow that typically resided between his brows had eased, making him appear younger, less burdened. His lips, usually pressed into a thin line of disapproval when addressing her, were slightly parted as shallow breaths passed between them.

Had she ever been able to just... look at him without him glaring back? Frowning, Ellana tried to bury the thought, and the need, to take advantage of the opportunity. His long, elegant fingers twitched against the sheets, perhaps fighting battles even in his dreams.

"There," she murmured, smoothing the cloth across his brow one more time. "That should help with the fever, and this…"

She adjusted his pillows with careful movements, lifting his head slightly to ease his labored breathing. The hair at his crown was damp with sweat, and sticking to his skin, with several of the longer locks apart from his shaved sides threatening to tangle against the curve of his neck. Heat flushed up into Ellana’s cheeks, and she glanced back over her shoulder towards the door. Surely no one would find it inappropriate if…?

Ellana bit down on her lower lips, eyes sweeping back to Solas, his closed eyes, the dark lashes over pale skin, then to the would-be knots. It would be more inappropriate to leave them there. With her fingertips only, she swept them away from the hollow of his throat.

"You'd find this terribly amusing, wouldn't you?" she said softly, sinking back into her chair, still blushing. "The savage Dalish playing nursemaid. Fumbling around you like a child. You'd have some cutting remark ready about my presumption to touch you, I’m sure. I’m grateful that you’re not awake to see me making a fool of myself."

His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the only response to her words.

"... and… perhaps it is because you are asleep, that I feel like I can say this. I… am… so angry with you. What were you thinking? Rushing in without a weapon, without a plan without—ugh! And—worst of all—how dare you make me want to thank you for doing it at all," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "Though I can't imagine why you did it considering you’ve made the depth of your loathing no secret." She dabbed at the perspiration on his neck, careful not to disturb the bandages. "How am I meant to repay something like this? Did you know I never could? Part of me thinks this was all some clever ploy, and that you’re preparing to trick me into something nefarious. The other part of me thinks… that sounds rather a lot like how you think of me, even when I’m trying my best. What a mess we make."

You can read the rest on AO3!

[opal-apparition]

The Shadows Between Bright Stars - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

"Show me," she breathed against his lips. "Show me how much you love me." She deserved better than this-better than a shadowed corner beneath a wooden staircase, better than hurried touches and stifled sounds. She deserved silk sheets and candlelight, deserved to be worshipped properly. Thoroughly. She deserved far better than him. And yet here he was, unable to deny her anything she asked, anything except the truth.

Oneshot / Solas POV / They're on a Boat / Angst / Porn with FEELINGS! / Rated E / Complete

Excerpt:

"I want to," she said, fierce and certain in a way that made his chest ache. "I want you."

Those words—so simple, so devastating—broke the last of his resolve. He kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring everything he couldn't say into it. His grief, his love, his desperate need to memorize every moment with her before it all came crashing down.

The ship rocked beneath them, and he used the motion to press closer, to hide how his hands trembled as they mapped her body. She was so warm, so alive under his touch, responding to each caress with a frankness that left him breathless. There was no artifice here, no game—just Ellana, trusting and wanting and his.

His. The word echoed in his mind like a curse, like a blessing. She wasn't his, could never truly be his, and yet…

"Wait," he breathed against her throat, even as his hands continued their reverent exploration. "Wait, I… there is much you don't know. That I have not told you. I would not lie with you under false pretenses."

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes bright even in the shadows. Despite the wine, despite the desire clouding her features, her voice was steady. "Do you love me?"

The question pierced him like an arrow. He could deny her this, should deny her this. It would be kinder in the long run. But he was tired of denying, tired of holding himself apart, and the truth spilled from his lips like wine.

" Yes ," he whispered, the word rough with emotion. "More than you could know. More than—more I should."

Her fingers traced his cheek, gentle and sure. "Then that's the only truth that matters right now."

"Ellana…" Her name was both plea and protest on his tongue.

But she was already pulling him down for another kiss, soft and certain, and he was powerless to resist. She tasted of wine and trust and everything he'd denied himself for millennia. His hands found her hips, drawing her closer, and she gasped into his mouth.

"Show me," she breathed against his lips. "Show me how much you love me."

The words undid him completely. With a groan, he lifted her, pressing a leg between her thighs, pressing where he was wanted most. The position aligned them perfectly, and they both gasped at the contact. Even through layers of clothing, the heat of her was overwhelming.

She deserved better than this - better than a shadowed corner beneath a wooden staircase, better than hurried touches and stifled sounds. She deserved silk sheets and candlelight, deserved to be worshipped properly, thoroughly. She deserved far better than him. And yet here he was, unable to deny her anything she asked, anything except the truth. The irony was bitter that he who had once been worshipped as a god was now on his knees for her, metaphorically if not soon literally. He owed her everything for what he would do, what he had already set in motion. The least he could do was give her this.

He took her weight easily, shifting their positions enough for his hand to slide through the loosened gap of her skirts—not enough, just enough—her skin burning against the sea-breeze cold of his fingers as they found the velvet expanse of her thigh, then soft downy hair, the obscene gush of her wet cunt.

Ellana gasped, the sound muffled against his mouth, as he stroked her there, learning the shape and texture of her in aching, reverent detail. She was slick and swollen with need, rocking into his touch with wanton abandon. He swallowed each whimper, each sigh, as though he could drink in her pleasure and make it his own.

It was. To please her was pleasure itself.

Read the rest on AO3! :)