thank you for the tags @kogarashi-art @jenn2d2 and @jukkaricity
soft tagging @handsignals @serialsforbellara @tkwritesdumbassassins and @juniper-and-dragonthorn
Her fingers shook as she reached out to touch the looking glass. She wanted to claim that it was some trick of the light, but she knew better. Solas's warnings rang in her head.
"The dagger has connected you to the Lighthouse from the time you took it up, Rook. You might have passed it on, had you not begun using magic that weaves the essence of the Fade into you. I warned you the longer you used that magic, the closer you bind yourself to it, the closer you come to becoming a creature of the Fade yourself. And you can hide it for only so long."
Solas had warned her.
And now the effects were there for all to see, for the eyes that stared back at her from the looking glass were no longer gray, but an eerie lyrium blue.
An Adventure (mystery?) Serial in Which Everything is (absolutely not) Exactly as it Seems (Part 3 of 7)
(Thank you @rookappreciationweek for hosting!)
(Previously or Part 1)
Rook Volkarin loved the Necropolis. Home, secure, unchanging (or ever changing, depending on one’s perspective.) She had considered running away, once, and cringed at the very concept now. After all, that was before she had found herself crossing paths with and subsequently being adopted by Emmrich Volkarin.
A home. A proper home. Skeletal brother and all.
She was carefully guiding Manfred in preparing reagents, mortar and pestle grinding the elfroot to a fine consistent powder that hopefully didn’t end up all over the work table, when her father wandered into the room.
“Ah, there you both are! Hard at work, as usual.” Emmrich walked over, placing one of his hands on Rook’s back and the other on Manfred’s. “Very good, Manfred. You are being so careful.” He winked at Rook. “Obviously, he has a wonderful teacher today.”
Rook smiled. “He’ll be ready for caustic ingredients before the year ends.”
Manfred hissed happily. He really wanted to be trusted with the acids and -
A moment of panic struck Rook as she glanced at her feet. Why was she worried about being barefoot? She would never be barefoot when she was working.
Emmrich was smiling. “Now, let us not be in a hurry for that, yes? I am not sure my heart could handle it. Rook, I am going to take over for you here. My friend Professor Hezenkoss asked if you might be available to assist her today. I hope you do not mind.”
“Oh, no, of course not.” Rook stood up and made sure there wasn’t any wayward elfroot powder on her work apron.
“I am not sure if I should even mention it, but Johanna has hinted that she might have use for an apprentice. I know you are a full mage in your own right, my dear, but there is much to be said for studying under a master of Professor Hazenkoss’ caliber.”
Rook smiled. “That would be lovely. Hopefully I am up to her standards.”
Hardly.
Her father gave her that look, the I-don’t-like-it-when-you-are-too-hard-on-yourself look. “Anyone should be thrilled to work with you, Rook. Never doubt that.”
The walk to Professor Hazenkoss’ lab was uneventful. Blink and she was there fast. Rook stood at the Professor's door, hand poised to knock and stopped.
Walking through the Necropolis should have involved wisps. Spirits. The Necropolis was always busy and Rook in particular seemed to stir the local inhabitants to make themselves known.
Even now she could sense - something. Just on the edge of her senses. Spirits of Story, of Lies, of Determination and Wisdom and Rage and - oh. And a binding.
Maker’s Balls, girl. Just open the damned door.
On the door. There was a spell here. Waiting for her to walk right into its grasp. The boiling pot waiting for the frog. Magic still and anticipatory and screaming and Bellara in the forest and Lucanis at the cafe and Rook didn’t know what was going on, but she needed to warn Emmrich right now. She turned away from the door and ran.
Fool. Ingrate. To think, I was considering letting you assist me, was gifting you my undivided attention. And you fight it? You walk away? You are even more foolish than Volkarin, and that is saying something.
The Necropolis - the real Necropolis, this wasn’t real, she was sure of that now - changed, but not like this was changing. Corridors shifted and inverted and impossible doors gave way to sudden drops and Rook grabbed for the energy around her. It was close, too close, too much, but she threw it in front of her and focused on finding Emmrich and was swept along its currents like a leaf in a river.
Something was following her, close at her heels, but she quickly found herself back in their apartment. Manfred and Emmrich laying out lunch. Tea. A spot for her at the table and, oh, that was something she had always been looking for.
Yes. I gave you both something you want. A home for the lost little orphan. A family for the tragically lonely dotard. And you throw it back in my face. I’m done with you, hero.
Yes, something she wanted. But not like this. “Emmrich,” Rook said, running over to him. “This isn’t real.”
“This isn’t…oh dear.” Rook could see the shift. Whatever was holding her, holding them in these fantasies, these dreams, it seemed flimsy enough that a simple misstep or prod broke its hold. “What a lovely dream, though. I sense we’re in the Fade, Rook. Physically, which is a tad concerning. Any sign of the others?”
“I found Bellara and Lucanis but we were separated again. I’m going to keep looking. Do you remember what happened?”
“I…ah. Rook, we need to hurry.” His eyes seemed to focus on whatever was behind Rook.
Fast or slow. It won’t make a difference. You are already too late, old friend.
“Johanna,” Emmrich said gruffly, gesturing behind him. A tear opened with the wave of his arm. “Go, Rook. I’ll delay here while you find the others.”
Rook hesitated. She wanted to argue. To insist on staying. To tell him that she wished she had a father like him, that they had crossed paths earlier in her actual time at the Necropolis. Maybe that would have made the place feel more like a home.
Disgusting sentiment. Here, let me help you along.
Another surge of power and Rook felt herself thrown into the rift.
Ghilan’nain led, fortunately. She hadn’t been certain about how she would deal with leading someone whose tentacles were about three times as long as she was. But she was honestly a lovely dancer, fluidly moving, and Lavellan was spun, dipped with hands and with tentacles. If only Ghilan’nain hadn’t been a completely amoral monster, it would have been much more fun. It was fun anyway.
“You are a curious creature,” said Ghilan’nain thoughtfully. “A mortal, but able to survive the power of a god and its removal.”
“I believe Solas was surprised by that as well,” she said politely.
'“And you led the resistance in the South,” Ghilan’nain remarked as they spun across the floor.
“Yes,” she answered. “Were you testing different forms in the South? I saw some there that I didn’t see up North. The shriek variants, the ones that looked like Blighted elves with long stabbing arms. I don’t know what you called them.”
Ghilan’nain dipped her head close to Lavellan’s face, peering at her with a toothed eye.
“You called them shrieks,” Ghilan’nain said, interested. “Tell me, what did you think?”
“Quite effective at first,” she said. “The noise was unsettling, but it did allow us a moment of preparation before they attacked. And there was the odour, but it was hard to detect in areas with heavy blight. The flies weren’t though. We just started shooting into the clouds of flies.”
Ghilan’nain cocked her head.
“I had not considered how the sound would affect seasoned warriors,” she mused. “I had intended to use them to herd material into areas for collection.”
And she’d forgotten for a moment that this hadn’t been a theoretical exercise, that Ghilan’nain was, in fact, completely without any feeling towards anything that she hadn’t personally created, or perhaps, was fond of it only as raw material for modification or improvement. Her skin crawled as Ghilan’nain pulled her closer.
Written for @in-arlathan for the @dasmutquisition this year. I had the absolute best time figuring out this pairing, but I'd like to think I did them justice.
Mahriel and Fen'harel get up to some sexy shenanigans in the fade, but their time is limited...A03
Mo fen: My Wolf
Vhenan: My Heart
"Come back to bed." A soft voice whispered in her ear, nuzzling her hair aside to kiss her neck as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back snug against his chest.
"But the sunrise is so beautiful this morning."
"It's the same as every other sunrise here...it's our dream world, after all."
"You said yourself, that's not true--that The Fade is a pocket of the world as it was before The Veil."
He smiled against her neck as her fingers traced little patterns on his bare arms. "So, you were listening."
"Mo fen, I listen to every word you say, even when you're deliberately trying to distract me with that wicked tongue of yours."
It had been a complete accident, their meeting each other. She'd found herself wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar part of the fade feeling lost and alone after facing Tamlen as a ghoul and having him beg her to kill him--but it beat the nightmares she was now used to having thanks to the taint in her blood. Imagine her surprise when she stumbled across The Dread Wolf himself, just as hot-blooded and impulsive and cocky and ready to fight as the stories warned, but the mural depictions of him her clan had come across when traveling through the Dales and other parts of the world, had not done him justice. Between his blue eyes with flecks of purple in them, lean muscles, his strong thighs and his perfect bottom, he was absolutely breathtaking. But it was also his brain, the knowledge he had of the fade, magic, and history that had kept her coming back–and his voice: sensual and smooth…she could listen to him talk forever and never get tired of it. It wasn't like she could even talk about it…who would believe her anyways–the elvhen gods were real and one of them was warming her proverbial bed and giving her the filthiest dreams? The Chantry would be out for her head and she didn't need another reason for Dalish clans to be mistrusted and mistreated. So, he remained her dirty little secret–her sexy and confident and Fade-loving dirty little secret.
She bit her lip, holding back a sigh as he scraped his teeth gently across her pulse point, eager to resume the night's activities before she had to wake up and leave him once more. He'd been sleeping for almost a millennia, but he was starting to find that these stolen moments together weren't near enough. Days had turned to weeks since they'd met and created this place as their haven and getaway, but the sexual tension between them had been palpable from the start, finally coming to a head a couple weeks before and every day since, which had been exactly the distraction she'd needed from having the weight of the world on her shoulders. He released her and took a step back, her lips turning down into a pout until she turned around, fully taking him in as he held out his hand for her to take. The glow from the sunrise behind her painted his skin in a red-orange light, highlighting the contours of his body, his dark locs disheveled from their night together, barely getting a wink of sleep. A smirk lit up his face–glad he could affect her like that–as her eyes roved appreciatively over him, words escaping her as her hand slipped into his, tugging him closer, their lips crashing together in a heated kiss.
The railing was suddenly behind him, digging into his back but he didn't care; he just wanted her– His blood had been simmering at a low boil since he'd found her out on the balcony, wind ruffling her hair and making her see-through dressing gown billow around her frame from where it was cinched in the middle, and leaving nothing to the imagination. His mouth was hungry and demanding against her own as he angled her head to deepen the kiss, running the soft fabric through his fingers the touch trailing down her sternum before pulling the sides of her dressing gown open, her breasts spilling out. A broken moan dropped from her lips as he cupped her breasts, soft fingers tracing icy circles around her nipples and making them harden. The blast of cryo magic sent a shiver skittering across her skin, Fen'harel breaking the kiss to smile smugly at her, unique ice patterns appearing wherever he touched, the cold spiking her arousal. And that was before he headed south, sliding his fingers down her stomach and dipping between her legs to tease her.
She leaned in and put her mouth by his ear, sucking the pointed tip into her mouth her bare chest smashed against his. "If you don't take me back to bed this instant, I will have you right against this railing."
Not a bad idea, seeing as how just that little suggestion had him half hard and wanting, but as the quaint little saying she had uttered several times since they met went, the Dread Wolf planned to do the taking.
"Not today I think–today I want you on silk. But we'll table that for next time."
She shuddered at the wolfish, predatory grin on his face before he draped her legs over his hips, fingers stroking down her legs, locking her ankles behind him and lifting her up into his arms. His fingers dug into the skin of her hips, red marks blooming where he touched, making her utter a very creative swear under her breath as he stalked back into the room, depositing her in the center of their bed and kneeling on the floor before her to place a gentle kiss on her hip bone. This woman had tamed the mighty Dread Wolf and quite literally brought him to his knees. Gentle hands widened the gap of her thighs, opening her to him as he dipped his head to her core, inhaling the scent of her and growling low in his throat. He cupped her rear, lifting her hips to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to her clit, her toes curling and back arching as she canted her hips invitingly, hands curling in his locs and tugging at his scalp as she writhed under his careful attentions. The tip of his tongue teased her mercilessly–tracing her slit to gather her flavors into his mouth and flicking her clit in small circles before dipping it briefly inside her. His mouth closed over her dripping sex and sucked hard, tongue flicking at her clit before sucking the little nub between his lips and tugging it gently.
It wasn't enough.
She tugged his hair harder, dislodging his mouth and tugging him up to look him in the eyes, a spark of lightning dancing on her tongue as she licked her lips. "Dread Wolf, take me."
The very first time she had uttered those words in the throes of passion she had wrecked him and made him lose control, leaving her a mess, but now he looked forward to her crying it out every time. They challenged each other in ways neither had expected, control a game between the two of them that neither wanted to lose. He smiled and took himself in hand, teasing her with the head of his erection, rubbing his shaft up and down her slick folds. It was probably for the best that she was just as impatient as he was--who knew when she would be torn from sleep and away from him. She barely had time to think, before he grasped her hips and lifted, pushing into her slowly, filling her to the hilt. His hands wrapped around her hips, drawing her closer before pulling his hips back and leaning down to capture her lips with his own as he pressed forward into her, swallowing her contented sigh as he thrust into her again.
"Vhenan…" He breathed, glad they were both teetering at the edge of ecstasy, because he could already feel her slipping away from him.
Her heat surrounded him, his lover muttering unintelligible things against his lips, and he rolled his hips back and then sank back into her, his thrusts quickening without warning. His finger sought her clit as he rocked his hips, his mouth on hers, one hand cupping her naked breast and the other circling her clit, as he took her hard and fast. She stretched with him, keeping up with the pace he’d set, her body bending like a bow string as he filled her, burrowing himself into her relentlessly, and all she could do was rock her hips to match the heady and frantic rhythm. The pleasurable pressure that had been building inside her had reached its breaking point and she couldn't hold on any longer. His eyes bored into hers, sparkling with desire and delight as he watched her face--he loved the face she made when she came.
"By the Dread Wolf…Fen!" She screamed, body arching and spasming as she climaxed, her core clenching around his shaft, nails raking lightning down his back as he pulled out, her name dropping from his lips on a low growl as he came, seed spilling across her stomach.
She woke in her bedroll drenched in sweat and slightly sticky from their excursions, her heart a little tight--him calling her 'vhenan' hadn't escaped her notice. He'd never called her that before, so whenever their next encounter happened, they had to talk about it. But neither knew when that would be, their time together always precious and fleeting and random. Maybe one day they would figure out where he was in her world, and they could do this for real without only dreams and Fade-tongue to keep them company. He was falling just as hard as she was, and that wonderful thought was enough to keep her going until they saw each other again…
Yeah I have no real reason to be back here in the DA mud other than this fic was calling to me. Had some thoughts about it in my head so I figured I’d work on it again and post what comes out. <3 To the three of you that may or may not be reading it: merry Solas Feelingsmas
I was excited to be involved with the @dapolyshipping exchange this year, and had a blast writing two works for it! Here's what I whipped up:
I bleed applause (I'm fading slow): for @thefoxinboots
Rated: E for Extra Sexy
Relationships: Anders x Dorian x Solas
Summary: Dorian and Anders discuss sex magic with bated breath in the library, just above where Solas paints his frescoes. He pipes up to correct them. In which Solas teaches two young mages exactly how the Fade can work in their favor.
bones, blood and teeth erode: for @darethshirl
Rated: E for Extra Sexy (and Angsty)
Relationships: Solas x Desire Demon x Regret Demon
Summary: Solas has harmed everyone he has ever loved. Alone now except for the company of spirits, Regret and Desire torment him further. It is in their nature, after all, and Solas has never been one to deny a spirit its purpose.
