#Dorian grey weekly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emilyoftheshadows · 3 years

Text

Are we going to ignore the inhaling of narcotic drugs going on in the corner?

Enjoy some more angsty rowaelon vibes! This drabble is more intense than my other two pieces and probably the most angst I have ever written.

TW: depression, drug/alcohol abuse, death, gun violence

~~~~~

Aelin looked good tonight. No, correction, she looked fucking hot. The dress hugged her thin figure, the hot pink color sure to make her stand out in any crowd. With her loosely curled hair running down her back and a disguise of makeup to cover the darkening circles under her eyes, Aelin was ready to face the crowds.

The most rambunctious groups came out Friday night. The clubs become filled with young drinkers like Aelin, ready to let loose after a long week. Not that it mattered what day of the week it was anymore. Aelin could barely keep track as it was. Between last night's drunken adventures and the shroom endeavors the night before, time blurred together.

Her apathy for her life was at an all time high, and Aelin couldn't find it in herself to give two fucks about her safety. No, she was out for a good time, even if the cost was a high price. She wanted more good times, more distractions, more haziness, more everything. Want was too weak of a word...Aelin needed these distractions in her life. Because if she took the time to re-evaluate her life circumstances, she would crumble beyond repair.

So instead of feeling the emptiness of reality, Aelin decided to live in the fullness of fantasy. With her intentions in mind, she turned to Dorian with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He smiled back with drunken enthusiasm, already 4 shots in due to his notorious pre-gaming. Yes, even events he attended involving the consumption of more alcohol still required this ritual. Ever since Aelin had dived into her partying streak, Dorian had been stuck to her side. While they were not dating by any means, he was a good fuck buddy and a great party companion. With the same wild side as herself, they had a partnership that benefited them both.

Tonight, they walked into The Vaults, instantly greeted by the smell of sweat and liquor. The club was grimy at best with an even grosser owner, but they sold pints by the dollar and had a tendency to skip id checks. For this exact reason, Vaults was filled to the brim with patrons creating a chaotic image. Arms pumped up in tandem with the bass, bodies bumped into one another as people found the rhythm of the music; partners danced on each other, lost to the world around them. Aelin saw it all and became fascinated by the scene in front of her. She craved the anonymity that came with jumping into a random crowd. Aelin reveled in the thought of losing herself tonight, just like she had every night since he was ripped from her life.

Dorian released Aelin of her trance, pulling her to the expansive bar on the side of the room. Waving down the attention of the bartender, Dorian yelled over the sounds of the club.

"Ace, what are you feeling tonight? Shots, beer, cosmos, you fucking name it. Everything's on me tonight!" Oh yeah, it was an added benefit that Dorian had money to burn. His father did something or other, Aelin couldn't remember. It wasn't pertinent to her, therefore she couldn't care less. But because of his fathers funds, and Dorian’s unlimited access to said funds, Aelin didn't have to pay for a thing when they went out.

"Surprise me!" With that said, Dorian turned towards the bartender ordering god knows what. Aelin took this time to check her phone, noting the date. June 9 2021, 365 days after she had lost her greatest love. The reason she needed to drown her sorrows with booze and bodies. Because the day Sam had died had been the last time Aelin truly knew who she was anymore.

With a margarita set in her hand, Aelin tucked her phone back into her pocket determined to take back control of her thoughts, and continued to lead Dorian into the depths of the club. As much as she hated to admit it, Aelin frequented Vaults on a weekly basis. The club attracted a crowd she usually didn’t interact with in her day to day life, creating a safe space where Aelin could go as wild as she wanted. The seating area they now stood in contained multiple clusters of partygoers, some more distracted than others. It was then that Dorian took a certain interest in one group over the others.

With a hefty laugh, Dorian commented, “Are we going to ignore the inhaling of narcotic drugs going on in the corner?”

Aelin couldn’t help but join in his laughter, because as she turned her head to the left, she saw a girl arranging lines of white powder on the table in the middle of a much larger group.

“You know what, you are absolutely right Dorian! How could we ever miss an opportunity for a nice high?” Aelin could barely hear her own words over the noise, but noticed the glimmer of mischief reflected in Dorian’s eyes as well. She took that as a sign, moving closer to the group until she was in the center of the cluster with Dorian stuck at her side. With a raised eyebrow, Aelin gestured with her eyes to the powder and back up to the girl organizing the substance. Her hair was white as snow, piercings dotted along her ears and face. She glanced up at Aelin, the girl's pupils already blown out and bloodshot. With a lazy smile she handed Aelin a card to line up her own serving.

Three lines later, Aelin was feeling more awake than ever. Her heart felt like it was skipping a beat, her nerves were on edge and her emotions were heightened. She looked over, glad to see Dorian was enjoying his time with the white-haired girl. But Aelin was done lounging around. No, she needed to move with the crowd in the center of the club. With her eyes locked on the floor, Aelin stumbled her way into the group of dancers, easily moving to the beats of the music. As she spun in circles, whipping her head around, a flash of silver hair caught her eye. Many eccentric characters liked clubbing at Vaults, so it wasn’t unusual to see colorful hair, odd piercings, or questionable life choices. But, Aelin had a feeling that this character would be worth the search once found. She finished her rotation and gained her bearings. Her eyes focused after a few moments, immediately setting out to find the topple of silver hair she had only seen moments ago. With a cursory glance, Aelin couldn’t find her target and quickly resigned in her search. There were many more people and many more ways to distract herself tonight.

Aelin started to move her hips to the lull of the music once more, raising her arms up, reaching for her lost lover in the sky. She felt the haziness of the drugs and alcohol overcome her senses, finally enjoying the night's events. Men and women surrounded her, Aelin’s own sweat mixing with others around. Arms became entangled, hips grinded against a partner, and lips kissed in sync with the swaying of movement.

As Aelin became a part of it all, she imagined Sam was dancing with her…... as a boyish face appeared right in front of her, his usual outfit sculpting his body just right : a button down shirt with rolled up sleeves and a pair of nice jeans matched with one of his many shoe choices. His arms wrapped around her waist, Aelin’s right resting on his shoulder, her left hand entwined in his tousled brown. She looked into his beautiful eyes, finding the light she loved to see shining back at her. Aelin felt her mood lighten, finding comfort in the arms of her love that she had missed for such a long time. God, she had missed this feeling, this unexplainable comfort she felt in his presence. Sam twirled Aelin around herself, his arms coming to wrap around her middle, his hands- grabbed her hips from behind.

Aelin came to her senses, shoved back into reality. Rough hands pulled her back into a tall, muscular frame. The mysterious man behind her had a pungent odor, wafts of his smell acting like a tether to her more sober self. Aelin turned to catch a glimpse of the man, only to see Arobynn Hamel himself. The man was almost twice her age, not to mention the owner of The Vaults, and a notorious man whore with a keen liking for younger girls.

Aelin immediately became uncomfortable. There was too much going on. Between the lights of the club, the music’s heavy bass, and the unwanted sensation of the man behind her, she was ready to get out. She maneuvered herself out of his grasp, turning around and making a drinking motion with her hand. Instead of accepting her departure, Arobynn grabbed her by the waist and crashed their bodies together. Now encircled in his arms, Aelin truly had no escape. Her mind was on overdrive, her body kicking into flight or fight mode. Arobynn’s hands wandered down to her ass and up the length of her body.

He continued to grope her assets with unnecessary fervor, never loosening his grip on her body. Aelin tried shoving the man away, only to be greeted by an ugly smile and a beady pair of grey eyes. Fear kept Aelin in her place, the man staring back at her only more encouraged by her lack of willingness. As they danced, Aelin frantically looked around for help. Anyone who could help her get out of this situation now. Her vision was blurred with tears, her eyes barely able to distinguish anything around her. Then, like magic, Dorian finally appeared and yanked Aelin out of her partner's arms.

"You motherfucker what the hell are you doing??" Dorian was enraged at Arobynn's actions, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of his head as he yelled each word.

"Well, before you so rudely stole my partner, we were having a really good time dancing with one another." Arobynn's eyes wandered to her at that comment, his misguided intentions clear as day.

"A good time?? Huh? A good time when the girl you're dancing with is crying because she can't stand your very existence? Yeah that sounds fucking wonderful to me!" Maybe it was the powder they had both inhaled earlier, but Dorian was more aggressive than usual. Without missing a beat, he swung at Arobynn and clocked him dead smack in the face.

Arobynn was caught by surprise, losing his balance as he teetered backwards from the hit. Blood dripped from his nose profusely, a bruise forming beneath his eye. Arobynn looked back at the man who had caused this pain, and snarled in anger.

As he ran to Dorian, tackling him to the ground, all Aelin could do was stand there frozen in time. She heard screaming, maybe her own, as the men fought on the floor. There was so much noise around her, the sound of fists connecting with bone, the music still blaring in her ears. There was so much blood --- so much blood around her, on her, on him. Aelin sat on the floor, her phone beside her as the paramedic updated her on the ambulances location. But she couldn't listen, no, she was too busy watching the man she loved disappear right before her eyes. Sam's body was pale, the gaping gunshot wound in his abdomen leaking too much blood too fast. Aelin cradled his head as he struggled to breath, soothing him with little sayings and comforting noises. Her tears fell on his face as she kissed him, not able to let him go. He needed to be okay, he needed to respond to her sayings, he needed to tell her he loved her, he needed to survive. But as Aelin looked into those brown eyes, there was no light left within them anymore. Aelin couldn't help the sobs that escaped her. Her body wracked violently as --- she was shoved by the fighting men.

Arobynn and Dorian were battered and bruised, the men equal in build and skill. They were breathing hard, looking at one another with hate etched in their features. Then all of a sudden, Arobynn lunged at Dorian unexpectedly, leading him to swerve right into Aelin as she --- fell to the floor. Her head hit the blue sofa they had bought only a week ago, their apartment a new venture they had bought together. They had spent hours setting up their new home, hours of that work now destroyed as their apartment was wrecked beyond repair. Sam was in front of her in an instant, his body taking the impact of the shot meant for her. Blood splattered on her body, and Sam's fell to the ground with a thud. Aelin looked up from her position in the ground to see a hooded figure dash out their front door, backpack open and filled with their precious items. Aelin didn't even care about her missing jewelry, only worried about her love splayed out on the floor , blood pooling around his frame. She heard screaming, screaming coming from --- a beautiful red haired woman approaching the duo. She pulled Arobynn's arm, dragging him away from the other bloodied man on the floor.

Dorian was in bad shape, his face swollen with cuts and scratches dotted all along his arms and legs. All Aelin wanted to do was go to Dorian's side and help him, but as she looked at his splayed body she lost all her intentions. All she could see was her love on that floor. All she could see was Sam's blood draining from his body.

Aelin felt lightheaded, the events of the night, combined with the various substances in her body exhausting her beyond belief. She walked away from Dorian to go find a place to sit, slowly losing reality once again. As she fainted, Aelin saw a tall tanned man rushing towards her. His sharp features contrasted the soft concern on his face and in those emerald green eyes. Aelin hit the floor with a soft thud, watching the man attached to that luscious silver hair run to her rescue.

31 notes · View notes

melody-studyblr · 3 years

Text

march 29th- weekly reading

hey everyone! this week I’m still working through ‘A Picture of Dorian Grey’ it’s good, but I have to say I’m not enjoying it as much i thought i would! i really really like it- but there are some fairly misogynistic lines that turned me off of it a bit. Apart from that, I’d probably give it 4.5 stars so far :) The characters are so well developed, and it is written beautifully!

march 29th- 2021 reading challenge

What is your favorite book cover ever?

That’s such a hard choice! I think it would have to be my copy of Emma because I love the pink and the embossed quotes in it. I have to admit, when buying books I tend to by the cheapest option rather than the prettiest, but I’d love to buy a really beautiful copy of Anne of Green Gables one day!

Do you take notes while reading?

Not typically. I’m trying to get into it, as you can see from the picture. I’ve started bookmarking quotes I like. However I begin to concentrate and get to lost in the book to make any notes! It’s quite a struggle haha.

#2021readingchallenge #bookblr #studyblr #oscar wilde #books #melody-studyblr #my posts

15 notes · View notes

theriseofthesea · 1 year

Text

“Don’t talk about horrid subjects. If one doesn’t talk about a thing, it has never happened. It is simply expression, as Harry says, that gives reality to things.”

Dorian, sweetie, you can’t run away from your problems simply by not talking about things!

#the portrait of dorian gray #dorian gray live blog #dorian gray weekly #dorian grey #lord Henry #lord henry wotton

36 notes · View notes

knittingdreams · 3 years

Text

Fireheart - Chapter 5

Hello, hello, hello!! :D

Dropping a new chapter today ‘cause why not? *-*

I can’t believe how far this story’s got, I mean, I feel like I wrote this so long ago D:

If you want to read more, head onto my A03 were you can read up to chapter 20-something, and I update there at least weekly n_n

Otherwise, stick around, and here are the previous chapters in case you didn’t read them:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 5

Kickstarting phase 2

It only took Celaena a couple of days to figure out the patterns of Lysandra’s moves and get in position to play the next part of her plan; infiltrating the school’s hive. There was no better way to do so, than by going after the queen bee herself.

She had looked up Lysandra’s schedule on the ghost program she had running on her computer, which meant she had all the information about every student only one click away. Once she knew where Lysandra was meant to be at all times, it was easy to figure out the places she was hanging out in between classes. Every day, like a clock, Lysandra went to the bathroom closer to the cafeteria between the second and third period, usually on her own.

On Friday, Celaena made sure to be in that bathroom five minutes beforehand. She was standing in front of the mirror touching up her burgundy lipstick as the queen bee walked in, just as expected.

Lysandra walked in confidently, checked her perfect hair in the mirror, adjusted her headband so it was placed just at the right angle, and then looked to her side, noticing Celaena standing there. Celaena’s chin was held high as she perfected the last touches of her own makeup and looked into the mirror, staring at her own brown eyes. She was still not used to them, they seemed so dull, but it had been fun to play with eyeshadow colors that would have normally clashed with her turquoise irises.

“Hey,” Celaena said as she finished up and looked at Lysandra. She used the same sweet tone she normally used when asking Arobynn for a favor.

“Hi,” Lysandra replied, looking puzzled for a second, but then turning around to fully face her. “I like that lipstick color you’re using; may I?” She added, extending a hand towards Celaena.

“Sure.”

Lysandra grabbed the lipstick off her, rolled it over in her fingers, and then tapped her thin lips with it making their cream color turn almost the same shade as Celaena’s.

Celaena knew it was now or never, she had to swallow her pride and do whatever was needed to make things work, to get closer, to get inside the inner circle. As repulsed as she felt about being one of the popular kids, it was a needed part of her plan.

“I hear tryouts for cheerleaders are next week, are there any openings available?” Celaena asked, playing with her hair and trying to look as innocent as a sheep... As far from reality as possible.

Lysandra looked her up and down before replying.

“You look decent enough, do you go to the gym often? Or were you on the squad in your old school? This is no joke, we take cheering seriously in Adarlan Elite,” she said with a stern voice, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Give me the chance, and I will prove worthy,” Celaena replied, making sure to say as little as possible. The best way to keep up a lie was by omission, and saying as few untrue facts as possible always helped keep up charades for longer. Being in Adarlan's school was certainly going to be the longest time she had spent as someone else.

“Are you a base or a flyer?” She asked, her emerald eyes still looking Celaena up and down.

“Whatever you need, I can be either, but I will rather be a base.”

“Okay,” Lysandra said, and a little smile made the side of her lips tug up. “I’ll see you there next Tuesday, don’t be late, and don’t disappoint me. We actually really need new recruits, most of our best graduated last year,” she finished as she turned around to walk away.

“Won’t,” Celaena said under her breath. There was no way she could disappoint. It was going to be harder to keep her performance on the down-low and not bring too much attention to herself than it was going to be making it into the squad. She had absolutely no doubt that she’d be wearing a cheerleader's uniform by the time training officially started.

As Celaena was left alone in the bathroom, she pictured herself wearing the uniform. The skirt was similar to the everyday uniform, but about half the length of it; and bright yellow with a black waistband instead of the dull grey. She could do that, showing her legs was no issue, she could always attribute the few thin scars to falls, make up a little story here or there about her years cheering back in Terrasen.

No, that wouldn’t be a problem. The problem was going to be the top. The cheerleader’s tops were too short, and leaving her lower back exposed wasn’t going to be an option. Standing there alone, she wondered if there was a way to alter the uniform, or if she could wear a cardigan on top of it until she got enough information and excused herself from the team. After all, she didn’t need to be in the squad when the games came around, she most likely only needed to be there at training for a few weeks; she could always claim a sprained ankle after that.

Smiling to herself, Celaena walked out into the hallway and she heard the second bell was ringing. Annoyed with her own distraction, she started walking faster towards her math class. Her scholarship could get compromised if she got in trouble for being late. She could have paid for the fees and avoided the trouble of applying for the scholarship altogether, but there was no point wasting any of her hard-earned fortune on school. Arobynn would have never accepted paying for it, and she didn’t want to ask either. So she depended on her brain, her good grades, and her good behavior.

She hid behind a locker as she watched a teacher walking around a hallway, hoping not to be seen. She needed an idea, and she needed it fast. There was no way she’d be caught in the hallway when classes had already begun, and she couldn’t really sneak into the classroom unseen. Her brain pulled up the blueprint of the school, and she came up with a plan in less than a second.

Once the teacher was out of view, she jumped out and made her way to the end of the hallway as fast as possible, her feet barely touching the floor and making no noise. She looked to both sides before running through another corridor and making her way to the door of the infirmary. She sneaked inside as silent as a ghost and laid on a bed before the nurse would even notice she was there. She closed her eyes, propped an arm over her face, and waited.

It was only a few moments before she heard a surprised gasp, and opened her eyes, moving her arm down and making her eyelids flutter. She looked around confused, making herself blink slowly.

“Where did you come from?” the nurse asked, sounding a little jumpy.

“Sorry,” Celaena said in a pained voice. “I suddenly felt awful, I thought I was going to pass out. A freshman helped me here, I don’t know where he’s gone….” she trailed off, making her eyelids drop, and then reopening them slowly. “I think I just need some rest,” she added.

The nurse was already rushing around her, checking her pulse and putting a hand against her forehead to make sure she didn’t have a fever.

“Your temperature is fine,” the lady said, and Celaena concentrated on her breathing, making her heartbeat as slowly as she could. “Your pulse is a little weak,” the nurse said soon after, walking around to a little table and searching in the drawers.

“Let me guess,” the nurse said. “Is it that time of the month?”

Celaena opened her eyes a little as if hearing the greatest news but being too tired to do something about it. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it, you’re completely right. It’s meant to be tomorrow,” she said, wiping nonexistent sweat off her brows.

“Here,” the nurse said, giving her a glass of water, a painkiller, and a lolly. “The sweet will help get your blood sugar back up. You girls nowadays with your diets, you don’t ever eat enough! I will write you a slip so you can take it to class once you feel better. Stay here for now as I go over to inform the office of your whereabouts.”

With that, the nurse left the room, her wide hips swaying from one side to the other as she entered the room in the back. Celaena looked up at the white roof and sighed. It would be embarrassing to get to class too late, so she thought she might as well fake it till the bell rang. She wouldn't miss much as she probably knew everything in the math curriculum already.

There was still fifteen minutes left when the door to the infirmary opened up, and Chaol Westfall walked in. He didn’t look surprised to find Celaena there, and she wondered if she was the sole reason he had come around.

“Celaena,” he said as a way of hello.

“Chaol,” she replied, making her voice sound as flat as possible.

“Ms. Doranelle sent me over to check on you, she’s going to take the last ten minutes of class to do a surprise test and she’d want you to be a part of it if you’re feeling better,” he said as he stood with his back against the open door.

Celaena lifted her brows, not being able to believe that they would send over for her for something so trivial. She let her eyelids half drop, making her look tired again.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to go back,” she replied in a weak tone. Chaol didn’t look convinced as he took a step towards her.

“You shouldn’t fake sickness, what’s even wrong with you? Your stomach? Do you have any kind of illness?” He asked, taking another step towards her as if daring her to lie to his face. Celaena had wondered before about the weirdness of this nerd being Dorian’s best friend, but she could now see they shared their clear stubbornness.

“I’m not that kind of sick,” Celaena said, a little smug smile tugging on her lips.

“Then, what’s wrong with you?” Chaol asked, his eyebrows raised again.

“It’s... That time of the month, you know,” Celaena replied, containing the laughter.

Chaol’s expression changed, his brows lifting higher up, and then dropping all the way down. He took a step backward and almost tripped as his cheeks flushed red and his lips went pale.

“Oh, yeah, that... sorry,” he muttered as he took another step back and turned around, almost tripping with the doorframe as he bolted out of the room.

Celaena laughed then, a real laugh, and had to cover her mouth not to startle the nurse, who was still inside her little office.

The rest of the day passed in a breeze, and Celaena found herself content at the end of the day, realizing she had survived her first week of high school. She reminded herself that she was strong, that the years on the streets had taught her everything she needed to know about the world, and that if she could survive Arobynn, then she could certainly survive school.

When she jumped up on her bike at the end of the day, she was grinning from ear to ear. The ride to the mansion would only take a few minutes, so she took a detour and rode around town for a while, letting the wind mess up her hair. She was glad for the thrill, for the rush of adrenaline that made her feel alive, for the freedom of being able to ride the roads without worrying about prying eyes.

Once she made it into the mansion, she was surprised to find Arobynn and Sam in the foyer. Cortland still had his school backpack hanging from a shoulder, and his posture seemed a little tighter than normal. Celaena had learned to read his postures and expressions after spending so much of their time training together, and she could tell something was going on, something had happened.

“Afternoon,” Arobynn greeted her as she reached them in the middle of the foyer. She composed her face into a pleasant smile and stood a step behind Sam.

“You’re not one to wait by the foyer, what’s going on here?” She asked, her brows rising slightly.

“I was just sharing some developments and news with Sam,” Arobynn announced. Sam’s back was straight, and his chin was tilted up, looking right into Arobynn’s grey eyes.

“Spit it out, and tell me what’s happening, Arobynn. Does it have anything to do with my parents and my mission?” She asked, unable to keep her cool any longer.

“Nothing to do with you Celaena,” Arobynn dismissed her with a shake of his hand. “There’s a tournament coming up in a few weeks, and I know Sam here is ready to step up.” He said as he looked back at his subordinate. Arobynn’s stern posture wasn’t giving anything away. “Sam will be joining the guild.”

Celaena’s heart leaped, and she glanced at Sam without even thinking about it. His posture was still rigid and his jaw was clenched as he nodded once, his eyes fixed on Arobynn’s. She looked back to the older man, who looked barely a few years older than them with his long auburn hair, and she forced herself to smile.

“Congratulations, Cortland,” she said.

Hope you enjoyed it! And thanks so much again for popping by! I’m loving all the support of this amazing community! :D

#throne of glass #tog fandom #tog fanfic #fanfiction #aelin galythinius #sam cortland

8 notes · View notes

storytimefromthecreed · 4 years

Text

Something Blue, Something Borrowed

(3)

“How is he?” Demetri asked, eyeing the door. Just on the other side, was the final member of their band. At the top of the clock tower, the Frenchmen were able to watch over the city. The velvety night gave the illusion of rest, and for a moment they could enjoy it. They could pretend things were like they were before.

“Things may not be as they were before,” Arno had said once, “but moving forward isn’t necessarily an ending.” Why he said that so soberly, none of them knew, but his words of wisdom echoed in their minds.

Returning presently, the men stood in various stages of distress. Phillip by the door, having just stepped outside from his patient. Demetri pacing the small length of the tower’s crumbled ledge, hands clasped behind his back being the only indication that he was his father’s son. Gerard standing completely still beside the point they leapt from, absorbing the conversation and all that had occurred that night.

Phillip confessed, choosing his words wisely. “I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Demetri scoffed. The heat from his tone began to tint his cheeks, barely noticeable under his close-cut beard. The skin under his eyes were bruised, and his hair flopped out of its casual messy style to a slick, unkempt tussle. Evidence of sweaty hands palming it all evening. Perhaps even the evening before. “Aren’t you a doctor? What do you mean you don’t know?” Phillip took a step back, and Demetri clasped the bridge of his nose and concentrated on his breathing. When he spoke next, Demetri was kinder. “I apologies, mon ami. Given the circumstances...” Demetri caught himself and inhaled again. When he opened his eyes, he said, “Non. You’re going through the same as I. Putting my emotions before yours is not right. Je suis desole, Phillip.”

A moment passed before Phillip took Demetri’s forearm. “There’s nothing to forgive.” He said, pulling Demetri into a hug before pushing away and resting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all worried.”

Demetri’s current burnt out state was reflected amongst the group. Phillip’s normally clean cheeks were beginning to darken from where his beard fighting through. Even sending Gerard home for rest and to be with his family wasn’t working as his eyes were unfocused and tired.

When they pulled apart, Gerard asked, “Phillip, what do you think?”

“Honestly?” Running a hand through his hair, the stress began to show on the youngest Frenchmen. “Observation is needed. I gave him more meds to sleep, but that’s not a long-term solution.” Explaining it as non-threatening as he could, Phillip continued, “Keeping him asleep doesn’t prove his innocence either. From the examinations, Arno has been getting fights. By the look of the wounds, he’s been doing this frequently with some wounds not healed yet.”

Gerard hissed, rubbing a hand over his face, and pulling down his mouth. “Why didn’t he tell us? Why didn’t he think he could come to us?”

“Given what happened last time he was with the Assassins? I don’t blame him.” Demetri countered, gesturing between the three of them. “We’ve not been in his position, so who are we to say how he should act?”

“He did also say he wanted nothing to do with the life.” Phillip added, voicing what they all knew.

Tension hung in the air, and Demetri cleared this with his throat. “The wounds. Anything to pin him to a certain fight? A location? Here’s what we learned…” As the men shared what they learned in the palace, worry began to set on Phillip’s brow as he nodded along.

“If he’s having, I’m not sure what to call it, an episode?” Phillip said softly, “Then it is important we figure out a way for him to have his best quality of life while protecting those around him. Or, if something is triggering it, how to find and control that trigger. Even then,” Phillip said solemnly, “I cannot guarantee that’s going to stop him.”

“So,” Gerard rose a brow. “You believe he’s responsible for....”

“The attacks?” Demetri finished. The feeling of lead settling in their stomachs.

Phillip looked to the sky, collecting himself before speaking. When he finally did, he looked between his friends, his brothers. “I know nothing of his paternal medical history. Who knows if this runs in his family or...”

Demetri hissed, Gerard growled, and Phillip leaned against the door. They stood there silently a moment before Demetri slapped his hand to his forehead. The sound startled the other men. “We have that meeting tonight.”

“Merde.” Gerard shook his head. Pierre Bellec, son of that Bellec had returned to the Brotherhood. Working tirelessly to undo his damage his father wrought and rid himself of his shame. Gerard didn’t mind the man, but it was the meeting he was dreading.

The meetings at the Bureau were slowly turning from their usual monthly events to weekly, and the pressure to mend France and keep the Templars at bay was difficult enough without a killer running around. Tempers were beginning to fray, and none felt the oncoming storm more than Gerard who, as the new leader of the Frenchmen, was under the ever-observing eyes of the Mentors. It wasn’t that his was the only group running around the land, of which there are dozens, but they were watched solely for what Phillip lovingly called the Dorian factor.

The Dorian factor was simply this, Arno had a way of making impressions. With his entrance to his removal from the Brotherhood, the Assassins kept a close eye on Arno to see what he would do next. The Mentors would’ve intervened when he made the decision to live as a civilian had Gerard, Demetri, and Phillip not insisted against. They ensured them their work would not be affected by keeping an eye on Arno, and that he would cause no problem for the Brotherhood.

That was a year ago.

Then, with the entrance of Pierre, the Assassins’ attentions were moved. Unfortunately for the Frenchmen, this was not a good thing. People loved Pierre. He had a way of speaking that assured one that he spoke from the heart. That his word was good and true. Phillip wanted to get to know him, Demetri disliked him, and Gerard hadn’t yet formed an opinion.

“The Mentors are going to make him join us.” Demetri straightened from his slump to stride to the door dramatically bang his forehead against it. “If that’s the case, give me the same medicine you gave Arno so I may sleep through the pain.”

Phillip rolled his eyes, a small smile pushing up the corners of his mouth. “They’re not going to make him join us. Pierre has enough on his plate. Training the novices, working with the Masters-”

“Have you been speaking with him?” Demetri squinted over his shoulder.

Catching himself, Phillip’s jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide. The trio waited a moment, and Demetri’s gaze intensified. Finally, Phillip put his hands up, gave a sheepish smile, and took a step back. “Now Demetri-”

“Are you serious?!” Demetri leapt forward, and Gerard got between them with barely a second to spare.

“Enough.” Gerard said, but Demetri was too angry and he struggled to hold him back.

“Am I the only one who’s not given up on him yet?” He looked between the men he called his friends. “Am I the only one who remembers everything he went through? This looks bad, I know, but I’m giving Arno the benefit of the doubt! There’s no way in hell Pierre is joining! I’d rather work nights by myself in the southern perimeter than let that scum-”

“Hey! I’m not saying that.” Phillip made a step, but Gerard silenced him with a look.

Turning around, he shoved Demetri back. “Enough? Huh? Had enough, tough guy?” Every time Demetri took a step, Gerard pushed back until he finally gave up and glared at the man. Gerard, unbothered by the sharp grey steel piercing up at him, stood firm. “Demetri, you’ve been awake for two days.” Demetri’s eyes cut to Phillip, but Gerard cocked his head to the side to catch the look. “Do you understand me?” Gerard asked, moving to cover Phillip, and steeling his voice. “Go home. Go to sleep. Check on your plants, check on the cats, sleep for at least 7 hours, and then come back.” Gerard looked over his shoulder and glared at Phillip. “Stay with Arno until he wakes up. Understood?”

“What about the meeting?” Phillip began, but Gerard cut him off with a look. “Oui, Monsieur.”

Demetri threw Gerard’s hands off him and turned the way they’d came. Wind whipped his green coat behind him like a pair of wings. “I’ll sleep after the meeting.” Before Gerard could reply, he dropped. Giving Phillip one last stern look, Gerard followed Greencoat.

Steps echoing off the cobblestone, the pair hurried into the Bureau. Arriving just in time, it seemed, as the meeting had just begun. “Thank you for your patience.” Gerard began, stepping into the center of the room. Staring up at the Mentors peering down at him, Gerard, who stood at 1.8m, the tallest of the Frenchmen, looked very small. Demetri remained on the sideline. His arms crossed and hackles raised, ready to interject if the need arose.

“We understand you’ve been short staffed as of late.” Victoria began, shifting through papers. Gerard kept his face composed, but Demetri grit his teeth. It seemed this meeting would be straight to the jugular then.

Squaring his shoulders back, Gerard nodded. “We have. Greencoat, La Phantome, and I have been patrolling the city since the incidents occurred, and we believe-”

“Believe?” Marcos pffted. Leaning in, his eyes darkened. “What have you to show for it?”

“We found-”

“And where’s Arno?” Edmond asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yes. Where is Monsieur Dorian, Axeman?” Victoria repeated, “I find it rather strange that an Assassin in blue is committing these crimes and no one has had eyes on Monsieur Dorian.”

“We have.” Gerard rose his voice, and then quickly lowered it. Remembering his place, he repeated, “We have, Mentor. Arno is working at his cafe full time. He’s hung up his robes. We know this for certain.”

“I think we need more information.” Edmond countered, looking at the other Masters and dismissing Axeman altogether. “Considering the only people to see Dorian are his friends.”

Demetri shifted to join Gerard but a shadow to his left beat him to it. “Mentors, please.” A crisp, melodic voice interjected. “I mean no disrespect.” He rose his voice and cleared the distance in three strides. Bright blue eyes caught each of the Mentors’ eyes, and they frowned. But listened. The Assassins on the sidelines whispered comments to one another. Pierre waited until silence had fallen before speaking again. “This is a trying time for us all, and we’re all doing our best. Axeman and his group have done more good in this time than what is uncounted for. We didn’t gather here to bring out our frustrations on one another, but to work on bettering France together. Correct?” Allowing the weight of his words to settle, Pierre brought himself upright. “If anyone is to blame for the mistrust among our Brotherhood, it’s me and my blood.” Whispers resounded along the crowd, but Pierre ignored these and spoke only to the Mentors. Even Demetri and Axeman found themselves entranced. “Had my father not spilled blood between Assassins, not killed another Mentor, we would be more trusting of one another. It is because of these things,” Pierre stood tall. “I will find this killer. Alone. No one need to bare the shame of the Brotherhood than I. Though I doubt this person is an Assassin since we would never stoop so low as to murder innocents. I volunteer to find this killer. Along with my duties here, of course.”

As his speech settled, Demetri blinked. He hadn’t been aware he’d been holding his breath. His jaw ached from the stress he held in it. The Mentors spoke lowly to one another, causing the rest of the Assassins to lean in. Finally, they broke apart and Victoria spoke. “So be it. Pierre Bellec, you’re leading charge against this killer.” Pierre smiled, and Gerard and Demetri relaxed. They’d still be able to walk out with their hides. “But not alone.” Their smiles dropped. Victoria’s eyes landed on Gerard. “Axeman, since you’re in need, Pierre will be aiding you in your patrols and you’ll be aiding him with finding this killer.”

“And,” Edmond interjecting, scowling as always. “Bring Arno Dorian to us. Immediately.”

“Of course.” Gerard bowed his head and the Mentors excused them. They were bringing about the next meeting when Gerard exited the center. Striding past Demetri, making Demetri jog to catch up, Gerard heading out for some air.

Once outside, he groaned. “Greencoat, what the hell just happened?”

“You did well, Axeman. Better than I or Ghost could have done, and certainly better than any of those inside.” Demetri assured them. The sound of running footsteps made them turn, and they found Pierre staring between them.

“Apologies, Monsieurs Axeman et Greencoat.”

Gerard waved him in. “Peace, Pierre. Axeman and Greencoat are fine, merci.” Pierre walked towards them with a smile, and Demetri crossed his arms and looked to the stars. They were holding strong, but the soft pinks of morning would banish them soon.

“I wanted you to know that I had no intention for that meeting to end how it did. I am so sorry.” Pierre began and Gerard gripped the bridge of his nose. Pierre rubbed the back of his neck and shyly looked to his shoes. “Listen, the Mentors don’t need to know we’re not working together. I don’t mind helping you with your patrols, if you’ll have me, but you don’t have to help me with the Blue Killer.”

“Blue Killer?” Demetri snapped his neck towards the man, and took him in. A mop of black hair under which sat blue eyes, a straight nose, and a charming smile. Demetri rolled his eyes. “You named it?”

“Well, the ‘Killer Running Around France’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?” Shrinking under Demetri’s glare, to Demetri’s joy, Pierre looked desperately at Gerard. “Sorry, Axeman, Greencoat. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Before Demetri could open his mouth to respond, Gerard answered. “You haven’t. Greencoat was about to go get some rest and I could use an extra pair of eyes.”

“Really?” Pierre’s eyes shone bright, and Gerard nodded. “I...I won’t let you down, Axeman.”

“I’m sure you won’t. We’re going to begin at the river and work our way in. Together, at first. I’d like you to get used to our route before going off on your own.” Gerard explained before looking at Demetri. “Bonne nuit, Greencoat.”

“Bonne journee, Axeman.” Demetri turned on his heel and leapt from the roof.

But he didn’t go home. He couldn’t. Bothered in his thoughts, Demetri went to the one person he knew would help.

“So,” Phillip asked as Arno slept silently between them. “What was it like?”

Demetri munched on the croissant he’d borrowed from Arno’s cafe. In his defense, Arno had told them they were welcome to anything! Besides, the people at the Café knew him. “He wears Italian shoes.” Phillip choked on the tea he’d sipped. “I can’t believe Gerard actually took him on. Can you believe that?” Phillip was coughing, sputtering a reply. “I mean, can you?” Demetri pressed.

Thumping on his chest, tears welling in his eyes, Phillip croaked. “Well, I can.” Demetri gasped, and opened his hands in protest. Phillip placed a croissant in Demetri’s open hand and continued. “We’re down one man, people are dying, and I don’t mind the extra help.” Phillip shrugged, looking over at Arno’s body. “Did they mention anything else?”

“Bringing Arno to them.” Demetri dismissed it with a wave of his hand before Phillip could panic. “Gerard will figure it out. Not telling them we had him was a good start, and keeping Arno in hiding would be the best route.” A moment of silence passed as both men finished their snack. When he gulped down the rest of his croissant, Demetri said, “When you said you were watching over him, did we really need to do this?” Demetri dusted flakes of bread from Arno’s stomach.

“If his lips go blue that means he’s stopped breathing, and I want to make sure I’m here if that happens.” Phillip sipped his tea.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a little paranoid?”

Phillip thought a moment, taking another sip. “Non. Why?” His eyes flickered to his friend, and he gave him a small smirk. “Has anyone said anything?”

Groaning, Demetri rolled his eyes and leaned back. Raising his feet to prop them on the table, as he usually did, Demetri stopped himself and frowned upon finding Arno’s legs there. Settling on leaning back, he crossed his arms tight to his chest. “I’m sorry about how I was acting earlier. I lost my temper, and that wasn’t right, Phillip. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Phillip commented, “Just wish I had your conviction.”

They both cast their stares to the gentle rise and fall of their comrade’s chest. “You really think he did it?” Demetri whispered, like speaking the words aloud would make them real.

“That’s what the evidence is saying.”

“Et toi?”

“I have to follow the evidence.” Phillip said firmly, “I don’t have to luxury to listen to my heart.” Looking up at Demetri, he said, “Do me a favor? Listen to yours for the both of us.” Demetri nodded.

The two friends chatted until Demetri was sound asleep, head tucked into his chest. Phillip, left alone with two of his unconscious friends, took out a book and pondered how his life had turned out this way. Hours passed and Phillip began contemplating if he too should rest when Gerard dusted his heavy boots on their welcome mat.

It wasn’t a real mat, just a thing Phillip had brought from his house to liven the place up. It was accompanied by the pots and pans Gerard had brought, the shelf Arno had helped Phillip build to hold all his books, and the plants Demetri had placed to add the wilted one Phillip had been neglecting. Good intentions strung together with glue and gum, Arno had called it.

“Bon soiree, mes amis.” Gerard voiced, keeping his head down to ensure all the dust was gone before stepping into the room. Automatically staring at Arno, his brows furrowed and he grimaced. “Comment ca va?”

“Ca va, bien, merci. Et toi?” Phillip set aside the book, and got up from his spot. Stretching as he did so, he enjoyed the pop along his spine.

“Ca va.” Gerard replied honestly. Taking a look at Demetri, who was rubbing his eyes and giving his cheeks mild pats to wake up, Gerard smiled bemused. “You should take more rest, Demetri. When was the last time you’ve slept?”

“Just now.” He replied, rolling to the balls of his feet and began doing little hops. Shaking the sleep from himself, Demetri cracked his neck, to Phillip’s disgust, and began warming up his wrists. “Where to first?”

“You should rest.” Gerard continued, “Don’t make me make that an order.”

Before Demetri could respond, a groaning from the table interrupted them. Phillip dashed across the room just as Arno’s hand went to his forehead and his eyes fluttered. Gerard and Demetri were right behind. Keeping some distance, Phillip took his friend’s free hand and gave him a squeeze. “I know this must be very scary, Arno, so please take your time. You’re in the clock tower. Demetri and Gerard are here with us. You got hurt but you’re better now.” Arno’s eyes opened, but wouldn’t fixate. Phillip smiled, “There you go. Don’t try to remember it all at once, just take in your surroundings. Tell me what you’re seeing, what you’re feeling.”

“I-“ Arno blinked, widening his eyes a moment before groaning and closing them. “I feel sick. Like my head is pounding and my stomach is doing flips.” As his fingers massaging his temples, everyone waited with bated breath. “I’m dizzy. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Before Phillip could ask, Demetri rushed to grab a pail. Phillip squeezed Arno’s hand again and said, “That’s ok, it’s a normal feeling. Just take your time.” Then he looked at Gerard and asked, “Can you make some broth and get some bread? We’re going to have to introduce food slowly.” Nodding once, Gerard disappeared to their makeshift kitchen.

“I don’t…” Arno groaned, attempting to sit up. Without Phillip’s assistance, he would’ve smacked back down on the table. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Keeping one hand secured on his back and the other gripping his forearm, Phillip helped him up slowly. “No trouble at all, I promise you.”

Arno scoffed, and closed his eyes again. They stayed like that a moment, listening to Gerard in the kitchen and hearing Demetri clamber back with the pail. Rubbing Arno’s shoulder, Demetri moved to sit beside Phillip. Arno’s hand went from Phillip’s to Demetri. His eyes still closed, he gripped tight. “I don’t deserve friends like you.”

Demetri gave him a sad smile and a firm hold. “You’d do the same for us, Arno, don’t deny it.”

Again, Arno scoffed, but finally he opened his eyes and locked them on Demetri’s greys. “I need you to do something for me.”

Concern etching across his face, Demetri got down to Arno’s level and held his hand. “Anything, mon ami. Just name it.”

Tears rimmed Arno’s eyes and he nodded. “I’m sorry, Demetri, to ask this of you, but I could trust no one better.”

Phillip shifted uncomfortably. “Arno, maybe you should rest.” He cautioned, but Arno held Demetri fast.

Arno pressed, holding Demetri hostage, his frown deepening. “If I do anything, anything that raises a suspicion you, you need to kill me.”

Revolted and recoiling, Demetri pulled away, aghast. “Arno! How could you ask-?”

“I remember.” Arno’s voice quivered, a lone tearing rolling down his cheek. Wiping it away with one hand, the other still holding Phillip’s, Arno looked between the two of them. “I remember what I was doing when I was asleep.”

“Arno.” Phillip tried again, but Arno looked down at his chest and began to cry.

“I remember those people dying, I remember feeling their blood on my hands, and I…I think I’m the killer.”

“Arno, you’re…you’re not well.” Demetri fussed, hands hovering over Arno’s shoulders and Arno doubled over and wept. He cast frightened glances at Phillip and found the youngest Frenchmen had grown stoic and composed. “Phillip is going to fix this, aren’t you?” Demetri looked up desperately, but Phillip was rubbing Arno’s back and reaching for the medicine. “Aren’t you?”

“Arno,” Phillip said softly. “What are you talking about?”

“I..I was there.” Arno sobbed, staring at his hands like he could still see the blood on them. Still feel the warmth stick his fingers together. “I was…”

“Arno, Demetri is right. It’s been a long few days’ for all of us.”

“You don’t understand!” Arno wept anew, bringing his knees to his chest and draping his arms around them to cradle himself. “Those were my missions.”

“Missions?” Demetri looked up at Phillip and he shrugged. “Arno, what do you-?”

“I was there!” Arno roared, looking so quickly and grabbing Demetri so forcefully that his thighs slammed into the table.

“You weren’t!” Demetri yelled back, tears blurring his version. Not that it mattered. He didn’t recognize the man before him. “Arno!” Arno slammed Demetri against the table again, and Demetri waved away Phillip’s attempts to help. “We checked your logs! You were-”

There were missions they hadn’t known of when Arno left the Brotherhood. They’d checked all the places he’d run, as a gesture of good will with the Mentors, but they hadn’t given thought to the ones he’d done with…

Just as Arno made move to harm Demetri again, Phillip popped the medicine in his mouth and shut it. Before he could fight, his eyes fluttered.

“Elise…” He breathed, and Phillip caught him. The pair lowered him to the table. A wooden bowl clattered to the ground, spilling broth everywhere.

#Something Blue Something Borrowed #the frenchmen four #The Baguetter boyband #arno victor dorian #arno dorian #gerard #axeman #greencoat #demetri #phillip #ghost

8 notes · View notes

enasallavellan · 4 years

Text

Enasal Lavellan Pt. 51

Coliseum Soundtrack (Link)

The clang of metal-on-metal rang through the evening air. Enasal landed on her feet and dodged to the side, going in for an attack at the side.

“Remember recruits.” Cassandra called out, “You are protecting something of importance - Enasal, is attempting to take that object.”

Weekly battle training had proven to be of great interest in Skyhold. It was entertainment for the groups that visited Skyhold and good training for the involved recruits.

Enasal took a running leap in an attempt to get over the recruits and to the “important object”. The small flag planted in the ground was made to represent any sort of object, and had been laid flat, stuck into a crevice between bricks in a wall, and planted on the battlements in training battles past.

Her leap was blocked by a shield, and it thumped hard against her body and knocked her back to the ground. A practice sword swung toward her and she rolled away, shooting glances at her second blade that she had lost in the scuffle.

“Twenty sovereigns that Enasal’s stubbornness is going to get her knocked out of bounds.” Bull said.

Varric laughed, “You think I’m going to bet against Seastorm?”

“She seems resourceful.” Blackwall agreed, “Twenty on Enasal’s victory.”

“Enasal is knocked out of bounds or Enasal’s Victory.” Dorian said, “Such a good concept, but 50/50 is just… awful. I bet that Enasal will launch herself out of bounds.” She smiled and leaned forward, “She does struggle so without us.”

“I’m going in with Varric.” Krem said, moving so he sat beside the dwarf, “Because she has stupidly good luck.” He pointed at Bull, “Traitors!”

“Traitors!” Varric echoed dramatically.

They both looked towards Blackwall who nodded and rattled out , “Traitors!”

Vivienne laughed, “So these are Enasal’s friends at their most natural.”

“They’re a rowdy bunch, I’ll give you that, my dear.” Dorian replied, “But they’re an entertaining bunch as well.”

“Pardon me,” Vivienne said, “But I’d like to place a bet on Enasal’s victory.”

Before another work could be said, Enasal arched over the boundary ring. They weren’t the only group with bets going on, and you could tell who had won or lost money by the cheers that day.

Enasal was up and shaking hands with the winning soldiers that had bundled into a group, discussing the exercise and giving one-another advice.

“Completely launched away and out.” Lieutenant Voldin, called from an elevated stand, “Enasal is out of bounds, and victory goes to Ser Landis, Ser Pyth, Ser Anderson, Ser Riana and Ser Bist.”

“The next group will conduct a training battle involving mounted soldiers and…”

“How many times must I remind you that shields are not to be stood on.” Cassandra said, exasperated, “If you have to stand on a shield it should be brief with intent to get off!”

Enasal laughed. “I was trying to get my footing.”

“You did poorly.”

Balamb Garden piano arrangement (Link)

She waved and took off. Enasal rarely spent too much time celebrating after a battle - too many eyes on her right after the fight. She slipped through the main hall and into the rotunda, where she pulled her sketches out of Solas’s desks and started getting her paints ready.

“Ma da’len.” Solas said as he returned to his own work - much closer to completion than Enasal’s, who had only managed to paint her background.

“I know what I want - I see it in my head.” She shook her head, “But I’m worried about making it work on a wall.”

“Dilute your paints as much as possible.” Solas advised, “You can make a sort of sketch and paint over it.”

Enasal nodded and took his advice. She painted with a watery grey, looking back at her reference sketch every so often.

“Do you mind telling me about your plan, ma da’len?” He asked, “Or do you want to wait until it’s done?”

Enasal didn’t look up from her work. “It’s going to be two different halves. One before I came to the Inquisition, and one from now.” She looked towards the bottom, where the dividing line branched to create a triangle at the bottom, “And don’t even ask about that - I did it on a whim and haven’t figured out what to do with it.”

He laughed, “Sometimes, Enasal, you remind me of myself when I was younger.”

She looked around, as though he could be talking to someone else, “Me?”

“Young and temperamental - always ready for a fight.” He smiled, “Although, I never climbed every surface someone bet me to.”

Enasal shook her head with a grin, “You and Cullen, always scolding me.”

“Ah, the Commander doesn’t like it either?” He said, “I was under the impression he found it endearing.”

“Who told you that?”

“One of his soldiers.” He said, “They were asking questions I refused to answer.”

“...Okay.” Enasal said, “Are you going to tell me?”

“No, ma da’len.” He chuckled, “Nosy child.”

Enasal rolled her eyes and returned to her own wall. “Maybe… put tics at the tops of heads?” She said, “Get an idea of where everyone will fall?”

“Try it.”

Dilute water and mix, tinkering of glass and ceramic. Brushes on plaster and cloth.

“Grandmother said that my parents loved old ruins.” Enasal said.

“Did they, now?”

Enasal nodded, “That’s how they met, showing and copying sketches of elven ruins at the Arlathvhen. She said at first she didn’t like my mother, that she encouraged a hobby that could get him hurt or lost.”

“And then?”

“They starting bringing back things - my father didn’t record a lot of things he found because she disapproved. All Keepers pray for the return of our own knowledge, but most parents pray their children won’t be the ones running through ruins.”

She stepped back to look at what she had done before leaning forward and trying to coax the shapes she wanted from the wall. “Old magic and traps, wild animals and cultists, you can find them all around the ruins - I’ve been there. I walked around ruins my clan camped away from.” She shook her head, “Slept in them sometimes, especially if it was raining. My grandmother didn’t like him doing it either. But the things she said my father brought back were wonderful. That we didn’t really know what we had found, but that it was ours.”

She paused before continuing, “Solas… I know you don’t like the Dalish-”

“Fortunate that you are so unlike them.”

“You’ll never hear me fight for my clan, but Solas, the rest of them are trying their best. They just want to have what was lost.”

“Perhaps things are too lost.”

“Why does that mean we should stop?”

Solas moved the brush from his work at that and pondered, before repositioning himself to speak directly to his student, “Suppose you do. You search your entire lifetime for the Elves of yore and find barely enough to fill a single book?”

She glanced back at him, “Then I found some things.”

“But,” He pointed out, “Not all of it.”

“That’s okay.” She argued, “Because finding a little is better than finding nothing.” She turned back to her painting, “I bring it up, because I’ve decided that if we run into any of my people, I would like to invite them to support the Inquisition. Maybe try to work some sort of research team - you or even Dorian could lead. What we need is organization - and not just every ten years.”

Solas’s expression was a bit sharper than normal, maybe as it had been in the youth he spoke of - a hint of a smile and a mild threat of a chuckle, “Remarkable. You really do sound like my younger self.” He paused with the thought before standing and dusting off his pants, “We must keep a closer eye on you than I thought.”

He gestured for her to come beside him and pointed to his final wall. “Finished. Your opinion, ma da’len?”

Enasal nodded, “I love it. It feels like being back at one of the temples.”

“Would you like to hear the story?” He had asked it before he seen anyone in the doorway, but instead nodded a greeting before getting his own paints.

“Actually” Solas said, “Why not put your paints away, you have a visitor who has been hovering in the doorway.”

Enasal perked up at seeing Cullen, and waved him in.

“I wasn’t sure if I was allowed.” He said, looking at the walls.

“Those are Solas’s.” Enasal said, “Mine is still… a background.”

He stood beside her and looked, “Well, it’s an exceptional background.”

She bumped her shoulder into him, “Hush, you.”

Solas cleared his throat, “Did you need something in particular, Commander, or just to chat with Enasal?”

“Right.” He shook his head, “We’re wanted in the war room.” He paused, “Well, you’re wanted, I was sent to get you. So you’re wanted in the war room.”

Solas shook his head but continued to put away his paints.

“I…” Cullen began, “I talked to the Ferelden mages.”

Enasal nodded, “And?”

“The eldest forgave me, two didn’t seem to care either way, and three told me if they had a chance they’d set me on fire.” He forced a smile, “Eldest wouldn’t let them, though.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t go better.”

He nodded, “As you said, they might not forgive.”

Solas went to Enasal and took her supplies from her, “Both of you, to the war room. Talk on your way there.” He looked at Enasal, “I’m sure it would be a nicer conversation without your teacher listening in.” He nodded at Cullen, “Commander. Another time.”

Unsure of what to think of Solas’s words, Enasal and Cullen bade him awkward goodbye and left for the war room.

Melodies Of Life (Link)

“How do you feel?” Enasal asked.

Cullen sighed and shook his head, “I don’t know. Opened up a lot of old wounds, for everyone involved.”

“That’s okay. Sometimes that has to happen.”

Cullen nodded, but seemed disheartened.

“I’m with you on this.” Enasal said. “I have things I have to work on, too.”

“You?” He furrowed his brow.

“Me.” She said, “I… have a lot of problems with Tevinter. And I realized that I couldn’t expect you to work on your problems if I wasn’t willing to work on myself.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Remember how I reacted to Alexius?”

“Ah, yes. That.”

“I apologized to Dorian, he laughed and said he was happy I hadn’t tried to stab him like I had Alexius.”

Cullen couldn't help but ask, “What about Krem? You two seem… very close.”

Enasal laughed, “The masa, he just thumped me in the head and told me he didn’t know what I was talking about.” She smiled, “He’s kind of like Shiral was, only less overbearing.”

She sighed, “So, I’m trying too. Reminding myself that all those hateful thoughts about people from Tevinter may not be true, and I can’t pass judgement on anyone just because they call that country home or came from there.”

“Maker’s breath, you really are that sincere, aren’t you?”

She looked down and laughed, but her ears were red.

They didn’t speak until they were just outside the war room.

“I… do want to warn you.” Cullen said, “You’re about to be sent out again - in a few days.”

Enasal sighed and nodded, “I figured it wouldn’t be too much longer.”

“It should actually be something you might have fun with.” He smiled, “We’ll talk more after the war meeting.” He said, “A time or two around the battlements?”

She laughed and nodded, “I think I’d like that.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquistor #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #dai inquisitor #dai fanfic #dai fic #enasal lavellan #the tiniest elf #fanfic #fantiction #fanfics

3 notes · View notes

lost-n-stereo · 5 years

Text

For anon, Nick and Sabrina for the ship question meme. This got super long (over 4300 words) and they kind of go in order, so I guess you can read them as one long fic broken up into moments. Or you can skip around and read individually. Warning: Some sexy times but nothing super explicit.

who likes to go on drives to nowhere in particular

She gets a car for her seventeenth birthday. It’s small and sleek, a black convertible that fits her personality like a glove. Nick asks for a ride the night of her birthday party, gives her a wicked grin like he’s not only talking about the car. Sabrina laughs happily and grabs her keys, throws a see you later in the direction of her aunts and drags him outside by his hand.

“Where do you want to go?” She asks him as she starts the engine, relishing in the way the purr vibrates through her entire body. The car is quiet as a mouse as the top comes down and tucks into the back seat.

Nick reaches over and sets his hand on hers where it rests on the gear shift. “Wherever you’re going, Spellman.”

They drive until they end up in the middle of nowhere, nothing but the moon illuminating their path. When they pull over Nick raises an eyebrow, silently asking her what’s next.

Sabrina gives him a devilish grin, climbs over into the passenger seat and kisses the breath from his lungs.

who is in charge of the radio or playlist in the car (and what do they play)?

“This band sucks.”

Nick growls, his girlfriend’s face a mix of annoyance and amusement. She likes control of the radio, hell she likes to be in control always, but they have an agreement that whoever is driving gets to pick the music.

“I’m driving, Spellman,” he retorts. “My car, my music.”

Sabrina pouts, a cute little trick she’s learned will get him to do her bidding any time she likes. “Nick…”

He wants to roll his eyes when she leans over the console to brush a kiss across his cheek but he can’t. “That’s not fair,” he says and she giggles, grabs her phone from her bag and plugs it into the stereo.

“You’ll like this song, I promise.”

She plays some oldies, songs he remembers his parents listening to before they died, and when he looks over to see his girlfriend bobbing her head to the music he can’t be mad.

He doesn’t need to like the song. He just needs to love the girl.

who reaches over to hold the other’s hand

“Tell me again why we’re here?”

Sabrina laughs, takes in his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. Baxter High’s senior prom is in full swing, black and gold streamers and balloons covering every square inch of the school gym.

“I thought you wanted to come to this with me?” She asks, and she sees something flash across his face. Nerves, maybe. But Nicholas Scratch doesn’t get nervous or scared of anything.

“I just…” He’s quiet as he looks around. “The last time we went to a school dance I almost got you killed.”

Her heart breaks as his voice does. “Nick...don’t say that.” She reaches for his hand and brings it up to her lips, dropping a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t blame you for that, I never have.”

He doesn’t look convinced so she grabs his other hand and turns so she’s standing directly in his line of sight.

“There is nowhere else in the world I want to be right now, Nicholas. And nobody else I want to be here with.”

There’s a flicker of worry in his eyes for a split second and then he practically melts into her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist.

“Let’s go dance,” he whispers in her ear and she nods, kisses him once quickly before dragging him behind her by the hand.

who is more likely to hog the bed

She wakes up inside of a furnace.

At least, that’s what it feels like. Nick’s body is spread across her dorm room bed, somehow taking up all of the extra space while still being wrapped around her completely. He’s asleep on his stomach, pressed against her shoulder to ankle.

She’d be mad if he wasn’t shirtless, showing off all the hard planes of his back muscles in the pale light of the moon shining through the window.

“Nick,” she murmurs, lips pressed against the back of his shoulder. “Nicholas.” She repeats his name a little louder, pushing him a little with the tips of her fingers.

“Babe, I’m sleeping,” he says into the pillow and she snorts.

“If you’re sleeping than how are you answering me right now?” She whispers to the back of his head, laughing when he groans and flips over.

“Isn’t it bad enough you kept me up all night,” he says with a wolfish grin and she smacks his arm lightly.

“You’re hogging the bed. And you’re too hot.”

She regrets the words the minute they leave her mouth because he laughs, pulls her body so it’s under his.

“Never heard you complain before,” he says, dropping lazy kisses from shoulder to shoulder.

“You’re the worst.” It doesn’t take long before her shirt is off and on the floor next to her bed.

“Maybe, but you love me.”

who favors lazy morning sex

Feather light touches on his back wake him up, his eyes squinting against the bright morning sun.

When he turns over she’s watching him, her eyes already alight with want, and he chuckles as he moves closer to her under the covers.

“G’morning, gorgeous.” He whispers the words across her lips and she hums in response, her eyes falling closed as he gently pushes her onto her back.

Her breath hitches when he hooks her legs around his waist. They’ve been known to get a little wild when they are alone, even breaking her dorm room bed her first week of college. But he takes his time, kisses down her neck while she breathes his name in his ear.

They are almost completely silent, open mouth to open mouth, as he rocks into her and brings her to the edge with him. Her eyes squeeze shut when she reaches the brink but he nudges her chin with his knuckle.

“Look at me, Sabrina.”

She does, her eyes blazing red fire hot into his, and he says her name like a prayer when they let go at the same time.

They are practically panting when he falls onto his back and Sabrina hooks her leg over his, despite the fact that his skin is burning hot and sweaty.

“We should start every morning just like that.”

He couldn’t agree more.

who likes to drink their coffee or tea outside in the mornings

It’s strange, being in Nick’s bed without him.

When she started college he thought it was lame living at the academy, his words not hers, and decided to get a small apartment for himself near her campus.

It’s sweet, the way he stops by every Tuesday and Thursday to have lunch with her, and she spends more nights at his place than her dorm room.

Usually they wake up at the same time, legs intertwined under his black silk sheets. Sheets that she makes fun of him for mercilessly but in truth she loves the way the soft fabric feels surrounding her.

But this morning she’s alone and she knows that if he’s not with her there is only one place he’d be this early in the day.

She dresses in a pair of socks and the black button down he wore to Dorian’s last night. It still smells like his cologne, like warm spices and leather from his jacket, and she lifts it to her nose once quickly before setting off to find her boyfriend.

The door to the balcony is ajar, just like she knew it would be, and Nick’s relaxing in a chair with nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips. A cup of coffee in his hand, resting on his knee, is his only accessory.

She considers saying something, but he looks so peaceful that she’s content to just watch for a minute or two. His eyes are closed, head tilted back as he soaks up the morning sun.

“Enjoying the show?”

She’s startled when he speaks, a slow smirk appearing without him opening his eyes.

“I am, actually,” she admits as she makes her way over to him. He looks up at her finally, eyes playful and happy, before setting his coffee cup on the small glass table next to him and pulling her onto his lap.

“I don’t like waking up without you,” she says and he grabs her pouted bottom lip between both of his.

He kisses her senseless before whispering two words into her skin that sound like the world’s greatest promise.

“Never again.”

who reads the paper or watches the news

There’s something to be said about a crisp newspaper in his hand.

He doesn’t care much about mortal news, if he’s being honest, but he does like to be knowledgeable in a multitude of areas. It helps in his part time job at Dorian’s, where he works as a bartender when he’s not attending upper level classes at the academy.

If someone comes in and wants to talk about the weather, or the mayoral race, or whatever the heaven else people care about, he wants to be able to hold a decent conversation.

Sabrina makes fun of him for reading the local Greendale paper, says it’s a lot of mortal nonsense as if she’s not half one herself.

But sometimes she’ll curl up on the couch next to him while he fills in the weekly crossword. Or she’ll laugh over his shoulder at a silly comic.

He finishes up the Monday paper, carefully rips out a comic that he thinks she’ll like and tacks it to his refrigerator.

When she comes in later that night, exhausted after a full day of classes, he hears her open and close the fridge before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

And that right there is worth the price of the subscription tenfold

who feeds and takes care of the stray cat that hangs around the house (and pretty much makes it not a stray)

“We can’t have two cats.”

Sabrina huffs and looks at the tiny black kitten that is currently eating tuna out of a dish on their porch.

“Salem isn’t even really a cat,” she argues. They have been living in this house for three weeks now and she’s been feeding this little one since the day after they moved in.

“He sure uses the litter box like one,” Nick retorts and she rolls her eyes. “Who’s going to take care of it when we’re at school and work?”

Salem meows from the other side of the porch and Sabrina snorts. “I think Salem is offering.”

Nick grumbles as he looks at the tiny mangy kitten that’s more fur than body. “How is one cat going to take care of another?” But he still moves forward and reaches down to scoop the little kitten into his arms.

“What shall we call you, small creature?” He asks as he stares into its yellow eyes.

Salem meows again and Sabrina claps. “Delphi is perfect, Salem. See, he’s taking care of her already.”

Nick narrows his eyes and looks down at Delphi, her tiny ears twitching when he says her name out loud for the first time.

“Well,” he sighs. “Welcome to the family, Delphi.”

who chooses the color of paint for the walls

“Blue?”

Sabrina shakes her head and shuffles through the stack of paint chips in her hand. “Green?”

Nick pretends to gag which makes her laugh. “Yellow?” He asks holding up a canary shade and she pulls it from his hand and rips it in half. “Guess not.”

They play this game until there are only three paint chips left and they reach for the same one at the same time.

“Red?” Sabrina asks, eyes hopeful as she holds the cranberry swatch out to him.

“Red,” he agrees and just like that their bedroom wall has a new accent color.

Sabrina grins, tossing the paint chip over her shoulder where it lands in the center of the others.

“We make a good team,” she says as she crawls into his lap, nipping at his lips with her own.

“That we do, Spellman. That we do.”

who comes home with the weirder work stories

His job at Dorian’s comes with certain perks.

They drink for free, for starters, which is nice because his girl loves a shot of absinthe every now and again. Dorian decided to officially open up the club to everyone, witches and warlocks alike, at Sabrina’s request. Nick knows that Dorian has a soft spot for his girlfriend and it both annoys him and pleases him at the same time.

Being a bartender also opens him up to a world of strange people and the stories that they bring with them. Sabrina likes to hear them when he gets home from work, curls up in the armchair next to the fireplace in their bedroom and listens while he tells their tall tales. Tonight is no different and as he steps out of his jeans and into a pair of sweats he tells her the latest.

“We had a warlock come in tonight that claimed to be Isaac Fawkes.” He laughs at her confused face. “One of the first stage magicians, supposedly dead for a few hundred years, but I suppose it’s not unheard of for someone to fake their death.”

“That’s fascinating. You don’t believe him?”

Nick shrugs. “Isaac Fawkes was married with children, so unless they were all witches, I highly doubt it.”

“It doesn’t really matter if it’s true or not,” Sabrina says, allowing herself to be pulled up when he reaches for her hands. He drops a kiss to her nose. “It’s a good story, either way.”

The next night at work he hears about a coven of witches in Norway that celebrates the northern lights every year with a three day festival. He listens carefully, knowing that Sabrina will love to hear about it when he returns home.

who takes long baths

All the lights are off when she get home from school, which is strange since she saw Nick’s car parked outside.

“Nicholas?” She looks around, sees the only light shining is coming from where the bathroom door is slightly open. “Nick?”

The door opens quietly and she lets out a small gasp when she sees candles everywhere, lining every surface, some even floating in midair.

“Welcome home, Spellman.” Nick is sitting on the edge of the bathtub which is already full of water, the water so hot there is steam rising from the surface.

“What is all this?” She asks, spinning around to see the room from every angle. Their bathroom is large, the entire reason she wanted this house to begin with, and he’s managed to make it feel small and intimate.

“Just wanted to treat you to a relaxing night. Come, the water is just how you like it.” He holds his hand out and she steps between his legs. His hand comes up to her side to slide down the zipper of her skirt and she uses his shoulders to hold onto as she steps out of it.

“Will you be joining me?” She asks as she gets undressed with his help. He grins, reaches behind him to pull the Henley he’s wearing off his body.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

who has the full skin care routine

It’s no secret that her boyfriend is a little vain.

She’s always laughed at his nighttime routine, because as a warlock he’s been blessed with practically eternal youth. His olive skin is always blemish free, a dark brown lock of hair never out of place.

But he holds a secret that he’d never tell another living soul, one that involves a shelf full of vials and potions. Only they aren’t magical, not in the strictest sense of the word.

“Nicholas,” she laughs as he washes his face that night. “You do realize you’re basically immortal, right?” This isn’t the first, tenth or even hundredth time she’s muttered these words and it definitely won’t be the last.

“Sabrina,” he says with the same inflection that she spoke his name with. “It doesn’t hurt anything to make sure my skin stays looking youthful. Trust me, you’ll thank me when we’re in our hundreds and I still look this good.”

Her heart clenches a little in her chest and she grins, slides her arms around his waist from behind. “So you think we’ll still be together in our hundreds, huh?”

“Well, I hope so,” he says, echoing the same sentiment from all those years ago on her aunts’ front porch.

She drops a kiss to the middle of his back and tells him to hurry up so they can get into bed.

He misses several steps of his nighttime routine that day.

who gives the other a massage when they seem tense

The front door slamming startles Nick as he’s flipping pancakes in the kitchen, causing the one on his spatula to fly off and into the sink.

“Babe?” He calls out, listening to the sounds of Sabrina huffing and throwing her school bag onto the small bench by the door. Seconds later she appears in the doorway, looking adorably angry and practically stomping her foot. “Hey, everything okay?”

She scowls. “I hate my history professor, Nick. He thinks he’s so much smarter than everyone else and he’s not…oh boy, is he not.”

Nick hides a grin behind his hand. “I’m sorry, love. What happened exactly?”

She goes into a long story about correcting some information her professor was spouting and him tearing into her in front of all of her classmates. While she’s telling him he stands behind her, hands kneading into her shoulders to relieve some of her tension.

“I should turn him into a toad,” she says seriously. “Can you imagine? One day he’s talking about ancient Rome and boom!” She claps her hands once. “Frogs legs for dinner.”

Nick snorts. “You’re starting to sound like Zelda.”

It makes her shudder, he can feel it under her hands. “Shit, you’re right.”

He grins as her head starts to drop a little and she hums in satisfaction. “Is this helping?”

Sabrina reaches up and holds his hand, gives him a thankful smile over her shoulder.

“More than you know.”

who is more easily turned on

He’s learned, over the years they have been together, that making love to a mortal, even a half mortal, is nothing like being with a witch.

And he means that in the best possible way.

It’s no secret that he’s lived many years longer than Sabrina and because of that, and the lustful ways of witches, he’s had more than his fair share of experience.

But nothing compares to how it is with Sabrina.

Every touch seems to set her on fire from the inside out. Barely there kisses make her toes curl. It’s as if her mortal side falls prey to him, amplifying every sensation no matter how many times they are together.

But then there’s the witch side, the side of her that completely and utterly owns him. The fire within her pulls him under, time after time, until he’s gone entirely. It’s then that she has total control over him, sending him to his knees with a whisper or a touch.

So yes, he’s spent many years on this earth and has experienced more things than he can remember, but not a single one of them mattered until her.

who prefers to kick back with a drink in the evenings

Dorian’s is packed wall to wall with dancing witches, bodies melding together under the lights shining above them.

Sabrina sips her drink, something fruity and pink that Dorian promised she’d love. Nick drinks his standard bourbon, one hand holding his glass on his knee and the other resting on her thigh.

“This place is insane tonight,” he says with a grimace. “Glad I had the night off.”

Sabrina leans over and kisses him, licks the taste of bourbon from her lips and relishes in the way his eyes darken as he watches the trail of her tongue.

“With this many people we really shouldn’t stay long.” Her fingertips start a slow and lazy trail starting at his wrist, up his arm to the back of his neck. She pushes her fingers into the lush hair on the back of his head and he practically growls.

“Careful, Spellman. Keep it up and I might not be able to wait until we get home.” His grip on her thigh tightens, sending chills up her spine.

Looking around, she spots a door that leads to a hallway full of offices and storage rooms, places she knows no one will look for them in.

“Maybe we can stay and drink,” she says and laughs when he pouts. “But after we...” He follows her line of sight and gives her a devilish grin.

“Ladies first.”

who stays up too late reading

The moonlight wakes her and when she reads the clock it tells her that it’s near two in the morning.

Nick’s side of the bed is empty but she can hear soft music coming from downstairs so she knows he made it home from work okay.

She climbs down the stairs quietly, careful to miss the second step to the bottom that creaks. It’s not that she wants to scare him or spy on him, she just loves to see the Nicholas Scratch that no one else gets to see.

He’s sitting in his favorite armchair, Salem perched on one arm and Delphi curled at his feet. A large leather bound book sits in his lap. If she squints she can almost make out the words on the side, something in Latin that tells her it’s a spellbook of some kind. That doesn’t surprise her, as he’s been trying to climb the ranks in the Church of Night, on their mutual quest of helping her Aunt Zelda transform it into a coven to be proud of.

Nick absentmindedly scratches Salem on the head and she watches as her familiar purrs, nudging his hand when he stops. Sabrina chuckles, perhaps a little too loudly because Nick’s head shoots up and he raises an eyebrow when he catches her watching him.

“What are you doing up?” He asks, motioning for her to come to him, pulling her onto his lap when she reaches him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she retorts as she runs her fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to wake up without you, remember?”

“To be fair, you woke up about five hours before I expected you to.” Nick presses a kiss to her knuckles and turns her hand over, placing another kiss to her palm. “I missed you tonight.”

She hums. “Just tonight?”

His eyes are warm when he looks up at her. “Whenever we’re not together,” he admits. “It’s something of a problem.”

She doesn’t fight him when he tugs her down for a kiss that lingers after he pulls away.

“What are you reading?”

They stay that way for the next hour, his arm wrapped around her waist and her hand in his hair, until they are both so tired they can barely keep their eyes open.

When they finally go to bed, both cats following loyally behind them, Nick holds her hand and doesn’t let her go, even as he drifts off to sleep.

who is the deep sleeper

“Sabrina.”

He whispers her name against the bare skin of her shoulder but she doesn’t budge. Saying her name again, he places the small velvet box he’s been hiding for the past three weeks onto the pillow beside her cheek so it’ll be the first thing she sees when she wakes up.

“Spellman,” he says with a laugh. “I swear woman, you sleep like the dead.”

For a minute he considers maybe just letting her sleep and trying again later but then she stirs, eyelashes fluttering as she opens her eyes. She blinks a few times, the world coming into focus a little at a time, and he can see when she registers the foreign object in her direct line of sight.

“Nicholas?”

His heart is pounding in his chest and nothing has ever been this nerve-wracking, which is saying something considering he once held Lucifer himself as a prisoner inside of his body. She’s sitting up now, the small box resting on her open palm.

“Is this what I think it is?”

He chuckles softly. “If you think it’s anything other than an engagement ring, than no.” A tear falls down her porcelain cheek and his hand comes up right away to wipe it away. “Open it up, Spellman.”

“Oh my gosh, Nicholas. Is this…” She carefully takes the ring out of the box. “It looks just like…”

“Your mother’s,” he nods. “Ambrose found a photo and I thought that you’d like it.” All of a sudden he’s second guessing himself, and he’s sure that his voice is giving him away.

“It’s the most beautiful thing in the entire world,” she whispers and all he can think as he looks at her is impossible.

She’s the most beautiful thing in the entire world.

“So what do you say, Spellman? Think it’s time I start calling you Scratch instead?” He asks as he takes the ring from her, slides it onto her ring finger and looks into her eyes, which are quickly tearing up.

“I think I’d like that,” she says with a watery laugh, and when the ring is on her finger she gives herself a minute to look at it before tackling him onto their bed.

“Except, it’ll be Spellman-Scratch,” she says against his lips and he laughs, holds her tightly by the waist and kisses the breath from her lungs.

“Of course,” he says in earnest. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#nabrina #nickbrina #nick and sabrina #caos #chilling adventures of sabrina #this ended up being soooo much longer than anticipated #over 4k words #fanfic #100

231 notes · View notes