#and Dorian was none the wiser

[theheadlessgroom]

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/723147826502254592/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride

@beatingheart-bride

“I’m sure you would’ve too,” Dorian smiled fondly, as he brushed away the tears pricking the corners of his eyes with his handkerchief. “She was an incredibly kind, incredibly gentle woman that I felt very honored to know, even for a short time. She was...very motherly to me as well when I was a boy.”

Oftentimes more than my own mother! he thought to himself wryly, as he began to recall stories from his youth to Emily (Randall briefly wondered if she’d heard these stories in the future when they were all dead, but it felt good to talk about his mother, and so he listened, chiming in here and there as well). While Mrs. Gracey was often away, having tea with her other wealthy friends (perhaps including Mrs. de Clair?) or just elsewhere in the house, June Pace was happy to keep an eye on her employer’s son (at least, when Beau couldn’t), always patient with the rambunctious Gracey boy (whose bountiful energy often rubbed off on her own son). She indulged his (many, many) questions and even showed him some of the finer points of gardening, allowing him to help her in her work, quickly enamoring him with the wonders of the world of horticulture.

“In fact, I credit her as being the one to get me invested in gardening,” he smiled, thinking of his bounteous conservatory, and all of its splendors. “We still maintain the beautiful rose bushes she planted-I see to that personally.”

[opaleyedprince]

(ALSO i looked back at another dorian lore post and idk if it's on purpose or not but)

the poetry of the first crest bearer having been a servant who rose in rank to honorary noble, and for dorian to have been a servant until his crest was discovered so he was elevated to noble...

>:3c hehehe i thought it made for a nice little bow on the whole thing

especially bc for the first ~four years of his life dorian was running around places decorated with paintings and full of tapestries of the family lineage while his mother worked, none the wiser about his connection

[reikiajakoiranruohoja]

When I was in college, I decided to read the origin books of famous stories. It was a choice I did not regret, but I do feel a lot of regrets about how so many characters have become parodies or antithesis of themselves.

The most famous is, of course, the Creature from Frankenstein. Everything related to him and his purpose in the novel has been all but lost to the green bolt-neck of modern times. Never mind how Victor went from creating the creature in a university dorm to owning a castle, a huge laboratory and even having a servant helping him to create the Creature.

The themes of neglectful parents and the cycle of cruelty manifesting in the child are completely gone. Doctor Frankenstein is more than happy to have the Creature as it is and the theme is about creating life in itself being bad.

The book and the popular culture version aren't even the same story. They have completely different messages and characters. Igor is taken from a later stage play and has nothing to do with the novel.

Another great injustice is how Dorian Gray is treated. He is often made much MUCH older and much wiser than he was in the book. Dorian is said to be hundreds of years old, indestructible and his only weakness is seeing his own painting.

None of these details are found in the book. For one, Dorian is a blond and blue-eyed twink and not a tall dark and mysterious brunette. Second, he often looked at his portrait, that is how he knew there was magic afoot. Third and most amusing; Dorian only lasted for maybe 40 years before he got himself killed. And Dorian was by no means indestructible, given he suffered from epic opium withdrawals and was often afraid for his life.

In short, Dorian Gray was an idiot and remained an idiot who could hide his addictions and vices and died an idiot who stabbed his own portrait in anger. The best part has to be, that Dorian accomplished absolutely nothing in his years of glamour. He ruined many lives and left behind nothing but trinkets.

Now, with Dracula Daily letting us meet the cast of the novel, so many assumed tropes from adapted media are shown false. Mina is clearly in love with Jonathan and has no ties to Dracula from a past life. Lucy is not a loose woman, but someone who had three people she truly liked propose to her. Even then, she made her choice very early on and let the other two know of her choice quickly.

I think one of the biggest character changes has to be Shere-Khan from the Jungle Books. You see, while Shere-Khan is a maneater, he is one through no choice of his own. Shere-Khan, nicknamed by his mother as Lungri (the lame one) was born with a deformed paw. This meant he could not hunt prey like a normal tiger and had to resort to eating carrion or humans. As Shere-Khan was basically the laughingstock of the jungle, only Tabaqui the golden jackal was his friend. Both were seen as losers.

Yet, only one adaptation has actually addressed this aspect of Shere-Khan. The rest have entirely removed his disability and so his reason for hunting humans. Often, he is made to be this dangerous and regal predator, which the book Shere-Khan wanted to be but never was.

These are only some characters changed over the years and adaptations. I hope you enjoyed my little showcase of literary history.

[aggravateddurian]

Clara Martinez: Owner of a Lonely Heart

Introducing Clara Martinez, a Night City native, childhood friend of Valerie, and occasional pain in Barghest's ass.

"Truly impressive. I fuck with Hansen's shipments, disrupt his convoys, steal shit from under his nose, and his dogs just walk past none the wiser. I drive in and out that gate every other day, and they're just standin' there, cocks limp in hand. Makes you wonder whether or not these gonks'd know if someone crashed a plane in their backyard."

Clara Martinez

FIA Operations Officer

Date of Birth: June 16, 2053 (age 24) Place of Birth: Rancho Coronado, Night City Allegiance: NUSA Height: 1.72m

Clara Martinez grew up in Santo Domingo, the daughter of a former NUS Marine, Staff Sergeant Carlos Martinez, and his wife Maria, a public servant who worked for the city. From a young age, Clara began to hang around with Valerie Ocampo-Gonzalez. From P to 12th Grade, Val and Clara were in the same class, and went to the same schools, and they were very close.

Surprisingly, given Val's very forward nature, it was Clara that made the first move, asking her out in 8th Grade. From that point, until 2071, when Val took a gig in Atlanta and left Night City for six years, the pair were inseparable. This was such the case that both Val's and Clara's parents were fully expecting the couple to marry after high school, and in the words of Val's father, Zanjoe, "I had a suit specially set aside."

Val's decision to move to Atlanta affected Clara. She never started dating after Val left, whereas Val, believing that Clara's decision not to follow her to Atlanta was the final statement on their relationship, began dating again, eventually meeting Trey Marshall in mid-2072. Clara thought of a couple of ways that the pair might reunify, and among the most gonk ideas she had was to join the NUS Government.

Rather than being whisked away to Atlanta as she was hoping, she instead was recruited into the FIA, owing to her school grades and aptitude tests, and joined a network of officers operating in NC under the auspices of a senior officer known as 'Nexus.' Clara's primary task was to ensure that NUS officials and officers were not visiting Night City to sell NUS secrets or technology to corps or rival powers, as well as to keep an eye on the situation in Dogtown, and ensure that arms and financial support to Kurt Hansen were minimised as much as possible.

It should be important to note that Val and Clara never officially broke up, and Clara has been hoping that maybe Val will come back and they'll finally get married. A girl can dream, I guess...

2077 - Reunion and Fallout

In 2077, Val returned to Night City. While Clara was aware of this, as Val had connections to Militech at the time, and the FIA was monitoring the actions of two important Militech officers: Dorian Bautista and Aaron Donoghue, Clara's priority was instead to intercept and deny shipments of arms and resources to Dogtown, a job that had limited success, owing to Hansen's ingenuity.

In May 2077, mere days before the shocking events that begun V's journey in Dogtown, Trey Marshall was kidnapped by a scav group that originated in Dogtown, and the attack appeared to be a targeted hit, rather than an opportunistic one. Less than an hour after Clara was made aware of the scavs' attack, Clara immediately suspected that someone was holding Trey inside Dogtown.

She contacted Val as soon as she could...

and the rest of the story will be revealed in Val Goes to Dogtown. Parts of which can be seen in my ongoing series of Val doing stuff in Dogtown.

[saphirered]

Bard's Surprise

Hope you all had a lovely holidays. Here's a little extra gift from me to you. Hope you enjoy this tooth rotting fluff. 😘

Dorian Storm x reader (3) Mistletoe

The tavern is crowded. People sing and dance and play games. The atmosphere is filled with joy and revelry. Dorian would usually join in having no objections to the celebrations and finding it’s time to let loose again. Why is he holding back? Why can’t he stop the bouncing of his leg or tapping his fingers against the table when he isn’t holding onto his drink with a death grip? Well that’s quite simple. Of course the answer would be simple because ever since, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you much. Only times he has veered away is when his attention was called for by someone else, which he would be grateful for to make him feel less like some creep, or when he saw the lovely floral arch leading to the deck these tables are set at. Chetney might have made a comment about the craftsmanship for better or worse but he couldn’t care less about that. What Dorian does care about is the little branch hanging down from its apex just above the heads of whoever passes through. How could he not have noticed? He should have been more aware of his surroundings. By the winds, you kissed him and now he feels like some lovesick kid unable to think straight, think about anything but you. 

But moments ago you were chatting about anything and everything, commenting on others you saw the moment you entered the tavern and how deep into their cups they already were, noting that the both of you would have some catching up to do after the past weeks of stress and finally allow yourselves to unfurl a bit. That was the agreement you’d come to; a fun evening without a care in the world. He wouldn’t be worrying about his brother. You wouldn’t be trying to do damage control for the effects of that black crown perched on your friend’s head. It was the perfect agreement. You’d been laughing, watching Dariax put on a show as the illustrious Tharla Starr and collecting quite the donations when a refill was in order. Together you’d move through the crowd arm in arm still giggling at the vocal-fry singing and rather good dancing in the background and how people were so enamoured with your friend. 

You’d pass under that floral arch none the wiser, got some more drinks and turned to make your way back to the table. Dorian didn’t notice anything either. Not until you stopped him right under the archway. You looked up and there hung that little branch held by ribbons, clearly in sight. Dorian followed your gaze. Oh. His breath caught in that very moment, that realisation. It was just a silly little tradition, right? It’s worth only amounts to what people choose to believe. He’d hate to admit it but this is one tradition he would like to believe in. You did too. He only knows this by your response, but it remains unspoken even now so his mind would not accept it as a truth. You smiled, a somewhat awkward laugh escapes your lips. You leaned in, slowly, first to place your lips against his cheek. Just an innocent kiss between friends, right? Right? 

That illusion was quickly shattered by the next. You had pulled back, only for him to behold the stars in your eyes, to enchant him and admit to himself the feelings he had kept at bay, be that for self-preservation, his own insecurities or something else entirely he could not identify. A breath finally escaped his lips as they parted slightly. You need not speak the words for he heard them in the air quite clear. You showed all the signs not even his insecurities can question. Your hand rises to cup his cheek, and he could’t help but lean into it, feel the warmth of your skin and the pure electricity that ran through it, sparking him to life but still was he too slow to take initiative. You’d pushed your lips against his and suddenly the world ceased to matter. Suddenly everything in life became irrelevant. There was just you and him, and that damned mistletoe above the both of you. Had he been completely lost he might not have remembered the drinks in his hands but you had pulled back before he could drop them. The noise came crashing back, the surroundings too. He was back again, and so were you. That little corner of reality that had been carved out exclusively for the two of you was reabsorbed by the cruel world but that doesn’t mean all those feelings ended. You’d grabbed onto his elbow to make way for some passing patron and guided him back to your table. He might have remained under that archway frozen in place, in thought had you not. 

You’d sat him down and when he didn’t hand that drink to Opal she’d taken it herself. He’d not even heard her sassy remark. He’d not even noticed that she tried to talk to him and made an effort too and it was only you who’d stopped her from trying to slap him back to reality. You’d made your own attempt too and he turned into a blabbering fool likely incapable of forming a coherent sentence as that kiss replayed in his head over and over and over and over. Eventually you’d gone off to save Dariax from a rather persistent patron who would be quick to expose the dwarf for who he really is. After that you’d found your way to the dance floor, dancing with the aforementioned, and your mutual friends too. He watched you, couldn’t take his eyes off you and while he would love to have joined, his feet would not carry him there. He felt like a lead balloon upon a light breeze; doomed to fall. He had fallen. He’d fallen for you some time ago and now, he can’t push it under anymore. He remains here seated with you on his mind, as the music passes, the patrons do too. His friends come back and forth, for a breather, to share a drink and check up on him, and disappear again. He managed to stammer he was fine. He’d claimed maybe the drink had gotten to him a bit faster than he had anticipated and his hearty meal wasn’t so hearty after all but your brow rose in suspicion at that statement. You said nothing, thankfully. You did not expose him for the truth you knew; he only had one drink and the cup in his hands now, second drink still remained untouched. He had not taken a single sip. He made it a point to take one when you eyed him but almost choked on it. 

Now the music calms down. Dariax’ got enough of the disguise and had excused himself with an extravagant goodbye from Tharla so he could return to his own self. Opal is gods know where. Cyrus seems to be flirting intensely with the barmaid who he keeps buying more and more drinks from to keep her attention. Things are as they should be again. You find your way back to the table drop yourself on the chair besides him. You’re closer than perhaps intended. Your legs brush against one another. Dorian feels heat rise to his cheeks for no particular reason. Not as you lean your elbow on the table and inspect him closely. You carefully unwrap his fingers from the cup and he realises how stiff they had gotten but the feeling melts away when your own brush along his palm. Again he can’t think straight. He almost forgets to breathe. There’s just you and him and nothing else, no one else. You’re in that corner of reality again, and everything else is just muffled background noise; insignificant. 

“Dorian? Is everything alright?” You ask him. Your head tilts to he side and your concern for him, it almost drives him mad. You have no reason to be concerned, if only he could speak his heart. 

“Yes.” He squeaks all too quickly in response. He clears his throat and repeats more assured but you don’t buy it. 

“Are you lying to me?”

“No! No. No of course not. I’ve got no reason to lie.” He stammers. It’s not a lie in technicality but still very much omitting the truth. But then you give him one look and as per usual he comes crumbling, falling apart at the very foundations. His cheeks colour a dark shade of blue be that out of embarrassment for being caught or because of the currently turmoiling feelings. 

“If this is about the kiss, it’s just a kiss. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you-“ You begin but in this moment he regains control of his body, something within him triggering when he sees your eyes cast to the grain of the table, sees you fiddle with your fingers, and bite the inside of your cheek. He knows these the signs of your doubt, in yourself, in others and you don’t deserve to feel like that. He can fix that, he can fix it so easily because currently he is the reason for that doubt because he’s been all but catatonic for the whole evening. That’s not your fault. That’s not your problem. 

“It means the world to me.” Dorian admits and has you stop in your tracks. All doubt and concern is dropped as your gaze shoots up to him, eyes wide a breath halting as whatever words you had stopped upon your lips. You look for any sense of insincerity, any kind of joking matter but there’s not. There never could have been. 

“That’s- that’s quite the claim.” You’re taken aback, unsure what to say, what to think beyond the pounding in your chest reminding you you’re alive. You’re ecstatic. And then his eyes widen when he realises what he said. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean- That’s a bit forward, isn’t it?” Dorian laughs awkwardly and panics and finds himself rambling. “It’s not that I didn’t like the kiss- If I’m quite honest, I can’t help but repeating it in my head- That sounds worse. Why. Why am I like this-“ He keeps going until your hands come to cup his face and pull him out of this stupor. He calms down a but when you urge him to.

Dorian knows what comes next. You‘d asked him and the words are a breath upon the wind, he’d replied in some affirmative manner that could not be mistaken in any way. He’d found his hand come to rest over one of yours, while the other drifted down to your waist, allowing you to more comfortably angle yourself to lean in halfway. He found it within himself to close the rest of the way, placing his lips against yours. This kiss, as perfect as the last was anything but unexpected in series of events but he could never for the life of him predict the feelings running through him now he has time to think, to let his mind run free and process every single thing, commit it to memory in every little detail properly. This kiss doesn’t end, not like the one before at least. Instead it deepens. Your lips move against his, your arms come to wrap around his neck, until your fingers settle among the ombre strands. You let him pull you closer, his hands running up and downy our sides slowly, tentatively, along your back, up your spine, until you’re inseparable. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect. And that all because of some mistletoe kiss. This might just be the beginning of a bright future. 

[theluckywizard]

Lucky Lucky Happy Friday! For DADWC, how about some Cullen and Rose at early Skyhold, plus "does that noise ever stop?" fom Dorian's quotes eheheheheh

Hi Dema! Definitely feeling sleepy and a little bit buzzed from the verdejo when I wrote this, but here is my fill for you!!! @dadrunkwriting

Rating: Mature

WC: 763

CW: Implied/overheard sex

Characters: Cullen/Rose Trevelyan, Bull/Dorian

The alpine sun bears down on us with a certain hardheadedness, attempting to warm us to spite the bitterness of the winds that whip across Skyhold’s battlements. All it really succeeds at is blinding Cullen and I as we attempt to take in the state of the encampment below from the very best vantage point. We each tend to our hair as the stiff gusts kick it up, Cullen’s tamed curls flipping forward in a comical sheet that he curses, while I claw at a web of strands that attempt to overtake my face. He looks frustrated, but I laugh in spite of it, because at least we’re here in this bloody fantastic keep that we could never have matched with our political contacts. At least I’m warmed by his company, cranky as he ever was at the moment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do this later?” I ask him, elevating my voice to overcome the whistles and yowls across the parapets.

“It’s rather time sensitive,” he calls from a body width away. “And the view is best from right here.” He hugs his arms for warmth, stubborn as ever. I draw my shoulders around my ears like it might do something to counter the assault of the wind. It doesn’t.

“Let’s make it quick then and then we can warm up in your office,” I suggest. He points at the furthest reach of the frozen lake, indicating the inner checkpoint.

“At that distance–” Cullen is interrupted by the groan and rock of wood from within the tower beside us. His indignance is immediate. First the wind has the audacity to howl over him and now– whatever that noise is is just mocking him. “At that distance–” The knocking and moaning of wood against stone becomes more rhythmic. Truthfully there are a hundred things it could be with all the repair work descending upon Skyhold. But my cheeks know better somehow and a blush muscles it’s way forward from behind the windburn to overtake my cheeks. 

Cullen is not to be defeated. He moves closer to the merlons and points with a snap of his elbow.

“At that distance the inner checkpoint should afford us–” The knocking has given away to banging and I restrain my expression into something, nothing good really, but something that isn’t abject horror or a moronic grin. I’m not sure who’s in there, but I know they’re having a proper roll. Cullen seems none the wiser, only increasingly incensed. 

“Maker’s breath. Does that noise ever stop?” he demands. He walks over to the door and looks like he’s about to open it.

“Cullen– don’t–” I cry over the clatter of rough ridden furniture.

“What? Whatever work they’re doing can wait for you and I to finish our conversation,” he says, and just as his hand alights on the latch the cries and curses begin. His hand recoils from the latch like it had scorched him. He steps back, a darling flush seizing his face and ears. 

“Do you want me to order them to knock it off?” I ask, a little smile slipping. He grasps the back of his neck like his head might roll off.

“Perhaps we could come back in a half hour.”

“I think five minutes might suffice, to be honest,” I reply, catching his eyes with a brazen little look, about as brazen as I’m capable of anyway. His embarrassment gives way to a reluctant smile and he glances at the tower where the door begins to bounce. Cullen covers his eyes with a gloved hand and paces away just as a cry of triumph breaks across the moan of the wind.

“Anaan!” 

But of course. Cullen and I look at each other and shake our heads simultaneously, no longer able to contain our juvenile smiles.

“Andraste preserve me,” he mutters with a snort. He sighs heavily. “Tea? In my office?”

“Tea would be brilliant.”

“By the time we warm up, perhaps Iron Bull will have withdrawn,” he says and then mortified by his chosen turn of phrase, he continues. “... from the tower, that is.” My laughter is immediate and while embarrassment is an adorable look on him, he owns it, gazing back at me with a knowing smile of amusement. Walking back to Cullen’s own tower he ventures to speak again. “He really does make a racket, doesn’t he?”

“That shouldn’t surprise anyone,” I answer. “The man is nearly eight feet tall.”

“Does he have to do it in the middle of the day?”

“I suspect he would argue ‘yes’. As would Dorian.”

“Dorian?! Maker’s breath,” he says reflexively.

“Maker’s breath indeed.”

[many-but-one]

Splitting, Splitting, Splitting

pk;m new, pk;m new, pk;m new.

You know, I thought folks were being funny haha when they said that learning new trauma can cause you to split more. :) Haha.

We've had several splits over the last couple of weeks, some of which were literally nameless and re-fused within a few days, others not so much. Vivian split into Vivian and Rook. Rook seems to be sticking around. And then myself, Dorian, also split last night. Which is what I'm going to talk about, as I haven't split since I was 17 years old, back when I was known as our dead name and I split into Jules and Aeron.

So the reason for the split I won't go into big detail, but essentially I was learning things that were extremely distressing to me, making me pretty much non-functional. In our system, I have always been the "functional" one, that's my One Job. My job is to be as trauma-free as possible and everyone else holds everything for me. Even when I experience trauma or learn trauma memories, I end up splitting and I come out essentially trauma free while the other half of the split holds all of the unsettling shit that was plaguing me. Something I've learned from folks in the system is that I have *always* been the host. Well, parts of me have. Over the years, I've been "whittled" down. Every time I experience something upsetting or traumatic that makes it difficult to be the functional part, I split. If the trauma is ongoing, that split will become host until the trauma "ends" and then I come back none the wiser. Which is why folks like Maribelle, Mariana, Aeron, and many more, were all hosts for short periods of time and every time I ended up coming back to take my duties back up. Of course these all happened long before I was aware of the system, but this is why I was so certain I was always the one around our whole life with a few memory gaps. I was. I *have* experienced our whole life sans the really fucked up trauma, but every time I get overwhelmed by what I'm experiencing, I get "whittled down" again and that's what happened again this time.

I'm still Dorian. I feel no different than before except that the memories I had been toiling over are essentially either completely gone or I have no emotional attachment to them. In a quote to my therapist to explain the feelings regarding a person in particular involved in the memories and things I've been stressing over (my father): "The ones [memories] I do have, I have absolutely no emotional attachment to them, it's like someone else lived them entirely. I have almost no opinion, positive or negative toward my father. The new information I learned about him (that he probably allowed this all to happen) feels unimportant/I don't care about it. Any of the teen memories I have/had of him are either completely gone or so diluted that I don't care about them."

And that's by design. Unfortunately. And now I really do understand why so many parts are so hostile toward me. My One Job is to be trauma free while their One Job is to hold trauma. How is that fair? It's not like I get to choose this role, our brain does this automatically because we NEED a functional, non-traumatized, main host part. Which is me. It always has been. It's so sad. I feel so sad for those parts who have to hold what I'VE experienced and couldn't handle. It makes me feel weak, but I know that's not the case. This is just how our brain has decided I will have to be.

The really sucky thing is how the split occurred, which was done in a way that was (from what I can assume) purely symbolic in the IW. I got grabbed by one of our internal gatekeepers (Anna, who is essentially the size of a primordial entity/god thing) and ripped right in half. Which was as pleasant as you can imagine. /sar

It was actually incredibly painful and traumatizing, it was a horrifying experience, and that's not even all that happened but I'm not going to get into all of that. Essentially when she threw me back down to the forest of our inner world, I was now two pieces and the two pieces of me were suddenly whole parts, making me (Dorian, the one writing this, previous and current host, only ANP with no trauma) and Seneca, a part that I don't know a lot about because he's still super fucking disoriented. All I know really is his name, that he looks a lot like me but very dark, and has a lot of memories of father-related stuff that I no longer have. And a lot of rage. That seems to be a common thing amongst splits. I think it's because rage/anger have never been safe to express in our life, and when we do it's too much and brain panics and splits off so that the part who was feeling so much rage is free from it and then we bury the rage they felt deep in the IW to never think about again. Well, the point is to never think about it again. Logically, I/we know we're going to have to deal with all of that anger and rage eventually, it's just that up until now that has never ever been safe or okay to do. I know someday we'll have to consolidate that anger and it WILL be safe to feel, but I suppose now is not that day.

I'm unsure if Seneca will be buried like the rest or if he'll join frequent fronter status. Rook has been around and about and functional so Seneca may do that as well. It's been A Time these past few weeks. Having to come to terms with some seriously horrifying shit that I can't even begin to describe on top of realizing that it all could have been avoided and that it was all done purposely and the people that should have protected me simply...didn't. It's heartbreaking, to say the least. I understand why this happened. I'm not angry or upset at my brain or the parts for doing this. I have learned to not be so hard on myself/the parts, I realized that rather than blaming myself, I should be blaming our abusers for everything. Absolutely everything. None of this was my fault.

I was just a kid. WE were just a kid. :(

-Dorian

[giransbunnywife]

I know I already rambled about Bunny and Chet’s ship but this is a bit more explanation of their dynamic and just random ramblings bc I literally can’t stop thinking about them. They’re like so good and fucking cute it’s not fair. But to give you a better idea of how shit goes between them (no official timeline bc I’m still figuring that out so no timeline specific discussions from the campaign).

Warning(s): self insert x canon, fluff, and slight suggestive mentions throughout

Bunny was already with the group whenever Chetney was first introduced, and like I said in the previous post it was like obvious love/infatuation at first sight. He was completely enamored by her and very obvious about that. Well… to everyone but Bunny who was jsut confused lmao. At this point she was only dating Dawn, though there was heavy hints at some connection with Fearne and Dorian at this time.

Chetney would continue to flirt with her heavily on and off pretty much from then on. There would be plenty of moments that others would see this, while Bunny remained completely and blissfully unaware. She would go on top capture the hearts of many, like Fearne and Dorian and Laudna (to name a few), and yet she would be none the wiser too his antics. Until Dawn and Imogen pointed out to her just exactly why the old gnome had always been so cheeky with her.

Everybody found her to be quite adorable and sweet, though he would be a bit... over the top with it. Nobody disrespected or talked over Bunny in his presence, even if she was in the wrong or wasn't exactly... right. It wouldn't matter. That's how far fucking gone this goddamn gnome was.

Though Bunny was not particularly reciprocating to his advances, she would respond somewhat playfully. But with a very strong insistent that it would be “in his dreams”, though some moments suggests she definitely lusted after his wolf form. Once she caught on it was lots of cutting of her eyes at him or pushing him away, in moments that weren’t all that serious. She was very vocal that it would never happen.

Eventually this would result in yet another transition of their dynamic which I call the “make her jealous” phase, in which Chetney starts playing a little hard to get with her. Slowing his roll a little bit and seeming like he stopped the whole gag, when in reality he was just switching up his angle. And even though it got a couple teasing remarks from the others to the validity of such an approach, hilarious it seemed to fucking work.

Bunny became rather disturbed by such a change, even though they tried to hide it with a faulty façade. All the times that she would get caught up in his flirting or heavy comments, instead it was nothing short of a quip or two thrown her way. None of which the intensity that it used to be, and she didn’t like how much her body reacted to the change. How differently she felt after the attention was no longer focused on her.

This continued on (most likely even after the split) with a few people catching on to her change in tune since his new approach ended up working. Though, it might had ended up working too well considering that they ended up hooking up in the process. And this doesn't stop there, considering Bunny ends up doing this again... and again... and again.

Eventually their dynamic has yet another shift, and this is where things really kick into high gear and her feelings really come to a head. Because now that they're physical, she starts getting even more jealous than she had been before. This might have been made worse by him purposefully making her jealous bc he found it cute and amusing... which wouldn't work in his favor too well. Thus resulting in the final stage of things before everybody, including Chetney, knew that her feelings had changed.

And slowly as things are revealed more and more, their dynamic finally comes to a head once she admits that he had captured her heart. That she can't hide it anymore, and in fact, he had fucking won. Something that would make him even more insufferable with her, and the two of them would become the corny ass couple that they are now.

[x-wanderingsouls]

Starter from Eddie to Calypso ( @collextivesoul​ )

                            Despair ,grief, utter loneliness were emotions that Dorian Rockwell was accustom to, having lived life in a constant state of all three and insufferable pain and guilt at those he had harmed -- the one who’s gift he had stolen when ending her life. Though, the youngest Rockwell and the raven known simply as Eddie, knew that his best friend and brother had at one time felt these emotions, after all, it was what bonded the pair, despite Maddox not being aware of it at the time, and while the years had allowed the necromancer to heal, or perhaps hide from deep seeded emotions that ripped an unsuspecting caring heart, it was Eddie who knew the truth and pain of it all. While the raven hadn’t been able to express such thoughts, nor comfort his friend in a traditional sense, he had stayed with Maddox since he was fourteen, never leaving his side in fear that something horrific would happen to the man whom saved his miserable life and accidentally, with the help of another, ended the curse his family had so cruelly placed upon him. Pain had occurred though, at the loss of the banshees and betrayal, though Eddie saw new people come into his life, pick up the pieces and care for his warlock friend without ever wanting anything in return. Perhaps it was why, when the younger vampire was off feeding, whilst the youngest sister slept, that Eddie the raven found himself transformed again into the flesh of the long forgotten and thought dead, Dorian Rockwell, as Maddox lay upon the couch, book in hand as exhaustion had taken its toll. Silent, as he lived his life, Eddie approached his friend to watch over him, not that there was much he could do, but he had always felt a pull towards the necromancer who surely he was bound to, yet unsteady legs faltered, as weakened and unusual limbs searched for someplace to sit, none the wiser that Maddox’s other protector had made her way into their space. 

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Hey Reluctant you remember that tragic fic you wrote about Dorian leaving Varlen bc he refused to stay behind while Dorian went to Tevinter? since I've been thinking about it again and it's re-broken my heart, could you pretty please maybe do a short sequel where Varlen follows Dorian to Tevinter anyway and keeps him safe from the shadows, something with a happy ending? Bc I'm dying still thinking about my boys sad and lonely even if the fic isnt technically canon its still breaking my heart ;~;

PHEW. Sorry about this taking SO LONG to actually get to, but it ended up much longer than I anticipated. Because of that, I have uploaded it to AO3 in chapters for ease of reading (LINK HERE), but will also put it here for people who don’t mind… y’know… a lot of scrolling >.>

Also HERE is the break-up fic in question, in case people are interested

Things Thought Lost (Pavellan, Post-Trespasser)

Varlen Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, approx 8500 words. CW: violence, attempted assassination.

“Magister Pavus?”

Dorian groaned softly, the fingers of hisleft hand rubbing a tired circle against his temple. “Yes, yes. What is it?”

The scribe entered; a mouse of a thing calledAdiran. New to the household, he bobbed his head deferentially, and with theMaker as his witness, Dorian swore the young man’s knees were trembling.“T-There has been a change of venue for your meeting with Magister Tellene.Instead of the upper chambers, she has requested you meet her at the,u-um…“ He paused, glancing hurriedly at his board, which quivered andjumped in the air. “The Gilder.”

One dark brow arched high on Dorian’sforehead. “Harbour-side? An interesting choice for a lady with such a notabledislike of salt air.” The young man opened his mouth as if to beg apology, butDorian quickly waved a hand. “No matter, no matter. Thank you, Adiran. Informher that I will be present at the agreed upon time.” Typically, Dorian wouldmake a show of rescheduling entirely, as was common practice within theImperium when one wanted to assert one’s status over another. Or be a little petty. However,if he was to ever bring forth discussion of the treatment of slaves in themagisterium, he needed Tellene on side. She was old blood – something that carriedgreat weight in a nation stained red. Her support would be invaluable. Despitehis better judgement, he had little choice but to attend whatever she deignedto organise. If he did not establish an alliance now, someone else wouldinevitably beat him to it. It was not something he could afford.

Sighing softly, he pushed himself to hisfeet, chair sliding out behind him along the soft carpet. Moving to thefloor-length mirror, Dorian took a moment to adjust his attire, tugging hisrobe slightly, reasserting the perfectly effortless flow required of his cloak.He would not be wearing his insignia of office this time. Not if he was toventure so far from the heart of the Magisterium. It would be interesting, hesupposed. He had yet to visit the harbour since his magnificent return toTevinter. It held a rather significant number of fond memories.

All he hoped was that the meeting would gosmoothly, and those memories would not be replaced by something comparablydark.

The Gilder was decidedly… unremarkable. Nice,mind you, but most things in that part of the city could at the very least bedescribed as nice. Dorian exited his carriage with a nod to his driver, Valus, who wouldwait for however long the meeting took. Adiran hurried out behind him, carryinga stack of papers and ink to transcribe should the casual conversation take amore formal turn. It might not be needed, but Dorian always found it better tobe prepared, and the young man seemed as though he would benefit from theexcursion.

“Try to calm down,” he said to Adiran as they approached the establishment. “I brought you here as a member of myhousehold staff. Do try to look the part, yes?”

“Y-Yes, Magister Pavus.” Adiran swallowedtightly, sweat beading on his brow. “I’ll… I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

Dorian’s expression softened slightly as theyascended the steps to the entrance. “There. That’s the spirit. Just stay withme and look interested in what’s happening.” He paused as Adiran hurriedforward to get the door, then as he passed, he fixed the scribe with a sidelongglance. “But not too interested.”

The young man paled again. It was a bit cruelto tease him, but Dorian couldn’t help himself. It was the sort of thing thatwould have earned a soft snort of amusement from his companions back inFerelden. A touch of the arm. A bright smile. Silver hair swept over oneshoulder, blue eyes gleaming with barely contained laughter…

Dorian caught himself mid-thought, startledthat his mind had wandered so far from its course. No. Now is not the time for such…distraction. He needed tobe focused. This meeting could make or break half a year’s worth of work. Ifhis thoughts were elsewhere, it could lead to disaster. He had to deny them, nomatter how desperately they wished to elope.

“The meeting is upstairs, Magister Pavus.”Adiran, who had been swift to hurry over to a richly attired man with a ledger,returned just as quickly, his brown hair tousled, green eyes bright withnervous energy. “Shall I lead the way and ah… introduce you? Is that, um… howthis goes?”

“Yes. If you please.” Dorian’s response wasclipped, his mind still distant as he followed the young man. Why think ofVarlen? Why now? Was it because there was so much at stake? Was it because he wasfeeling so very out of his depth?

Or was it because, if he were to be perfectlyhonest, he would give anything in the world for Varlen to be the one currently standing by hisside.

You are the one who set thatship to sail, you know, Dorianchided himself silently as he followed Adiran up two flights of carpeted stairsto the room. Thenyou launched a fireball and burned it to ash for good measure. You have no one toblame but yourself. He is not coming back.

It was a bitter thing, to consider how muchhe had already been forced to give up to become Magister Pavus. Maker’s breath,he had yet to decide if it had even been worth it. Perhaps, if he could doenough good here, he might be able to make it safe. Yes… yes, if he could dothat, Varlen might just…

Dorian’s thought was cut short as Adiranknocked meekly on the door of one of the rooms. Good grief, even his knock wasmouse-like. Dorian would have to work on that with him; give the young man abit more presence. It would do him no good to come across as so fragile. People arewant to take advantage of such individuals, particularly in the Imperium.

There was a soft affirmation from beyond thedoor, and Adiran took a steadying breath, steeling himself. He glanced back atDorian, who gave him an encouraging nod despite feeling almost sick with nerveshimself. But to offer support was only fair; Dorian had been the one to insiston Adiran’s involvement, after all. It was the least he could do. To Dorian’ssurprise, the young man actually mustered a flicker of a smile, standing alittle taller before turning the gold-coated handle and pushing open the door.It swung on perfectly oiled hinges, revealing the lamp-lit room beyond. Chin raised,knees still shaking slightly, Adiran stepped in ahead of Dorian, as wasprotocol. When he spoke, his voice rang out with unexpected clarity.

“Magister Tellene and valued associates, itis my honour to present the esteemed Magister Pavus, son of the late HalwardPavus, member o—”

It had been difficult for Dorian to keep aproud smile off his face at Adiran’s confident tone, but he had managed upuntil the young man suddenly cut off, his introduction coming to a jarring haltmidway through. Dorian frowned, brow creasing in mingled disappointment andconcern as he stepped forward to usher Adiran aside, assuming the scribe’snerves had simply overcome him. No matter. There would be other opportunitiesfor him to practice. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder comfortingly butfirmly. “That is enough with the formalities for n…” Dorian halted the momenthe stepped up to Adiran’s side. He caught the young man’s expression. Adiran’sgreen eyes, once bright with nerves, were blown wide, staring down in shock.His head was barely tilted, frozen in place, colour draining fast from histanned skin. Bitter dread clawed up the back of Dorian’s throat, and almostreluctantly, he let his own gaze descend.

A hilt, adorned with delicate gold weave,jutted from the centre of Adiran’s stomach.

“Fasta-vass!” Doriansprang into action, his time spent fighting with the Inquisition far fromforgotten. Magic leaped to his fingertips in less than a frantic heartbeat, butfor once the destructive fire of his youth was not the first thing to rise tothe occasion. Instead, a barrier rippled around Dorian and the young man,wrapping them in a familiar hum of energy, and it was just in time as anotherdagger streaked towards them only to be turned aside by the magical shield. Ahigh, panicked whine crawled up the back of Adiran’s throat as blood began toseep around his fingers, wrapped almost protectively around the hilt of theblade. Dorian drew the young man close, hooking him around the waist to keephim on his feet. “Stay with me.” He clenched his teeth as he fought to maintaintheir defences as another projectile – one far less mundane – was repelled. “Do not pullthat out, do you understand? Stay with me.”

There were four figures in the room and nosign whatsoever of Magister Tellene, save the fact that she was likely behindthe foul play. Just four assassins against one mage and a young man whose skinhad already drained of colour as he entered the first stages of shock. This wasbeyond bad. In fact, as Dorian attempted to back towards the door, eyesflicking between his assailants, he could think of few more potentially deadlysituations in which to find himself. Foolish. He shouldhave been more careful. Should not have rushed in so eagerly. His instincts hadwarned him, and he had ignored every last one of them.

Dorian’s father once said that a man’s worthcould be measured by his ambition. Dorian himself always fancied ambition to beworth remarkably little if, in its realisation, one fell to the folly of haste.

Just this once, he wished he had taken hisown damn advice.

Sweat beading on his brow, running down histemples, Dorian backed all the way to the door only to find it had somehow beenclosed behind him, the act going unnoticed in his rush to protect his scribe.He snarled; a surprisingly vicious sound; as an assassin started forward,intending to rush the barrier. Dorian snapped his hand to the side, three boltsof fire shooting from his palm to catch the cowled man mid-flight. The assassincried out, staggering, throwing his arms up to guard his face, but his clothingremained uncharred by the flames. In fact, the fire seemed to sweep pastharmlessly, repelled like water from oiled canvas. Of course.Yes, he should have guessed they would be ready for combat with a mage of hisparticular specialty. These were no mere hired blades, after all.

“Kaffas,” Doriangrowled, face set in a snarl as he chose lightning, charging a bolt in his palmand sending it lancing forward. It hit one assassin, then leaped to a second,but again the effect seemed almost laughable. They slowed under the assault,only human and unnerved by the display, but did not stop. For all his power,Dorian was little more than an inconvenience to them.By his side, Adiran’s breathing had started to come in short, panicked gasps;too little to fill the boy’s lungs. They didn’t have much time. He didn’thave much time. Turning, Dorian threw a hand towards the door, summoning magicto his palm and sending it scorching outwards in a bright, loud blast. If hecould get them out and summon the city guards, then perhaps—

The sound of shattering glass ripped Dorian’sattention back to the room even as the door buckled and blasted outwards. Theassassins standing by the window cried out in surprise, stepping away hastilyas a figure swung into the room. A blur of black and brown, the person hit theground, rolled, and was on their feet in less time than it took to bat an eye,twin blades flashing in their hands. For a moment, Dorian thought this might beanother assailant, come to ensure the job was done thoroughly. But before thatthought even reached completion, the stranger whirled on the assassins,slashing fast, feinting and dodging and weaving, harrying and harassing them inclose quarters. It seemed the stranger’s arrival was as much as surprise tothem as it had been to Dorian, and they scrambled to defend themselves,momentarily distracted from their quarry.

In the confusion, Dorian did the only thinghe could. Grunting, he hauled Adiran up and made for the door, almost trippingover the debris, staggering out into the hallway. The boy’s blood ran freelydown his front, now, staining the carpet red as they stumbled and wovechaotically. After a few hindered steps, Dorian opted to simply sweep the boyinto his arms, ignoring the shriek of pain Adiran let out at the movement. Thesound stole the breath from Dorian’s chest in the worst possible way and hegritted his teeth, trying not to give in to the rising panic. The guilt. Adiranshook in his arms, tense with pain, eyes glassy and wide as he stared down athis wound.

He’s just a boy. I shouldn’thave brought him. I shouldn’t have—

Dorian reached the stairs just as a form camehurtling out of the room’s shattered doorway, skidding into the hall, a horrorof black fabric and deadly blade. Assassin. Cursing,Dorian threw up another barrier, but before he could attempt to flee the mancrashed into him, sending both Dorian and Adiran to the ground. They hit hard,and Dorian rolled on instinct just as the assassin’s wicked blade slammed intothe ground where his neck had been. Whatever it was made of, it sliced straightthrough the floorboards as though they were paper. With little left to hisdisposal, Dorian kicked out, catching the assassin in the side, knocking himtowards the stairs. Unfortunately, the cloaked man managed to catch himself onthe first step, avoiding the damaging fall that might have followed, andimmediately launched himself back towards Dorian, who had barely had time tostagger to his feet.

Whether through skill or sheer luck, Dorianmanaged to catch the assassin’s wrists, that deadly blade stopping mere inchesfrom his chest. Both men grunted, snarling, one’s face hidden by a mask, the other’sexposed and desperate. Despairing. Livid. Adiran layin a crumpled heap, curled in on himself as if to guard the blade sheathed inhis stomach. He’sjust a boy. Dorian cried out, heavingback against the assassin, forcing the man back a half-step from the suddenforce of it. Justa boy. His grip tightened on theassassin’s wrists, clamping down hard, the fitted fabric of the man’s sleeveslipping down as they struggled for dominance. I should not have brought him. 

For a split second, Dorian felt warmth against his palms –skin – and quite literally seized the opportunity with both hands. Ignoring thethreat of that deadly blade, Dorian focused his magic, dropping his barrier anddrawing its power into his attack, feeling the energy coil and writhe inside him. Then,just when he could contain it no longer, he released it in a rush, theelectricity discharging with a muted crack directly into the assassin’s exposedskin. The man screamed, arching, grip tightening on his blade, neck snappingback, body shaking. Dorian refused to let go, his eyes on the assassin, hisheart on Adiran, his mind chanting a desperate mantra for it to all be over.The smell of something cooking, and then burning, rose thick in the air, untilthe assassin finally collapsed in a smoking heap on the floor. Without eventhinking, Dorian snatched the man’s blade and slipped it into his belt, themimmediately staggered over the corpse and towards the crumpled form of hisscribe.

“Adiran,” he rasped, exhausted, shaking as heturned the boy, rolling him onto his back. Dorian was greeted by the faintestof moans, but it set his exhausted heart racing again, newfound energy risingto flood his veins. “Come – that’s it. We’re fine. You will be fine.” Hegrunted, heaving the boy up again. Adiran did not cry out this time. In fact,he seemed barely aware of who Dorian was or what was happening, head lolling,eyes unfocused and half shut. Bitterly, Dorian could only think that was alllikely for the best.

Dorian did not exit via the front of theestablishment. The back door was closer, and his chariot was waiting down theside of the building. As soon as Dorian stumbled into sight, Valus,leaped to his feet, eyes blown wide with shock. “Get the door open,” Dorianordered as he ran towards it. “Now! Take us to Maevaris.” She had a spirithealer on staff – one who might be able to help. That was the boy’s onlychance, Dorian feared, and even then it was slim. As he and Valus heaved theyoung man into the carriage, Dorian eyed the wound and felt a sick sensationchurn in his stomach. Itwas bad. Any seasoned fighter wouldsay the same. A slow, painful way to go.

Once inside the wagon, Valus immediately setthe horses off at a canter, moving recklessly through the streets, hollering tomove people out of the carriage’s way. Inside, Dorian cradled Adiran’s head inhis lap, smoothing the boy’s hair, unable to find the words he deserved in sucha moment. His hand worked what little magic he had left, trying to numb thearea – ease the pain. Whatcould one truly say? 

“M… Magis…ter…” Adiran’s voice was barelyabove a whisper, and Dorian started, almost missing it for all Valus’ shoutingand rein-cracking.

“Shh, hush now,” Dorian murmured almostreflexively, reaching to wrap a hand comfortingly around the young man’s wrist.Holding him. What else could he do? “Save your breath. We are almost at thehealer.”

Adiran swallowed, flinched, then gasped atthe contraction, his hands twitching painfully around the embedded blade.“A-Are y… s-safe?”

The expression on Dorian’s face would havebeen comical had it not been lined so heavily by grief. “Foolish boy,” hechoked, shaking his head, fingers still combing soothingly through his tousledbrown hair that seemed immune to any form of taming. Sucking in a shakingbreath, Dorian pressed on, “I am fine, Adiran. Unharmed. You did well. You… didvery well.”

Had the young man been more present, he mighthave disputed that claim, given the circumstances. But instead his feverishgaze seemed to brighten ever so slightly as it drifted upwards, focusing on thejolting roof of the carriage. Their green was dimmer than before; wilting fastlike cut grass. All Dorian could do was helplessly beg the carriage to gofaster.

Maevaris, as always,moved with the efficiency of a woman whose world always ran on perfectschedule. The moment Dorian’s carriage pulled up, she appeared as thoughsummoned, whether warned by her own guards or Valus’ booming voice, Doriancould not say. Either way, it did not matter; the moment she saw Adiran shelaunched into action, sending a servant to fetch the healer before slidingbeneath Adiran’s other arm herself and helping Dorian carry the boy along.“Maker’s breath, what happened to him?” she demanded as they ran into themanor, a cot already being wheeled down the hallway from one of the nearbyrooms. “And if you are going to stop by unannounced, flowers never go astray.”

“Not now,” Dorian begged, andMaevaris seemed more than happy to oblige him in this instance. While boththeir instincts in the gravest moments were to make light, this time… this timeDorian just couldn’t bear it. What happened next was something of a blur, andthe next thing Dorian knew, the boy had been whisked away by not just onehealer, but a group, all speaking in fast, serious tones. The only thing thatstopped Dorian from following them instinctively was Maevaris’ steadying handon his shoulder. He turned to her, aggrieved, but she just shook her head, gazesympathetic but firm.

“Let them work, Dorian. There isnothing either of us can do for him now.” Her pale gaze drifted to where theyhad disappeared down the corridor, voices fading in the distance. “I do notknow who that boy was, but he is in good hands. The best, if Jahvri’srecommendations are to be believed.”

“One can only hope. Maker’sbreath…” Dorian sagged, andMaevaris quickly guided him over to a chair, steadying him by the arms as hecollapsed into it. “How?” he continued, shaking his head, curving forward andburying his face in his hands. “How did I let this happen?”

“Hush.” She pulled him in close,letting Dorian’s head rest against her stomach, holding him without a care forthe blood, both fresh and dried, that coated the front of his robe. “You will tell me what happened, Dorian… but not now. Youare safe here. That is what matters. Stay as long as you feel you must.”

“You are too good to me.”

“I am. But Maker knows you woulddo the same.”

To his credit, Dorian managed afaint smile at that. It was true, after all. But it wavered and fell all tooquickly. Maevaris, perceptive as ever, gave the excuse of fetching tea for themto drink. As if she did not have staff for such an endeavour. But regardless,she made herself scarce, offering Dorian a moment’s reprieve, and he wasgrateful for the solitude. Suddenly overcome by a wave of exhaustion,Dorian raised his hands to rub at his eyes, then jolted as thesight of his own bloodstained palms sent a spike of panic through him. Yes. Yes,of course. As if reading hismind, a servant appeared with a warm, damp cloth, offering it to him for thetime being and informing him a bath was being drawn and would be ready shortly.Maevaris was nothing if not a gracious host.

Sitting there, Dorian’s mindwandered back to that room at The Gilder. To the figure who had leapt in; asaviour of dark leather and flashing steel. Whoever that person had been,Dorian wagered he owed them his life. Perhaps even Adiran’s, if…

Dorian blanched and leanedforward heavily, resting his forearms on his knees, uncaring of how he mightlook to the guards flooding out to take up extra watch duties in the wake ofhis dramatic arrival. What he had done; attending that meeting; had been amistake he could not afford to make. Not now. Certainly not again. A singleerror of judgement could mean the end of everything. Of himself. Of others. He was more than just a lone agent – a pariah actingout against an established ideal. Finally, he was in a position where his voicecould be heard above the powerful ruling minority. If he allowed himself to besilenced through his own recklessness…

There was a sound from outside;men and woman shouting what sounded like a warning. Dorian launched to hisfeet, exhausted but rekindled by the thought that the assassins had givenchase. The idea that he might have brought danger to Maevaris’ house left himsick and hollow inside, but as he attempted to rush out a pair of guardsmenstepped in front of the door, blocking his path. “Apologies, Magister Pavus,”one said, “but we are under strict orders.”

Of course they were. Dorian’slips curled disdainfully, but quickly his rational side caught up, windingtight around his anger and stemming its flow. He was drained. Exhausted andbroken in too many ways. If he rushed out there, he would only be a liability.

A horn sounded – a few staccatobursts – and Dorian’s gaze flicked between the guards with an appropriate levelof indignation for his station. “At least tell me what is happening,” he said,seeking compromise. “I trust you can do that much, yes?”

After sharing a nervous glance,the other guard spoke, her voice ringing within her helm. “An attempted breachof the estate’s wall, Magister Pavus. That last call was to say whoever madethe attempt has been apprehended. They—”

Suddenly, the door behind theguards was thrown open, sending the pair staggering to the side and Dorianjumping back a step. Another group of Maevaris’ soldiers stormed in, a figuredragged between them, gripped tightly by the upper arms, surrounded by thethreat of blades. Dorian’s heart raced, but it seemed their captive was notputting up much of a fight; an occasional grunt and jerk of resistance when aguard got a little too rough or a blade slipped a little too close, but nothingmore. It was… well, rather strange. The group started moving past Dorian, their captive twisting,brown and black leather stained by blood…

… that was when Dorian recognisedwho it was.

“Wait! Stop!” Starting forward,Dorian placed himself between the guards and the hallway, cutting them off. Thegroup immediately halted. They might be under Maevaris’ employ, but they werenot so bold as to trample a Magister. Breathing harder than he had any need tobe, Dorian held out a hand. It was trembling. “Wait. I know that armour. Thisperson saved my life.”

There was a hush of uneasytension that filled the room. “Apologies, Magister, but we are under strictorders—” one of the guards began, but then the captive spoke over the top ofhim.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was deep.Earnest. Achingly familiar. Somethingtightened in Dorian’s chest, his eyes widening at the sound. No. Itcouldn’t be. “Itried to keep them all in the room, but one slipped past, and I’m…” The figureshivered and hung his head, still cowled and masked. Only his eyes werevisible, and Dorian caught a glimpse of them for the briefest moment. A bright,brilliant blue. “You got away.” The man continued weakly, almost to himself.Almost relieved. “Fora second I thought…”

“Release him,” Dorian breathed,stepping forward. But the guards did not comply, and his angerrose swiftly from the centre of his chest. “Did you not hear me? I said—”

“It is all right.” Maevaris’voice rang clear and crisp through the room. She had entered with a servantbearing a tray of tea, and while she seemed wary, her ability to read Dorianlike an open book spurred her to act. She met Dorian’s grateful gaze and noddedto the guards. “Let him go.”

Immediately, the guards releasedthe cowled man, who grunted and rubbed his arms where he had been held. Then,slowly, he straightened, his gaze rising to meet Dorian’s. They held eachother’s stares for a time, neither entirely sure of what to say. What to do. Dorian’s mind was little more than a whitewash ofemotion, fuzzy and uncertain, relieved and terrified all at once.

What was he doing here? How did he…?

“If you’re going to shout at me,can we at least do it without an audience?” Varlen’s voice was the same asDorian remembered, but somehow different as well. Harder. Colder.

“I’m not…” Dorian trailed off,then licked his lips, glancing about the room full of armed men and women.“Maevaris, if you please… I would have a moment with this man. Alone.” Underher intense stare, Dorian gave her a pointed nod. “All is quite well. You havemy word. Is there somewhere we might speak? Preferably a room without yourdutiful guards present.”

“Dorian,” Maevaris said warningly, but at the look on hisface she just sighed, reaching up to rub her forehead with her fingertips.“Very well. Fine. This way.” She spared a glance for the newcomer. Or perhapsa glare wouldbe more fitting. “Attempt anything at all and I will have you skinned and wear you like acoat. Understood?”

Dorian imagined Varlen would havepaled beneath that mask, but his voice remained surprisingly resolute as hegave a small bow of his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Yes ma’am. Ittook all Dorian had to suppress a cringe as Maevaris arched a brow at theimpropriety of it all. But he supposed, if nothing else, it was strangelycomforting to know that some things had not changed.

When the door closed behind them,the first thing Dorian did close the space between himself and the cowledfigure. His hands reached out, thumbs brushing along the sides of Varlen’s coveredface, both pleased and surprised to find his former lover did not jerk awayfrom his touch.

So, Dorian removed the mask.

The elven man’s features wereprecisely how he remembered, although he supposed he shouldn’t really besurprised. It had only been just over a year, after all, since they had gonetheir separate ways for good. Discarding the mask, Dorian’s hands returned asthough drawn by a mysterious force, ghosting along the sides of Varlen’s face, wantingso badly to feel the warmth of his skin, but uncertain of whether such intimatecontact would be welcome. Instead, he allowed himself a moment of indulgence,drinking in the sight that stood before him. Those bright blue eyes, that palevallaslin. Cheekbones that gave such pleasing shape to his face; lines Dorian hadonce loved to absently trace. They were more pronounced now, he realisedvaguely. Varlen had gotten thinner. Then again, Dorian figured they both hadneglected themselves in more ways than one. Nothing could drain a person quitelike constant, unwavering stress.

In Dorian’s distraction, it wasVarlen who was the first to speak. “Dorian… were you hurt?”

That question. Why did everyone always ask that first?Pain flickered behind Dorian’s eyes and he lowered his hands, stepping away,the image of Adiran shivering in his arms suddenly too vivid. Too overwhelming.“I am well, Varlen.” He paused, collected himself, then added. “And you? Icannot imagine your entry through the second-storey window was a comfortableexperience.”

A faint smirk flickered acrossVarlen’s lips and he shrugged, although a little stiffly. “It’s not so bad. Ifyou do it right.” With a sigh, he reached up, tugging down his hood, hairspilling from its confine to tumble down past his shoulders. Dorian’s eyeswidened at the sight. Still long, yes, but he wore it shorter than before. Thedemands of practicality. But more than anything, it was predominantly black.Dorian was stunned into silence for a good while, slowly taking in changes hethought he would never see. Varlen lovedhis hair, proud to wear the same silver as his mother and sister. Now, only afew inches of it had grown, catching the wavering lamplight, no doubt awaitingthe dyeing process. What followed the unveiling was an uneasy silence; one thatseemed better suited to a funeral procession than an untimely reunion of formerlovers. Then again, perhaps it was a perfect silence. After all, Dorian had noidea how to fill it.

Uncertainly, Varlen rose to theoccasion, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Dorian… I know this isn’twhat you wante—”

“No.” Dorian, it seemed, hadfound his voice. Funny, how easy it was to make the throw once the first stonehad been cast. Varlen blinked, uncertain of what to make of single word, butDorian just shook his head gently. “Varlen, if it is apology you areattempting, I would much rather you refrain.” He paused, a familiar discomfort gnawingat his stomach, but forced himself to continue. “I know that we left each otheron rather unfortunate terms. To putit mildly, of course. But if it is quite the same to you, I would rather notdwell on that particular conversation.” Themistakes that I made. “The… things that were said.”

Varlen licked his lips, and therewas an air of uncertainty to the movement. For a time, Dorian feared he haddone precisely the wrong thing; that their parting words might have beensomething Varlen needed to address and he had just crushed that need underheel. But then the elven man released a long-held breath, some of the tensionleaving his shoulders as he did so, and glanced up to meet Dorian’s gaze. “Yeah.All right, sure.” A faint smile quirked up the corner of his lips. “So… I takeit you’re not going to lecture me, then?”

“Come now, let’s not be entirely unreasonable.”

Varlen laughed, and Dorian foundhimself succumbing to the desire as well. It was a giddy feeling, especiallyconsidering what had just transpired, but a part of him simply couldn’t helpit. His scribe was barely clinging to life, he had nearly been assassinated,and now his former lover stood before him swathed in black like a murderer fromsome cautionary tale. But he was smiling. Laughing.

These were strange times indeed.

They quieted after a moment,returning to a kind of still contemplation of one another, eyes locked.Focused. Neither seemed willing to break the connection. “I… had considered anumber of outcomes. For my meeting with Magister Tellene, that is.” Dorian’sconfession was soft, and he shook his head, still not quite believing what washappening. “But this… well, this one hadcertainly failed to cross my mind.”

“I know.” Varlen was the first tobreak the stillness, looking away and moving over towards the window. He peekedthrough the curtains, squinting against the late-afternoon sun. What he waslooking for, Dorian could not say. “I got most of them,” he eventuallyexplained after glancing over his shoulder and catching Dorian’s perplexedexpression. “But one of the assassins slipped past. I tried to chase him down,but the others cut me off and…” He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, eyesflicking back out to the front of Maevaris’ estate. There was shame in theexpression. Whatever Varlen had intended, it clearly had not gone according toplan. Loose ends were always complicated, after all.

“I believe I ran into thatfellow, yes,” Dorian said. Varlen turned sharply at that, eyes widening inalarm, and Dorian quickly gave a placating wave of his hand. “Now, now, not tofret. He was… dealt with.”

“But the clothing they had on was—”

“You will find little in thisworld that is entirely mage-proof,Varlen.”

“Right. Yeah. Good point.” Varlencleared his throat, nodding and letting the curtain fall back into place as he steppedaway. He wiped his hands on his pants anxiously, and Dorian couldn’t help butfeel a pang of guilt. After all, he knew why Varlen might be in such a state.But before Dorian could find the correct words, Varlen turned to face him,expression tense. “Well, are you going to ask me or not?”

“Ask you…?”

“Why I’m here, Dorian.”

“Ah.” Dorian sighed, moving overto a sturdy mahogany table – a wood favoured by Maevaris and half themagisterium - and leaning against its edge. “Very well, then. Why are you here,Varlen?”

The elven man had seeminglyexpected an argument. He paused, mouth half open, and then closed it with aclick of his teeth. He was clearly on edge; Dorian could read that much, atleast. But despite it, Varlen pushed himself to speak. “I… heard rumours.”

Now it was Dorian’s turn tofrown. “You will have to be a tad more specific, Varlen. A great many rumours havecircled me of late.” He made a grand gesture at his bloodied robes. “Somewhat partof the office, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, well… part of the job ornot, I didn’t like what I heard.” He was pacing now, that familiar restlessenergy demanding some kind of outlet. Dorian said nothing, simply lettingVarlen sort through his thoughts. “I’d begged Leliana to keep an ear to theground for me, and she…” He swallowed; shook his head. “People want you dead, Dorian. More than most Magisters.Which I guess is something of anachievement, but not exactly what I‘d been hoping to hear.”

“And that surprised you?”

“… No.” Varlen sighed, raking hisfingers through his hair. Silver fading to black. “Just… do you know what it’slike? To be so far away and hear reports like that? Over and over again? Firstit’s unnamed mercenaries. Then trained assassins. Then suddenly any wealthy altus who can afford morethan a single attempt on your life. Then the threats started coming from yourfellow magisters. Dorian…” Varlenshook his head, although he was unable to look over and meet Dorian’s gaze andhis voice dropped to barely a whisper. “What was I supposed to do? Wait until Igot the news that y… that you’d been…?”

The unfinished question was metwith silence, heavy and uncomfortable. Dorian knew what he should say. You were supposed to stay away. It is notsafe here for you. That was, after all, the bitter note on which they hadended their relationship. Dorian had thought cutting ties was the only way tokeep his amatus out of danger. But they were no longer a couple – there was nolonger that sense of obligation – and Varlen had still come to him.

“I don’t know, Varlen.” It wasthe most honest answer Dorian had given anyone since returning to the Imperium,and it seemed Varlen sensed that by the way his gaze finally flicked over and stayedfocused on him. “Things here… they have been difficult. On that matter, I willnot lie. What I am attempting here was always going to breed some measure of hostility.” Slowly, painfully, he offered a weak smile. “If it is anyconsolation at all… this is the closest anyone has ever come to completingthe deed. Your timing remains remarkable as eve—”

To Dorian’s surprise, Varlen snorted. He seemed utterly amused, andDorian stopped mid-sentence, uncertain what to make of the outburst. Anapologetic look washed over Varlen’s face and he cleared his throatuncomfortably. “Sorry. It’s just… this wasn’t the closest. Not really.”

Dorian felt his face go slack. “Itwasn’t?”

Varlen shook his head. “Therewere a few times. At night, mostly. At your estate. Some were ready withpoisons, waiting for you to head to your rooms for the evening. They planned toslip it into the water pitcher on your bedside table. Once was…” He paused, asif uncertain if he should continue, but after an encouraging nod from Dorian,he did. “It was your old scribe, Dorian. She was to deliver you a message, butthe parchment was soaked through with something.She wore gloves so she wouldn’t touch it, but knew you wouldn’t have any onafter dinner.”

My scribe. For thebriefest moment, Dorian’s mind flickered to Adiran, but he quickly shooed theimage away. No, not him. The one the boy had replaced. “I thought she had simply fled my employ, the same as some of the others,” he murmured.Feeling strangely unsteady, he reached out, groping behind him, dragging one ofthe chairs out from beneath the table and sitting down. “Corellia. She hadserved my family for years. It was a shock, mind you, but I imagined many of myfather’s old staff were less than pleased by my replacing him.” Then, Dorianlooked up, grey eyes finding Varlen and fixing on the man. “So she… did you…?”

“I had to.” His voice was barelyabove a whisper, and Varlen closed his eyes, turning away. “She wanted to killyou, Dorian. What choice did I have?”

Dorian’s heart felt like stone,heavy and coarse. “Was she the only one? Among my household.”

“No.”

“And did you…?”

“Yes. I did.” Varlen let out ashivering breath, but opened his eyes again. Just a touch. But he did not lookat Dorian, and there was something defeated in the expression on his face. WhenVarlen worked up the will to speak again, his voice was hoarse, thick with a hurt that could not bedescribed. To hear it tore Dorian apart.

“I’m sorry, Dorian. For all ofit. I know you cared about them, but I couldn’t just let them go.” Hisvoice had risen as he spoke, edging into something panicked and desperate.“M-Maybe I shouldn’t have done it. Come here. Interfered. I just…” His voice cracked,and something inside Dorian cracked with it as Varlen turned away sharply,almost desperate to look away. “I didn’t think it would be so…”

“Varlen… come now, none of that.”Dorian rose quickly, ignoring the lurch of unsteadiness that accompanied themovement, and crossed the room in a few long strides. He reached out, takingVarlen by the shoulders, finally seeing the pain the man had been sodesperately trying to hide. Perhaps the mask had allowed him to pretend, for atime. Perhaps it had let him pretend it was someone else holding the blade and taking the lives. Now,that dark cloth lay abandoned on the floor, a black stain on Maevaris’ plush carpet.Dorian wanted nothing more than to burn it to ash. “Varlen… look at me.Please?” Slowly, the elven man’s gaze drifted up, glassy but stubborn, refusing to give in to the threat of likely much-needed tears. Dorian smiledfaintly and brushed a strand of hair from Varlen’s face. “I owe you my life, itseems. Many times over. What you have done… it is a debt I can only ever hopeto repay.”

Varlen just nodded, but the movementwas stiff. With a pang, Dorian realised that was not what he should have said.Wincing internally, the mage forged onward. He had to find what Varlen needed tohear. “What you have endured… I can only imagine how difficult it must havebeen. Tell me; were you alone?”

“Leliana,” Varlen murmured, eyeson Dorian’s chest rather than his face. “She would send information. Leads. Ijust followed them. Got in the way as often as I could.” He paused, and thenadded even more softly, “Some were… harder than others. There aren’t manyplaces for someone like me to go here, when things go wrong.” He snorted dryly. “You were right about that much, at least.” There was abitterness to that last remark that stung like a slap.

“Oh Varlen…” Unable to helphimself, Dorian just pulled the elven man into an embrace, holding him tight.At first, Varlen remained rigid, the way one might when dragged into anunexpected hug by an acquaintance. Polite endurance, nothing more. But then,after a few tense beats, he relaxed. Leaned into the embrace, wrapping his ownarms around Dorian and pulling him close, burying his head in the crook of hisneck. For a moment, everything almost felt like before. Dorian closed his eyes.Breathed in the familiar scent of his amatus. Maker’s breath…

Dorian had no idea how badly hehad missed this. How badly he had missed him.

“I have made so many mistakes,”Dorian murmured, shaking his head slightly, arms refusing to let go of Varlen.“More than I have any right to. But… how we left things…”

He felt Varlen shift against him,but he made no attempt to extract himself from the embrace, settling to mumbleagainst Dorian’s shoulder. “It was bad, wasn’t it?” Dorian just nodded, andVarlen continued. “I won’t lie. A part of me wanted to wash my hands of you. Itseemed… for the best, in a way. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but youwere right. Coming to Tevinter and standing at your side… it would have been too dangerous. There is just noway we could… be us here.”

A thought suddenly occurred toDorian that saw cold flood his skin. “Varlen, I need to make something clearthat I may have neglected. It is true, we can never be what we were inFerelden here, but it is not because I do not want it.” He tightened his grip instinctively. “Maker’s breath, even back then, against my better judgement, Iwanted it more than anything. But… the thought that you would come here becauseof me, and place yourself at risk…” Dorian felt his throat constrict but attemptedto talk through it. “If somethinghappened to you…”

“Stop. Dorian...” Varlen’s words were firm, but his touch remained gentle. Hepulled back, taking Dorian in, and it was only the expression of concernthat flashed across his face that made Dorian aware of the fact that he was,indeed, crying. Perhaps it was his exhaustion or his worry for Adiran, or hisdiscovery of Varlen struggling in the heart of the one place he had tried tospare him from. Perhaps it was a culmination of all the day’s miserable, bloodyevents. But regardless of the reason, silent tears had crept past Dorian’scareful guard, and he regretted them immediately. Ashamed of himself, Dorianmade to wipe them away in a harsh motion, but Varlen beat him to it. And hishands were gentle. His gloves soft. Without dismissal, he brushed away the first sign that,finally, Dorian had reached a limit he was not prepared to handle.

At least, not alone.  

“You shouldn’t be here,” Dorianbreathed, his voice only shaking ever so slightly. It was the most composedanyone could be while crying their eyes out, he liked to imagine. It helpedlessen the sting a touch. “Amatus, this is too dangerous. I won’t beresponsible for dragging you into it. I can’t.”

“Well that’s fine. Because youaren’t.” The words were so simple, and Varlen spoke them with such convictionthat it actually gave Dorian pause. A faint smile managed to find its way toVarlen’s lips and he held Dorian’s face in his hands, keeping their gazeslocked. “We broke up, Dorian. There was, as you said, no obligation for me tocome here.”

“You came anyway,” Dorianmurmured. Varlen nodded.

“I came anyway.”

“After everything I said to you.Everything I…”

“Yeah, well…” Varlen gave a faintshrug. It was meant to appear dismissive, but deep down, Dorian could onlyimagine how many months it must have taken for him to perfect it. “Turns out itwas going to take more than a bad fight to keep me away. Whether we’re togetheror not, Dorian, I care about you.You’re my friend as much as you were… more than that.” He swallowed, taking asecond to collect himself. “The fact of the matter is, I believe in what you’retrying to do. Fenedhis, I want you to succeed. I know I can’t helpout in the open, so I figured I would do it my way, and it was actuallyworking.”

“Until today.”

“Until today,” Varlen agreedquietly. He let go of Dorian, the tears having ceased as they spoke, and took asingle step back. Not too far, but far enough. “I… messed up, today. I was tooslow. I didn’t pay enough attention to the obvious threat, and it…” Varlen bithis lip, glancing towards the door. “Creators… he’s so young, Dorian. Just a kid.”

“I know.” Dorian’s voice washusky, and there was no helping it. He could still see Adiran’s shocked expression;that vacant stare at the roof of the carriage; and it pained him in a way thathe simply could not describe. “But it was not your fault, Varlen. Do not blameyourself. What you have been doing… it is already more than I deserve.”

“No, it isn’t.” Varlen steppedforward again, resting one hand on Dorian’s shoulder, squeezing intently.“Dorian, this would be a lot easier for both of us if you would just let mehelp you. It’s hard enough hiding from the rest of Tevinter without having to dodge you too.”

To Dorian’s surprise, a dry laughmanaged to escape him. “You say it as though you will continue regardless of myanswer.”

“Funny. That’s probably because Iwill.”

“You remain stubborn as ever.”

“Did you expect that to change?”

Varlen smiled, and Dorian evenmanaged a weak one back, not sure what precisely was happening between thembut grateful for it nonetheless. But something remained unspoken;something Dorian could not simply ignore. “Varlen… if you are to remain…”

“It’s like you said,” Varlensaid, cutting him off quickly. “We can’t be what we were in Ferelden. I get that. If we’reseen publicly together… well, let’s just say it wouldn’t help you start thismovement of yours.”

“Not when the people I amattempting to move possess moreprejudice than sense,” Dorian agreed reluctantly. “No, of course. You areright. We couldn’t.”

There was a pause. A long one. “Imean… did you actually…?” The words left Varlen so awkwardly that it remindedDorian of when they had first met. A pocket of warmth filled his chest as theelven man continued hurriedly. “I mean, yeah. No way. It couldn’t work…. right?”

“No. Not at all.”

The pause returned. Then Varlensaid something that caught Dorian completely off-guard.

“You called me amatus.”

Dorian blinked. “What? When?”

“Before. When you were… y’know…” He gestured to his face. “Crying.”

“Well now that’s hardly fair, tojudge a man when he is so clearly outof—”

—“Did you mean it?”

Dorian stopped. His mouth hungslightly open, as though in the process of giving voice to defensive words, butno sound passed his lips. Had he meantit? Thinking back, he did not even recall it, but he had no reasonwhatsoever to believe Varlen was lying. In the end, that meant only one thing.

“Yes.”

He had said that word; a word thatcarried so much weight. A word he had not been able to utter since they parted.A word he had dreaded and sampled and discarded more times than he could count.If he had truly said it, after all this time, and without even realising… then yes.He meant it more than anything.

His response seemed to stirsomething in Varlen because he sniffed suddenly, blue eyes flicking away asthough the far wall suddenly offered something incredibly interesting. “I…” Helet out a watery laugh. “I really fucking missed that, you know? The way you’d say it.”

Dorian didn’t bother holding backthis time. He just reached out, turned Varlen towards him, and kissed him. Theirlips pressed together, warm and soft and everything he remembered; Maker,everything he had wanted for so long.There was no stiffening of surprise from Varlen. Not even a hitching of breathas Dorian’s tongue swiped along the inner curve of his lips, tentativelyseeking more. If anything, he had been more ready for the moment than Dorianhimself, who had initiated it. Varlen opened his mouth, inviting Dorian in, onehand threading through his hair, the other sliding past up his armand coming to rest on his shoulder, holding him in place. Holding him close. Dorian turned them both, moving afew mindless steps until Varlen was against the table, their lips still locked,hands roaming one another as though feeling their shapes for the first time.And in a way, there was a newness of it. The newness of a fire rekindled.

Dorian broke the kiss for amoment, rasping a breath, neither drawing away not pushing for more. “Amatus…” he breathed, shaking his head,not quite believing what was happening. Not quite believing how badly he hadneeded it, all this time. A low chuckled curled from Varlen’s chest, meetingthe fond curve of his lips.

“There it is…” Varlen’s eyes wereclosed, almost peaceful, his head cocked slightly to the side as thoughlistening to beautiful music somewhere in the distance. Then, slowly, his eyesfluttered open to catch Dorian’s. Dorian’s expression was, understandably, confused, but Varlen justsmiled, his thumb brushing along the curve of Dorian’s cheek.

“How you said it. That was it.”Understanding flickered in Dorian’s eyes and Varlen leaned in, stealing aquick, chaste kiss, smiling against his lips. “It was just like that.” 

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Oddly enough, no," Dorian admitted, as he helped himself to a cup of tea, giving it a cursory blow to cool it down before he took a sip, saying, "I thought I would be, especially as we come down to the wire, but...I just can't say that I am. Call me an optimist, but...I just have a feeling that there's nothing to worry about."

All throughout these weeks of planning, of playing at being the happy couple with Emily, of scheming behind their families backs, of all the preparations being made, he was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, for the nervousness to kick in...and yet, it never did. He felt strangely calm about the proceedings, like something in his bones assured him that everything was going to be alright, and he was inclined to believe that. After all, Nicholas had been removed from the picture entirely, all of New Orleans was eating up everything they'd seen and heard about the young couple, and both their families were none the wiser to the plan. Everything was going off without a hitch, and he was glad for it.

That being said, he didn't miss the way Emily fidgeted with her sleeve, and he knew she wasn't feeling quite as calm as he was. Setting down his cup, he asked her gently, "I...take it you don't feel the same?" Perhaps if they talked it out together, she'd feel a bit better?

[hallucinosims]

East Gloucester High Auditorium || March 12th || 10:23 || T-: 81 days

Reid at the psychiatrist A three part mini opera Chapter 2

beginning || previous || next

[theheraldsrest]

Is it possible to request a short thing based on this post? khadaj-ballad tumblr com post 660348970442391552

“Romanced Companions react to a Drunk Inquisitor celebrating their victory against a dragon”

Thank you anon! Honestly half tempted to write this into the chapters it deserves but, alas, it’ll just have to be short little tidbits. Unless, you know, I feel the need to write further👀. 

-Lord Lex

Cullen

“Maker, give me strength.”

-Heard you were back after a particular dangerous battle with a dragon and had expected you to come up and tell him about it, but after 3 hours, he still hadn’t seen you

-Eventually finds you at the bar drunk with Bull, both making cheers to random things such as Dorian’s ass and even Cullen’s own ass

-”Love, I think you’ve had enough.” Tries to help you up as you’re giggling and stumbling over your words to explain the difference between getting fucked by a dragon and getting “fucked” by Cullen

-Maker help this poor man, he’s burning and trying to hush you yet nothing’s working. You’re gonna have a long talk in the morning. Or not, if he’s too embarrassed

Josephine

“Dearest, there you are!”

-Laughing and enjoying seeing you celebrate a victory like this, especially after this spectacular hunt. Definitely wasn’t worried when she received word that you had gone into battle against a dragon, for Andraste’s sake

-She knows it’s no use but she’s trying to have a civil conversation with you about making a trophy to commemorate it

-Bull mumbles something causing you to give a very dramatic gasp, saying “To my Josey-posey! The most dignified of the…dignities. I’d fight 10 dragons for her!” Not the most romantic thing but she thinks it’s rather sweet

-Definitely pokes fun at her new nickname, saying if you’d like any help from your Josey-posey

Solas

“Ma vhenan, is this really how you'd like to celebrate this victory?”

-Was very proud and very surprised that you’d been able to take down a dragon, especially with the different conditions of the battlefield you’d been on

-Actually had planned on having a celebratory drink with you but it seemed the Iron Bull had beaten him to the punch and was already well into the bottle. Sorry, bottles. Several.

-He’s trying to coax you to bed so that you won’t be completely incapacitated tomorrow but you’re not going down without a fight, demanding he drinks with you

-After much one sided arguing, finally agrees. Of course, it’s just water but you’re none the wiser as you make a cheer to Solas, as you declare your love for him. He makes a cheer to you as well, “May your heart forever be joyous and find all your battles as stupendous as this one.”

Cassandra

“Bull, did I not tell you only a few drinks would be fine? This is half the bar.”

-You know what, she should’ve expected this. It’s Bull, why wouldn’t he drink and drag you into this? And if he was pouring you the same amount? Ho boy, it’s gonna be a long night.

-She’s trying to convince you to go rest so that the head pain you’ll have in the morning won’t be as bad, but to no avail

-Drops it and decides to just carry you. Easy enough. Except for when you keep trying to pet her face. And kissing her cheek. And trying to hug her. And just being affectionate, stop it, damn it

-Last thing you say is something along the lines of how lovely Cassandra is, how she outshines the morning sun or something poetic like that before passing out. She’s an absolute blushing mess. Even if you only meant it because you’re drunk she still thinks about it

The Iron Bull

“How about another round, Kadan? Or you about finished?”

-He can drink for a good while, which irritates Cabot but what can he do? Bull’s paying for the drinks anyways

-This honestly would be one of the first few times you’ve drank together, so not only are you celebrating but Bull is watching to see what your limit is for the future is ever you wanted to drink again with him

-There is most definitely dirty words exchanged during this and implied thoughts, but Bull doesn’t act upon them unless he has a definite idea on yalls relationship. If so, Cabot has to ask you to leave. He’d rather keep the counter clean

-Bull eventually carries you back to your room, slung over his shoulder and singing your own renditions of the bard’s songs

Dorian

“Cheers to not dying! And very, very fine company!”

-He’s getting just as drunk as you are, both of you trying to keep up with Bull who just keeps pouring drink after drink. Doesn’t mind it though, he’s got a high tolerance for most drinks

-Leads to both of you just shamelessly flirting with each other, until it’s just “I love you more!” “No, I love YOu morre!”

-Man is just holding your face in his hands as he’s declaring how ridiculous and wonderful and dangerous you are, how did you win against a dragon? How did ANY of you win against a dragon? Why aren’t y'all dead?! Or are you dead?! Well that would suck.

-Tries to lead it on to more “activities” in private but you both just end up passed out in the library in his chair

Sera

“What the hell, Bull! First you don’t invite me to come drinking, then you get my Inky all out of it!”

-She’s not actually mad, more irked than anything. He had invited her but she hadn’t been paying attention. As for you, she’d been looking for you for a good while before finding you here

-She wanted to share all the new puns and jokes she made about the dragon and even the scale she managed to get before you left

-Just being her sour little self until you lean over and whisper a certain thing you’d like to do that involves you, her, her bedroom, and something about honey?

-Loses it with giggles and drags you away upstairs, leaving Bull chuckling at how quickly her mood changed

Blackwall

“I’m quite sure that’s not what happened, but go on.”

-Joined you both in celebratory drinks but not even trying to catch up to you two. Is just enjoying spending some time with you and listening to you and Bull’s words slurring

-Not even gonna stop you. Have your fun, gods know you haven’t had time for it

-It’s also pretty funny listening to you trying to retell how you killed the dragon but each time it gets more and more strange. Where did the mention of nugs attacking come from?

-Of course, we can’t forget about the flirting. There’s so many pick up lines and jokes, you can clearly see where his beard ends and where his bright blushing face begins. If it starts to get too dirty, he picks you up saying “I think it’s time the Inquisitor heads to bed” and quickly leaves

[ramonadecember]

cullrian, 59. “How is it that your so stupid and so hot at the same time?” XD

taking prompts.

apparently all my ships just scream 'stupid!' and I love that for them. 😂 time for some (quickly resolved) miscommunication as a plot device lmao.

59. “How is it that you’re so stupid and so hot at the same time?”

--

Dorian wondered what the chances were that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It’d taken him forever to muster up the nerve, but he’d finally told Cullen just how much he meant to him, how important he was to Dorian, only for—

“I’ve never… had a friend like you before,” Cullen said. “You’re–” A pause where a rosy shade crawled across his cheeks. “Our friendship… it’s important to me.”

Dorian smiled at Cullen, but Cullen didn’t seem to realize how brittle it was. He wasn’t… entirely sure Cullen hadn’t just missed the point, but it seemed to Dorian like Cullen was being purposely obtuse, playing dumb in order to let him down easy because he didn’t feel the same way.

There was the brief thought from Dorian that he could try to clarify, he could spell out his true feelings in a way the left no room for debate, but Dorian didn’t see the point. Cullen made his own feelings clear. What was it the Inquisitor had once lamented about Cullen saying when she made an attempt at the Commander’s affections? Something about offering friendship, about nothing more. Dorian didn’t know where he got off thinking he had a shot with Cullen when someone like her had already gotten rejected.

So for both their sakes, Dorian took the out he was given.

It was fine, Dorian told himself. Cullen didn’t need to feel that way about him. Dorian didn’t want to make it seem like he didn’t equally value their friendship, he could only blame himself for feeling something more, for wanting something more. He just needed to put behind him that way of thinking about Cullen and accept what he was being given by the Commander, because it was important too.

Easier said than done, considering that every single thing about Cullen seemed to make Dorian fall a little deeper, and ultimately it didn’t work. Time spent with Cullen wasn’t the same as it used to be. It felt strained, even if Cullen was none the wiser—if anything, that only made it worse—and Dorian frequently left Cullen’s company feeling what he could only describe as heartsick. He couldn’t separate what he wanted from what he was being offered.

Dorian grew mysteriously busy after that. Dorian had excuse after excuse for why he couldn’t make time for Cullen—including but not limited to volunteering to tag along with the Inquisitor regardless of which remote corner of Thedas she was headed to—until even Cullen’s and his routine games of chess fell by the wayside.

It got to the point where, once Cullen was able to snag a moment of Dorian’s time by Dorian in his nook in the library, Cullen joked that, “It almost feels like you’re trying to avoid me,” but the teasing smile slipped from his face when he saw the look on Dorian’s. It said that that’s exactly what Dorian had been doing, but Cullen could fathom why that was the case. There’d been no arguments—certainly not the ugly kind that they used to have at the beginning of Dorian’s time with the Inquisition—and nothing that Cullen could think of that he’d done that would upset Dorian enough for avoidance.

The hurt on Cullen’s face almost made Dorian bite his tongue on what he knew he needed to say. He could make up even more excuses, say he’d been wrapped up in some research or good book or task from the Inquisitor, and he could promise he’d swing by Cullen’s office or the garden for a round of chess soon. But instead he told Cullen, “I can’t be friends with you, Commander.” It sounded juvenile and didn’t at all cover everything that Dorian felt on the matter, but at least it was out there. “I’m sorry.”

Dorian couldn’t stay there another minute after that, but as he brushed by Cullen on his way to flee, fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looked from the point of contact up into the golden eyes boring into him as Cullen asked, “Why?” and curse this man, Dorian didn’t know how he was supposed to not give in to an expression that rivaled a kicked mabari pup.

“Can we not do this here?” Dorian sighed, glancing around. This wasn’t very discreet for a conversation like this. Cullen obliged, releasing Dorian’s wrist and gesturing towards the stairs.

They ended up in Cullen’s office, the nearest place for privacy. Dorian breezed in the door and instantly started in on what he was sure that office had seen a lot of, considering who it belonged to—pacing.

“Dorian…” They were there for a reason, and Dorian was only stalling. “Why?” Cullen prompted again.

Dorian stopped, regarding Cullen. How to explain without embarrassing himself any further? This might be even more difficult than flat out telling Cullen they could no longer be friends. “We… We want different things,” he settled on. “It’s too hard to be around you knowing that.”

“I don’t understand.” Cullen’s brow furrowed, his arms folding across his chest.

“Kaffas, you’re thick.” Cullen had no small ability to make Dorian want to tear his hair out. “How is it that you’re so stupid and so hot at the same time?” In Dorian’s experience, those two things didn’t usually go together, he looked for intellect and abs, but Cullen had already been his exception to ‘no Templars’ and ‘no Southerners,’ so why not in this regard also. “I can’t believe that I—” Dorian cut himself off, shaking his head. He was already rambling, he didn’t need to once again add vomiting up his feelings into it.

Cullen didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to that. “You think I’m attractive?” Heat crept up his neck and into his cheeks.

Dorian cursed. Of course that’s the part Cullen would latch on to. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Dorian let out a humorless chuckle as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Maybe he was as stupid as Dorian was saying, because clearly he was missing something—something obvious, based on Dorian’s levels exasperation—but Cullen still hadn’t the slightest clue what. There was no more time to ponder over it, because Dorian gave Cullen a very clear answer then in the form of snagging Cullen by the collar and pulling him in so Dorian could press their lips together.

“Oh,” Cullen said, sounding like he was in a daze. “Well… that clears things up.”

“I don’t think I can just be your friend, Cullen,” Dorian said again, taking a step back. It’d been impulsive, that kiss, but mere words didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Hopefully Cullen at least understood why now. “Maybe… Maybe down the line, but right now…” He just couldn’t. Dorian needed time and space if he was ever going to stop thinking of Cullen in the way he did. Unfortunately, it was not the simple candle flame Dorian thought he could snuff out when he first accepted Cullen would never see him as more than a friend.

When all Cullen did was stare at him, Dorian once more moved to leave, but this time what stopped him was, “What if I didn’t want to… just be friends?” The words were quiet, timid, but they stilled Dorian’s retreat better than any physical hold on him.

Dorian turned back to Cullen already crossing the distance between them. “Don’t you play with me, Commander,” he warned.

“I’m—I’m not.”

“Then what was with all that the other day about how important our friendship is?

Cullen’s expression read as confused as he felt. “Because it is?” There was just… something different about Dorian that Cullen hadn’t found in anyone else. Maybe it was the way Dorian wasn’t afraid to challenge him at every turn, but was still able to respect Cullen through it. “You were saying the same thing moments before, I didn’t want you to think I didn’t feel the same.”

“Andraste’s tits, Cullen. I was not confessing feelings of friendship for you.”

“Oh,” Cullen said again.

“Yes, ‘oh.’ I didn’t know I needed to spell it out any further.” Bald. Cullen was liable to make him bald at this rate. “I didn’t know I need to explicitly state ‘Cullen Stanton Rutherford, I am deeply and dearly in love with you’ to get the point across.”

Never had Dorian wanted to swallow his tongue more, but what made it worse than Cullen was once again just staring at him. But then, “Do you know how long I’ve felt the same?” Cullen groaned, hiding his face in his. “I didn’t think it possible that you of all people could feel that way about me.”

Dorian stepped forward, tugging Cullen’s hands away from his face only to clasp them in his own. “I think it’s possible we might both be very, very stupid,” he laughed, and Cullen nodded his agreement. “But now if you don’t mind, I think it’s high time I kiss… my idiot again?”

He barely got the question out before Cullen’s mouth was on his.

[squirrels-are-sleeping]

At the dawn of time campaign 3 I posted a list of burning questions I had about the new crew, in no particular order. Maybe it’s time to see how we’re doing for clarifications. tl;dr: we actually now know a ton more stuff!

Q: How old is Ashton?

A: Still unclear, though based on comments about having been in love 10 years ago - and assuming genasi mature at the same rate as humans - they’re at least 24.

--||--

Q: How old is Orym?

A: Still unclear. However, based on him calling Chetney “grandfather” rather than, say, “uncle”, he’s younger than middle-aged - whatever that means for Exandrian halflings.

A: (I base this purely off my own parsing of elders as aunts and uncles; I’m between Taliesin and Laura in age. Orym is, however, not me, so I’ll admit this is super tenuous.)

--||--

Q: What’s Imogen’s story?

A: Partially clarified: we now know her town of origin, that she has a living dad, that her powers weren’t there when she was growing up, and that her dad was willing to isolate from society when she’d needed it.

A: However, new questions have been posed since this list was written, like what the fuck is up with her dreams and the voice she hears

--||--

Q: Laudna, my dear girl, WTF?

A: Sufficiently clarified that the question doesn’t bug me so much any more

--||--

Q: How have Imogen & Laudna’s stories intertwined?

A: Partially clarified: Laudna came through Imogen’s town about 2 years ago. They got on great, and decided to travel together

A: Still no idea why they had to leave in a hurry; WTF is up with that?

--||--

Q: What does Bertrand actually want?

A: Clarified: he wanted redemption for past cowardice and the joy of a new crew

--||--

Q: What’s up with Dorian’s family?

A: Clarified factually: they’re a lineage of advice-dispensing sages for the global diaspora of air genasi

A: Emotionally still murky. Why did they zone-of-truth their child?

--||--

Q: What’s Dorian non-stage name? (Turns out it’s Bronte, which I forgot)

A: We also got a surname, yay :)

--||--

Q: How did Ashton come to be injured? and repaired?

A: Still unknown

--||--

Q: Where does the great fuck-off hammer come from?

A: Still unknown

--||--

Q: What has Ashton and FCG’s home life in Krook house been like up until now?

A: We’ve had a few good scenes there, but I’m always hungry for more

--||--

Q: Who is Laudna’s patron? (Or do we want to know? o.O)

A: Oh boy, maybe we didn’t want to know. (Kidding! It’s awesome.)

--||--

Q: What is Orym “starting over” from?

A: Still largely speculation

--||--

Q: Who are Orym, Fearne and Dorian looking for?

A: Answered! The Anger is a former merc, current bodyguard

--||--

Q: Who or what is Ashton hiding from?

A: None the wiser

--||--

Q: How does Ashton experience their rage? (because it looked more exuberant than angry in the fight with Eshteross, or am I reading into it?)

A: We’ve had a few more glimpses, and the rage did seem more joy than fury, but they also mentioned hitting people “in intense anger”.

A: So I’d like to know more

--||--

Q: how does Sam intend to destroy us this time?

A: There’re some early hints that emotional destruction will come from their questioning of their soul-touched status

A: There’re also hints of a possible full memory restore a la Devexion

A: But ultimately, nobody knows and nobody can be prepared, so maybe it’s best to just let it happen

[damn-stark]

Ch.26 A debt I owe

Chapter 26 of Different light

A/N- haha…it only gets more angsty from here.

Warning- Angst, violence, talks of torture and physical abuse, swearing.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

He could run away. No one would be none the wiser.

Albeit leaving with a baby? What life could he give it…her. What life could she have amongst the war?

He’d do his sister a favor, he’d do Regulus Black a favor as well. He never liked Regulus, he was stuck up and always seemed like an asshole, all secluded and alone, he was the cause of his sisters doom, he was also a coward at the end; leaving the Dark Lord and the order.

He couldn’t do that either. He wasn’t a coward like Regulus. No matter what this baby was to him, to his sister, her wish wouldn't be his downfall. Which is why he returned to his Lord all high and mighty, proud of what he has under the cloak, the menacing smile on his wide face clearly detectable, and suspicious.

“My Lord,” he greeted with excitement he hid with nonchalance. “I have something that will interest you.”

The Dark Lord, intrigued by Dorian’s entrance and eagerness, stands from his chair and moves towards him with Nagini slithering at his side, while he also glances at the others gathered around him. “Pry tell what made you so excited Dorian.”

Said man pulls the cloak off you, and when the Dark Lord catches sight of you, a baby, he’s left confused and disappointed. Until the real news involving you is shared. “This girl is Regulus Blacks child.”

Murmurs began to sound around the room, footsteps echoing on the ground as some people took a closer look at you, the offspring of the deserter. Doubt arose in some, while most were intrigued; not by you, but by what could result from this sudden news when they caught Voldemort’s thin smirk.

“A secret offspring?” Voldemort feigns a laugh and crouch’s down, bringing tears to your eyes at the sight of his monster-like face. “How….exciting.” He moves his pale finger to poke your cheek, causing you to grow more scared. “It’s a shame that we had to learn it this way. Almost as if he was ashamed of us. Hmm. The mother?”

Dorian squirms and hesitates, but once Voldemort’s terrifying gaze meets his, Dorian answers. “My sisters. Harmony. It’s her child.”

“Well, well,” Voldemort grins, standing up to his given height and patting Dorian's shoulder. “A congratulations is in order then. You’re an uncle.” Voldemort grabs you from Dorian and you begin to cry softly from the fear that you felt in his hold. “What shall we do with you, Hmm? I’m not cruel, I won’t kill you. Not when you have potential.” He tilts his head. “Your mother had abilities she didn’t put to use. She was a strong witch and it was wasted. You won't, I see what others can’t. However, I can't take care of you. Nagini will grow jealous.” He expresses a breathless chuckle and his eyes then lift to his followers.

“Regulus Black left us, he was a coward. Tell me does this child deserve to pay for the cruelty of her fathers mistakes?” He doesn’t let them answer and continues. “I’m merciful. I see her potential to be great, she’ll be a use to us later, as for now though, what shall I do with her? I know I can trust any of you to take care of her…that is if Dorian doesn’t want to have the honor?”

Dorian doesn’t hesitate in disregarding his sister's last wishes. “No. I can’t raise her. She and her father killed my sister. She’s nothing to me.”

Voldemort shakes his head but doesn’t respond, his eyes return to his followers, to the silence of the room and he stands in wait for a moment. He didn’t think anyone was going to volunteer, but then from the side of the room, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy stood up, the curly haired, young women beside her wanted to pull her back to her seat, but Narcissa was persistent.

“We'll do it my Lord.” Lucius spoke up. “We’ll take the girl and raise her as our own.”

Voldemort smirks again. “Always so reliable Lucius.”

Narcissa parts away from her husband and without an ounce of fear, she grabs you from Voldemort's hold and smiles sweetly at you when her back is turned towards her Lord. The fear that had once brought tears to your eyes began to fade at the sight of her smile and kind eyes. “Don’t worry little one, we’ll love you. You’ll be safe with me.”

——

“Draco! Wait!” You exclaim as you chase after him. “Please stop!”

This wasn’t his explanation to demand, it was yours, and even if a few months ago you were prepared to yell at your parents and cause a scene, this time the need for the truth wasn’t fueled by a blinding rage that hardly let you think, you felt betrayed, but you've calmed down since then.

“At least wait until after Christmas!” Your words travel to your brother's ears, but he doesn’t care to listen, he continues to storm through the Manors driveway, through the cold winter air and under the starry night. Draco didn’t even try to look at you, nor did he attempt to slow down, when he saw the lights shine out from the inside, his pace quickened on the gravel and his foot stopped on the stone when he reached the stairs that led to the front doors.

Panic now set inside your chest and your mouth felt suddenly dry, you could feel your arms ache as they desired to grab ahold of your brother, but your arms went stiff the moment the warmth from inside slammed into your body. The house was quiet, brighter than usual, it didn’t smell like Christmas, but considering it was the middle of the night, you didn’t expect any food to be prepared yet. You also didn’t expect to see either parent awake, but they both were; albeit Lucius was mostly likely awake because of Narcissa. Regardless they both were awake, unaware of the wrath brewing within Draco.

“Merry Christmas, kids!” Narcissa said in a cheerful tone, her eyes for once in a long time gleaming with happiness. “You guys are back, I was worried you wouldn't make it.”

You swallow thickly, ripping your gaze from Narcissa’s face when the sudden spark of motivation got your arms to move, and your mouth to express the same name in a furious voice. “Draco! Stop.” You try to ball the material of his dirty white shirt, but the moment your hand moves, you hold back a groan and pull your hand back to your side right as your mind recalls the sharp, throbbing pain it’s under because of the woman that had stomped on it. Because of what you tried to prevent, that pain had been swept to the back of your head, now though, your mind was overwhelmed with the pain, something that causes your father to grow suspicious.

Noticing your tone, and the anger burning within Draco’s gaze, Narcissa’s smile falters just like her voice. “What’s wrong?”

Draco finally comes to a stop a few feet in front of the both of them and doesn’t hesitate to spit out what bothered him. “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you. Your lies. That’s what’s wrong. I mean all my life you have lied to me! You’ve kept the truth hidden for my whole life!”

You stop a few paces behind Draco, staying behind the fire’s light reflected on the ground to stay in the shadows of the darkness inside the room. Once again you couldn't help but think to yourself that this wasn’t truly about Draco, sure he was affected by the lies of your true parentage, but this wasn’t about him, this wasn’t an explanation he needed to receive first. But through your pain, you could hardly even think of speaking anymore, all you could do was stay within the shadows and listen in silence.

“Draco,” Lucius spat. “Watch your tongue.”

Said boy snapped his head towards your father and he scoffed. For once he felt brave enough to talk back. “Not until you explain to me why you lied about y/n’s parents. Why neither of you ever bothered to tell either of us the truth?!” He stepped back towards the light, causing his shadow to cast on the floorboards. His chest fell and rose quickly, both parents heard, it was hard to miss, but neither answered right away, they stood silent and hid their reactions well behind their now serious expressions; their eyes glanced at you, but you were quick to avert their stare and step further into the shadows— “Tell me!”

“Draco,” Narcissa breathed out. “Please let us explain after the holidays.”

Draco scoffs and shakes his head. “No. Tell us now. Because either way, the holidays aren’t very joyous this year are they?”

They both look at each other, then at you, and finally Draco. Hesitation between both was obvious, but your father broke the tense silence first. “We didn’t say a word, because we didn’t need to,” he pauses and when his words finally come out is when you feel it, the different kind of pain, a pain caused by betrayal and lies. You’ve felt it before, but it was minimal, now a strong, powerful wave crashes into you and shatters your heart completely. Still though, you couldn’t physically react. Not even with tears, the pain from your broken hand distracted you from that.

“…nothing good would’ve come from revealing the truth.” Your father continues. “The only way to save our family from gossip was to hide her family name. If people found out she was the daughter of Regulus Black, it would have tarnished our name. Which is why she took our name, to save her from that suffering.”

You cup your broken hand and drop your eyes to the floor beneath your feet. Narcissa steps towards Draco and tries to reassure him and you. “We never saw you any differently. I didn’t care who’s daughter you were. We wanted to raise you as our own. We wanted you to have a friend, a sister, Draco, just like I had mine. We wanted her to have a good family, a nice life and a place she could call home. That’s why we didn’t say a word, what could it change either way?”

Nothing, but it would’ve been nice to know either way.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco retorts. “You still lied.”

“And what if we had said the truth?” Your father spat. “Would you have treated her differently?”

Draco stays quiet and meets your fathers gaze for a moment before he shakes his head and steps back, falling into the shadows with you.

“She’s our daughter,” he continues, his eyes trying to meet yours. “We love you just as we love Draco. Nothing is going to change that.”

“We’re sorry we lied,” Narcissa interjected softly. “To the both of you. You have every right to be mad. But don’t be against us. We need to be together more than ever now.” She steps forward, but stops, her shadow casted in the middle of the room. They waited for a response from you now, but the silence made the tension thicker. Once again Lucius had to be the one to break it. “You’ve been awfully quiet, y/n.”

You blink and shift your feet, slowly drifting your eyes up to the scene before you, noticing the desperation behind Narcissa’s eyes. You were going to just not comment on a thing, but through your pain you let yourself respond. “I have nothing to say. I heard everything I needed to hear.” You wince, but hide the sound by clearing your throat. “Besides, my anger passed. I asked Narcissa once to tell the truth and she said she was, come to find out she was lying. When I wanted the truth I was sent away by our Lord. I had months to be angry. I was, and now…I’m done.”

Besides it’s as Harry once said; “at least they treated you well”. He’s an asshole for that, but he’s right. Does that excuse their lies? No, it doesn’t. Did hearing all this now make you want to leave? Yes. Should you? Yes. Will you? Yes.

Maybe you were still angry after all.

You take a step forward and with your good hand, you grab Draco’s arm and pull him to your side, your eyes remaining on your parents. “We’re leaving.”

Narcissa gasps and Draco eyes quickly snap to you, but he doesn't resist, he goes with it.

“Neither of you will leave this house.” Lucius instantly countered. Albeit neither of you listened, Draco was actually following your abrupt idea, even after he got mad because you both almost got taken by snatchers. It was actually quite exciting—“Y/N! Draco!”

You turn on your heels and storm out of the living room to try to apparate away, but Draco quickly stops you. “Stop. You’re hurt, it’ll get worse. We’ll use brooms.”

“Okay,” you nod, looking over your shoulder and spotting your parents trying to catch up. You quicken your pace to try and reach the front doors, but just when you let go of Draco and open them, Voldemort stood there menacingly and in the way. Because of course he appears at the wrong time.

“Leaving? Again? You just got here.”

You avert your gaze, but don’t let him make you feel small, a boost of confidence pumped in your blood and pushed away the fear you usually felt around him. For once you felt brave enough to fight back. “Well we don’t want to be here anymore.” You tighten your grip around Draco’s arm and try to move past Voldemort, but he doesn’t fail to stop you using his words first.

“I do hope you’ll return, we have a fight to win,” his voice loses the feigned amusement he had greeted you with. “After all desertion is a grande offense. It’d cost you and your entire family grandely, you’d damage your family name.”

Draco and you make it down the stairs when you stop to listen intently, without looking back at the terrifying monster lurking behind you.

“It would even cost your precious young lives,” he seethed venemosly.

You swallow thickly and continue to move forward, feeling that bravery still cloud your mind and keep your decision alive.

“In the same way it costed your own fathers life, y/n,” Voldemort continues, his step towards you getting louder as he gets closer to you as you suddenly stop at the sound of his comment. “Will you make the same mistake Regulus Black made? Will you be a coward just like him?!” He raised his voice, the tone and fake accusation causing you anger to boil and make you act out harshly, and without thinking.

“He was not a coward!” You scoff, letting go of Draco's arm. “He didn’t leave because he was scared, he went against you because he was brave.”

“Y/N!” Lucius bellows to try and get you to be quiet.

Albeit you didn’t even try to listen, you stepped towards Voldemort and met his eyes without an ounce of fear. “But of course you say that because it benefits you and your reputation. After all, how would it sound if they heard a kid managed to take something precious from you right under your nose?” You scoff. “I’m going to finish what my father started.” You tuck your hand in your sleeve to wrap your fingers around your wand with the intention to hit him with any spell that would come out first. No damage would’ve been done to his impregnable skin, you knew so in the back of your head, but as of right now you weren’t thinking clearly.

“Y/N,” Draco whispered, his own fear making him regret his choice. “Stop—”

“What do you think you’re going to do?” Voldemort spat, with his glare piercing into you. “Are you thinking of killing me? I’ll tell you, many people have tried and many have failed.” He steps towards you and his hand flies up to wrap around your throat, his long nails digging into your skin, the pain from the lack of air slowly flickering away the bravery that had dared to blind you. “You will too. And the only reason why I’m even sparing your life is because you owe me.” His hand tightens around your throat and the corner of his lips tug to smirk when fear flickers back to life in your eyes. “After all, I’m the only reason you’re even alive.” He let’s go of your throat and pushes you back, Narcissa wants to help you as you quietly gasp for air, but Lucius stops her. “You owe me your entire life y/n, you owe me your soul.” He snickers and grips onto your arm with the brand on your skin. “If your father had loved you as much as you think he did, then he would’ve done the right thing and stayed loyal, but he left like a coward and died like one. He left you without a care in the world.” He tilts his head and scowls. “I saw potential in you, I let you live because I was merciful. I could have easily let you die, but I saved you and let them raise you as their own. You owe me.” He lifts the sleeve on your arm and presses his finger on the mark branded on your arm, the sudden action making you inhale sharply.

“This brand ties your loyalty to me. You betray me or even think of leaving again and I’ll kill you and your entire family, starting with your brother.” He pulls you towards him and his hand moves up yo tightly grip onto your jaw. “Do you understand?”

You stay quiet and avert your gaze now that you felt vulnerable and completely and utterly terrified, no ounce of bravery pumping through your veins now that you heard the threat that came from his lips.

“I said, do you understand?!” He exclaims by your ear.

“I,” you breathe out slowly. “Understand.”

Voldemort chuckles and let’s you go. “Good. Good. Now get out of my sight and do get that hand treated. Oh, and Merry Christmas.”

*A COUPLE MONTHS LATER*

The snow had melted away a couple months ago, this year it didn’t really last that long. The cold didn’t drift away with the snow though, it’s bitterness lingered behind in the spring breeze that drifted past your body, biting your cheeks and fingers, making them icy cold to the touch. The sun was out, but it’s warmth and dull hue hid behind clouds, causing your body to feel much colder as you quietly sat on your balcony’s edge, your feet dangling between the stone railing, while your body was slouched and your head hung low as you admired the peacocks walking around in the garden.

Loneliness was a frequent companion after the truth came out, and Voldemort threatened you on Christmas Day. Not like you really minded, you enjoyed basking in the silence of your room when you weren’t doing things for your Lord. Draco was upset that you hid the truth too, so he didn’t bother talking much, and Lucius and Narcissa didn’t change at all, as if nothing had happened, so you weren’t bothered by them much. In fact spending time alone let you mend back the locket, so there was that.

However, being alone when you had nothing to do made the silence deafening. As much as you claimed to enjoy its presence, you didn’t like what accompanied it; the overbearing thoughts, memories and doubt—you always doubted the choices you made on Christmas, you wished you could have been braver, actually gone through with leaving and not fallen back due to fear; Draco probably would’ve been angry regardless, but you both would’ve been away.

Memories, well, there were a lot of those, they were mostly of Harry, Clementine who you haven’t been able to see in months, George and Fred, and Hermione. You always wondered if they were okay, you hoped they were—and most of the time you wished you could remember parts of your infancy, back when Regulus and Harmony were still alive and with you, but there isn't anything, not even dark shapes of their figures and faces, or muffled voices. Just emptiness. Fake memories you liked to imagine when the silence felt too loud and lonely.

And the thoughts that pestered your mind, where to start? There were too many all the time. Right now though, there was silence and the feeling of dread that caged you in. Nothing but silence and dread.

Until the silence was interrupted by quick footsteps approaching you, but stopping just under the balcony’s doorway. You didn’t turn to look at the person, you let them speak first.

“Y/N,” Draco called in a panicked voice that still didn’t make you turn. “You’re needed downstairs. Now. It’s urgent.”

You exhale deeply and sit up straight, tucking your locket inside the jacket pocket, and pulling your eyes from the peacocks to stare at the stone floor beside you and quietly speak up. “For what? Can’t you say?”

Draco's feet shift and you hear him scoff. “I rather you be surprised.”

“Pfft,” you scoff, but nevertheless you pull your legs away from the edge and push yourself to your feet to turn and follow him out of your room, and down the stairs. “You’re unbelievable you know.”

“Says you,” Draco remarks, his eyes meeting yours and right away letting you notice that they were slightly wider, and his face was paler than usual. And it wasn’t just the lighting.

“What’s wrong?” You ask in a whisper.

Draco breathes out slowly and drifts his eyes to the dark hall you entered, he parted his lips, but he swiftly chooses not to speak. Instead he parts away from your side and walks down the hall faster, but not so fast so as to leave you behind, he made sure you were close. Close so that when he stops under the drawing rooms archway, you fall beside him and see what he had been so secretive about, he watches your reaction when you see Hermione Granger on the floor, under Bellatrix, before you hear her piercings screams as the tip of Bellatrix’s wand begins to carve words onto the flesh of her forearm.

“What’s,” you stammer as you feel your heart drop and feel a different kind of dooming fear begin to consume you. “What’s going on?”

“Snatchers,” Draco says, “they brought her in, alongside two others.”

Your eyes snap to him and your heart begins to pound in your ears as a face comes to mind. “Two others?”

“There you are,” your father interjects as he walks over to you and slowly puts his arm over your shoulder to continue talking, and guiding you around Bellatrix. “Sweetheart, we need you to do something. Okay? Something very important. Something that will forgive all that our family has put the Lord through, we will be back to our glory.”

You hear his words next to your ear, but most of your attention was wanting to drift to Hermione as she kept screaming in pain, it made you want to run to help her. Her screams of pain made you stiff and made you want to cry, it made you feel vulnerable and made all that anger you felt towards your parents go to the back of your head so you could cling onto your fathers blazer like a little girl. Your father noticed your wavering attention and made sure to keep your back to her when he stopped in front of the fireplace, he did nothing in regards to you holding onto him though.

“This will save us,” your father continued, louder so you could hear him over the screams. “But it all depends on you. Okay?”

“What is it?”

Your father lifts his head and looks at Wormtail bringing the goblin to Bellatrix, something that lets her part away from Hermione to begin interrogating him instead. “Wormtail!” He shouts, “bring back the other two boys. Maybe y/n can identify that one boy.”

Without hesitance said man does as he says and returns to the cellars, and your father turns to you one final time to finish. “We need you to tell us if the boy the snatchers brought is Harry Potter. Draco has mentioned that you knew him better, so you can identify if it is him. So just do it for your family, okay?” He lets you go and returns his eyes towards the direction of the cellar at the sound of footsteps, only to spot Ron Weasley run out from the cellar with a wand pointing at Bellatrix, and shouting, “expelliarmus!” He misses and only lets the whole room know he’s out.

A boy follows after him, but through the chaos all you saw was his brown hair after he shot out, “stupefy,” to throw your father back away from you, before both boys turned to fight against Narcissa and Draco, both teams successfully blocking each spell thrown their way. They only stopped when Bellatrix harshly gripped onto Hermione, to pick her off the floor and threaten her life. After their wands are picked up by Draco, Bellatrix’s turn to look at you.

“Y/N, sweetie, go to the ugly boy and identify who he is, will you? There's a high chance it’s Harry Potter, and if we turn him in then we will be praised by the Dark Lord.”

You straighten out your shoulders, and hesitate in your spot, glancing at the boys briefly before looking back to Bellatrix as she continues, this time in a more manipulative way. “Remember who you are. Who you belong to.” She smirks, a lot more menacing than Voldemort. “Remember that you owe a debt to our Lord, remember. If you don’t, then you know what happens. Be a nice girl and be brave.”

Her words hit like a blade to your heart, she knew how to pull your strings, she knew your fears and used them against you. Looking to Narcissa for help and pity wouldn't help, she made sure to avert her gaze. Your father on the other hand did the opposite. “Y/N, go on do it.” His hand cups the back of your neck and he leans in closer. “You know who’s at risk,” you both glance at Draco, and now there isn’t a thing holding you back, he comes first, just as Narcissa and he does; no matter what they hid.

“Okay,” you whisper and part away from your father to slowly stalk towards the boy you had a hard time identifying from afar—when you got close albeit, his eyes were unmistakable, the gleam when he saw you before him was recognizable, no matter what jinx he had on his face, you instantly knew when you were close, that he was your Harry. You regretted knowing.

And even as you were assured that it was him with a single look at his blue eyes, you still made sure to lift your hand to brush the hair out of his forehead so you could see the scar, albeit seeing nothing at all. Regardless you knew, and your words were already formed. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to him before stepping back, shutting your eyes for a few lingering seconds and then exhaling and averting your gaze once you open them to reveal the truth. “It’s him. That’s Harry Potter.”

Ron gasped, and Bellatrix laughed with excitement, whilst Narcissa quickly fell to your side to grab your arm and pull away from the boys as she praised you in a loud whisper. “Good job baby, you did good.”

You exhale out slowly and look to the floor as Bellatrix begins to talk to the group. “Well, well, look what we have here. It’s Harry Potter.” She begins to walk forward with Hermione still under her hold. “He’s all bright and shiny and new again, just in time for the Dark Lord. Call him.”

You pick your head up and shift your eyes to Draco, seeing the hesitance in his eyes that makes your father step up instead. He lifts his sleeve and wants to call the Dark Lord, but he stops when the squeaking sound catches his attention just like yours, and everyone else’s. For as when you look up, their Dobby was unscrewing the chandelier, and before anyone could think of reacting to the elf, he manages to drop the chandelier from the ceiling, leading Bellatrix to let go of Hermione, and jump back so she wouldn't get hurt. Since you were also close you also have to pull away from the field of impact so as to not be hurt.

When you do stand aside and look up to the trio, and Dobby, you knew you should have hesitated to let them escape, but when you watched Harry take Draco’s wand and once again throw your father back, you knew you couldn’t hold back. Not only because the choice you made would’ve been obvious to your family, but because threatening words poisoned your mind. Which is why you lift your hand to shoot out a spell, but before you could even mutter the words, Harry reacted quicker and shouted out, “Stupefy!”

In a flash of a second, a bright flash comes from Harry’s wand, hitting your chest and throwing you back to slam into the glass covered floor. The spell didn’t knock you unconscious, but it did do what it was meant to do, it also left you stunned that he would fight against you. You hardly knew why since you were on opposite sides, but the knowledge that he did was hard to process. It made you sad. Now you could clearly distinguish the two sides of the war. It felt numbing in some ways, coming to that realization, but perhaps you just felt that way because all you could do right now was stay on the ground as your mind felt cloudy, and your body ached with different pains. All you could do was listen to Bellatrix’s protest. “Stupid elf. You could’ve killed me.”

“Dobby never meant to kill. Dobby only meant to maim, or seriously injure.” A snap echoed after his comment, and Bellatrix was quick to respond.

“How dare you take a witch’s wand? How dare you defy your masters?”

“Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf. And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends.” A loud crack sounds seconds after, and finally when they’re gone you can manage to sit up to see an empty spot, feeling still stunned. Not by the spell anymore, but by your actions against Harry. You were in disbelief and hoped it was a dream whilst you also tried to assure yourself that the poisoning words had made you act out. “I have a debt. I owe it to him. I…did the right thing.”

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