#he loves dorian so deeply and it challenges everything he was raised to believe

[rotttnapple]

let's talk about Cain:

Cain is, among other things: homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic, racist, aggressive, and highly possessive. He's a great big asshole manbaby, in short, and absolutely deserves a swift kick in the nuts at all times.

but Ed!! you're saying, aren't you trans? Aren't you a big gay?? yes, yes I am, which may make it seem odd that I would actively write and develop a human trashcan like Cain Harris

But two things that really gets my giddie going are human behavior and, lord save my soul, redemption arcs. Cain (along with baby brother Charley) was born into a very religious household, and not the 'accepting' or 'progressive' sort, more or less the kind that would have happily burned a woman at the stake on the off chance that she might be a witch.

Cain was always the Holy Son to Elijah Harris, the heir to the throne, the one who could Do No Wrong. Cain, essentially, grew up on the knee of his father, whereas Charley was more of a 'momma's boy'. This is really the key of what makes these two brothers so different from each other. Part of it also has to do with their inherent nature, essentially their inborn personalities, but much of it has to do with how they were nurtured throughout their respective childhoods.

If you were to take these two and put them in a more normal household, not the witch burning sort, Cain most certainly would have grown up to be a reserved, quiet man, and his brother more outgoing and bubbly. Cain would certainly possess some of the dumb shit views he has today (there's a 'man' and a 'woman' in a homosexual relationship, for instance), but he wouldn't be hateful or harmful, just uneducated, but accepting, and typical of someone who has over time absorbed dumb shit misinformation that has unfortunately spread. He would also be very willing to listen to proper information and change these views accordingly. He would have also very likely come to accept and understand his own homosexuality far sooner in life.

Instead, before he was even old enough to understand he was taught that homosexuals are 'sinful' and 'broken', transgenders are outright freaks of nature, extremely wrong and extremely bad things. He was raised on the knee of a man staunch in his (many, and disgusting) views that a woman's duty in life is to produce children, cook, clean, and shut up. He was taught that it is a husband's duty to 'correct' a willful wife - Cain and Charley's mother, Catherine, was a far different woman before her husband's iron fist.

But ED!!! You're yelling now, you're making it sound like these behaviors should be excused!!

Absolutely not. Such behaviors - products of nurture, should not, and should never be excused, as they are absolutely inexcusable. They may not be products of nature - who one essentially Is - but they should also not be allowed to continue. To carry on being an actual walking turd is just unacceptable, and Cain has been that person for a very long time.

But the difference between Cain Harris and his father Elijah Harris is his willingness to change, his willingness to learn.

As Cain has grown and developed as a character he has come to accept his own homosexuality, something he took and buried deep, deep down inside of himself. His excuse for not 'finding a wife' and 'settling down' is that he hadn't found the 'right girl' - he hadn't found the white, meek and mild Catholic girl of his father's ugly dreams. As he has grown, he has fallen in love with an incredibly willful man of color, Dorian Pavus, who does not, under any circumstances, allow his backwards bullshit to carry on.

Cain has, slowly but surely, come out of the flaming shitcan he has been rolling around in for most of his life and that is why I write him.

Cain will never be a kawaii!!! uwu sweet baby, his history will never change, will never be excused, but he himself is changing, he is trying, and it is very interesting to write. He is fiction, but with a base in very real humanity. I never expected him to engage in the arc he has but I have to admit, it's great. It gives me some hope in a small way that people in real life have the potential for change themselves.

Next time I'll talk about how his relationship with Dorian has brought out things of his nature, because honestly that man is what he's needed since forever.

[katalyna-rose]

Vhenan

I rewrote it. It’s so much better now... Read it please! Chapters go up as I finish their rewrites. The original version has been removed, not sorry.

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Solas/Female Lavellan, Fenris/Female Mage Hawke, Zevrain/Female Warden Mahariel

AKA: Lyna/Solas, Fenris/Alie, Zevran/Kahlia

Angst, Fluff, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Mildly Conon-Divergent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Minor Isablea/Merrill, Constructive Criticism Welcome

Summary: Solas, the Dread Wolf Fen'Harel, has left Lyna behind in an attempt to fix mistakes made thousands of years ago. Willing to destroy everything for his goals, he doesn't realize exactly how determined Lyna is to show him a better path. Both worlds could thrive, given the chance. Her world is real and valid and deserves a chance, but so does his. There must be a middle ground.

And there is another reason that Lyna must find Solas, a secret kept from the world that attempted to put her up on a pedestal. But how would Thedas react to such a secret, such undeniable proof that their Herald of Andraste is a person like any other? That she is someone who loves, someone who makes mistakes, who bleeds and cries. And is having the Dread Wolf's child.

Read on AO3!

Chapter One: A Well of Hope

“I begged you not to drink from the Well!” Solas all but yelled, startlingly angry, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Why could you not have listened?”

“Solas…” Lyna said as calmly as she could manage, hoping to soothe him, though she’d never before been the subject of his wrath.

“You gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god!” He paced before his latest mural, the blue pigment of the Well of Sorrows reflecting the light of the nearby torch.

She frowned, confused by his wording, wanting, as always, to understand. “What does that mean, exactly?” she asked softly.

He seemed to crumple, a deep sigh leaving him, his anger bleeding into resignation as he said, “You are Mythal’s creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her.” He stopped and sighed again as he faced her, resignation blending into sorrow that she didn’t understand. “You have given up a part of yourself.”

Ridiculous. She scowled at him, feeling her own temper surge unexpectedly. “You don’t even believe in the ancient elven gods!” His lips thinned as his jaw clenched, anger resurfacing.

“I don’t believe they were gods, no, but I believe that they existed! Something existed to start the legends! If not gods then mages, or spirits, or something we’ve never seen.” He leaned forward aggressively, punctuating his words with a savage gesture. “And you are bound to one of them now.”

Solas stopped abruptly and looked away from her, breathing deeply in an attempt to reign in his temper. Lyna frowned, watching, concerned about him more than she was about herself; she’d never seen him this upset. Mostly, he held himself aloof, calmly observing the world around him without seeming to be a part of it. The little scar on his forehead was being pulled out of shape by his scowl, and she wanted nothing more than to smooth it out and kiss away his fears. But she knew he wouldn’t let her, that he’d pull away and become even more unreachable than before.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I suppose it is better you have the power than Corypheus.” He met her eyes with an intensity she hadn’t seen before. “Which leads to the next logical question: What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?”

“The war proved that we can’t go back to the way things were,” she told him, thinking of the many dead bodies they’d seen, slain by mages or Templars or caught in between, those left homeless and hungry, those the Inquisition couldn’t save. She even mourned those who had gone rogue, the red Templars and the Venatori; surely somewhere in history if someone had made a different choice they wouldn’t have felt the need to commit the crimes they stood accused of. “I’ll try to help this world move forward,” she said with conviction. Surely something she knew or had seen or had learned from the Well of Sorrows could offer a solution, or part of one.

“You would risk everything you have in the hope that the future is better? What if it isn’t?” Solas asked, strangely intense, as if her answer meant more to him than the question implied. “What if you wake up to find the future you shaped is worse than what was?”

Lyna frowned, trying to read him, to figure him out, and, as ever, coming up empty. “I’ll take a breath, see where things went wrong, and then try again,” she told him.

“Just like that?” he asked, almost incredulous. She smiled a little.

“If we don’t keep trying, we’ll never get it right,” she reminded him.

He returned the smile, suddenly not nearly so upset. The stiff set of his shoulders softened. “You’re right. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor.” He paused at her sharp look and amended his statement with a purr, “Lyna. You have… impressed me,” he told her, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And she felt like all the breath had been knocked out of her lungs. She impressed him? She was just a Dalish girl, thrown into the middle of these events by chance. She wasn’t nearly as interesting or impressive as he was. Though he had praised her intelligence and willingness to learn on many occasions, calling it a rare gift, she had always thought she could never compare to the spirits of the Fade he’d introduced her to. It was surreal to hear that he thought so highly of her. She knew he loved her and respected her both as a woman and as Inquisitor, but she knew this was something else, knew the standard to which he compared the world. “You have offered hope,” he continued while she blinked at him, “that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grace, that someday things will be better.” He looked away again, though a small smile played on his lips. “Forgive my melancholy. Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The orb he carries, and its stolen power… That, at least, we may still recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive.”

She decided it was time to jolt him out of this melancholy, as he put it. So she smiled slyly and said, “You’re being grim and fatalistic in hope of getting me into bed, aren’t you?”

His serious expression remained fixed, but his eyes danced. “I am grim and fatalistic,” he told her. Then his expression broke into a warm smile, eyes teasing. “Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just?” she asked, teasing. He chuckled, and held out his hand.

“Come with me, vhenan,” he said, suddenly eager. She took his hand with a smile and let him lead her out of the rotunda, then out of Skyhold altogether. He took her down a winding, narrow path she hadn’t traveled before. It wound down the mountain away from the enormous camp where most of the Inquisition’s people lived and worked and trained.

“Where are we going?” Lyna asked after a while, curious. Solas brought her hand, which he still held in his, to his lips and sent her pulse racing with a gentle kiss on her knuckles. He smiled, no doubt sensing the sudden heat he’d sent shooting through her body. Bastard.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief. She swallowed hard, trying to shove down her arousal, and said nothing else as he led her down what she was becoming increasingly certain was a goat trail.

The pink and orange of sunset was fading when she spied a cave ahead. “I didn’t bring my bow,” she told him redundantly; he could obviously see that she was unarmed except for the small knife that never left her person. He chuckled.

“You won’t need it,” he assured her. “Nothing and no one comes this way except for the goats that made this path and the occasional rabbit.”

“And nothing hunts the goats?” she asked archly. He smiled.

“Nothing a little magic cannot scare away.” She sighed dramatically, and he raised a brow in challenge. She said nothing, keeping her chin high in mocking protest. She had no doubt he could keep them safe, but she still enjoyed needling him. He squeezed her hand, enjoying her efforts.

The cave they entered was very dark, but not dark enough that Solas felt he needed to cast light. Water cascaded down the walls with a musical sound, and instead of seeming creepy and ominous as caves frequently did to Lyna it cast an atmosphere of wonder and soft pleasure.

Solas laced his fingers with hers and bumped her shoulder lightly. She looked at him and he gestured ahead with his chin, so she looked. The cave opened just ahead on a moonlit glen. She gasped when she saw a pair of giant statues to Ghilan’nain facing each other on either side of a small pool fed by three narrow waterfalls, the harts’ antlers reaching up as if they would touch the sky. Elfroot grew at the statues’ feet and the water glittered in the moonlight. The area was walled off naturally by stone, the tops too rocky to allow spies or assassins to go unnoticed. The grass was soft beneath her feet, and the musical waterfalls made her want to dance. The flowers that grew here and there added a sweet scent to the strangely warm breeze. Solas squeezed her hand a little, and she squeezed back, smiling at him. A warm look flowed over his face, heating his gaze, and he led her into the glen. They walked slowly, their clasped hands swinging between them, until he stopped not far from the water’s edge.

“The Veil is thin here,” he said softly, touching her cheek gently and sending delicious shivers through her. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?” He removed his hand, and warm tingles did indeed take its place. She touched her face, enjoying and unnerved by the unfamiliar sensations, then looked up at him. He was so close, the stars sparkling in his eyes. Just a little closer and she could take his lips before he even realized what she was doing. One corner of his mouth turned up a little, and she knew he saw exactly what she was thinking on her face. She was, after all, staring rather intently at his lips. She tilted her head a little to the exact angle that would be best for a kiss, all but begging him to take it.

Instead, he said, “I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me.” His thumb moved, caressing her wrist as he held her hand a little tighter, almost as if he were nervous. But that seemed silly; Solas was confident in nearly all he did.

Lyna gave him a small smile. “I’m listening,” she told him. “And I can offer a few suggestions.” She stared hard at his mouth again, taking a breath so that her breasts stretched the material of her shirt taught.

A slight blush delicately colored his cheeks, startling her; Solas never blushed. “I shall bear that in mind,” he said, smiling and refusing to show any sign of being flustered. “For now,” he continued as she smirked at him, “the best gift I can offer is… the truth.” He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “You are unique,” he told her softly, and it was her turn to blush. “In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined.”

His words, spoken softly with an air of simple truth, as if these sentiments were simple facts of life that he could not and would not change, moved her greatly.

“As you are to me,” she told him when he paused, slightly surprised that her voice didn’t waver as her heart pounded in her chest. He smiled, just a little.

“Then what I must tell you… The truth…” he said, and a shadow passed behind his eyes for just a moment, gone almost as soon as it arrived. He paused, breath in his lungs and mouth open to continue, and she waited. When he seemed frozen, she squeezed his hand gently, encouraging him, and he blinked and then continued.

“Your face,” he said at last. “The Vallaslin.” Lyna resisted the urge to touch the slightly raised sacred tattoos on her face. She wore the symbols of Mythal, the Mother and Protector, and had ever since she had come of age. The dark purple lines depicted branches crisscrossing her forehead and cheekbones into her hairline with a line from her mouth spreading down her chin. “In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.”

“She frowned, confused. “They honor the elven gods,” she told him, as she had been told since she was old enough to ask.

“No,” Solas said softly, shaking his head. “They are slave markings. Or, at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”

Lyna took a half step back, her confusion blending into something approaching horror. “My clan’s Keeper said they honored the gods. These are their symbols.” Please be wrong, she thought desperately. Please let this be the one thing he has wrong.

“Yes,” he told her, soft and sad. “That’s right. A noble would mark his slaves to honor the god he worshipped. After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot.”

She felt tears gathering and tried to step them. “So this is… what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?” She had learned more about her people with Solas and the Inquisition than she had studying with her Keeper and hahren. She did not doubt his word, had learned long before that he would not say a thing he did not know, without a doubt, to be true, but it sent a knife of pain into her heart. Her people had ever refused to be slaves, to succumb to those who saw them as inferior. They were Dalish because, when the Dales fell, they refused to give in. But this was wrong. Her people should have known.

“I’m sorry,” Solas said, though Lyna wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for her pain, for telling her, or for how much her people were wrong about.

She took a deep, unsteady breath and looked away. “We try to preserve our culture,” she said haltingly, “and this is what we keep? Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter?”

With gentle fingers under her chin, he lifted her face so that she would look at him. “Don’t say that,” he told her softly. “For all the Dalish got wrong, they did one thing right.” He smiled, just a little, and it changed his sorrowful and almost guilty look to one of pride. “They made you.” She smiled and gave a watery half laugh. He was just trying to lessen the sting the truth; she knew he didn’t think much of her people and she knew he had just reasons for that. But she had worn slave markings with pride for half her life, had looked on with envy as her clan mates received theirs, and he knew this hurt her.

“I didn’t tell you this to hurt you,” he told her earnestly. She’d known that, of course, that he shared the knowledge simply so that she would know. But the truth was not always kind. “If you like, I know a spell.” Her eyes widened as she guessed where he was headed with this. “I can remove the Vallaslin.” She looked away, and his hand fell away from her face, reluctantly. She took a deep breath and thought about it.

“These marks have been a part of me for so long,” she said slowly. “I don’t know if…”

“I’m so sorry for causing you pain,” he said, and the small hitch in his voice revealed exactly how much her pain affected him. “It was selfish of me.” That got her to look at him. Selfish? He was many things, but selfish? “I look at you and I see what you truly are.” His hand lifted as if he wanted to touch her face again, but he lowered it before he did. She wished he hadn’t; she craved his touch almost like a drug. “And you deserve better than what those cruel marks represent.”

She looked into his eyes and saw with perfect clarity, for the first time, exactly what he felt for her. Though she had known that he cared for her, ar lath ma whispered in her ear on many occasions, the strength of love she saw there in those blue depths was enough to frighten her and make her want to hold him and never let go. His eyes shone with affection and tenderness, and suddenly she felt ridiculous for ever having thought that all his sweet words were not meant with perfect sincerity, with the same intensity that filled every word he said to her. But she was just a woman, Dalish, and her people had been unkind to him. She was only a hunter, her feet firmly in waking though she was slowly learning to shape her dreams. But he was a storyteller of incredible wisdom, and he wielded magic she’d never seen or heard of elsewhere. Coincidence had placed the Anchor on her hand, and necessity had driven her to use it to close the rifts they encountered. Her title of Inquisitor felt more honorary than true to her. She did little without the advice and consent of her advisors and there was so much she had no power to change.

And Solas… He was wise and worldly. He had seen things she could never have dreamed of, had walked the world and the Fade and learned so much more than she could imagine. He was strong and brave, fighting his enemies with a ferocity few could rival. And yet he was compassionate and understanding. He saw his enemies as living people, not merely as obstacles or abstract threats. He had played, and won, an entire game of chess with Iron Bull using neither board nor pieces, only the power of his incredible mind. What could one little Dalish girl be to a man like him?

And yet the truth shone in his eyes. Lyna could be many wonderful things to a man like him, it seemed. And suddenly, with an urgency that nearly staggered her, she wanted it all in a way she had never allowed herself before. She wanted this man before her. She wanted his love and to love him in return. She wanted a life with him. Could that even be possible?

But she had a choice to make, and she would always choose freedom. It was an ideal that was so much a part of her that she had fought against even being claimed by her former lovers, unwilling to tie herself to them. But Solas only ever sought to set her free, and she wanted this. She took a deep breath and said, “Then cast your spell. Take the Vallaslin away.” He smiled, and the love in his eyes shone even brighter, if possible.

Read on AO3!

[ponticle]

Day 1: Seminar, Day 2, Morning [Anderstair, 9-day-challenge]

[Masterpost]

[Read it on Ao3]

Chapter Summary: Anders wakes up the next morning after his encounter with Alistair. Things are more complicated than he originally believed. Rated M: angst, adult themes.

Seminar, Day 2: Morning

From 2am on, I wake up every twenty minutes—sweaty and confused from more nightmares than I'm able to count. Every time I’m coherent enough to understand where I am, I find myself thinking about Alistair. It isn't pleasant, even though the sex we just had was great. Instead, it's a self-effacing litany of anxiety and regret.

I think about calling him a hundred times, but I don't. Somehow, I make it to 6am without losing my mind. My shower is cursory and I can't figure out what to wear. On the off-chance that I see Alistair again—it seems unbelievably unlikely at this point—I want to look hot… I just can't remember how.

After 4 outfit changes, I realize I'm late and sigh at myself in the mirror.

“Well, Andy… this will have to do…” I say aloud.

Great. This is what a sane person does.

When I do see Alistair, I’m instantly sweaty. After what happened last night, I can’t believe he hasn’t left the conference early.

“Hey,” he smiles. He’s sitting at the same table we occupied yesterday morning.

“Hi,” I brush a hand through my hair and drop my books. “How are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Kind of sore… you?”

I almost choke.

“But I’m doing great,” he bites his bottom lip.

“Me too…” I smile. “Can I get you a coffee?” I notice his cup is empty.

“I’m set, actually—I’m going to be vibrating if I have more caffeine,” he laughs.

It is taking all my willpower to not straddle him in that chair and shove my tongue in his mouth.

“So where are you going today?” he asks.

I’m still lost in my thoughts, so I make a face.

“...which session?” he adds.

“Oh,” I laugh awkwardly, “I’m going to McKenzie Method for the Cervical Spine.”

“Me too,” his eyes light up.

“Then, can I walk you?” I ask.

“Yeah; you can be my partner, too,” he offers.

I know he means ‘for the purposes of demonstration and practice,’ but my breath catches at that word.

“Okay,” I smile.

We slide into chairs in the third row on the end and wait while the classroom fills in. I spend some time re-arranging my notebooks and pens. I have an outline of the upcoming lecture already printed for note-taking purposes. I pretend to be highly interested in it.

“After the sessions today,” he leans in and whispers, “I’d really like to have dinner with you.”

I turn to look at him. My face must look like a mask. “Why?”

His brow furrows. He opens his mouth like he’s going to explain himself once and for all, but he doesn’t manage to get anything out because the presenter flicks off the house lights so we can see her powerpoint and starts talking.

Damn it.

Alistair writes something on a shred of paper and passes it to me across the desk—like we’re in middle school.

Alistair: did you get my texts last night?

I’m not sure how to respond. I think I have to stick with the ‘I fell asleep’ story. I write back to him surreptitiously.

Anders: I got them this morning. I pretty much passed out after you left.

Alistair: I’m not surprised… you were amazing.

He has circled the word ‘amazing’ twice.

Anders: so were you.

I’m blushing. I’m so glad the lighting is low.

Alistair: I was still thinking about you late into the night, though…

I look up at him and raise an eyebrow. Does that mean what I think it means?

He nods.

Something pulls tight in my guts.

Alistair: so about dinner?

I don’t know what has come over me. I want him so much, it’s painful.

Anders: okay… and then?

Alistair smirks as he writes back.

Alistair: we’ll see… it depends how long I can control myself…

The shiver that follows goes straight to my groin. Fuck. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and try not to make a sound as his fingers graze my thigh below the desk.

Instead of doing something obscene, though, he just grabs onto my knee and squeezes it—as if we’re a regular couple; as if nothing bad ever happened that ruined us.

I don't move away, but I resign myself to taking notes for the rest of the session.

Half way through the lecture, there’s a break. I’m about to ask him to explain himself, when someone I know sits down on his other side. It's Dorian.

“Hey there,” he says to Alistair.

“Hi,” Alistair smiles.

Dorian looks up at me, recognition dawning, “Hi, Anders. Have you graduated already?” he jokes.

I laugh nervously, “Not quite…” Then I get curious—and I'm braver now that I once was, “What are you doing here?”

He laughs deeply, “Avoiding my daughter.”

I squint at him. I have no idea what he means. Alistair rolls his eyes at Dorian and turns to me.

“He's left Cullen at home to deal with their baby…” he explains.

They have a baby? Oh my god, that's adorable.

“How old is she?” I ask.

Dorian grabs his phone and flips to a picture of Cullen kissing a toddler’s cheek. “That’s little Mia—we named her after Cullen’s sister… She's 18 months old… she came to live with us four months ago…” He is beaming with pride.

“Congratulations,” I smile. When he goes to put his phone away and pull out his reading glasses, I notice he's wearing a ring.

They're married.

The phone suddenly buzzes just before it reaches his pocket. It’s a facetime call. Cullen’s face is splashed across the screen.

“Do you think we have a minute?” Dorian asks Alistair.

Alistair nods.

“Hey, Babe,” says Dorian. He moves the phone up until his portrait in the upper right corner looks picture-perfect.

“Hi,” says Cullen. I can hear a small child—presumably Mia—crying in the background.

“How’s everything going?” asks Dorian. I realize I’m looking over his shoulder at the screen pretty obviously. It might be considered nosy...but he’s the one having a private conversation out loud in the middle of a crowded lecture hall.

“Going okay…” answers Cullen. “Mia really misses you.”

Watching Cullen’s expressions, I’m conflicted: I still sort of hate him, but he seems softer. And… now that I’m doing whatever I’m doing with Alistair—I can’t exactly cast the first stone where cheating is concerned. I know about Icis and I’m doing it anyway—just like Cullen knew about me.

“Say hi to Alistair and Anders,” says Dorian. He shoves the phone into our faces. I wave and smile stupidly.

“Hi Al,” says Cullen. “Hello, Anders—have you graduated already?” he laughs.

“I already used that joke,” laughs Dorian, pulling the phone back in front of his face. “He’s in 3rd year… I think?” He shrugs at me.

I nod. “Third year.”

“Good for you, Anders,” says Cullen. He can’t see me, but I can see him—he genuinely looks happy for me.

“All right, I think we’re starting up again soon,” says Dorian.

“Okay…” Cullen clicks his tongue. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” says Dorian. He’s trying to sound dismissive, but his cheeks turn pink. I remember that internal struggle between being ‘too sappy’ and being honest. I remember what it feels like to be in love.

The class resumes not long afterward. The question of why Dorian is here still hasn't been answered, since this isn't remotely related to what he does, but I like being in class with him. He is great at making snide comments—and this presenter deserves them. On the whole, it's a terrible class.

“Well, that's three hours of my life I'll never get back,” announces Alistair when we've packed up.

Dorian and I laugh and shoulder our bags.

“Where are you headed next, Anders?” asks Dorian.

“I'm not sure—where are you going?”

“Dorian and I have to go to a presenters’ meeting during the next block…” explains Alistair.

I don't mean for it to happen, but I feel my face fall.

Alistair catches it. He reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder, “I'll meet up with you later, though, okay?”

I smile, despite myself, and wave goodbye to the two of them as they head off in the opposite direction.

Once they turn the corner, I frantically text the group.

Anders: HEEEELLLLPPPPP!!!

Hawke: what’s the matter?

Anders: I keep flirting with him. I can’t stop. I’m a maniac.

Merrill: why are you doing this to yourself?

Isabela: leave Andy alone—maybe this is what he needs.

Fenris: I doubt that.

Isabela: judgy-judgy.

Hawke: I think Andy can do whatever he wants… but I don’t think he’s going to want the consequences of this.

Anders: you’re probably right.

I wait a tick—there are so many thoughts swirling around in my head, I can’t seem to get them organized.

Anders: Dorian is here too…

Hawke: oh yeah?

I laugh. I guess this might not seem like a totally weird occurrence to them—they probably don’t know how different our specialities are.

Anders: yeah… and guys… he’s married—with a kid.

Merrill: really? That’s so nice.

Hawke: I think so too… [heart]

I laugh. Hawke is buttering her up, because I know they’re thinking about kids themselves.

Isabela: is Cullen there?

Anders: no. he’s home with their daughter… we facetimed with him.

Merrill: really? What was that like?

Anders: Actually kind of nice… he seems really happy. I still kind of want to murder him, though.

Isabela: well, that’s normal. Lol

Merrill: hate to ask this but…. is Icis there? She’s a doctor too, right?

I’m pretty sure she isn’t here. Alistair’s behavior certainly makes it seem like she isn’t, but now I’m not so sure.

Anders: I fucking hope not.