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plazmafields · 3 years

Text

Cullrian Mulan AU

Word Count: 27,573

Summery: After escaping the Venatori and his family in Tevinter, Dorian finds refuge with a kindly older woman on a farm in Ferelden. When the Inquisition comes knocking looking for volunteers, Dorian can't help but overhear that they are looking to defeat the Venatori once and for all. He could join, but he can't have them thinking he might be a Venatori himself, especially not the Commander.

Forward: Holy jesus mercy, this literally took me years to get to. Between wanting to build out the universe to make it all fit together, then getting some serious writer's block (because nothing I love can come easy), then actually writing the damn thing! This has been a journey, and I really hope you all enjoy. I know it's a pain to read long fics on tumblr, so just let me know if you'd prefer it on AO3 or something. All my love, please enjoy my longest fic ever!!

__________

Just as the sun began to rise over the hills surrounding the farm, songbirds began to chirp, stirring Dorian from his sleep. Though he hated the insistent noise, he had to admit it was a softer wakeup call than Halward pushing ten tired slaves into his room to make him “presentable” before another noble’s daughter arrived. When Dorian had rejected the woman betrothed to him since birth, his mother offered that perhaps they should find an equally suitable candidate that Dorian could see himself getting along with. Poor mother, just trying to help; but she would never understand the true reason for Dorian’s rejection. Or perhaps they knew, and just couldn’t bear to face it as truth.

It took Dorian a moment to fully wake before he was hurriedly getting dressed and cleaned up, hoping to make it downstairs in time to make breakfast. As he descended the stairs, however, the scent of eggs and baking bread filled his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. While it smelled wonderful, he still felt a bit guilty for making his kind host cook for them both.

At the bottom of the stairs, he smiled and gently bowed his head at the middle aged woman at the stove. “Good morning, Miss Ella,” he said as he entered the kitchen just off the stairwell.

“Good morning, dear. How do you like your eggs?” The woman turned to greet him with two plates of food in hand, each set prepared differently.

Dorian didn’t look at the meal before responding, “I’ll take whichever you don’t prefer.”

The older woman frowned, distinctly upset with the answer. “Ser Dorian, I insist you choose. You’re my guest, after all. I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The two stood both with expectant stares for a short while until Dorian sighed, taking one of the plates. “And I want to make sure I’m as nonintrusive as possible.” He turned quickly, taking a seat at the quaint kitchen table.

The woman smiled gently as she joined him. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: you are not intruding. I took you in, and that’s the end of it. You should feel as though we share this house, just as we share this food and the land where it grows.”

Dorian couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as he began to eat. “Thank you, Miss Ella. You’ve been far too kind to an undeserving stranger.”

Miss Ella scoffed as she swatted at Dorian’s arm with her handkerchief, “Oh, don’t say such nonsense! Everyone is deserving of kindness, especially when they show such courtesy in return.”

Dorian said a quiet thank you as he continued to eat, trying to avoid another kind hearted argument with the woman. They stayed silent for a long moment until the woman shook her head and laughed.

“The only doubt I have about you is where you’re from. Not that I mind your secrecy; I understand the need. I only wish I knew so I could know who to thank for your wonderful manners.” She teased, wholeheartedly.

Dorian smiled despite the remembrance of home life, and answered gently, “I hardly think my parents had much to do with my manners. They’re not the kindest of people, unless they’re trying to impress someone.” His smile slipped slightly, enough for Miss Ella to notice.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she frowned and reached across the table, patting the back of Dorian’s hand, “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I wasn’t meaning to imply life was perfect, only that you seem acclimated to the finery in life. However, I know that comes with its own stresses and consequences.”

“You’re certainly right about that,” Dorian sighed, finishing the food on his plate.

As he stood, he took Miss Ella's empty plate as well, taking the dishes and cutlery to the wash basin to clean. As Dorian began scrubbing away, there came a rather harsh knock at the door. The two glanced curiously at one another before Miss Ella went to answer.

Dorian slowly set the dishes in the water, listening closely to who was at the door, waiting to see if it was a voice he recognized, come to take him back to Tevinter.

Instead, he heard a voice clearly announce: “Hello, serah, we’re here on behalf of the Inquisition. We’re requesting that every household contribute at least one able bodied person, or sign for a draft, if necessary.”

“Oh yes, the Inquisition. You’re the ones who patched up the sky, yes? While I would love to be of service, I’m afraid I am unable to enlist—”

“How old are you, ma’am?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Dorian heard the soldier clear his throat. “I asked your age, ma’am.”

Miss Ella, seemingly a bit taken aback by the direct nature of the question, gingerly answered, “Well, I’ll be turning fifty at the end of next month…”

The sound of confirmation and flipping paper piqued Dorian’s curiosity, as he slowly peeked into the foyer to watch the interaction.

The soldiers all nodded, one pulling out a form. “You’re within the age range to sign for the draft. If you would please—”

“I’m sorry?” Miss Ella stared in awe at the men before her. “I am the sole owner of this farm; all the land you see within several acres is my land! I cannot simply leave my property; who would be here to care for the animals? I would be more than willing to donate crops to the cause, but I am not going to leave my animals and harvest to suffer.”

Dorian watched on, ready to stand up for his gracious host, when the soldier tucked the form back into his satchel. “Ma’am, I understand your concerns, but I’m afraid, as valid as they may be, they cannot stand in the way of the fact that we need soldiers. As the Venatori threat strengthens—”

“I would be willing to volunteer,” Dorian stepped into view of the doorway, “on behalf of the household.”

Miss Ella turned with surprise, giving Dorian a worried look. He simply smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Very good, Ser. And thank you.” The soldier pulled out a list of volunteers’ names and began to assign Dorian an ID. “What is your relation to this woman?”

“My son.” Miss Ella spoke up, “Dorian Rider.”

Dorian gave a gentle, thankful look, trying not to make it too obvious to the soldiers.

“I assume, then, you were born in Ferelden?” The soldier studied Dorian’s dark complexion suspiciously.

“Orlais,” Dorian lied, “but I’ve lived here much of my life…”

The soldier seemed to find that more believable as he nodded, noting the answer on the form.

“And what is your role in the household? Just a simple description of what you do around the house will suffice.” The soldier asked, poised to write.

“I help maintain the farm.”

The soldier nodded, “Very good. And do you have any experience with fighting or combat?”

“Spell—” Dorian quickly closed his mouth, remembering mages were not supposed to live or practice magic outside of the Circles in Ferelden. He worriedly glanced at Miss Ella, before he noticed the soldier give him a friendly grin.

“Don’t worry,” The soldier said, lowering his writing board, “the Inquisition is not here to discriminate. We take anyone willing to risk their lives for the cause.” His eyes went soft, as he seemed to sympathize with Dorian. “I was a thief in Denerim before I joined. I’m not one to judge. Thank you for volunteering, Ser. Serah.”

The soldiers each gave a respectful bow before starting off to the next house. The one with the writing board called over his shoulder, “We’ll knock again when we’re ready to head off to Skyhold. Please be ready. You need only to bring your personal effects; we will have weapons and armor for you there.”

Miss Ella quickly closed the door and grabbed Dorian by the shoulders. “What are you doing? I thought you were hiding out! This is a sure way to bring attention to yourself, boy!”

Though she shook him lightly, she was not angry as Dorian looked in her eyes. The only thing he saw there was fear and worry. For him; for his safety.

Dorian took her hands in his and smiled reassuringly, “I’ll be ok. I can handle myself in a fight. Besides, what was I supposed to do, let them take you away from your livelihood? That hardly seems right.”

Miss Ella continued to look him in the eye for a time, all the while tears starting to well, before they eventually fell and she wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you so much, dear. I just hope they keep you safe from whatever you were running from. Maybe one day you’ll be free of fear, and you can tell me everything.”

__________

Finally at Skyhold, the entire cart full of recruits gazed upon the glory of their new home for the foreseeable future, everyone taken aback by the size of the castle. Once through the gates, Dorian found himself being shuffled through a group of anxious troops, somehow ending up near the front of the crowd. Just as he began to wonder what all the fuss was about, the entire mass fell silent, standing mostly at attention.

A pale skinned man with thick blond hair strode up to the group of recruits, his presence alone demanding full attention. As he scanned the crowd, seemingly impressed with the number of volunteers, he momentarily locked eyes with Dorian.

The mage immediately froze, holding his breath as the blond’s eyes studied him. It seemed like minutes before their eyes met again, the blond saying kindly, “Welcome to the Inquisition.”

Dorian didn’t realize the blond was addressing the whole group, and not just him, until the entire mass said in unison, “Ser, yes, Ser.”

Dorian jumped at the roar, averting his gaze to his feet. The rest of the blond’s speech went by as a mumble, Dorian only picking out a few things. “I am your commander,” “thank you for your service,” “we are all fighting for the same cause,” etcetera.

“Those of you who are weary from the journey may feel free to retire to the barracks and claim a bunk. Make certain your items are secure and accounted for. As for those anxious to begin your service, please follow my associate Seeker Cassandra; she will give a brief tour of the grounds.” The blond gestured to a broad and powerful woman, who already appeared annoyed. “As she will be assisting me in your training, I expect you all to treat her with the same respect and authoritative recognition as you would me.”

The blond Commander took a final look over the troops before dismissing them to follow Cassandra or head to the beds. But just as Dorian followed after the retiring group, he heard a gentle summons.

“You there, mage.”

Dorian turned to see the Commander watching him with a careful eye. “Dorian, Ser.” He answered.

“Ser Dorian,” The Commander let the name roll on his tongue for a moment before continuing, causing Dorian’s breath to hitch in his throat. “I understand you’re an apostate.”

Dorian let out his held breath in a deep sigh, nearly rolling his eyes. “Yes, I am. Ser. I don’t suppose you’re going to turn me in to your recent allies?” He crossed his arms and lifted a brow, challenging the blond standing several feet from him.

The Commander narrowed his eyes, “I certainly wasn’t planning on it.” He slowly closed the distance between the two of them in several long strides, saying in a low tone, “Unless you’re going to have a problem with my authority, Ser Dorian.”

With the blond so close, Dorian felt his heart speed up. Something about his presence made Dorian feel held in place. Not as if he was trapped, simply that he couldn’t make himself step away.

Dorian scanned his eyes over the Commander’s form, noticing the Chantry insignia on his bracers. Ah, Dorian thought, he plans on taking care of me himself.

“Not unless you’re going to play those little Templar tricks to dispel my magic when I’m simply trying to warm my tea.” Dorian could have sworn he saw the corner of the Commander’s lips curl up at his accurate observation.

“That would just be rude. No, I wanted to inform you that, despite my past, I have very little patience for discrimination.” The Commander's eyes scanned over Dorian's body once more, “If anyone says anything, does anything, or even looks at you in a way that makes you suspect ill intent, do let me know. They’ll be dealt with discreetly.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to feel; between the Commander’s word choice and his eyes wondering Dorian’s physique, he felt maybe the blond knew his preferences just by looking at him. Did he have to be more worried about that than being an apostate? Though Dorian knew little about the south, he knew even less about their feelings on…sexual endeavors. More specifically, who you ventured those endeavors with.

Dorian hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at the Commander without answering until the blond tilted his brow up. “That is an order, Ser Dorian.”

He was shaken from his trance by the mention of his name in a soothingly gentle voice; surprising for a man in his militant position. “Yes, Ser.” Dorian responded quickly, eager to have the Commander’s caressing gaze off him.

The blond smiled, seemingly content with the response. “Good. And don’t be afraid to approach me.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice even more to an impossibly comforting near-purr, “I don’t bite.” He grinned reassuringly.

Perhaps I’d rather you did, Dorian thought, admiring the Commander’s gait as he strode off, heading for his office.

In the barracks Dorian chose a bed, near to the wall to prop his staff and hang his pack, filled only with a few herbs for mixing potions and a book or two.

Though his sleep was fitful, he woke more or less prepared for training the next morning, those blasted birds even louder in the mountains than Miss Ella's valley farmland. Their loud singing mixed with the shuffle of new troops preparing for training woke Dorian far earlier than he would have liked. But he hurried along, seeing he was one of the last troops to rise, and made it to the training grounds just as the sun rose above the horizon.

He had eyes on him the moment he walked onto the grounds, scared young men and women glaring at him and eyeing the ornament on the end of his staff, watching cautiously as magic flowed through the crystal gem, all originating from Dorian’s fingertips. All the looks, the suspicion, made him feel as though he was not exactly blending in like he had hoped. He scanned his fellow soldiers, finding most were pale. Those with dark skin like his seemed no less acclimated to his presence. Their undertones were all cold blues and greys, making Dorian’s red-brown skin stand out in an unnatural, if stunning, manner against the natives.

As Dorian felt more and more uncomfortable in his own skin for the first time in years, a voice echoed off the fortress walls from behind him.

“You’re late.” Dorian turned to find the Commander stalking toward him, free of his armor and only covered by simple leather trousers. His chest was dusted in scars of all sizes; some reaching from collar bone to hip, one leading Dorian’s eye down a mischievous path to the Commander’s laces.

“Did the bells not wake you? Perhaps I should make that your responsibility; to wake and ring the bells for everyone else to hear? Since they seem not to faze you.”

Dorian scoffed, “I suppose you would like all your men to be late as well, then? If I were in charge of the bells, we’d all be waking half past tea.”

The Commander seemed equally confused and annoyed with Dorian’s flippant nature, seemingly having no respect, no regard for his position.

As he closed the distance in a quick stride, Dorian simply crossing his arms and sighing, almost bored by the interaction, he said lowly, “Fall in line before I make an example out of you.”

Dorian, sifting his words through his head, began carefully evaluating his next move. While he didn’t enjoy being told what to do, and very much enjoyed testing people’s patience, he decided against saying anything at all, taking several steps back and lining up with the other troops.

The Commander relaxed his shoulders, turning slowly to take his place in front of the herd. As he glanced back to face his troops again, and saw Dorian at the front line of their formations, he quickly changed his mind.

“Alright Ser Dorian, since you seem to enjoy being the center of attention, perhaps you would like to help me demonstrate some defensive maneuvers.”

Dorian tensed. While he was proud of his magical knowledge and ability, he knew things the average Ferelden mage most certainly would not. He had to be careful of what spells he used, as not to let on too much or attract attention.

But he relaxed as he saw the Commander reach for an extra sword and shield, gesturing for Dorian to step forward. He stabbed his staff into the ground and sauntered up to take the weapons. As he did, the Commander asked quietly, “You do know which end to hold it by, don’t you?”

Before Dorian could think, he grinned and responded in a flirtatious tone, “I’ve had plenty of experience handling swords, Commander.”

The Commander stared at him blankly as a slight rosy color filled his cheeks, then cleared his throat as he handed the sword off to Dorian.

“How much experience do you have with shield work?” The Commander asked, getting into a proper fighting stance.

Dorian mimicked his movements, obviously less confident with a sword and shield. “Certainly less than with staff blades and staff defense,” he muttered.

The Commander nodded once. “Let us spar—so that I can evaluate what you know—then, we’ll try it again with your staff. All I want you to do is defend.” The troops drew closer, forming a circle like a fighting ring around the two. “Don’t let me into your personal space.”

Dorian wanted to make a suggestive remark about his personal space, but the time was lost as the blond charged at him with speed and an unfair amount of force. Dorian dodged and defended as best he could with what little knowledge he had while the Commander showed no mercy, but ultimately, in only a matter of seconds, the blond had managed to disarm him and enter his space.

They were nearly chest to chest, Dorian breathing somewhat heavily while the Commander hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Your movements are arrogant,” he announced, loudly for the rest of the troops to hear, “despite having no idea what you are doing, clearly. While half of defense is confidence, not showing your enemy weakness, it is not the whole fight.”

He stepped away from Dorian, acquiring his stance once more. “Again,” the Commander proclaimed, “with your staff this time.”

Dorian smirked as he pulled his staff blade out of the soil, poising himself for a good fight. He knew this was about physical defense, no magic involved, but by the Maker if he wouldn’t fight back.

The Commander once again charged at him, but this time Dorian knew what to do. He twirled his staff, directing the sword’s momentum away and back to the Commander, using his own power against him. Aside from a huff of disapproval, the blond went unfazed, using the off-railed momentum to carry his shield arm forward, bashing Dorian’s staff in an attempt to throw him off balance. But Dorian stabbed his staff blade into the ground, stopping the blond’s shield dead in its tracks. The Commander pressed forward, waiting for Dorian to inevitably lift his staff and take the force.

Rather than lift his staff, Dorian used it as leverage to swing his body around and kick the unsuspecting Commander’s sword from his hand. Unfortunately for Dorian, his opponent was ambidextrous, catching the sword in his left hand and switching the shield to his right. At this point, the Commander was visibly annoyed, putting more force into his blows, testing the mage’s strength. Dorian held his position for as long as he could, motivated by the troops’ shocked mumbling to one another.

Finally, after several minutes, the Commander’s sword came down on the blade of Dorian’s staff, throwing off the momentum and leaving Dorian open for the Commander to once again step into his space.

After this round, however, they were both panting, a sheen of sweat lightly reflecting on the blond’s chest. Dorian kept his eyes up, staring intently into the Commander’s.

“Much better,” He said flatly. “You use your staff as an extension of yourself. You know not only the magical maneuvers, but the physical ones as well. You still need to work on paying more attention to your opponent, and less to your own actions. They should come as second nature, as I’m sure your magic does.” The Commander backed away once again, relaxing his grip on his weapons. “Well done, overall. I’ve worked with and against many mages and, routinely, close combat was their weakness.” He scanned Dorian from head to toe, shrugging slightly. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m impressed, but…” extending his hand out to Dorian, “I respect your ability.”

A nearly collective gasp came from the audience of troops around them, all surprised at Dorian’s redemption. From problem recruit, to Commander-respected mage. Perhaps Dorian had nothing to worry about after all.

He took the blond’s outstretched hand and shook it lightly, bowing his head with thanks and returned respect.

“Now then,” the Commander signaled for the troops to regroup into previous formation, “While we have mages among our ranks, many of you would not find the maneuvers performed by Ser Dorian particularly useful, unless you plan on fighting nonlethally.” A quiet chuckle simmered through the troops.

“For the majority of your sakes, I will have my associate Cassandra help me with your training. I warn you, she is a stickler for form. And rightfully so, as it could mean your life…”

The rest of training went by with little incident, other than the occasional calling out and embarrassing of inept recruits. And by the end of the session, nearing lunch, everyone was exhausted.

As the mass headed off for the dining hall, dismissed reluctantly by the Lady Seeker, Dorian saw from the corner of his eye the Commander and Seeker talking in hushed voices, glancing occasionally in his direction.

I’ll speak with him, he made out from the Commander’s lip movements. After nodding and donning a linen shirt, Dorian watched from his peripheral vision as the blond closed in on him.

“Ser Dorian,” he placed a light hand on the mage’s shoulder, “Could I speak with you a moment?”

Dorian acted surprised, even going so far as to ask, “Am I in some sort of trouble?”

The Commander chuckled, “Not at all. Performing well in front of your peers in nothing to be punished for. However, on the topic of your performance, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Dorian’s breath hitched. Kaffas, they’re getting suspicious, he thought to himself, trying not to appear alarmed.

The Commander led him away from the hungry glob of languid recruits and in the direction of a more private location, beginning to ask several questions along the way.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, where did you learn to fight with a staff?” he asked nonchalantly, hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner.

“I went to a very prestigious academy; one where our days were filled with nothing but magical and alchemical training. More general teachings—reading, writing, arithmetic—were expected to be taught in the household between school hours.” Dorian explained, leaving out any details that could be traced to Tevinter.

The Commander nodded, humming in understanding before asking, “In Orlais? I read in your recruitment form you were born and raised there.”

“Indeed,” Dorian knew quite a bit about Orlais, and spoke a bit of Orlesian, so he supposed he could continue this lie rather well. “I was lucky to be born to a noble family.”

“I’ve never heard of the Rider family.” The Commander stated bluntly, making Dorian’s heart jump a little.

“Well,” he began, spinning a believable story in his head, “we were unfortunately, when I was rather young, stripped of our finances by a business partner who ran off with my parents’ money. The rest appears to be history.”

The Commander narrowed his eyes, taking Dorian up and down once again. “I prefer my history well documented.”

Before Dorian could comment, a runner jogged toward them, handing off a stack of papers.

“Commander! New reports for you, Ser. Spymaster says they’re not urgent, but could be useful.”

The blond sighed and skimmed several of the papers, a lock of frazzled hair falling in front of his face. He rolled his eyes, handing the papers back to the runner, “Useful seems an over statement. Jim, take these to my office and tell Leliana, respectfully, this matter is a waste of my time.”

The runner nervously nodded, jogging off from whence he came. The Commander sighed and pressed his thumb to the bridge of his nose as he thought aloud quietly, “I am not the negotiator, that is Josephine’s job and it should remain her job if we are all to stay sane…”

He dropped his hand after a moment with a deep sigh before turning to Dorian. “I apologize, Ser Dorian, but I’ve work to do before the next bout of training. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly, Commander…?” Dorian waited for a reply.

“Cullen. Always Commander Cullen, of course.”

“Of course,” Dorian agreed. “Until this afternoon, Commander Cullen.” He gave a graceful bow, the Commander simply ducking his head slightly in acknowledgement before they parted ways.

__________

Dorian tossed and turned that night, nerves and nightmares drilling deep into his conscience. He woke with a start, finding his fellow troops all still asleep, gentle blue moonlight shining through the slit of a window. Determined to clear his mind and be able to go back to sleep before training that morning, Dorian set off for the battlements.

After climbing the steps, passing the few troops on night watch, Dorian found a good spot to clear his head, out of the path of patrolling guards. He leaned against the stone wall and hung his head over, propping himself up on his elbows. He sighed, hoping his nerves would leave with his breath and leave him his confident self once again. But the worry continued; worry about being found out, about being dragged back home, about dying a face in the crowd, no one knowing him for what he wanted to stand for. A man against the fear mongering of his homeland, a man against the all-ruling wants of the Imperium, the good Tevinter.

But above all else, he worried about dying before he could prove to himself that he deserved all that recognition.

Just as the feeling of existentialism began to consume him, he heard a sudden voice from behind him, gentle and light. Soft, in a way.

“Shouldn’t you be getting some rest? You trained hard yesterday, you deserve it.”

Dorian jumped and turned to see the person speaking to him. He found the Commander, once again in linens, leaning in the doorway to what Dorian assumed was his office.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your brooding,” Cullen said apologetically, coming to lean against the battlement walls as well. “I heard walking around out here, and the guards don’t patrol this close to my office. I thought maybe there was trouble. Was I correct?”

Dorian smiled gently, looking out over the mountains again, “If I’m deserving of a rest, you are far beyond deserving. Letting recruits wail on you for hours? You must be tired.”

Cullen took a deep breath, letting it out as he spoke, “They don’t know nearly enough to have actually done any damage. I’ve certainly taken worse.”

They stayed silent for a moment before Cullen spoke again, “But you didn’t answer me.”

Dorian looked at him curiously.

“Is there trouble?”

Dorian chuckled, letting out a breathy laugh and ducking his head. “No, I’m just a bit sleepless. It’s nothing new, nothing I can’t cope with.”

Cullen nodded, quiet for a moment, before saying, “With all due respect, Ser Dorian, I don’t believe you.”

Those were not words Dorian needed to hear. They only added to his nervousness over being found out. He wanted to get out of there, quickly. “I suppose I should head off then, back to bed. Don’t want to be late for morning training again.”

“There’s no curfew, you know. Well, the tavern closes an hour after sunset, but there’s no rule saying you can’t wander the grounds.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to continue, still poised to walk away.

“Would you mind if we talked a moment?” Cullen asked innocently, gesturing to his office.

Dorian reluctantly entered the Commander’s office and took a seat.

“Our ambassador looked into your ‘noble family’, by the way.” Cullen uttered as he closed the door, sauntering over to his desk and pulling Dorian’s recruitment form out to place in front of the mage.

He was fucked, he knew it. They found out who he really was and they were going to assume he was a Venatori spy, interrogate him for information, maybe even kill him.

“Only noble Rider family in Orlais was over two hundred years ago and they died out from inherited illness. So…” Cullen lowered himself into his seat, propping his elbows on the desk and placing his head on his wound hands, “Why did you lie?”

Dorian looked through the papers in front of him; his recruitment form, his payment contract, the information dug up on the Riders, but found nothing about his true identity. Did they not figure out who he really was? Was Cullen keeping the information from him to catch him in another lie? Dorian took a deep breath before testing his luck.

“I was staying with an old friend of mine in the Hinterlands when your recruiters came knocking. My friend manages her land all on her own—it isn’t much, but she’s not as spry as younger folk—and I came to help her. The recruiters were insistent that she ‘volunteer’ or that she sign for a draft. Obviously, she can’t leave her crops and animals to parish, so I offered to go in her place, on behalf of her household.”

Dorian held his breath, waiting for Cullen to react.

The blond took a breath before restating, “Your friend is older and you wanted to make sure she wouldn’t lose her land by being drafted?”

Dorian nodded, still barely breathing.

Cullen pursed his lips and slowly bobbed his head, glancing back down to Dorian’s papers.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, “My recruiters were trying to force her to volunteer? Or sign for the draft? That goes against their orders, which are, simply, to spread the word of our cause and take those who volunteer for a draft, if necessary, or to join the ranks.”

Dorian let out his breath, slowly as to not let on how truly relieved he was. Cullen had not only accepted his story, but truly seemed to believe it. Not all of it was a lie, in fact most of it was true, if not laid in truth.

“Let me ask next, did you give us her name when volunteering? Or some other alias?” Cullen raised his brows like a disappointed parent catching their child in a lie.

Dorian knew giving his real name would give him away and possibly get him killed, so he instead continued the lie. “No, my name is Dorian Rider, however I don’t believe there’s any relation to the Orlesian family. As far as I know, my roots are in Antiva. However, I do not know much about my heritage. My family…” He cringed at the little truth he was about to slip in, “My family disowned me for not following their life plans for me. I only know where my parents were born.”

Cullen’s eyes went soft, emotion slipping through his interrogation mask. “I…I am truly sorry. That’s something I’ve been lucky enough to never have experienced. I won’t press the matter.”

Dorian nodded in thanks, his heart finally settling.

“While your intent was in good standing,” Cullen said, running his hands through his natural curls, “I must still report this as misconduct. You could have worse; I’m going rather easy on you for this sort of misdemeanor. I expect I will not regret my decision, Ser Dorian?”

Dorian nodded, just relieved the whole confrontation was over.

“Good, then I believe everything is settled,” Cullen stated, leading Dorian to the door.

As Dorian began to hurry off, Cullen called after him, “And Ser Dorian!”

Dorian turned to listen.

“I said while sparring I would not go so far as to say I was impressed with your performance. It seems I told a bit of a lie myself.”

Cullen gave a knowing look before closing the door to his office.

__________

After several days of following a simple routine—getting up at the arse-crack of dawn, training for the morning, eating lunch, then training until sundown—Dorian began to feel comfortable with his new surroundings. Since his impressive display sparring with the Commander, people had begun to respect him, addressing him politely as he passed, even if Dorian was hardly their acquaintance. He felt good, confident in himself once again, and sure his secret was completely safe.

As he wandered the courtyard, clearing his mind after a lackluster lunch with the other recruits, Dorian noticed an elf with a powerful stance, Dalish markings on his skin, approaching him with purpose in his step.

“Dorian Rider, yes? I’ve heard much about you from your fellow troops; and our Commander himself.”

“Inquisitor!” Dorian suddenly realized, only having seen the man from a distance before now, “It’s an honor. And I’m happy to have good things said about me.” He bowed, low and respectful.

The elf scoffed, “Please, enough with the formalities. I was hoping to speak with you, if I could.” He gestured forward, in the direction of the main hall.

“Of course,” Dorian answered as he followed, only a slight nervousness rising in his chest.

When they arrived in the hall, few people occupying the echoing space, the Inquisitor began to ask, “From all I’ve seen and heard, you have quite a talent for magic and fighting. While all mages are technically apostates now, I understand you were an apostate before all the in-fighting broke out. Is that correct?”

Dorian nodded, thinking he knew where this was going. “I was indeed. While I won’t claim to be better than a Circle mage, I do believe I had the opportunity to learn many magic forms the Chantry might frown on. Excluding blood magic, of course. A disgusting use of power.” Dorian shuddered slightly, remembering its uses in Tevinter politics.

“Absolutely. You seem an upstanding man, one who would not abuse the privilege of living outside the Circle.” The Inquisitor sauntered slowly toward a door at the side of the hall, pushing it open and beckoning Dorian through. Dorian obliged, waiting in the short corridor before holding the second door open for the elf.

“Among my people blood magic is considered savage and unnatural, as many others feel, Circle mage or no. While I believe the Circle has a place, I do not believe it is to control or constrict mages, but to teach them and help them learn to control themselves and their own power. From what Commander Cullen has told me about Kirkwall, I think the Circle has driven more mages to consider dark magicks as a means to escape. Horrifying things they may never have even conceived of if given more freedom.”

The elf seemed oddly adamant for a non-mage, making Dorian slightly suspicious as to where the conversation was headed. But as the Inquisitor led them to a massive room with a massive map table, Dorian felt there would be no trouble today.

Several men stood behind the map table, some Dorian recognized as the Inquisitor’s associates, and others he’d seen around Skyhold with no context as to who they were.

“I’d like to introduce you to some of my most trusted members and friends of the Inquisition.” The elf gestured forward with a sweeping motion, triggering everyone to bow their heads and smile.

“Firstly, Solas, who has been with us from the beginning, helping me cope with the Anchor and studying its power.”

The tall slender elf smiled softly, “It is a pleasure, Ser Dorian.”

“Secondly—of course you know him—our Commander, Cullen, leader of our forces, ex-Templar, currently slowly dying from lyrium withdrawal he never told me about.” The Inquisitor eyed him angrily as the Commander gave a sheepish smile, muttering some sort of apology.

“And of course, the roguish duo of Varric and his little shadow Cole.”

The Dwarf waved as he continued to tune up his crossbow, saying casually, “Good to meet you, pretty boy.”

The young man behind him, on the other hand, looked Dorian curiously in the eyes before uttering, “You’re different inside your head: lacking, loathing, lonely; soft words never enough, but harsh words too harsh to heal.”

Dorian gave the Inquisitor a side glance, eyes wide with surprise. “Um, yeah. He does…that.” The Inquisitor apologized.

Dorian nodded tentatively to each of them before saying quietly to the Inquisitor, “While it’s lovely to meet everyone, I’m not quite sure I understand what this is about.”

The elf chuckled as he approached the war table and walked around to join his colleagues on the other side. “I, Eridan Levellan, would like to personally induct you into my inner circle, to join me and my allies—and closest friends—in the monumental task of keeping the Inquisition afloat and keeping our allies, and prospective allies, satisfied and compliant.”

Dorian’s jaw fell open in shock, meaning to say something, but at a loss for words.

The Inquisitor laughed again, “Allow me to explain my reasoning: Cullen and Cassandra told me about your skill with fighting and magic after your first display, and have kept me up to date on your progress and ability as it’s been relieved to us through your training. While I am incredibly glad to have you among our forces, I think your skill could be better put to use in the field, when it’s just me and a small group out and about.”

He pulled Cole and Varric into his side, arms around their shoulders and a hand on Solas’s arm as he stated, “While I have other members in my inner circle, these three are the ones who most often join me on my personal missions. Providing immediate aid, closing rifts, dealing with people’s weird family problems in exchange for supplies and alliance—we see it all, and it’s all dangerous. I think I could use someone with your talent out with me, watching my back!”

The short, and surprisingly stocky elf seemed incredibly excited about the concept, raising his eyebrows to question Dorian, imploring him to accept the offer.

When Dorian hesitated, Solas spoke up, voice soft and reassuring, “If I am to have an opinion in the matter, I would be delighted to work with another mage interested in the magicks not taught within any Circle. As an apostate myself, I chose to study spirits and ancient magicks, finding lost pieces of history in the fade as I dreamt. Many mages from the Circle believe this means I have made pacts with demons, and explaining my innocent intentions becomes tiresome. I, for one, would welcome the addition of a like minded apostate into our ranks.”

“The only apostate I ever met escaped from the Circle and it’s all he ever talked about. ‘Templars this, rebellion that.’ Had an insane spirit living in him, too. I’d like to spend time with less crazy mages,” Varric chimed in.

“You think about acceptance, but have never come to expect it. I’ve seen the dangers, lived with them. If that’s acceptance, I would have to change for it. Would I be myself after that?...” Cole was suddenly next to him, despite being under the Inquisitor’s arm only a second ago.

“Sweet Andra—! Can you not do that?” Dorian exclaimed, almost jumping away.

“Don’t mind him. He’s some kind of ‘good’ spirit. He doesn’t really understand boundaries.” The Inquisitor said, coming around the war table to pull Cole away by the wrist.

Cullen’s voice, the softest of everyone’s, gained Dorian’s attention immediately, “As the one who recommended this to begin with, I of course think you should accept. You have a wonderful talent that I can’t use among my troops. It seems a pity to waste it under my command.” He gave an encouraging smile, making Dorian’s mind up instantly.

“Inquisitor, it would be an honor to be part of your inner circle. I accept.”

The Inquisitor practically cheered, ushering everyone out so he could explain what would be expected of Dorian. Dorian listened intently, making sure to joke with the elf to gain his trust and form a feeling of comradery.

After stepping out of the war room, Dorian found Cullen waiting for him, leaning against the ambassador’s empty desk, standing upright when Dorian entered the room.

“I’m happy to hear you’ll be traveling with the Inquisitor from now on. As I said before, I truly think your skills will be better suited in the field.” Cullen extended his hand to offer congratulations.

Dorian took it in a confident grasp, giving a single solid shake. “I appreciate the referral. I’m certain it will surprise you to hear, but not many people appreciate my efforts.”

Cullen chuckled, “I can certainly relate; there have been times in my life where I felt the same. Looking back…” the Commander trailed off slightly, “Well, I’m not so certain anymore that my efforts deserved to be appreciated.”

“I assume you mean your time as a Templar?”

The blond sighed, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, “Yes. I followed faithfully, but I realize now I was not following the right path.”

Dorian smiled, understanding completely, “Believe me, Commander, I know the feeling.”

They were both quiet for a moment before Cullen asked, shyly, “Would you mind if I asked…?”

“My family. What my family had planned for me, for the rest of my life. I followed as faithfully as I could until…” Dorian looked at his feet, eyes full of pain, trying to avoid Cullen noticing. “Until I was older and understood what they expected of me. After I dared to defy them one too many times…”

Dorian stopped. He couldn’t say anymore. Yes, it might give him away, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t speak. He knew, he remembered what his father was willing to do to change his preferences, and it hurt too much to say out loud. The man he thought had his best interests at heart turned out to only care about himself. Saying it out loud was like admitting a truth Dorian didn’t want to accept.

Cullen tried to look him in the eyes, touching his hand ever so gently to gain his attention. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright, I’m learning to accept it. It just…isn’t fun to talk about.” Dorian gave a pained smile.

Cullen sighed, dropping his hand from Dorian’s in favor of rubbing at his neck again, “I know. One’s past shapes who they are and who they become. Sometimes it’s difficult to accept who you were…”

Dorian saw the familiarity in Cullen’s gaze—distant and unsure—and heard the regret in his tone, but decided not to push the matter.

“Or, uh, who your parents were, I mean. I-I’m sure you’ve always been this wonderful. A wonderful person, that is! Good, uh, good moral standing, and all that.” Cullen’s face was very quickly getting red as he tried to avoid eye contact and stutter through his explanation.

Dorian chuckled, taking pity on the blond. “I understood what you meant, Commander, no worries.”

“Cullen.”

“Pardon?”

The Commander looked up suddenly, looking directly into Dorian’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed before that they were nearly gold. “Call me Cullen. You’re no longer under my command, so please: just Cullen.” He smiled so genuinely that Dorian almost forgot to respond.

“Oh, yes, well…” he laughed a little more to fill the silence as he thought. “I suppose I like the title. It suits you.”

Cullen smiled sheepishly, the blush coming back, less strong this time. “As you wish, Ser Dorian.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, shifting his weight to a more casual stance, finally feeling comfortable, “Now you’re just teasing me.”

Cullen poorly faked a look of offence, “Tease? Never!”

“Mm, you should work on your poker face, Commander.” Dorian couldn’t help but smile a bit.

Cullen laughed with him before the two fell silent again, neither wanting to leave, but neither knowing what to say.

“I…I wanted to ask a while ago, but I didn’t want the other recruits to think I was giving you special treatment: would you care to continue sparring when neither of us is busy? As odd as it may sound, I enjoyed the challenge.” Cullen seemed to be looking anywhere but ahead, avoiding Dorian’s eyes.

Dorian grinned, also avoiding eye contact, feeling like a childish school boy dodging around outright flirting with one another. “I would like that, actually.”

The two agreed on a time and place, and parted ways for the rest of the day. Dorian wandered a while until he saw the Inquisitor again, casually asking about continuing to sleep in the barracks.

“Oh! We can find you more private quarters if you like. I certainly wouldn’t want to live with a bunch of other people if I didn’t have to. Talk to Josephine, our Ambassador; she’ll find an open room for you.”

And so Dorian did, and by the end of the day, he had moved his belongings to a small—but comfortable—room with a view of the tavern and gardens. Right off the side of the main hall, and up a few flights of stairs, Dorian’s door opened to a balcony where he could see everything. While he knew these rooms were meant for visiting guests, and it may not be a permanent living situation, he had to admit it felt good to have his own space again. He did what had to be done to survive—slept in inns, travelers’ camps, worked odd jobs before finding Miss Ella’s farm— but it certainly wasn’t the lifestyle he was used to.

But that lifestyle was far out of reach now. As he sat on the edge of his new bed, mindlessly sorting his collection of magical trinkets, he wondered if life would have been better if he went along with his family’s plan to begin with. Marry the girl, have another mage son, continue living a lie for the rest of his life. He often told himself it would have been easier, but that wasn’t true. How could it be easy to deny your true self for your entire life? How could it be easy to force yourself to have sex with someone you could never be attracted to until you finally had a child?

How could it be easier than leaving everything you’ve ever known behind? That was difficult enough on its own.

“I don’t know;” he thought aloud, “how could it be harder?”

“Harder?”

Dorian jumped, conjuring a small flame in his palm on instinct, letting it fizzle as he saw the Commander in the doorway, leaning casually on the doorframe.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Cullen said, extending his hand out as he carefully approached, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought I would come see how you were adjusting. All this, it must be a bit of a transition.”

Dorian’s palm quickly cooled as he let out a long breath, slowly calming down from the scare. “It certainly is. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it seems so sudden. Too sudden.”

Cullen chuckled, “I’d say you’ve earned it. But of course I would, I made the suggestion. How do you feel about it all?” he cocked his head on a slight angle, like a curious dog.

Dorian gestured for the Commander to sit next to him, the blond taking a tentative seat. “It’s odd. Coming here the way I did. Knowing what I came from—money, power, having to exceed expectations if you wanted to get anywhere in life…it was so stressful, and running away from it all was so stressful. And now…”

Dorian turned his head to see Cullen’s innocent golden eyes filled with understanding, knowing just as well what it was like to run from the only life you’d ever known. He found himself entranced, forgetting everything as he lost himself in wisdom-filled, pained eyes that reminded him of his own, a tired glaze darkening the once bright shine of hope they held years ago.

“And now?” Cullen repeated, hardly voicing the words.

The moment felt so intimate; the bed was somewhat small, so they were seated close, leaning toward each other. Cullen’s hand was pressed to the bed to support him as he leaned, placed right behind Dorian. It almost felt like they were embraced without touching each other. He felt comfortable, so comfortable he couldn’t even bring himself to question what was happening. So he simply let the moment linger. It didn’t feel awkward, it didn’t feel drawn out. It just felt…comfortable.

It seemed like an eternity before Cullen’s leg gently bumped his, the blond letting the tips of his fingers rest on Dorian’s thigh. He wasn’t sure what the intent of the action was, but it only made Dorian lose himself more. At first he was just lost in the ex-Templar’s eyes. Now he could see the entirety of him, inside and out. And after scanning over his body, Dorian’s eyes locked on to the blond’s lips. The room froze, time froze. Dorian saw Cullen’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed harshly, obviously wanting more than just Dorian’s eyes on his lips.

Dorian let himself move closer, just a bit, and Cullen did the same.

“And now,” Dorian’s voice was somewhere below a whisper, “things almost feel easy.”

“They could be,” Cullen’s voice was even, giving nothing away. Dorian wished there was some sort of hoarseness, wobbliness, something in his voice that made it clear what was happening here.

But Dorian wasn’t sure. He needed to be certain before he outed himself here. In Ferelden, in the Inquisition, in this moment with Cullen. He needed to be certain.

So he backed off, leaning away again and closing his eyes. He heard the Commander sigh next to him and clear his throat, shifting away.

“You sound like you have a lot on your mind,” Cullen sounded disappointed, but by this point Dorian had already convinced himself not taking a chance was the better course of action.

“I can leave you with your thoughts, if you like?”

“For now,” Dorian sighed, “That might be best.”

Cullen nodded, standing and heading for the door. “Until tomorrow?” he asked, audibly confused about their situation.

Dorian smiled gently, “Until tomorrow, Commander.”

__________

Dorian slept only a few hours that night, anxious and almost excited for Cullen and his appointment. He wore something more or less appropriate for sparring, forgoing his Inquisition sanctioned armor in favor of his own. It fit his form in a much more flattering way, and the magical embellishments made it more practical as well. He had a bounce to his step as he exited his room, using his staff halfheartedly like a walking stick as he went.

Before he reached the training grounds, Dorian took the time to admire how empty Skyhold felt. There were a few soldiers on the battlement, tired runners getting back from late errands, even two recruits who thought they were being stealthy while stealing a bottle of ale from the closed tavern. They noticed him, swearing as they sprinted off into the bushes to enjoy their find, and Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle at their youthful behavior.

He felt content. Things were going well. He knew he shouldn’t let his guard down, but Dorian couldn’t force himself to be paranoid in this peaceful moment an hour before dawn. He looked to the sky to see the scar and the moon almost perfectly aligned, about halfway set. He had time.

Just as he took a deep breath, a gentle voice barely rocked him.

“Fancy meeting you here. Any reason you’re up so early?”

Dorian turned to see Cullen with a smirk on his lips and still in full armor, despite normally dressing down to train and spar.

“I believe we had a date, Commander. It appears you may have forgotten, from your dress.” Dorian let Cullen notice as he purposefully drug his gaze over the blond’s physic, deciding against licking his lips. What about the wee hours of the morning made Dorian so openly flirtatious, he would never know. Even when it came to men who otherwise wouldn’t be his first choice, Dorian was always more open minded at the early hours.

Cullen raised a brow under the sensual scrutiny, “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. And I could say the same for you, in your…intricate attire.” He dropped his sword and shield next to him on the ground as he began to remove his upper armor, leaving his boots and trousers alone.

“Oh, do you like it? I would have brought it out sooner if we weren’t made to wear uniforms under your command. Boring, ugly uniforms.” Dorian shuddered dramatically.

Cullen shook his head and smirked as he loosely held his weapons, now shirtless and prepared to spar. “I didn’t assign those uniforms, you can take that up with the Inquisitor. However, I doubt your armor would be very practical when rushing into battle. Too many belts.” He eyed Dorian’s armor, trying to figure out how it worked.

Dorian adopted a pose to show quite a bit of his body, showing himself and the armor off at once. “It’s not nearly as complicated as it looks.” Stated matter-of-factly, before dipping his voice to a more sultry tone, “I could show you if you like. With practice, you could become quite proficient. It doesn’t take me much time to strip out of it all.”

His eyes were lidded as he watched Cullen. The Commander’s expression hardly changed as he said, oh so quietly as usual, “Perhaps I’ll keep that in mind.”

He hadn’t hesitated with his response, and Dorian found himself caught off guard at Cullen’s boldness. Maybe the morning hours had an effect on him as well.

“Well then,” he said, squaring up to Dorian, “How shall we start?”

Dorian followed his lead, “Magic or no magic?”

“None yet. I haven’t had to defend against magic without my—what did you call them? ‘Little Templar tricks’?—in quite some time. I don’t want either of us to get hurt. Perhaps when we have some supervision.”

Dorian sighed and said in an overly exasperated tone, “Shame; I was rather hoping these would be…private sessions.” He winked.

Cullen’s face heated, but it didn’t stop him from responding, “Out in the courtyard? This is hardly private. Now, if you ever show me how to work that ‘armor’ of yours; that I’d consider a private session.”

The morning was chilly, dew freezing on to the grass, but it was warm enough that Dorian should not have visibly shivered. He couldn’t pull any excuse when Cullen noticed. It was obvious what was happening. The blond smirked at him, Dorian trying not to think about the effect Cullen’s flirtations had on him. Not here, and certainly not now. Dorian had designed his armor himself, and liked that it fit in a way that left few things to the imagination, but if this sparring session got a little too handsy, Dorian may be wishing he had worn the Inquisition’s armor instead.

Thankfully, Cullen didn’t mention Dorian’s reaction, and simply started their training, leading with the initial blow as always. Dorian could dodge and throw up wards like there was no tomorrow, but he wanted to train his defense, not just evasion. So he used his staff to block and parry Cullen’s attacks, focusing his mind on observing his opponent, just as Cullen had been telling him to.

Before long, Dorian was focusing less and less on Cullen’s form, attack patterns, or eye line, and more on his body, movement, and gaze.

His eyes seemed sharp, knowing exactly where he wanted to land a blow. His body was under full control, every muscle accounted for and flowing to where his gaze wanted them. He moved with such grace for a warrior; surprisingly loose and agile for all his heavy armor and muscle build.

Dorian had continued to successfully dodge and defend while in his trance, but he hadn’t been holding his ground very well, slowly backing up and losing awareness of where his feet were.

Inevitably, his foot landed on uneven ground and he slipped. But long before he would have hit the ground, Cullen wrapped his arm around the mage’s waist and pulled him back up, their chests flush.

Dorian was tense, not even having realized he’d been falling until Cullen pulled him back. He returned from his thoughts when he heard Cullen’s voice say with an incredible tenderness, “I’ve got you.”

“You certainly have…”

Cullen cocked a brow, gentle smile still donned, as he waited for Dorian to make a move. He wasn’t letting go until Dorian told him to, and Dorian finally had the confirmation he needed to take the risk of making said move. His body relaxed against the Commander’s as he let his arms slide between them, nimble fingers tracing up Cullen’s marred chest. Dorian let his hands rest on either side of the blond’s neck, slowly pulling him forward to let their lips meet.

But just as their lips brushed together, they heard footsteps skid to a halt in front of them.

Cullen sighed and turned his head, growling with frustration, “What!?”

The troop looked stunned, having only just realized what she walked up on. When she failed to answer, the Commander let go of Dorian’s waist and marched slowly, intimidatingly toward the recruit, nostrils flared and steps heavy. The young woman backed away with her hands close to her face as if Cullen might actually hurt her. Dorian couldn’t blame her for thinking he might; the blond certainly wasn’t calm.

“I-I’m so sorry Ser, I just w-wanted to be e-early—”

“What do you think the bells are for? So you can wake up before them? If you showed up to battle early, do you know what would happen?”

“I don’t—”

“It would be you against an army, with your fellow soldiers miles behind you. You would be dead before you even had time to scream.”

The poor girl was shaking by this point, trying to stutter an apology through wobbly breath.

Cullen closed his eyes tightly, grumbling as he pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “While I appreciate your incentive,” he began after he calmed down, “I expect you all here exactly when I say. Not a second later, nor a second sooner. Don’t be early, be on time.”

He looked apologetically to the girl as she continued to quiver. Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around, gently prodding her back toward the barracks. She walked off slowly, still in shock.

Dorian smiled and shook his head, arms crossed, as Cullen sauntered back over to him with an embarrassed blush, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“That poor young woman is going to have nightmares” Dorian looked at Cullen accusingly, but he couldn’t help smiling at how ridiculous the whole situation was.

“I’m going to have to apologize to her later. I think I ruined the moment more than her seeing us did.” Cullen’s blush reached from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck and to the bottom of his collarbone.

Dorian chuckled and stepped closer to Cullen again, placing a hand on his cheek only to be greeted with the heat of his blush. “Perhaps we can bring it back before the bells. Unless you’d like to frighten a few more of your troops this morning? Show them who’s boss, etcetera?”

Cullen scoffed a little, but he was smiling. How could he not be, when Dorian was gently caressing his face and coaxing him into a kiss? He replaced his hand on Dorian’s waist and pressed against him, the mage pulling Cullen in tighter by the biceps.

And, finally, their lips met. Dorian meant for it to be rather chaste, leaving Cullen wanting more, but he couldn’t pull himself away. It wasn’t the same kiss he had gotten a hundred times in Tevinter. It wasn’t a formality during a loveless night together. This kiss was warm and soft, tender and compassionate, much like the man giving it.

Dorian’s hands slid up Cullen’s arms to hold his neck firmly, for fear the blond might pull away before Dorian had gotten the chance to relish the kiss. Cullen let his shield clatter to the ground, wrapping both arms tightly around the mage, hands splayed across his back, trying to feel through the armor. For a moment, Dorian considered removing the upper portion of his armor, so the two could be skin to skin, and he could feel Cullen’s callused hands up and down his back. By the Maker, that’s all he wanted in the moment, but he forced himself to save the stripping for somewhere other than the training grounds.

It almost felt like it lasted for hours by the intensity and the way the sun had risen over the fortress walls in the meantime. What finally broke the kiss was the striking ringing of the morning bells sounding Skyhold to wake up. Both men jumped at the sound, completely forgetting their surroundings while locked in each other’s embrace.

Dorian’s surprised eyes locked with Cullen’s with a matching expression, and both couldn’t help but laugh at their reaction. Cullen’s arms were still around Dorian’s waist, and Dorian’s draped over the Commander’s shoulders comfortably. It wasn’t until the men caught a glimpse of approaching grounds keepers that their embrace fell away, standing back awkwardly from one another before they were discovered.

“I…”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, waiting for Dorian to say something, because he was too stunned to do it himself.

“Thank you. For the sparring, that is. I…enjoyed it.” Dorian didn’t want to believe he was blushing, but he knew blood was rushing to his face.

Cullen smiled, only extending his hand in response. Dorian took Cullen’s hand in a firm grasp, giving a single solid shake. They stared at one another for a moment before Cullen stepped forward, his hold becoming gentle and soft. Eyes still locked with Dorian’s, he pressed a lasting kiss to the back of the man’s hand, the gesture holding more emotion than Dorian knew how to respond to. So, instead, he just smiled and ducked his head.

“So did I.” Cullen said lightly bringing their entwined hands away from his lips.

__________

His mind was in shambles, there was no way he could focus with his heart and head racing like this. Adrenaline had his hands shaking and his legs restless, so he paced. And paced and paced, around the room like it was a stage and all his anxiety and fears were the actors in a play.

But all these were real. Far too real for comfort.

Dorian exasperatedly threw open his door, rushing to the tavern to drown his panic attack away. As he walked—it was more of a jog, if he was honest—he wondered if there was really any reason to be anxious. Had anyone even seen him snogging the Commander? Would it be as scandalous in Ferelden as in Tevinter? While he doubted it, his anxious mind was having none of his logic.

When he entered the Herald’s Rest, it was fairly loud, the Inquisitor and Bull getting rowdy with the Chargers and a few stray recruits. Good, plenty of noise to drown out his thoughts.

Dorian grabbed a seat and a drink and proceeded to drink his feelings.

He hadn’t been counting, but it must have been an hour after he started drinking—and seven drinks in; he had been counting those—before a large and gruff hand smacked him playfully on the shoulder. Dorian jumped, turning quickly and narrowing his eyes. As he looked up, he saw a massive rack of Qunari horns and muscle looming over him, tankard in hand and bare chested.

“How’s it going? You’re that mage who kicked Cullen’s ass, yeah?” he lowered into a chair across the table.

“Is that how the story’s been spun?” Dorian’s words were melding together as he swirled his drink around in its mug.

“Might as well go with it,” the Oxman shrugged. “Better than being known as the undercover Vint, right?”

Dorian immediately sobered, back straightening and voice dropping low. “Who are you? What do you know and what do you want?”

Bull raised his brow, “Not even denying it? I’m guessing you aren’t normally this careless when you’re sober. Don’t think you would have made it this far.”

“Answer me,” Dorian growled through clenched teeth.

Smiling, Bull leaned his beefy arms on the table, dropping his tone as well. “I’m Ben Hassrath. Don’t worry, it’s no secret, actually I think that’s the first thing I said to the Inquisitor,” Bull cleared his throat and adjusted to lean even farther across the table, “It’s my job to read people, know things they would never admit by just looking at them. Besides, you really don’t think a Qunari would recognize a Vint when he sees one?”

Dorian couldn’t think straight; the way Bull talked quietly felt as if he didn’t want to out anything, but why would he bring this up in the first place if he was going to keep it a secret?

“I can pay whatever you want, I come from a very wealthy family. Just name your price and I’ll—”

Bull held up a hand to stop him, “Yeah, your family might be rich, but you’re not, are you? You ran off with the clothes on your back and something expensive to sell, just in case. Isn’t that right?”

Dorian’s mouth hung open as he tried to process the information, the fact that Bull was hitting every nail on the head with no more information than what he could see on Dorian’s face.

“That’s what I thought. And don’t worry, I don’t need you to pay me. I know you’re not Venatori, just a regular cocky mage boy. You won’t hurt anyone, not on purpose anyway.” He leaned back, crossing his arms in triumph, watching as realization washed over Dorian’s face.

“You’re not going to tell the Inquisitor? Or the Inquisition as a whole?”

Bull shrugged, downing the last of his ale, “No point. You’re keeping this a secret for a reason, and it’s a pretty good one. It’s probably what I would do in your shoes.”

Dorian took a moment, then shook his head, “But…you were in my situation. And you told them who you really are.”

Laughter echoed around the tavern as Bull belted out, “Oh, I guess I did, didn’t I?” He let the last of the laughter trickle out in several smaller huffs. “Well, at least the whole world isn’t at war with the Qunari.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “For once,” he muttered.

Bull sneered at him, “Watch it, Vint boy.”

Dorian sighed a breath of relief, hanging his head in his hands. He had no reason to trust Bull would keep his word, but for now it was enough.

After a moment of relative silence—as silent as it can get in a tavern after dark—Dorian heard the chair across from him creak as Bull leaned forward again.

“So, uh…I can see you have a lot on your mind. Think I could help clear your head a bit?”

Dorian looked up in near disgust. He wasn’t sure it was genuine, more just to keep up the Qunari-Tevinter feud. “I think not.”

Bull shrugged and stood, sauntering back to his Chargers. “Suit yourself. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

While Dorian had to admit he was curious, he was far too enamored with the Commander, thinking back over and over on their moment in the courtyard that morning.

__________

Paranoia had filled his bones for days, taking over his thoughts and actions. He wanted nothing more than to be alone, do as little as possible that could draw suspicion. He separated himself from the troops, the inner circle, the Inquisitor. Bull, especially.

And he tried to separate himself from Cullen, a major source of his anxiety. But every time he saw the blond walking toward him, with a sweet crooked smile that acknowledged their mutual feelings without bringing them to the forefront of conversation, Dorian could feel his shoulders relax and his mind declutter.

And, of course, it happened again. As Dorian trained in the courtyard, he could see the Commander’s infamous armor out of the corner of his eye. He just stood, watched as Dorian put his magic on display, not necessarily trying to impress anyone, but being impressive nonetheless.

At that point, Dorian was finding it hard to tell if Cullen was watching him out of adoration or suspicion. In an attempt to hide his nerves, Dorian ceased his casting and gave Cullen an exaggerated side glance.

“Enjoying the show, Commander?” He shifted his weight to one hip as he poked his staff into the ground.

Cullen raised his brows innocently, “Show? I was just admiring your form. A natural gift, I’m sure.”

Dorian strode up to where Cullen was leaning against a wall, “My form, he says.” He was tempted to run a hand down the blond’s chest, but chose not to out of fear of passersby noticing.

“I was simply studying how you move for the next time we spar, that’s all.” Cullen’s cheeks were ever so slightly pink.

Dorian grinned, “Is that all you were ‘studying’?” his voice was low and rumbly.

A few seconds passed before Cullen had to look away, his face turning bright red, unable to control a smile. Dorian had to give him props for how long the Commander managed to flirt back.

“I was actually here to ask if you had a bit of spare time,” Cullen’s blush slowly left his cheeks as he spoke, “but I figured I would wait until you were done.”

Dorian tilted his head a bit, “I might, depending on what for.”

“Chess.”

Was the conversation still flirtatious? Was “chess” a euphemism used in the south that Dorian wasn’t aware of?

“Chess?”

Cullen chuckled, “Yes, it’s something I like to do to clear my head, and you’ve seemed…full-headed, let’s say, as of late.”

Dorian huffed a laugh, “That would be one way to put it, yes.”

Cullen smiled and gestured to the garden, “Shall we, then?”

They didn’t say much as they walked to the garden, but Cullen began to explain as he pulled out Dorian’s chair for him, “My sister and I used to play chess against each other in hopes of beating our father one day.” He walked around to take his seat once Dorian was settled. “Eventually, she became even better at the game than Dad, so the new goal was for me to beat her. My brother and I practiced for months, hoping one of us would be able to beat her at least once. The look on her face when I finally won…”

The memory of triumph put the sweetest, most juvenile smile on Cullen’s scarred lips. Dorian couldn’t help but inquire, “A girl and two boys? Sounds like you parents had their work cut out for them.”

“Two girls and two boys, actually. Mia is the eldest, Rosalie is the youngest. I’m the older of us boys, however. Branson is a few years younger than me.”

Dorian scoffed with shock, “Quite a large family, isn’t it? And to think, I have no entertaining sibling stories to share.”

“Only child? You must have been spoiled, getting all the attention.” Cullen moved a piece on the board to start off the match.

Dorian gave a single harsh laugh. “Hardly; if my parents spent money on me, it was for my schooling. Only the most prestigious academies for their little heir.” Dorian rolled his eyes as he made his move, sitting back and crossing his arms after.

Cullen’s expression was so gentle and sympathetic. Dorian didn’t enjoy being pitied, but he knew Cullen wasn’t the type.

“Children should be free to have fun. It wasn’t fair of them to make you work so hard.”

Dorian felt a deep compressed anger bubble up before he said, “Children should be free to have fun, teenagers should be free to have fun, and I believe adults should be free to have fun. We should all just have fun with whomever we want and no one should have the right to judge us for it.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Dorian took a moment to calm down before looking back up to meet Cullen’s gaze. He seemed shocked and a little worried. Dorian looked at him expectantly with eyebrows raised.

“Uh, yes, I agree!” Cullen rushed to assure him, “I’m just not sure where that came from. Is that what’s been bothering you these past few days?”

Dorian sighed, “I suppose it’s part of it. That has been bothering me for most of my life, truthfully.”

The rest of the match was played in silence, Cullen only interjecting once to call Dorian out for cheating. They both laughed as Dorian replaced the affected piece, but they fell quiet again to finish the game.

“I believe that’s Checkmate.”

Dorian shook his head playfully, “You’re in the right line of work, it seems. Strategy is your forte. Good game, Commander.”

“And to you, Dorian. Care to play another round?”

As much as he was enjoying Cullen’s company, Dorian’s mind was tired from all his worrying—though this had been a good distraction—and he just needed to rest.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve things I wanted to get done today, I’m sorry.”

Cullen rose from his seat, “It’s no problem at all.”

Dorian rose as well, but neither went anywhere. They both just stood, looking softly at the other.

“Um…” Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck. “Could I walk you back to your quarters, then? Or wherever it is you’re headed.”

Dorian felt a flattered smile tease the corner of his lips. “I would like that, yes.”

On the steps up to the loft of the main hall, Dorian cleared his throat before speaking, “I apologize for my outburst earlier. I’ve just been thinking about my life back home recently.”

Cullen shook his head and placed a gentle hand on the mage’s back, “You have nothing to apologize for. I was hoping a game of chess would help clear your mind, so I was expecting you to vent a bit.”

At Dorian’s door Cullen added, “You know, you should feel free to talk to me. About anything. I said that when we first met, and it hasn’t changed just because you’re no longer under my command.”

As he stood in the doorway, Dorian glanced from Cullen to inside his room, wondering if he should act on their mutual attraction, or continue avoiding Cullen forever. How would Cullen be hurt if Dorian’s lies came to light? Not nearly as badly if they were just friends.

Dorian took a deep breath, “Maybe talking would help.”

Cullen smiled loosely.

“Or…” I’m really going through with this, aren’t I? “maybe not talking would help…”

Cullen’s smile fell away as he caught Dorian’s meaning. He didn’t make any move toward or away from Dorian, just like the first time he had been in his room. He simply said, in the quietest voice just above a whisper, “Whatever you’d like, I’m here.”

That was Dorian’s last chance to not do something stupid, but he ignored his racing heart. “I’d like you to come in.”

Cullen took a single stride into the room, closing the door and locking it behind them. He slowly closed the distance between them, placing caring hands on Dorian’s hips, waiting for more invitation.

Dorian let his hands glide up the armor on Cullen’s chest, watching his fingers draw closer to Cullen’s neck, the blond’s eyes studying his unsure expression all the while.

Just as skin met skin, Cullen whispered, “We don’t have to do this. No one’s making us. If you’re not certain—”

“I’m certain about you,” Dorian met his gaze, “I’m only uncertain about letting myself do this. I’ve fucked this up before, I don’t want to fuck it up with you.”

Cullen let out a pained sigh, gently taking Dorian's face in his hands and kissing him. How could something so soft be so intense all at once? Dorian dug his fingers into the fur mantle of Cullen’s armor, walking them backward toward the bed. With each step, a new article of clothing fell away, until they finally fell onto the bed in only their trousers. Cullen’s attention turned to the mage’s neck, Dorian biting his lip at the sensation.

Cullen’s kisses moved up and down and back up slowly and methodically, making Dorian arch off the bed ever so slightly with each touch, subtle noises escaping his lips. Cullen wrapped his tongue around the shell of Dorian’s ear, breathing heavy but quiet, “I can’t begin to tell you how you make me feel. I adore everything about you. I admire your confidence and how unabashedly ‘you’ you are. I can hardly stand to be away from you the more I get to know you.”

Dorian was nearly breathless as Cullen kissed his way down the mage’s chest. It wasn’t until those callused fingers started to loosen his laces that he felt he couldn’t breathe at all.

As Cullen made tantalizing work of Dorian’s last remaining garment, he whispered with raw emotion, “Nothing could change the way I feel about you, Dorian Rider.”

With that, Dorian sat up and grabbed Cullen’s hands to pause their work.

“Stop.”

Cullen’s head shot up to look Dorian in the eye, worry flooding his mind. “Are you ok?” he lifted himself to sit on the edge of the bed next to the mage, caressing his cheek with one hand, stroking his hair with the other.

“You don’t know me, Cullen. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Confusion washed over Cullen’s features, “I…I don’t understand. I want to know you. I feel like I do, but if I don’t, then I want—”

Dorian shook his head vigorously, “Cullen, you don’t get it! You wouldn’t want me if you knew me.”

Cullen’s eyes went stern, “Dorian, I just told you nothing could change my feelings for you. Nothing. I meant that.”

Dorian removed Cullen’s hand from his face, gently stroking the Commander’s knuckles with his thumb, “Please go, Cullen. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You could never hurt—”

“Please,” Tears threatened the rims of his eyes as he tried to hold his ground. He wanted nothing more than Cullen’s body against his, but he knew Cullen would only be let down, falling for a fake man Dorian created.

Cullen took a moment to lean his head against Dorian’s, a wordless goodbye, before he rose and began throwing on his armor, scattered from the door to the foot of the bed. Dorian watched his hands as Cullen silently dressed, glancing back periodically to gauge the mage’s feelings.

As he opened the door to leave, Cullen’s weak voice called back, “You can tell me anything, Dorian. I meant that, too.”

“Not anything.”

The room turned cold when Cullen left, and the breeze from the door closing behind his one chance at love shook the tears from Dorian’s eyes, falling onto his shaking hands.

He could have been sitting there for hours—he wouldn’t know—just trying to…well, he wasn’t sure of that either. He felt so numb despite the tears he could feel on his cheeks. He couldn’t decide if he needed a drink, a good sob, or some self-pleasuring. None of them would make him feel better, but they would make him feel something.

He’s gone. Dorian kept repeating in his head. He’s gone, and I sent him away. He confessed his feelings to me, feelings I share, and I told him to go. I can never get him back, I sent him away…

__________

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when the bells rang out, his eyes opened. They were dry and sore from crying; probably still red, too. Dorian reluctantly dragged his body out from under the fur blankets and sulked over to his mirror. Yes, definitely still red. He didn’t want to go out like that. He didn’t want to go out at all, for fear he might have to face his lost lover.

No, I didn’t lose him. Dorian stared himself down in the mirror, I pushed him away.

Dorian managed to make himself presentable, but he felt like a fraud in his own skin. He had settled into the identity of Dorian Rider, but somehow Cullen had undone all his hard work. Dorian was once again faced with himself, nothing to cover the shame he felt lying to a man who cared for him so deeply. And yet, he made no effort to tell Cullen the truth.

He would only be hurt that I lied to him, things are better this way. Interesting, the way Dorian continued attempting to convince himself he was in the right, when every part of him knew better.

Before he could psychoanalyze any further, Dorian pushed his chair back from the vanity and marched out the door, leaving his doubt at the threshold.

On the walk to the library, he felt like people were looking at him differently. They weren’t, when he looked closer, but nothing felt comfortable anymore. And things only became more uncomfortable when in the main hall Dorian’s eyes locked with golden ones on the other side of the room.

Cullen was entering the hall to the war room, papers tucked under his arm, when he glanced up, double taking before locking his gaze with Dorian’s. He wanted to run to the Commander, throw himself into the blond’s arms and apologize for everything. But melting on the other side of the hall would have to do. Cullen’s stare went soft as he saw the pain in Dorian’s eyes. They both knew the other was aching for their love, but both were too scared.

Cullen finally shook his head and looked down at his boots, disappearing into the ambassador’s office without a word.

Dorian tried to brush it off, tried to focus on his research, but to no avail. His mind was flooding with his mistakes. Though his eyes trekked the page in front of him, though his fingers turned the pages, he processed nothing. His mind was too full.

If there’s any perfect place to brood, it would be a library. Everyone passed Dorian without suspicion, assuming him to be lost in his work, all the while his crisis played out in silence. By the time the sun was setting, Dorian had read several works, but only had a page of notes. He tried to be productive, at least.

Now he had a choice to make: go back to his room and sleep his problems away, or go to the tavern and drink his problems away. Decisions, decisions.

Drowning his sorrows did sound tempting, but Dorian had pretended to be okay around enough people today. Besides, he didn’t need Bull to dive into his subconscious.

Dorian reached his quarters and, just as he prepared to shed his clothes and fall into a fitful sleep, a frantic knock rattled his door. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He waited a moment, but nothing more happened. Dorian slowly approached the door and unfastened the latch. Right as he did, the door flew open, nearly knocking him back.

Cullen charged into the room with a wrinkled piece of parchment strangled in his fist. He slammed the door behind him, and somehow quietly screamed, “What, by Andraste, is this?!”

He held up the letter just long enough for Dorian to see a familiar signature at the bottom of the page. “Halward Pavus.” Oh, Maker, no.

Dorian’s jaw dropped, eyes wide, hands turning clammy. He had no words, not that Cullen was interested in listening.

Cullen threw the note behind him, roughly grabbing Dorian’s shoulders and pushing him into the vanity behind them. Dorian tried to babble a “this isn’t what it looks like” before the backs of his thighs collided with the table and a pair of harsh, sweet, warm lips crashed against his.

Before he could return the kiss, or even close his eyes, Cullen pulled away and stared him down. “You really had me falling for you. Was that your plan? Get close to the Commander of the Inquisition so you could leach information from me to send back to your Venatori parents?!”

“No, Cullen, I would never—”

“You made me fall in love with you.”

That word took all Dorian’s breath. His previously pounding heart stopped. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what he had done, the pain he caused, the trust he’d broken. This is all he wanted to prevent.

“I-I’m so sorry, I never wanted this—”

“You aren’t even going to deny it?!” Cullen stood back from him, disgust in his eyes. That look alone could ruin Dorian.

“Cullen, please! I’m not Venatori! I tried to hide because I knew you’d think a Tevinter mage was Venatori, I knew you would think I was a spy, or a thief, or—”

“Lying only makes you look guiltier, Dorian! Bull told us exactly what he was going to do if he joined the Inquisition and we took him on his word because we were desperate. If you had told us, told me the truth—”

“Would you believe a mage walking through your gates saying, ‘Yes, I am a very powerful necromancer from Tevinter, but I swear I’m not Venatori’?”

Cullen’s face contorted again, backing up further, “You’re a necromancer?”

Dorian should have held his tongue. If he had stayed quiet, would they have given him a trial? But he supposed staying quiet is what led to this mess in the first place.

“Cullen I—please, give me a moment to explain! I never wanted you to get hurt, I didn’t mean to fool you into falling for me. I promise you, I never wanted any of this!”

Cullen’s voice dropped, “You didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you?”

Dorian’s shoulders relaxed, “No—well, yes. I—I hoped you were falling too because, Cullen, I lo—”

Cullen’s jaw clenched and he nearly gripped Dorian again, taking all the strength he had to hold back. “Don’t…say it.”

“But, Cullen, I really do—”

Cullen was on him in an instant, hands digging into his hair, lips locked in a heated kiss. Passion mixed with anger and confusion as the two men lost themselves in physical sensation.

Dorian gasped for air as the kiss finally broke, Cullen asking through panting breath, “Make me believe you. Prove you’re the same man I loved.”

Dorian searched the blond’s face for something that could help him, but he found only hurt and betrayal. “I…I can’t.” he didn’t know how he could fix this, he didn’t think he could.

Tears finally fell from Cullen’s eyes as he looked to the floor, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away, not wanting Dorian to see just how much he’d hurt him.

“Get out. Take your things, food, lyrium potions. I don’t care, take whatever you want, just…”

Dorian held his breath, devastated to hear what came next, “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

He was crushed, he felt like his legs would give out from under him. But Dorian moved as he was told, gathering his things, tears staining each item he touched.

Cullen refused to look at him, keeping his back to Dorian as the mage packed all he could.

Dorian approached the door slowly, hoping Cullen would stop him to say something more, something that could bring Dorian hope for seeing each other again. But he got no such reply.

“Don’t let anyone see you leave. I’m going to tell them you vanished into the night before I could confront you. They won’t come looking for you. Neither will I.” Cullen’s glazed eyes rose to look into Dorian’s, puffy and bloodshot. “Goodbye, Dorian.”

His heart sank. He felt like he might vomit, if he had any strength. He felt so weak and lost.

“Goodbye, Cullen.”

With those final words, Dorian was gone. He did as Cullen told him, making sure no one witnessed him leave into the dark. With nowhere else to go, he headed toward Miss Ella’s farm. Dorian didn’t know how he would tell her, but he was done lying. He’d hurt the most important person to him already, nothing could be worse.

__________

Cullen stood in the empty room with his eyes closed, hands over his face, wiping away his tears so he could pretend he wasn’t hurt. After taking a moment to compose himself, Cullen began searching the room halfheartedly. He threw open drawers without really looking, making the place look ransacked in a rush. Once he’d scattered things in a believable way, he turned his attention to the lock on the door. He took the hilt of his sword and knocked the latch loose, making it look like he had broken in. That should be enough to convince his fellow advisors.

Cullen quickly returned to the war room where many members of the inner circle, along with the Inquisitor and his advisors, waited in anticipation for the Commander’s return. As the door swung open, all heads turned toward him, each with equally expectant and worried looks. Cullen’s face was blank, but his feeling of defeat was still obvious.

“Well?” Cassandra stepped forward, worry in her eyes but anger on her face, “Where is that Venatori bastard?”

Cullen sighed deeply, the rest of the room raising their brows in unison.

“Gone. I didn’t find him in the ‘Rest or his room.”

Cassandra scoffed, “Then we send a search party. Check all corners of Skyhold, then we—”

“We can send all the search parties you want, Lady Seeker, but there’s nothing left of him here. I broke into his quarters and looked for any information as to where he could be or what he hoped to gain by joining our ranks, but I found nothing. He either took everything important with him, or destroyed it.”

Everyone’s heads fell, shoulders slouching in defeat.

The Inquisitor looked to Cullen with sadness strewn across his features. “And to think, we had all become so close…and it meant nothing to him.”

Tears threatened Cullen’s eyes again as he remembered how desperately Dorian had clung to him, tied to convince him he was innocent. But innocent men don’t hide, innocent men don’t lie.

“I know. But that must have been what he wanted. For us all to get comfortable, slowly leaking him the information he needed.” He closed his eyes tightly, shaking and dropping his head, “I should have never let him join the inner circle. I’m sorry, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor looked back to his party, nodding toward the door. All but the advisors exited the war room, leaving the room silent and cold. Once the space was empty of onlookers, the Inquisitor shuffled over to Cullen with wet eyes. They looked at one another for a long moment before the Inquisitor wrapped his arms around Cullen’s waist. Cullen’s eyes widened in shock, looking down at the elf hanging onto him for dear life, before he gave in and squeezed the Dalish’s shoulders in return.

They stood like that for a moment, Leliana and Josephine watching on solemnly, wrapped in their own somber embrace. The elf pulled back but stayed close, saying in a quiet voice, “He was my friend, Cullen. Our friend,” he gestured to the women behind him, “I know he was yours, too.”

Cullen felt his heart stop, then fall into the empty pit in his chest. “Yes,” he said gently, “the closest I’ve had since…in a while.”

The elf made certain the door closed quietly behind him as he left, Josephine following closely behind. Before Leliana made her move to leave as well, she handed Cullen a short stack of papers.

With a soft voice, she said, “I’m sure this isn’t the best time to tell you, but I started digging right after we intercepted the letter. I found the names of a few close friends and accomplices of the Pavus family. One of which has been heavily involved with the Venatori since before the term was coined, before they worshipped Corypheus.”

Cullen flipped through the pages, sloppily skimming the words on each one.

“Name?” Cullen asked, no nonsense.

“Gereon Alexius, a former mentor and family friend, from what I found. If Dorian had anything to do with the magicks Alexius had been developing…”

“I’ll go over it in the morning. Thank you, Leliana.” Cullen’s voice was flat and flavorless.

The spymaster sighed, placing a sympathetic hand on Cullen’s cheek, palm surprisingly warm. “I know what you felt for him. When I first joined the Hero of Ferelden on her journey…”

Cullen looked at her with understanding.

Leliana cleared her throat, never having gotten this personal with the Commander before. “Well, people have feelings that sometimes contradict with their goals. And they choose which to follow. Often, I think, they choose the wrong path.”

Cullen nodded, eyes squeezing shut with hurt.

“What I’m trying to say is this: I wonder if he didn’t lie to you about the way he felt, but knew it wouldn’t align with his plans.”

“I can’t have feelings for someone who supports the Venatori’s agenda. He fooled me, Leliana. I fell for a man that doesn’t exist.”

Leliana’s hand fell from his cheek. “Have you considered his personality may have been real?”

Cullen opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out, his brow simply furrowed.

She gave a slight smile, “Please rest, Commander. The war can wait a night.”

__________

Cullen didn’t sleep that night, his dreams plagued by images of Dorian and echoes of their final goodbyes. He could still feel the mage’s thin fingers in his hair, the passion and meaning in each kiss they shared. Cullen would wake frequently throughout the night, sweating and conflicted, his emotions at war with reality.

It was futile after a while, and only served to drain his energy more each time he woke, so he stopped trying to rest, instead making his way down to his office to mull over Leliana’s research. The blond felt hopeless as he read, not recognizing any of the names of the influential families mentioned, despite them all being connected to someone he thought he knew.

As he skimmed the next few pages—mostly filled with descriptions of how money was passed amongst the families for favors, something Josephine could use later—Cullen’s eyes paused on a description of Dorian. The quote seemed to be a letter sent from a man called Felix, to Dorian’s father:

“Lord Pavus,

My father has been rather busy with his project, so he asked me to write you in his place. Dorian has been of exponential help with his academic knowledge, but also with his experience. My father truly appreciates you continuing to allow Dorian to remain with us. As promised, he is kept an eye on, allowed only to leave the grounds with the accompaniment of myself or a guard. Speaking personally, your son is a great man. He has been nothing but honest with us, and I consider him a friend. I am starting to suspect he does not know my father’s intent with their project, and I am beginning to worry he may cease work if he discovers its purpose. Know that, should that happen, I will not stop him. Our task was to keep him from trouble, and if he deems the project as such, I will trust his judgement. My father and I have different views on these types of magicks; Dorian seems to enjoy thinking about the hypothetical, but he agrees that these things are better left to imagination. While the project is important to my father—and of course to myself, if it can work to cure me—I feel a need to allow Dorian to do what is best for himself. These are my intentions, not my father’s. He has all intentions to hold up his end of your bargain. I have made no such promises to you. Be aware of that.

Yours Truly,

Felix Alexius

P.S. Dorian asks that you do not attempt to contact him directly. He has nothing to say to you.”

Cullen could deduce two things from the letter: Felix Alexius is Gereon Alexius’s son, and whatever they were working on was magic most people have an aversion to. Could it be blood magic? What would blood magic have to do with curing someone of an ailment? Even if this Felix was possessed, blood magic could only transfer the demon to another living being, not banish it. Blood magic is a demon’s domain.

As much as he tried to focus on what information he could draw about their “project”, Cullen couldn’t help but see how devoted Felix was to Dorian. While he claimed in the letter to consider Dorian a friend, could they have been more? Another detail about Tevinter Dorian had hidden.

“Nothing but honest?” Cullen thought aloud, “If only. Would have saved me a few headaches.”

Cullen drug a hand over his face, wiping away a tear he hadn’t noticed pooling in the corner of his eye. This was harder than he thought it would be, to consider his paramour could be capable of aiding the Venatori, or even worse, being one of them.

He took a moment to collect himself before dressing in his usual armor and setting off for the war room where he would wait for the morning to fully rise and his fellow advisors to arrive.

Entering the hall leading to the war room, Cullen was greeted by Josephine at her desk looking exhausted, mulling over paper work of her own. She looked up upon hearing the door creak open and gave him a weak smile.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked knowingly, fixing her frazzled hair.

Cullen nodded, “I see you couldn’t either. Manage to dig up anything else?”

Josephine sighed, bringing a tall stack of parchment up from the floor by her feet. “There are many noble families associated with the Venatori. Most are from Tevinter, of course, but there are a surprising handful from Antiva.”

Cullen plopped into the seat in front of Josephine’s desk, about to start sorting through the things she’d dug up, when the door creaked again, Leliana leaning her head in.

“I thought I heard you up, Josie. Commander.” She nodded to Cullen in greeting.

He nodded back, handing her his notes from the morning, “I found a letter in what you gave me, from a young man named Felix. It looks like he’s Alexius’s son, and he knows what they were working on. Something big, something dangerous, something even Dorian seemed hesitant about.”

“Blood magic?” Josephine asked, walking around her desk to peer over Leliana’s shoulder.

“That was my first thought, but the people of Tevinter have a long history with blood magic; I wouldn’t think a Tevinter would have any qualms about using it. No, this must be something people don’t play with.”

The women shook their heads in unison. “Corypheus is driving his followers to play with the laws of nature.” Leliana said under her breath.

“Possibly. We need to find Alexius before he completes his project, if he hasn’t already.”

The women nodded, Josephine rushing off to wake the Inquisitor.

As the door swung closed, Leliana turned to face the Commander, kneeling on the ground before him. “Are you feeling any better? I take it you didn’t sleep well.”

Cullen shook his head, leaning forward in defeat. “I understand you have eyes everywhere around Skyhold, but how is it you knew about me and Dorian, but didn’t know Dorian was pretending to be someone else?”

Leliana sighed, crossing her legs under her, “I don’t know. I feel like I failed us, I let such a huge threat pass through our defenses. He must have been extremely careful. It…it makes me wonder if he has other correspondents in our ranks.”

Cullen nearly choked on his bitter laugh, “One thing at a time, Leliana. If there were any other Tevinters in the Inquisition, they would have fled with Dorian. They’d know they had been found out. We can look into it after we find this mentor of Dorian’s and find out what that secret project is all about.”

It didn’t seem to make the spymaster any less nervous, picking at her fingernails and staring into her lap. Cullen sighed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, “You haven’t failed anyone. I’m the only fool here.”

Before she could reassure him, the door flew open again, the Inquisitor and Josephine holding yet more research. Cullen stood, bowing his head respectfully.

“What’s this about a secret project?” The elf asked, almost panting.

“I found a letter from Dorian’s mentor’s son describing a project using magicks none of them felt comfortable messing around with. We’ve ruled out blood magic; we think it could be something even more threatening.”

“Are we certain? Dorian seemed very against blood magic when we spoke about it. He almost looked sick talking about it.” The Inquisitor nearly snatched the letter from Cullen’s hand when offered.

“Even if those were his true feelings on the matter, blood magic is not a rarity in Tevinter, and even this mentor and his son seemed hesitant.” Cullen explained, pointing to his notes in the margins.

The elf sighed, sitting in Cullen’s now vacant seat. “This is bad. So bad.”

“Yes…” Cullen sat as well.

After a long silence where the room seemed as tired as the people in it, Josephine spoke up.

“Should we start work on a plan of attack?”

“I’ll see if I can hunt Alexius down. Maybe find his son, if I can’t find the man himself.” Leliana was already heading back to her nook to send out spies.

The Inquisitor absentmindedly nodded, approving but reluctant. “I’ll see who wants to come along to fight an insane Venatori with some mystical secret magic. Wish me luck.” He stood and shuffled toward the door.

“Cullen, form a small band of troops. Some of the more talented Templars, if you could. I have a feeling we’ll require their abilities.”

“Yes, Ser.” Cullen said bluntly, watching the Inquisitor as he exited.

Josephine and Cullen turned to one another. “I’ll see if anyone is willing to trade their honor for a bribe. I suppose we’ll regroup after we’ve all finished. Stay strong, Commander.”

“Thank you, Josephine. I will certainly do my best.” Cullen gave a respectful bow before leaving the ambassador to her work.

As he walked down the main hall, ready to turn left through Solas’s quarters toward his office, Cullen noticed the light breeze coming from a door to his right. He glanced over and saw the garden mostly empty before the door swung shut again. He could use to clear his head.

So he turned right instead, stepping out into the garden. Cullen breathed in and held it, letting the silence wash over him. He let the breath out and began slowly pacing the garden. He brushed his gloved fingertips across the leaves in the herb planters, watched on as a bird drank from the well, and stepped over the line of ants making their way to their hill. But when he reached the gazebo, he stopped.

Cullen looked on solemnly at the chess board, pieces still set as they were when he and Dorian had played, a few knocked over from wind. Cullen sat in his seat and stared across to where Dorian should have been. He’d looked so beautiful that day, the sun backlighting and outlining his face. He had still had a sheen of sweat from sparring, glistening off his toned arms and neck. Cullen heaved a long sigh before moving one of Dorian’s pieces forward.

“Check mate,” He whispered, “You got me, Dorian.”

After a moment Cullen stood, making his way into the small Chantry set up in one of the rooms off the garden. Andraste’s likeness watched him as he entered, false golden eyes seeming to follow him. Cullen gently lowered himself onto a knee, clasping his hands in front of his face before the shrine.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this properly.” He admitted.

Cullen proceeded to recite the Chant of Light and several prayers for the men and women he would be taking with him to battle. One for the Inquisitor, one for himself, one for his friends, and one for his family.

Before he stood, Cullen closed his eyes tightly. “He may not deserve it,” he said softly, quietly, “but Maker please, keep Dorian safe. I doubt more and more the decision I made sending him away. I should have let him say his piece. I didn’t know Dorian Pavus, but I knew my Dorian. There has to be something of the man I loved in there. It couldn’t have all been a lie. He cried for me, he told me he didn’t want to hurt me. I can’t bear the thought of it all having been manipulation. Please, wherever he is, keep him safe.”

__________

Cullen would have preferred it hadn’t taken as long as it did, but here they were two days later with plans sprawled out on the war table. Each advisor had done their work quickly but surely, getting as close to the truth as they could in such a short time frame. Cullen had his Templar volunteers and a solid fighting strategy, Leliana had her eye witnesses, and Josephine had her bribed sources.

As the Inquisitor wrapped up the meeting, all attendees on board with the plan, he asked, “Any final questions?” Hesitant to move forward with their search.

The room had a sad sort of silence, none of them sure they would return safely, or return at all. They had been lucky since Haven to avoid any true life or death battles, but they were all well aware this would be like no fight they had fought before.

With the lack of any remaining questions to help him stall, Lavellan turned to Cullen with soft eyes. “Are you ready, Commander?”

After a deep, deep breath, He nodded. They were all on their horses and off in an instant, Skyhold’s gates behind them reminding them there was no turning back.

Hours later, after following the directions Leliana’s spies could write out with any certainty, the party found themselves passing through Redcliffe Farms, past the stables and the druffalo, to a fork splitting the trotted path in two.

“This way, I think.” The Inquisitor said, checking the written description again.

“Are you sure?” Cullen chimed in quickly, riding up to align their horses so he could glance over the elf’s shoulder. “The only thing up the hill is the watchtower. A stream beyond that. I expect if the Venatori were holed up there, the stable master and his wife would have noticed. Certainly our guards in the tower would have seen them come and go.”

Lavellan chewed the inside of his lip as he became less convinced they weren’t out on a wild goose chance. “The reports just say ‘Venatori activity traced back to Redcliffe Farms. Suspected to be in Dead Ram Grove.”

Increasingly frustrated by the vague intel they had managed to scrounge up practically overnight, Cullen let out a scoff. “Dead Ram Grove is the start of the stream, where the water flows down from the mountains. The only thing there is water and sheep. Obviously Leliana’s helpers need their heads examined. It’s pointless to even look.”

As Cullen turned his horse around, ready to head back to the farm and ask around, the Templars all perked up in unison.

“Commander,” Barris pulled his horse to block Cullen’s path. “There is magic here. It’s faint, not like a mage is present, but a spell they left behind. Whether they remain here, or have since left the area, I still believe it’s worth investigating.”

Cullen looked over his shoulder for conformation, the Inquisitor already leading the group ahead. While he trusted Barris’s sense for magic, Cullen also felt dread, part of him hoping they wouldn’t find anything Venatori related. Or at least nothing that would confirm Dorian’s connection to them. But he followed dutifully, returning to his position right next to the Inquisitor.

As they passed the watch tower overlooking the farm, and led their horses to wade through the water as they followed upstream, Cullen’s heart raced. The Templars continued to sense lingering magic, perhaps even an active enchantment; a ward meant to hide things in plain sight.

“Dispell,” Cullen commanded, Barris and his soldiers taking deep swigs of lyrium. Cullen averted his eyes as they did.

Moving as one, the Templars gave two hardy hits each to their shields, and a shock wave erupted out from their group. It made no noise, but bounced off the walls of Dead Ram Grove like an echo. The party stayed silent in waiting.

Distant voices could be heard speaking Tavene.

Cullen and Lavellan whipped their heads around to look at each other with wide eyes. “Venatori!”

Hurried but quiet, the party leapt off their horses, loosely draping their reins over branches to keep the steeds in place. They followed the voices to a low cliff overlooking the grove. There was little foot traffic, with overgrown grass and weeds, dead trees leaning to make a morbid arch. As they inched closer, a small sconce lit on its own, causing the Inquisitor to jump.

He took a hesitant step forward, narrowing his eyes at the greenish blue flame. “Veil fire.” He whispered behind him. “That means mages.”

Part of Cullen’s heart sank. While he knew this would lead them to gaining an edge against Corypheus, a selfish part of him wanted them to find nothing, so he would never learn more about just how much Dorian had lied to him.

Entering the ruins of what must have been an old exit from the deep roads, massive stone pillars loomed, along with menacing statues of cloaked skeletons driving their swords into the ground. The group felt uneasy, each member fidgeting and glancing to every corner of the room. It was dark, but the light from outside showed them a staircase leading even further into the earth, and further into darkness.

Cullen blocked the Inquisitor from continuing, rather taking the lead himself to protect the elf from a possible ambush. Making their way forward only led them to darker and darker rooms, no torches in sight, only dim Veil fires that continued to flare up ominously as they approached each sconce.

Just as they entered the final room of the cave ruin, Cullen starting to think there may be nothing here after all, the room came to life, sconces bursting into multicolored flames, illuminating the space to reveal that they were surrounded.

“Inquisitor,” a dark figure in Tevinter robes grinned smugly from a ruined throne at the far end of the room. “Welcome.”

“Sheath your weapons,” the surrounding mages demanded, drawing ever closer with staves outstretched.

The party looked to Lavellan for instruction, and he nodded, returning his sword to his back. The group followed suit.

“We were beginning to wonder if you might realize how close we had drawn. Corypheus sends his regards.” The mage stood from his seat, tossing back his hood and crossing his arms behind him.

“Oh, we found you out quickly,” Lavellan snarled, “Your little spy wasn’t as stealthy as he thought. Maybe you should handle your correspondents’ communications more carefully.”

The Tevinter’s brow raised, looking surprised, but always taunting. “My ‘spy’?” he inquired with a lilted voice, “Do tell, Inquisitor.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “No need to play coy, Alexius. We intercepted Magister Pavus’s attempts to contact his son, whom you so clumsily slipped into our ranks.” Cullen’s bitterness and blame had all lifted off of Dorian in that moment as he directed his hurt onto Alexius, the man responsible for all this heartbreak in the first place, as far as Cullen was concerned.

“Magister Pavus’s son?” Alexius’s grin dropped, “You speak of Dorian, Commander?”

Cullen flinched at the mention of the mage’s name.

Alexius looked to the throne behind him, tracing a finger along the arm. “My poor Dorian; if only he could have seen the good he could achieve. Not only for Tevinter, for the world.”

Cullen was in shock at what he was hearing. If Alexius hadn’t sent Dorian to the Inquisition, then who did? Could all that Dorian said, that fateful night on which he was banished from Cullen’s sight, be true after all? From where he stood, all Cullen could see was a backlit outline, but the mage before them began to make an obvious, sinister movement toward his pocket.

“What Dorian never realized, what I tried to teach him through our research, is that Thedas…Thedas needs direction,” his voice was low as he turned, eyes glistening with intent, knowing he had won.

“Thedas needs control.”

Blue light began sparking in the mage’s palm, lighting his crazed expression from below, broken sounds of laughter escaping his lips as he raised his hand higher.

The Inquisitor and Cullen watched on with masked fear as a small talisman on a leather cord began to rise on its own from the palm of Alexius’s hand, crackling in an unstable, uncontrolled manner. Just as dread and the weight of their own mortality began washing over the party, a voice called out from a shadowy corner:

“No! I won’t let you do this.”

The blue cast vanished at once, the talisman dropping from its ominous floating and back into the mage’s hand. Alexius whipped his neck around, eyes worried and shocked at once, obviously recognizing the voice. The young man had dark, tired eyes as he revealed himself from the dark. His skin lacked color, and his hair was thin. He looked as if he had lived a man’s full life in only a few years, and he was exhausted.

“Felix!” Alexius ran to the young man’s side. “My son, you should be resting, you’re too weak; you look so pale!”

Cullen’s shoulders relaxed as he heard the familiar name. “Felix?” he said quietly, then directing his question to the man himself, “You were friends with Dorian, weren’t you?”

Felix pushed past his father, standing before the party with confidence. “I am. I know him well, and I know he would never have helped with your project if he knew what you planned to use it for.” He turned to face Alexius, pointing an accusing finger. “You lied to him! You lied to me! You said this was for my health, that you thought this could save me! You betrayed his trust, my trust!”

His eyes went somber as he quietly asked, “What would mother think?”

That sent Alexius into a rage, shouting furiously, “This could bring her back! Both of you would be safe, healthy, happy! I did this all for you both!”

Tears began to well in his eyes as Felix retorted, voice meek and sad, “No. She would have never wanted this.”

Alexius became irate, nostrils flaring and fists clenching, “How dare you!!” he screamed. “You have the opportunity to have your mother back, to have never lost her at all, and you tell me she would never want this? You stand before me, your own father, who has loved and raised you single handedly since she passed, telling me this isn’t all for you?!”

“Raised me? Single handedly?! What about all the days, even weeks, I went without seeing you because you were too hung up on your project? Too lost in the past to spend time with your own son? After my mother died in front of my eyes!”

Alexius’s hands began to burn with fire, the talisman feeding off of his rage and sparking once again. “You would be in the grave with her if it weren’t for me! All that research, just to keep you alive for all these years! You would have died within days of her if it weren’t for all my time spent in that damned laboratory, slaving over revolutionary medicines I now learn you weren’t even grateful for!”

“I wish I had died with her!” Felix’s cry echoed through the stone of the ruin walls. “I’ve been suffering for years! I feel the Blight eating away at me from the inside every moment I continue to breathe! You have no idea the pain you’ve put me through!”

The room fell silent, Alexius thinking on his son’s hurtful words.

“Well,” he said after a long while, voice raspy with emotion, “If my magic can’t serve to help you,” he clenched the talisman with ferocity, “It will serve Corypheus just fine!”

The room lit with blue lightening, the talisman flying into the center of the space and igniting with quick bursts of magical energy, barely controlled. Alexius howled with mad laughter, arms outstretched to feed the talisman with all his mana, fueling the chaotic reaction.

“Father, No!” Felix screamed, throwing himself at Alexius, tackling him to the ground.

While the Venatori were distracted, all watching in awe at the display of power destabilizing in the center of the room, the Inquisitor sprinted forward, drawing his sword and charging to take Alexius out for good. But, from the corner of his eye as he wrestled with his own son, Alexius spotted the elf’s attack. He managed to get a hand free from Felix, commanding the talisman to explode with a magical fury of light spiritual wisps, imploding inward on itself, sucking the Inquisitor in as he screamed in agony, his every essence torn across time and space. Cullen and the Templars watched on in abject horror, Lavellan’s blood curdling cries echoing in their minds.

Though the Inquisitor was gone, his blade continued his momentum, flying across the room and driving directly into Alexius’s shoulder, causing him to tumble off Felix and crash onto the stone floor.

“Venatori! Attack the Inquisitor’s reinforcements!!” Alexius hollered as he stumbled off to his escape.

“Retreat!” Cullen commanded, tailing Barris and the rest of the Templars as they fled, defending them against attacks from behind as they fought through the Venatori hoard before them.

Once there was a hole in the opposition’s defense, Cullen called out, “To the watchtower! Tell them to fire on the river! Shoot anything that moves!”

The Commander fought off those trying to prevent their escape, helping his team push to the ruin entrance. When they reached the threshold, each member jumped back onto their horses, galloping off to the watchtower and the camp just beyond Redcliffe Farms for backup.

“Open fire! Venatori!” Barris yelled to the watchtower guards. A shower of arrows came down almost instantly, flying just behind their horses, taking out many of the Venatori swordsmen. But the mages hadn’t left the mouth of the ruin, and Cullen was right there waiting for them. Dodging the hail of arrows and trying not to fall off the short cliff, Cullen fought back as many of the mages as he could while he waited for backup from the camp. Barris came riding back in just in time to save Cullen’s back from an attack he didn’t see coming.

As their numbers dwindled, it became easier for the Templars to dispel almost all the defensive magicks the Venatori were using, causing the remaining few mages to panic and retreat back into the ruin, following Alexius’s escape route.

Exhausted, but still on edge, Cullen and Barris’s Templars made their way back to the farm to regroup and process what had just happened. What had happened to the Inquisitor?

As they rounded the corner to check on the guards at the watchtower, Cullen heard footsteps running up behind them.

“There’s a straggler!” He called out, pulling out his sword and shield again, ready to strike.

“No, don’t shoot! I want to help you!”

Cullen stayed poised as he watched the man come into view. It was Felix, panting and running toward them, unarmed.

“What did you do with the Inquisitor?!” Cullen inched closer to Felix, still not convinced he could let his guard down.

Felix stopped several feet away, leaving enough room so Cullen felt unthreatened. He raised his hands above his head to show he meant no harm. “He’s not dead, I can promise that much, but I don’t know where he is.” His hands lowered as he scratched his chin in contemplation. “Well, that’s not quite what I mean. I know where he is; he’s here.”

Cullen’s sword and shield lowered and he looked at Felix with confusion.

“What I should say is: I don’t know when he is.”

Frustrated, Cullen ground his teeth, “Enough being cryptic! Just tell us where Alexius took him!”

Felix shook his head. “This is going to take a lot of explaining, and it will sound outlandish, but you have to believe me. I was there when my father and Dorian developed this, I know how it—”

“Spit it out!” Barris barked, now standing next to Cullen, also ready to fight.

Felix sighed, “He sent the Inquisitor through time.”

The Templars looked around at each other, none having heard of such magic before.

“Don’t lie to us, boy! We have you surrounded.” Barris raised his shield in preparation before his arm was pushed down.

“He isn’t,” Cullen held Barris back, then sheathing his own weapon and shield. “When we first suspected Dorian was Tevinter, Leliana found the letter we all read in the mission briefing. The letter was written by Felix, and he said the magic they were experimenting with was magic no one had ever considered manipulating before. Because it’s dangerous; one doesn’t just mess with the laws of nature.”

“You saw my letter? To Dorian’s father? So that’s how you knew of me, and that I know Dorian.” Felix approached slowly as he connected the dots. “So you must see now: Dorian knew he was developing a way to manipulate time, but he thought it was for me. He ran away, here to Ferelden, the moment my father started to speak of joining the Venatori. And he would never have helped in the first place if it wasn’t a matter of life and death.”

Cullen looked Felix up and down, taking in his thin frame, eaten away at by something inside of him. “You said in there that you’re sick. Is it really the Blight? I’ve never seen anyone survive past a day, let alone a year.”

Felix nodded sadly, eyes going even darker, “Yes. While my father is no healer, he is an excellent alchemist, and created many medicines to try and help me while he worked on a more permanent solution to curing me. That’s when he…recruited Dorian to help. It was more like blackmail, but Dorian just wanted to help me.” He looked down at his hands, wringing them nervously. “He was like a brother to me. He never knew this would happen.”

Barris lowered his weapons completely, but would not sheath them. “Then…did you send Dorian to the Inquisition?”

Felix’s eyes went wide, “No, I never even knew he joined. I haven’t been able to contact him for months. It was too risky, I couldn’t have my father knowing I planned to stop him. Dorian always said he would be by my side on that day, But after we lost touch…”

Cullen felt his shoulders relax; Dorian wasn’t Venatori! What a relief. But he felt no relief, as just as the revelation swept over him, another realization came to tighten his chest. He drove Dorian away for nothing. He broke the mage’s heart, and his own, based on assumptions.

“I never let him say his piece…” Cullen thought aloud.

“What?” Barris turned to him, finally putting his weapons away. “You spoke to Dorian? When?”

Cullen wiped a hand over his face before glancing over to Felix. “It looks like the two of us have a lot of explaining to do.”

__________

As they rode their horses back to Skyhold, Barris in the lead and Cullen protecting the rear of the group, Felix tapped Cullen’s shoulder from behind.

“Cullen, is it? Could I ask you something?” Felix said as he shifted uncomfortably on the back of Cullen’s saddle.

“You’ll call me Commander until we know we can trust you.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Commander, I assure you.”

Cullen had to stop himself from groaning. He would have liked to say he was angry, but the only thing jumping around in his mind was confusion. The only thing he was angry about was his decision. And frankly, he was tired of thinking about it. He was only making himself feel worse.

“Just ask your question.”

Felix nodded and asked, “I hadn’t heard from Dorian after his initial letter telling me he had arrived in Ferelden. I’m missing a lot of time between then and now. Could you tell me what happened that led to you believing Dorian was Venatori?”

Cullen heaved a deep sigh, “It’s not a short list of events, I’ll warn you.”

Felix chuckled, “We’ve nothing but time at the moment.”

“I suppose,” Cullen half-heartedly agreed.

When he finished catching Felix up to speed, the young man was silent for a long while, mulling over the details.

“It sounds like Dorian trusted you.” He prodded.

Cullen dropped his gaze to the reins in his tightly fisted hands. “I know I trusted him. I thought he had betrayed my trust when we intercepted his father’s letter, but I…” He squeezed his eyes closed, “I said things I wish I hadn’t. Things I didn’t mean. I know now that I betrayed him, just because I wouldn’t listen.”

“I still can’t believe you spoke to him before he vanished.” Barris chimed in from the front of the formation. “You lied to the entire Inquisition! Even your friends. That’s me I’m talking about, by the way. You lied to me.”

“I know.” Cullen sighed, “I’m sorry. I just…wanted to make sure he was safe. I didn’t know what the Inquisitor would do to him. But I guess it couldn’t have been much worse than what I did…” Cullen’s voice fell off as he remembered all the things he said.

I don’t ever want to see your face again…

Entering Skyhold’s gate led them directly into a crowd of people wanting to congratulate the Inquisitor on defeating the hidden Venatori forces. But when Cullen passed under the arch and into the courtyard with the Inquisitor’s empty horse led behind him, all the chattering stopped.

“Where is Lavellen?” Cassandra asked with worry. And as Cullen’s horse turned to reveal the second passenger, “And who is that?” She growled.

Cullen lowered himself off the horse, pointedly not offering Felix any help to get down, which he did ungracefully.

As he handed the reins off to a stable hand, Cullen told the Seeker, “Call a war meeting.”

__________

“You WHAT?” The ladies exclaimed in unison.

Cullen drug a hand over his face, leaning on the war table and sighing before he said, “I know it was stupid of me, but Dorian isn’t Venatori, so there’s no danger in him being out there on his own.”

“But you didn’t know that when you sent him away!” Josephine shouted, as much as the mild-mannered woman could.

“Look,” Cullen closed his eyes tightly, pinching the space between his brows, “I lied. I lied to all of you and put you in danger because I let myself get too close. I considered Dorian a friend. I didn’t want him to be in danger in the hands of the Inquisition. I’m sorry. I know I was reckless, and I’m sorry.”

The room fell quiet as the women looked to one another, silently acknowledging Cullen’s apology.

Cullen continued after recognizing the soft looks in their eyes. “But what we need to do now is find him. He’s the only one who might know how to get Lavellen back.”

“Dorian can reverse engineer a spell better than anyone I’ve ever met,” Felix added, “He’ll be able to undo this. I’m certain.”

“Well, mister ‘best friend’,” Leliana turned to Felix, annoyed that he had cut in, “Where do you propose we start our search?”

Felix took a second to think. “In his initial letter, to tell me he had arrived, Dorian mentioned he was staying with an older woman in the Hinterlands. He simply called her ‘Miss Ella’. She has a small farm, he said. I haven’t heard from him since then, so that would be my only guess.”

Cullen nodded, “Even if he’s not staying with her, he might be hiding out nearby. Runaways tend to return to places they know first.”

“I trust your ability to hunt down a mage, Commander.” Cassandra said, too dry to tell if she was joking.

But before the hunt could begin, all of Skyhold needed rest and time to absorb the news of the Inquisitor’s disappearance. No rest came to Cullen, however; as if he expected it to. His mind and heart were racing. What if they couldn’t find Dorian? Who would be able to bring back the Inquisitor?

And what if they did find Dorian? Would he forgive Cullen for what he had said? Would he attack or flee?

Worst of all: what if they found his body? Just another casualty of the war between the Templars and mages. Another victim to Corypheus’s forces.

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear the image from his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought that his final words to Dorian would be his banishment, never able to redeem himself. Never able to beg for Dorian’s forgiveness.

With his eyes still closed, Cullen heard footsteps drawing casually closer, not trying to sneak, but also cautious.

“Can’t sleep either?” the voice was still slightly distant, not wanting to get too close. Cullen opened his eyes to see Felix, immediately skeptical as to why he was being allowed to walk the castle on his own.

Felix read his expression and chuckled. “Your spymaster has someone tailing me. The Lady Seeker isn’t far behind either. You don’t have to worry, I’m not here to assassinate you or something.”

“Who knows, I might welcome it at this point,” Cullen said under his breath.

Felix’s brow pushed together, “What happened between you and Dorian?”

After a long moment of staring through Felix, the Commander dropped his gaze to his folded fingers leaning on the battlements. “He was incredible to watch. So skilled with magic and combat; it was mesmerizing.” Cullen lifted his head to look up at the stars above. “And intelligent, as well. I enjoyed talking with him about the books he was reading, and the documents I was trudging through. He never looked away while I spoke.”

Felix gave a soft smile, looking to the heavens himself. “I know exactly what you mean. Dorian loves to talk about his research and learn what others have been studying. It made him a great student, one of the reasons he caught my father’s attention as a sponsor.”

A silence fell between the men as they both remembered their friend fondly. Cullen quietly asked, “Can you tell me about the Dorian you knew?”

Felix cocked his head curiously.

“I’d like to know if any of him was the real him.”

A sympathetic smile warmed Felix’s expression. “You described Dorian pretty perfectly just then. Always willing to debate—or argue, whichever he would get the most satisfaction from—and always showing off. He pretends to be self-centered, but he’s the most caring man I’ve ever met. And while I’m not interested in men myself, I don’t think there’s a person in all of Thedas who can deny Dorian’s charm.” Felix chuckled once, “Always the flirt, that one.”

Cullen’s heart dropped. “So he flirted with everyone?” He asked in a whisper, not really meaning it as a question. But Felix still answered.

“He did, but there were always different kinds. It took me long to learn each of them.” Feeling more comfortable with their relations, Felix approached the battlements himself and leaned his hip on the stonework, crossing his arms and looking out over the mountains. “There are four types, so far as I could tell: for showmanship, for de-escalation, for banter, and for real. The showmanship is self-explanatory, Tevinter is built around relationships and marriages. Dorian had to faine interest in his women suitors to keep up appearances. De-escalation, just flirting to calm an argument. Telling people what they want to hear, you know. And of course a little flattery back and forth between friends was his favorite.”

“How could you tell if he ever meant it?” Cullen asked, hopeful.

Felix ran a hand over his hair as he thought. “Dorian is a very honest man, most of what he says he always means, even if he doesn’t say it directly. He might think a noble woman is quite pretty, for example, and rather than tell her flatly, he will go out of his way to make her smile by flirting. ‘By the Black Divine, my lady, have you any common blood to Andraste herself? You have striking eyes, just like hers! And those cheekbones, they could surely cut marble!’ He likes to make people smile.”

“And he’s very good at it,” Cullen couldn’t help the fond grin that spread his lips.

“That he is.” Felix agreed, finding himself with a smile of his own as he reminisced.

__________

Cullen stood silent with his head down, fist poised to knock against the solid wood door before him. He hadn’t had to do something like this since Kirkwall; sharing the tragic news of a Templar’s death with their family. Somehow, this felt similar, having to tell someone Dorian clearly cared about, that he wasn’t who he said. But at least he didn’t have to tell her Dorian was a Venatori spy.

He took a final deep breath before giving a hardy knock. It took only seconds for Miss Ella to answer, like she had been waiting by the door. The door swung open with an audible whoosh, to reveal an older woman with joy in her cheeks, giving way to pleasant confusion when he looked Cullen up and down.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was expecting someone else. Is there something I can do for you, dear?” A sweet smile wrinkled the skin around her eyes.

Cullen couldn’t help but give a small smile back before clearing his throat and beginning to explain, “Commander Cullen, at your service, ma’am. We are looking for a troop previously employed in our…”

Cullen’s eyes squeezed tightly shut and he sighed, “Dorian. He stayed with you for a while, didn’t he?” He dropped his voice to a whisper so the others couldn’t hear his informality.

Miss Ella reared back a little, bringing the door closer to her so she could close it at any time. “I...oh, I rent my spare room to travelers, I suppose a ‘Dorian’ could have passed through--”

“Ma’am, please. You’re not in any trouble. Neither of you are, we just…” He couldn’t look the sweet woman in the eyes as he said, “I made a mistake. It came to our attention that he had been lying about his past, and I handled it very poorly. If he’s been back here...please, we need his help.”

Miss Ella still didn’t seem convinced, opening her lips to give a vague excuse. Cullen decided to show a little urgency.

“Ma’am, the Inquisitor is missing. Kidnapped, or otherwise incapacitated by the Venatori.”

Miss Ella gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “Did...did he do it?”

“No, while Dorian is from Tevinter, as we found out, he has nothing to do with the Venatori. But he knows about their magic, and we need him to help us get the Inquisitor back.”

She took a moment to process before stepping aside in the doorway and beckoning them all to enter. Cullen, Felix, and Cassandra crammed into the small farmhouse, while Barris and his templars waited outside. Only Felix accepted an offer of tea.

“He did come back, but he didn’t come inside,” Miss Ella recalled as he stirred honey into Felix’s tea. “He made it nearly to the welcome mat, but no further, and said he was sorry. That he couldn’t stay because I wouldn’t be safe, and it was better if he kept the truth to himself, because he didn’t want to involve me. I figured he must have people after him, so I was expecting a visit, but not from the Inquisition.”

Tempted to sit, but ignoring the urge to slump into any nearby furniture, Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, “Yes, well, while I’m not at liberty to say much, I made a rather large mistake that--”

“To which are you referring?” Cassandra asked with her arms crossed, scowl doned.

Cullen glowered back and continued, “...that put us all in danger. Dorian included.”

Cassandra let her arms drop, brow softening as she recognized Cullen’s regret.

“Well, as I said, he didn’t stay here long. He headed in the direction of Redcliffe, not taking the roads but going through the woods.”

They stayed long enough for Felix to finish his tea, then they were on their way north to Redcliffe, taking as odd a way they could in hopes of coming across Dorian’s trail.

After nearly an hour of trudging, one of Barris’s templars stopped.

“I smell viel fire.”

Cassandra looked at Cullen with a quirked brow. “Are you certain? How can you tell it isn’t just fire?”

Barris nodded, “I smell it too. It’s like fire but without the smoke, just the heat.”

“Any wards?” Cullen asked.

“None. It shouldn’t be hard to find him if we follow our noses.”

Cullen nodded, letting Barris lead the charge. Soon after, the group came across a very small clearing, staying in the trees to keep cover.

There in the center of the brush, surrounded by wildflowers, sat Dorian, playing with the green flames before him, deep in thought.

Cullen stared longingly, wishing he could just run out and hug the mage, hold him and never let go.

“I’ll go. You all wait here.” Cullen began pushing branches aside.

“You don’t think he’ll give you any trouble?” Barris held him back.

“No, but he will panic if he sees a group of templars coming out of the bushes at him.”

Cullen took a deep breath for courage and stepped out into the sun.

It only took a few steps before Dorian shot out of his seat and grabbed his staff, summoning a ball of fire in his hand. Cullen put his hands up, away from his sword and shield. Slowly, Dorian recognized the blond hair, honey eyes, and marble skin. His guard lowered along with his staff, but only slightly.

“C...Cullen?”

Cullen let out a sigh of relief, lowering his hands and taking a step forward.

“Stop!” Dorian yelled, “This is some kind of trick isn’t it? So what type of demon are you, hm? Rage? Envy? Desire?”

Cullen’s eyes went wide before his brow furrowed with worry, “No, Dorian it’s...it’s me. It’s Cullen.”

Dorian scoffed, “No, that’s not possible. He told me he never…” he swallowed hard. “never wanted to see me again.”

Cullen flinched at his words, seeing how much they had hurt. “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. I was just scared, I didn’t think before I spoke, and I hurt you. I’m...Dorian, I’m so sorry.”

Cullen watched as emotions came and went in rapid succession across Dorian’s face.

“Make me believe you.” The mage whispered. “Prove you're the same man I loved.”

Those words. They struck him like a knife in the chest, tearing his heart out. Those were his words.

“I can’t…” Cullen whispered back.

Dorian’s staff fell abruptly into the grass, the fire in his hand disappearing into embers as he ran to Cullen. He wrapped his arms around the blond’s shoulders, Cullen returning the embrace just as tightly.

They pulled back, only to bring the other closer into a crashing kiss, tears spilling over onto both men’s cheeks.

“Dorian,” Cullen choked, “I’m so sorry, I said so many things I didn’t mean. I should have listened to you. Maker, I’m so--”

Dorian put a finger to the blond’s lips, then brought his to meet them. “I love you.”

Cullen’s eyes only watered more as he leaned their foreheads together and said, with all his heart. “I love you too.”

They both heard the trees opening from behind them, glancing that way to see Cassandra and Barris with his band of templars.

And Felix.

Dorian’s face lit up as he ran to meet his friend. “Felix!”

Their chests collided as each man wrapped an arm over the shoulder and around the waist of the other.

While the two were updating one another on what had happened between seeing each other last, Cassandra approached Cullen with an annoyed huff.

"So that's why you let him go." She crossed her arms.

Cullen sighed, turning to face her. "Yes," he stated, "because I didn't want him thrown in our prisons, because I didn't want him questioned for hours without rest. Because I love him. Is that what you want me to say?"

The corner of the Seeker's lips turned up on one side, barely a smile at all. She placed her hand on Cullen’s shoulder. "Yes. And I'm glad you do."

It took him off guard, but Cullen was grateful for Cassandra's understanding. He knew she read those romance novels--Varric made sure to boast about it to everyone in Skyhold--but he never expected Cassandra of all people to be forgiving.

Suddenly her face went stern. Pulling her hand away and pointing a finger, she whispered through clenched teeth, "Don't tell anyone I said that. As far as Josephine and Leliana need to know, I'm still angry with you."

Cullen tried not to grin as he nodded.

He turned back to Dorian and Felix who laughed together as Dorian placed a kiss to Felix's cheek. Cullen smiled as he watched them reconnect, a warmth filling his chest.

"I hate to interrupt a reunion," Barris cut in, "but we have grave news about the Inquisitor."

"The Inquisitor?" Dorian looked to Felix, "Your father. He didn't…"

Felix cringed as he nodded, head dropping, eyes closed tightly.

Dorian slumped, arm falling off Felix's shoulders. Cullen came behind him to place a comforting hand on his back.

"He's not dead, is he?" Dorian asked with a heaviness in his breath.

"We...we don't know." Cullen brought Dorian in by the waist, hugging him from the side. "Alexius used an amulet to...send him through time, was it?" He looked over to Felix to make sure he had gotten it right.

"So he finished it." Dorian's eyes widened with fear.

"No!" Felix put himself between Cullen and the mage, "He could never perfect it after you left. Something went wrong when he cast the spell; it wasn't like when you did it."

"You've traveled through time?" Cullen pushed Felix aside to ask Dorian.

Dorian grinned, "What? Never been with a man who invented time travel? Oh, no, of course not, how silly. Because I invented it."

"Dorian." Cullen said sternly, looking for a straight answer.

"No, I didn't go through time. Alexius and I sent an apple core a week forward in time and it came back rotten." As he gave the explanation, a wave of realization washed over Dorian, "But what's when the spell didn't work!" He grabbed Cullen but the hands with excitement. "The plan was to wipe the apple from existence, and only those who cast the spell would remember there ever having been an apple there. The fact that you all remember the Inquisitor proves the spell failed!"

"But how do we know where--when he is?" Barris asked, trying to keep up.

Dorian let go of Cullen's hands to twirl his mustache in thought. "Ah! Have you any paper, my love?"

Cullen grabbed some parchment and charcoal from one of the templars' satchels.

Dorian took the supplies eagerly, kneeling down to use his seat as a writing surface. "Look here," Dorian pulled Cullen in close as he drew a diagram, "We don't know when the Inquisitor is in time, yes? But we do know where. He'll be exactly where he was transported from."

Cullen nodded, following so far.

"So we need to go back to where and, somehow, enter the fade because--"

"Because time doesn't exist in the fade." Cullen cut in, "You can feel for his spirit and pull it back through the veil from the other side of time!"

Dorian smiled, excited that Cullen understood, "Well, I can't. While I studied the dead, I don't have any control over the spirits I use to possess the bodies. But I know someone who does."

"Solas." Cullen, Barris, and Cassandra said together.

__________

Back at Skyhold, they explained the plan to Solas, Cullen's fellow advisors still suspiciously eyeing Dorian.

"I'm impressed with your knowledge of the fade, Dorian. Yet you've never entered it, is that right?" Solas sipped at his coffee.

"I still have my sanity, that should be a dead give away."

Solas grinned, "Indeed. And yet you understand its properties well. And this plan of yours is nearly fool proof."

"Nearly?" Cullen leaned in, "We need better than nearly. We need the Inquisitor back."

Solas held up a hand to calm him, "Nearly is the best place to start. I can help you, but the Inquisitor's spirit isn't the only thing on the other side of time. We need to find his body. Both were transported, were they not?"

Dorian nodded, "Yes, that's where I'm uncertain. Can he enter the fade without performing the ritual himself?"

"Do you know the Arl of Redcliffe, Commander?" Solas asked, hands behind his back as he rounded the desk.

"You're talking about the incident with Conor and Bann Tegan. I've heard the story." He watched Solas with suspicious curiosity.

"I am. There is a way to perform the ritual on another, without entering the fade yourself…"

Cullen's eyes went wide, "No! No one is doing any blood magic!"

"Blood magic?" Dorian looked to Solas with anger. "You're suggesting I perform a blood ritual on the Inquisitor? Nonsense!"

Solas shrugged, "That is the only way I know of to return both the Inquisitor's soul and body as one."

Dorian scratched his chin as he tried to think of another way. "If I had the amulet here…"

Felix perked up, "What if I could get it from my father?"

The room looked over to Felix.

"What? Is it safe after what you did to help us?" Cullen asked.

Felix shook his head, "My father may not be in his right mind, but he's always been a father first. If I need him, he will be there with open arms."

Dorian slowly walked to Felix. "You'd steal from your own father for us?"

Felix smiled, "I would steal sweets from his personal stash for you all the time."

Dorian smiled and gave him a hardy thump on the shoulder. "Then we need to head back to Dead Ram Grove."

The day had been long and exhausting, and while time was of the essence, they all needed rest.

But Cullen couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in an attempt to find a comfortable spot, but to no avail. Finally, he decided it wasn't worth fighting and went for a walk to think.

He walked the battlements until he was sick of looking at stone walls. When he got back to his office, no more ready to sleep than before, he thought of Dorian, how he had so much more he wanted to say, and so many more apologies to make.

Heading across the bridge to the library, Cullen tried to be as quiet as possible opening the door to Solas's floor. The door creaked ever so slightly, and Cullen heard a calming voice say, "Dorian is downstairs."

He looked up to see Solas painting a mural of the fade on the atrium wall.

"Oh I was just…" Cullen started, but Solas gave him a knowing look. "Thank you." He said gently as he headed for the main hall's staircase to the basement.

Once down there, he saw a soft red light emitting from a door across the hall, where a small private office was. He smiled as he heard Dorian quietly talking to himself.

Cullen pushed the door open silently, seeing Dorian's back facing him. He snuck up and wrapped his arms around the mage’s waist. Dorian gasped before realizing who it was, then leaning his head back and humming in contentment.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Cullen asked in a breathy whisper.

Dorian sighed, "I have to know what I'm doing when I reverse the amulet's magic, if Felix can get it off his father. If we can find his father. Hopefully they've stayed put."

Cullen hummed, acknowledging Dorian's concerns. "I wish we had more time, then you could perfect this."

Dorian turned in Cullen's arms and wrapped his around the Commander's neck.

"I wish we had more time, too." He looked deeply into Cullen's eyes, leaving the silence between them.

Cullen quickly caught on, walking Dorian into the desk, lifting him by the thighs to sit atop it. "We have a couple of hours, at least."

Dorian smiled, bringing Cullen in for a light kiss. It quickly became something more, with hot hands finding fasteners on the other's armor and unfastening them. Their kiss turned deep and passionate and nearly frantic as the men wasted little precious time.

Dorian leaned back and pulled Cullen over him, holding him close as he whispered between kisses, "I never stopped loving you. I couldn't make myself stop after you told me to go. You had me."

Cullen kissed down Dorian's neck as he whispered back, "I thought it was just me. And I need you to know I only sent you away because I was scared. I didn't know what the Inquisition would do to you. I was only upset you'd lied to me."

"But you know why I had to." Dorian held Cullen by the cheeks to get his attention. "Would you have wanted me if I had told you I was a Tevinter necromancer."

Cullen pulled the mage’s hand back and kissed his palm, "I want you now, don't I?"

Dorian's words were thick with need as he whispered, "Do you?"

"More than anything."

And the love they made in the night, in a private tucked away space, far from the eyes and ears of Skyhold, was more than either man had felt in many years. Possibly all their lives.

__________

Cullen smiled as he rode alongside Dorian's horse, listening to him and Felix reminisce. They had a long history, from what Cullen gathered, and cared for each other like brothers. It felt good to see Dorian as his true self, and not a bundle of half truths peeking out from behind an alias.

The group was much larger this time, with closer to fifteen templars, including Barris, along with the addition of Solas and a handful of other mages. Cullen was grateful for the help, even if it meant spending time with Solas, trying desperately to find something to talk about.

When the team arrived, they tied their horses up at the camp near Master Dennet's stables and took off on foot toward Dead Ram Grove, signaling the watch tower to stay on guard.

At the entrance to the cave, Cullen took Dorian's hand and squeezed tightly while giving him a worried look. Dorian smiled gently, squeezing back. Cullen nodded and signaled the group into formation and forward. It was still dark, but with several mages summoning flames into their palms, they would be able to see any ambushes this time.

The team stepped cautiously into the final room of the cave where the Inquisitor had been torn through time. It was quiet, with the scattered corpses of Venatori from their failed attack on Cullen’s crew. Dorian winced as he saw the familiar clothing of his homeland, not happy to be fighting his countrymen.

Cullen looked to Dorian with concern, wordlessly asking if he was alright. Dorian nodded and continued on, reminding himself these men chose this path.

After glancing around the room, everyone turned to face Cullen with disappointed looks.

"There's no one here. How are we going to bring the Inquisitor back without that amulet?" One of the mages asked.

Dorian bit his lip as he thought.

Before he could come up with anything, Felix spoke up. "No, there must be another way out of here. My father didn't head for the entrance when he retreated, he went further in."

Cullen nodded, "That's right, everyone look around! There must be--"

Dorian placed his hands on the wall at the back of the cave and closed his eyes, reciting a spell quietly.

Before anyone could ask what he was planning, the wall dissolved away, revealing a laboratory and a barely conscious Alexius breathing heavily on the ground, books scattered where he sat.

"Father!" Felix rushed to his side as he pulled bandages from his bag. Alexius’s wounds were deep and unhealed, but not from Lavellan's sword, which laid across his lab table, still coated in blood.

"My son," Alexius’s voice was incredibly weak, sounding more like air than words.

Felix began applying pressure to his father's rotting wound, exposed flesh healed open.

"We have healers here, just hold on," he said even as the healers shook their heads, wounds too old to fix.

Dorian approached with caution, nerves rising at seeing his old mentor again. He stepped into view just as Alexius looked up.

"The Venatori," he wheezed, "they left me, abandoned me. Told...told the Elder One I failed them."

Felix's eyes began to well up with tears, "They were using you, father, just like you used Dorian. They wanted your magic, that was all."

Tears tugged at the edges of Alexius’s eyes as well, as he admitted, "The Elder One...Corypheus...he came to take the amulet, tried to kill me. But...but I…"

He began to cough and sputter, blood leaking from his nose and mouth. He tightly grabbed Felix's hand, holding on with all his strength as he gasped and panted for air.

The air was stagnant, musty and old. Without a draft present, Dorian and Felix could feel as Alexius’s last breath escaped his chest and hit their skin.

Felix sat back on his hunches, eyes glazed, staring down at their entwined hands.

Dorian looked away and closed his eyes tightly.

A long silence hovered in the room, Dorian's hand gripping Felix's shoulder to comfort him. He looked down at his hand, still clasped in his father's, and felt something heavy and cold kiss his palm. He pulled his father's hand away to find the amulet, pulsating and smooth, as if never used.

"Crafty bastard," Dorian said as he lookes at the amulet in pristine condition. "He repaired it, but not perfectly. The way the magic is calibrated, it should work in reverse."

Dorian looked from the Inquisitor's sword to the books scattered on the floor.

"He was going to bring Lavellan back and try again."

"Maker's sake," Felix dropped his head into his hands.

"It's already 'calibrated' to bring him back? That saves us some time, doesn't it?" Cullen looked to Solas for confirmation.

"I am unfamiliar with time magic. I believe everyone to be, except for Dorian." Solas gestured from Dorian to confirm.

He nodded, taking the amulet from Felix and looking it over for imperfections. "Indeed it does. So long as he's done it correctly."

Dorian began work on his spell with the mages silently watching on. Though he had asked them not to, they often asked questions, to which the usual reply was, "This is time altering magic, you know. Let's not forget the danger of this."

When they began to ask too many questions they wouldn't get an answer to, Cullen stepped in and shooed them away. After they scattered, Cullen placed a hand on the small of Dorian's back, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around the man from behind. He wanted nothing more than to rest his head on Dorian’s shoulder and close his eyes. And when he would open them, the Inquisitor would be there unscathed and everything would be normal.

Cullen heaved a deep sigh at the thought, Dorian turning to look at him with concern.

"Something the matter, amatus?"

"Who?" Cullen asked, not really having absorbed the question.

Dorian chuckled, "You, silly. Are you alright?"

Cullen shook his head slightly, eyes closed, "No. I mean, yes, it's nothing, just...who is Amatus?"

Dorian rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Cullen’s neck. "It's Tevene, a term of endearment like 'honey or 'dear'." A smirk came to his lips as Cullen scolded himself for sounding jealous.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous about this whole situation. I didn't mean to…" Cullen trailed off.

Dorian pressed a nimble finger to his lips. "It's alright, I'm nervous too. This is something I've never done, never even considered having to do. But it will turn out. The Inquisitor will be fine, I promise."

Cullen stared with anxious eyes for a long moment, "That's an awfully confident promise."

Dorian's calm smile faltered ever so slightly, but Cullen caught it, placing a warm ungloved palm to the mage's cheek. "I trust you, Dorian, but it's not your fault if he doesn't come back."

Dorian cringed, "This has all been my fault. If I had just been honest from the beginning--"

"Stop." Cullen leaned forward to silence him with a kiss, forgetting the others around them. "Hunting down the Venatori has been our goal this entire time. This may have happened eventually, you couldn't have changed this."

Dorian nodded, lips still so close to Cullen's. "You're right, I know you are, but I would feel much better if I could bring him back."

Dorian grabbed the calibrated amulet and a tome off the lab table, breaking free of Cullen's embrace and moving toward the center of the room to prepare the ritual.

Solas stood from his crouched position, holding out his hands to take Dorian's completed spell.

"The most difficult bit will be leaving the fade at the same time you entered. Make certain you do not interrupt the flow of time." Solas warned as he started casting.

Dorian looked to Cullen one last time before a green and yellow tear opened before him and he stepped through.

Hours passed and still Dorian hadn't returned with the Inquisitor. Cullen paced the room along with the mages, while Solas maintained meditation in the center of the room, waiting for the beckon call.

He couldn't take the suspense any longer. Cullen gingerly walked near and around Solas to see if he could still hear him. Solas coldly spoke, quiet and even, "I am entirely aware of my surroundings outside the fade, Commander."

It made Cullen jump at first. He then asked, "Are you...in there with them? Can you help them?"

Solas stayed completely still with his eyes closed and legs crossed as he responded, "No, I cannot. I am simply suspending my mind in the fade, but I am not there as they are. They went in physically, body and spirit as one. I would have gone in myself and done this more quickly, but alas, there must be someone on the other side to pull the Inquisitor back through. Dorian has an excellent understanding of time, but the fade can disorient even the brightest minds."

None of this made Cullen feel any better, or more confident that they were safe. "But can you see them? Are they alright?"

Solas sighed, annoyed at having to dumb things down, "Dorian and the Inquisitor have made contact. I can sense their spirits near one another, but I cannot see anything. Were I there, I could use my senses. I am not, however, so I must feel for their souls. I know not where they are in time, or how they fair."

Cullen grunted in frustration. Why did he expect a clear answer?

A short while passed and Solas began to rise, grabbing his staff again. "Everyone stay back, the tear could pull you in!"

Everyone scattered to the edges of the room, watching in astonishment as Solas tore the veil open, Dorian and the Inquisitor stumbling through back into the 'real' world, haggard and panting.

Cullen approached slowly as the tear sealed behind them. When Dorian locked eyes with him, he ran into the Commander's arms.

"Cullen," he whispered in his ear, breathy and shaking, "Thank the Maker, it's you"

Cullen returned the embrace but was still confused. "Yes, it's really me. What happened? Are you alright?"

The rest of the room rushed to the Inquisitor's aid, healers starting to mend cuts and bruises and wrap them gently but with urgency.

Dorian pulled back to look Cullen in the eyes, tears nearly falling onto his cheeks. "Time moves differently. I hoped we would be out in a few days, but it's been weeks, maybe months for us. Lavellan said he'd been sent into the future and stuck there for nearly a year. I can't begin to imagine…"

Dorian shuttered and pulled Cullen close again, Cullen shushing him softly, running calloused fingers over his hair.

__________

Back at Skyhold, a crowd waited anxiously at the base of the steps from the main hall, nervous chatter rumbling through them. The Inquisitor was in his chambers, healers and templars looking him over, a scholar begging him to recount his experience.

Cullen and his fellow advisors took deep breaths before opening the doors of the main hall and descending the steps until they reached the middle landing.

"People of the Inquisition!" Cassandra shouted over the chatter, "The Inquisitor is safe and in good health!"

The crowd sighed a collective sigh of relief as they applauded.

Cullen smiled as he added, "All thanks to the brave and valiant efforts of the templars," they raised their swords from within the crowd, people cheering. "Our mages," they raised their staves as well, Solas smiling as he bowed his head.

"And lastly, this man." Cullen held out his hand, inviting Dorian from the front of the crowd to join him. "This man, who joined with you as a troop, rose quickly through our ranks with his impressive display of magical knowledge; who joined the Inquisitor in the field, and contributed to the important research done in our library."

Dorian was already stunned as he stood above all the people of Skyhold, but Cullen took both hands in his, and faced him full on. "This man, who risked his reputation, his place in the Inquisition, and ultimately his own life, to return the Inquisitor to us from beyond time. Dorian Pavus."

Felix, standing at the front, looked up to Dorian from within the crowd and shouted, "To Dorian!" The crowd joined in with thanks, crying out with joy for their Herald’s great return, and the man who saved him. Dorian looked out over the crowd as they said his name, as they recognized him for all his deeds despite his lineage.

The good Tevinter.

He smiled as he turned to Cullen once again. "A tad overdue, if you ask me."

Cullen chuckled, "You're impossible."

Cullen pulled Dorian in for a long and tight hug, the crowd around them cheering for the Inquisitor. Cheering for the

#cullrian #cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #mulan au #cullrian au #da au #dragon age au #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai #long reads #slow burn #like really slow #but it picks up #disney au #disney inspired #writing #long fic

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narukoibito · 4 years

Note

Hee hee... "Do you even still love me?" 🤗

@whiffingbooks ♥️ You just gotta choose difficult prompts!

Here is the Harry/Ginny angst with a happy ending you requested for the Sentence Starter prompts. It’s a lot longer than I intended...figured you wouldn’t mind.

do you even still love me

The moment he Apparated back, Harry rubbed his weary eyes, the exhaustion making things blurry. His fingers slowed when out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a packed bag next to the foyer. Through the fog of exhaustion, alarm rang through him.

“Gin?” he called out, his feet stumbling in his rush to find her. She couldn’t have… if anything, the bag meant she was still here.

At the sound of footsteps, Harry turned to see her descending the stairs. The relief was short-lived, however, when his eyes landed on the bag over her shoulder.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to smile. “What’s this?”

Ginny looked at the floor, folding her arms across her chest. It seemed to be more a protective gesture than one of anger. For some reason, this only increased the panic that was buzzing in his head. “I’m going back to Wales.”

“Did something happen? I thought we still had a few more days.” He took a step closer, hoping she would look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She shot back, her eyes finally meeting his, flashing dangerously. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze instinctually flickered to her hand, which tightly gripped her wand.

“Harry, I’ve been here for three days, and you’re barely here, just like the past few weeks!”

He opened his mouth to protest, but how could he? Just before Ginny arrived, they got a promising lead and…

“I know, I’m sorry. You know I would have been here if I could. It’s an important case, and — I’ve been looking forward to this forever. You know that.” Harry reached out, wanting to touch her, reassure her, only for her to flinch away.

“Do I? What’s the point of us being together if we never see each other? When we hardly talk, when your letters don’t say anything, and when I finally get here —” Ginny stopped herself, as if embarrassed by what she was saying. Her face was filled with such quiet devastation, it was painful to look at. “Do you even still love me?”

Harry found it hard to breathe through the horror. “Ginny, no! Of course I love you!”

How could she think otherwise?

“Then why? Why is every case more important?” Despite the anger in her voice, it was the clear hurt that shined in her eyes that cut him apart. “Why weren’t you here this weekend when you knew we wouldn't be able to see each other for a few weeks?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Harry had deliberately chosen not to tell her about the reason for all those countless hours, the edge driving him to throw himself into the case. The reasons bubbled up. He hadn’t wanted her to worry; it was classified; he was going to take care of it.

He hadn’t wanted her to change her mind about him.

The fire in her eyes began to dim. “That’s what I thought.” She made to move past him.

Icy fear surged inside him.

“It was you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Already the awful memories arose, the smell of the acrid explosion, the roaring in his ears, the blind panic when he didn’t know where Ginny and Teddy were. “The attack several weeks ago. We thought they were after Teddy, but the target was you. My cases are important, but you — you’re everything, Ginny. I can’t—” His throat narrowed as the sudden memory of Bellatrix and the what could have been when the green light just barely missing Ginny. “I couldn’t bear it if…”

Ginny froze, her entire body stiffening at his words. Her eyes widened, boring into his as if looking for the truth. She seemed to find what she was looking for and finally, her hands fell to her side, the bag on her shoulder sliding to the floor.

“I thought you caught them.”

“We thought we did, but…” He shook his head, anger and fear rising in him at the bigger plot they’d uncovered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry’s gaze fell to the floor, finding it hard to maintain eye contact. “I thought if I solved it, then you wouldn’t…”

He nearly started when she took a step toward him, forcing him to look back at her. He swallowed hard at her blazing look.

“You can’t do that anymore, Harry. You can’t keep secrets from me. That’s not how this works.”

Not trusting his voice, he nodded.

Harry let himself melt into Ginny, surrendering to the comforting smell of flowers. He pressed his forehead against her, feeling the relief and exhaustion from the relentless anxiety ease away. In its place came a dizzying mix of gratitude and guilt. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly than he intended. As always, he didn’t deserve her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the earnestness of his feelings choking him up. He forced his grip on her to loosen. “You wouldn’t be in danger if it weren’t because of me —”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her hands cupping his face. He felt wrecked at the fierce look on her face.

“But—”

“You being a silly prat is your fault, but the rest?” She shook her head, eyeing him with a little exasperation but plenty of affection. “We’re either in this together, or we’re not.”

“We’re a team,” he agreed, his voice hoarse.

The smile she gave him was so dazzling, it was hard to look at straight on. “Good. How else are we ever going to get married?”

Harry felt his entire face burn. “I thought you didn’t think I loved you,” he sputtered.

Ginny’s cheeks were tinged pink as she looked away. “I found the ring a while ago but thought maybe you had changed your mind.”

His heart felt near ready to burst, both with the guilt of making her doubt for a moment and the elation at what her words were implying. Then horror suddenly overtook him as he began to pull away.

“This isn’t a proposal!” Harry felt the urgent need to clarify. “This doesn’t count. It’s going to be perfect. You’re not going to have a clue — certainly not after a fight.”

Ginny smirked in amusement, and Merlin it was unfair how attractive it made her. “You’ve been carrying that thing for months! When were you going to get around to it?”

“I thought maybe once you’re safe…” he trailed off.

But when would that ever happen when she was with him?

Before he could settle back into his miserable thoughts, Ginny gave him a sharp flick between his forehead.

“Ow! Ginny!” he cried out in protest, pressing his hand against the stinging area.

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she reminded him.

“Of course you can,” he groused, scowling. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“And you should?” She pressed her finger against his chest. “You never asked for this, Harry. I’ve always known what it meant to be with you, and I chose it. I’d choose you every time.”

A rawness flared up inside him. Something must have shown on his face because Ginny pulled him close and held him.

He tucked her under his chin, letting his cheek rest against the top of her head. The silence was comforting after the painful words they’d exchanged.

“Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” he finally asked into her sweet-smelling hair, the aching in him needing reassurance.

“I can stay,” she said softly into his chest. “But you’re going tell me about this case. No more protecting me Harry.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “We are in this together.”

Harry let Ginny draw him into a kiss. He was never good with words and, cradling her face, he hoped to show her the breadth of his love. His lips slid over hers, filled with the tenderness, longing, and warm she infused into his life. How he didn’t take a single moment with her for granted. Then the kiss changed, building when she parted her lips and he everything he felt into it—the desperate terror he had been living with on his own for weeks that he could lose her, that it would be his fault, that maybe he should remove himself from her for her sake once more, the rush of love for the amazing woman who wanted him despite it all.

When he pulled away slowly, he was pleased to see that she seemed equally affected by their kiss as he was.

“I’m so in love with you, Ginny,” Harry breathed, emotions swelling up inside him.

“Are you?” she teased. Her kiss-swollen lips curved into a smile even though a soft vulnerability shined in her eyes.

And I’ll make sure you never forget it, Harry promised himself as he leaned to kiss her again.

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flutteringphalanges · 3 years

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Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Well it’s been several months! Hope you guys haven’t forgotten about this little fic! I won’t keep you waiting too long! I highly suggest you read the second author’s note which can be located at the end of the chapter on either FFN or AO3 if you have any questions! With that said, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Huge thanks to @mitsukatsu for always letting me bounce ideas off of her! Thanks, girl! Hope ya’ll enjoy! -Jen

Chapter Thirteen

Though the sky was shrouded in near darkness, the full moon peaked through just enough to illuminate the scattered clouds that blanketed the night. It was eerie to say the least and even Agatha, despite what she now was, stuck close to Dracula as they made their way down an off-beaten path towards the small village. If her still heart could, it would be beating with such ferocity that her very chest would've felt the crushing blow of each throb.

"You're awfully quiet." Her mate commented, offering his hand as they stepped over a log. "You have nothing to fear. It is quite a simple process and I assure you that I would not allow any harm to come to you."

"That's not what I'm afraid of you." Agatha said quietly. "I am not worried about my sake."

"Then what?" The Count inquired, stopping them both in their tracks. "This isn't about your moral standards is it, Agatha? We've discussed this on numerous occasions. I only wish what is best for you. I think in time you will see that. How much, I cannot promise, but it will get easier." He smiled gently and tilted her chin to press his lips to hers. "Come," he urged. "Let us not wait. Time seemingly moves much faster than one would presume."

Part of her wanted to say something. Outright deny any participation in this immoral act. But perhaps it was her selfish love for him that even made her consider the possibility. Why was romance so damn desirable? Holding her in a vice grip where eternity with her former enemy was a far more pleasant option than being without? Was this love sickness? Could he feel the same way? That only made it worse. The former nun sighed, trying to clear her head of such thoughts. So much had happened in these past few months. Her skull hurt and she wasn't quite sure if it was due to her fall or just the strain of it all.

"Ah! We're here!" The excitement in Dracula's voice pulled the former nun from her thoughts. She looked to the vampire, his teeth glinting in what little moonlight shone from the clouds. "It's right outside the city of Brașov, secluded enough that we shouldn't be bothered." He reached down and gave her hand a squeeze. "Fear not," he murmured. "I will be right by your side guiding you the entire time." Though his words offered little relief.

The village was nothing special, far from appeasing to the eye. It was small, perhaps used at most for those passing through or people making just enough to get by. Agatha absentmindedly dug her nails into the palm of her hand, feeling their newly found strength press indents into the skin. Dracula was speaking to her, but his words sounded so distant as she took in her surroundings. As a greater part of her wanted to turn back and return to the castle, an unexpected sight captured her immediate attention.

"No, please! I'm begging you! Leave me be!"

From the entrance of an alleyway, a woman stumbled backwards, her hands outstretched as if in some poor attempt to protect herself. Agatha stepped forward instinctively, but found her mate's arm outstretched in front preventing her from going forward.

"Wait." He said quietly. "Allow this to play out."

Agatha threw him a look of horror about to protest when a stranger strode out from the shadows something glinting in his hand. Without warning, the figure slashed the object at the woman's neck causing a gurgling choke of surprise to escape past her lips. Something sweet filled the air. The scent was more alluring than any blossom the former nun could remember smelling. Blood. Fresh blood. Human blood.

Whizzing, the lady collapsed on the ground, too weak to ward off the man as he began to dig through what little satchel she carried. Finally snapping from her trance, Agatha looked in horror at the sight before her. At the intense feelings that bombarded her mind after witnessing what she had just seen. How both her former and immortal sides were battling against her sanity.

Agatha's eyes remained locked on the man's as he stood unmoved just meters from her. With her new found abilities, even in the nearly moonless night, she could make out the thick, crimson liquid as he dripped down the shimmering blade. It was almost teasing. Watching it fall to the ground below where it became soiled by dirt.

"What are you waiting for?" A voice coaxed softly from behind, its excitement barely masked. "Go, I'll follow."

Yet Agatha's attention was not drawn to Dracula. Instead, her gaze briefly flickered to the figure lying nearly lifeless off to the robber's side. The woman's hands wearily grasped at the deep slash drawn across her throat as her life blood gushed between her fingers. An easier prey, she knew, but not one of good consciousness. If the former nun was to kill, then there had to be a reason.

"Two for the price of one." She heard Dracula say from behind. "The girl is merely a mercy kill."

They had different ideas about compassion, and the younger vampire's attention redirected once more to the man. The soon to be murderer. If it could, her blood would be boiling. A strange emotion began to fill her. Almost primal in nature. Her smooth teeth began to shift as she took a step forward towards the thief.

"Stay-stay back!" The man warned, swinging his knife shakily between Dracula's and Agatha's direction. "I'm warning you!"

But Agatha's ears no longer heard the desperate, empty threats. Nor did she feel the anticipation of her mate by her side. Instead, she lunged forward and knocked the man to the floor. Predator finally becoming prey.

Fangs cut through soft flesh like a spoon through room temperature butter. Instantly a flood of hot, sweet liquid coated her tongue and flowed down her throat in deep, hungry gulps. Agatha wasn't sure what she had been expecting. As a child, she'd once fallen and bitten straight through her bottom lip. Through the pain, the blood had tasted salty. Unpleasant. But now, here where she feasted, it was like honey straight from the comb. This wasn't the putrid taste from animal gore. No. No, this was far, far delectable.

"Agatha."

A hand clamped down on her shoulder but Agatha ignored it, choosing instead to keep suckling away at whatever remained of her victim. The grip, though gentle, tightened slightly causing an unanticipated low grumble to escape from deep within the former nun's throat. Finally, she sat up, blood dripping unceremoniously down her chin. She blinked, slightly confused for a moment as she began to take in her surroundings once more. Dracula smiled fondly at her, an almost proud sort of expression. Agatha blinked again and, looking from the dead man to her lover, quickly wiped away at her chin in slight embarrassment.

"I must admit I am quite impressed." The Count mused, admiring her handy work. "You took to it much better than I had anticipated." He ran a hand through her hair, his dark eyes flickering away from the body. "Now might I interest you in some dessert?"

The blood that bubbled around the entry wound on the woman's neck was already blackening with clots when Agatha arose to her feet. With great care, the younger vampire made her way over, careful not to step on the crumpled body. The lady gazed up at her with grey, uncertain eyes, each breath more raspier than the prior. Perhaps she didn't see the act Agatha had just committed, or was too out of it to even fully absorb what had occurred.

"Scared…" It was about all Agatha could clearly make out. "Please…"

Ignoring what Dracula could possibly be thinking, his Bride gingerly sat on the ground and cradled the woman like one does a babe. Her skin was grey, cold as what little blood left stuck to Agatha like a paste. A waste, she knew, but her own needs were none of her current concerns. She held the woman close, as best as one could for both being around the same height.

"There is nothing to fear." The former nun said softly, her eyes locked onto the woman's. "Soon there will be no pain. No horror. Be at peace with your Savior. Go now with God."

Her pulse stopped and Agatha watched the woman's chest rise and fall one more time before all with still. Gently, she closed both eyelids, covering the irises that reflected the moonlight like glass. She turned her head to see Dracula watching her, his expression hard to read. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she lowered the woman back down onto the ground and rose to her feet.

"She didn't deserve to die like that." Agatha finally said, not turning to meet the vampire's gaze. "No matter what you say, I made the right call."

The Count exhaled. "I take it you know your way enough to start walking back towards the direction of the castle?" Agatha merely nodded and Dracula cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose then I'll clean up for tonight. We can make that a lesson for another day." He smiled, trying to lighten the tension. "You did well, Agatha. Give yourself some credit. We'll have to celebrate amongst ourselves."

Dracula kissed her cheek and Agatha forced a small smile. She tried not to look at the two bodies as her mate gave her hand a small squeeze. Though she physically hadn't felt this great in a long while, the repercussions of what she had done had struck her hard.

Honestly, she quite yearned for the vampire's company as she followed the trail that led back to their home. Right now, the idea of being alone wasn't all that pleasant. Then again, crushing the chest of a human to prevent it from turning was far less appealing. So she went by memory, trying to push past what she had done until the castle was in sight.

"Foolish, foolish…" She thought to herself, the brush and stone crunching under her feet. "Just let it slip away. If there is some higher power that thinks I have done some good enough to deserve the least bit of mercy, allow me to forget for a few precious moments."

A humorless chuckle escaped from between her lips. At least Dracula hadn't called her out on her biblical speech. That had taken her by some surprise. But as a nun, the dying always seemed calmed by the idea that God awaited for them with open arms and complete, forgiving nature. She hadn't quite understood that. Then again, she hadn't quite understood much of that the more she considered it.

A pair of arms wound themselves around her waist just as Agatha reached the top of a hill. Dracula pressed his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled. She could smell the heavy scent of blood on him, though it was far from pleasant. Corpse blood never did have the same effect she was beginning to pick up.

"You walk too terribly slow." He murmured against her skin. "If I were a fox and you were a rabbit, you'd be dead."

"Always lovely with your analogies." Agatha snorted, rolling her eyes. "And we both know I'm too wise to be a rabbit." She paused, hesitation in her voice. "Is it done?"

"As I've said before," Dracula turned the former nun so that she now faced him. "You are my true bride. I have no intention to turn others." Her eyes narrowed, pressing him for a better form of confirmation. "Yes. You have nothing to worry about." The Count exclaimed, admiring her in the moonlight. "Have I told you how ravishing you look tonight?"

Forget. Forget. Agatha gazed up into his dark eyes, taking in the lust and excitement that they held. She could taste the thief lingering on her tongue. Feel the dried blood from the innocent woman against her skin and on her clothes. Forget. Forget. She wanted to block it out. And here stood Dracula. Completely unaware, far too focused on what he thought was right. Was okay. In that moment, she needed him to help her forget. Wanted him to make her forget.

"Then show me." She whispered, his eyebrow quirked in surprise as she moved his arms to the straps of her dress. "You tell me I'm exquisite, but words have no meaning over actions." Agatha locked eyes with him. "Take me here. Right now."

Dracula's lips curled into a smile. "I did not realize how much tonight meant to you."

A blur of emotions. A tidal wave of feelings. Agatha bit her lower lip, glancing once at the night sky before back at her lover. They still had time. A few hours before dawn. They'd make it back. She just needed to be distracted. If just for a little while. Forget.

Agatha forced her second smile of the night. "Then let me show you."

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #BBC Dracula #Dracula x Agatha #Bad Moon Rising

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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“Now I'm seeing clearly how I still need you near me -- I still love you so... There's something between us that won't ever leave us -- There's no letting go... We had a ‘once in a lifetime,’ But I just didn't know it 'til my life fell apart...”

~“If Ever You’re In My Arms Again,” by Peabo Bryson

x~x~x~x

His entire school career and beyond, Orion Amari had always been the wise counselor to his friends and teammates when it came to finding balance with their emotions and lives. Even though he had his own struggles thanks to his less-than-balanced childhood in an orphanage and suffered from anxiety attacks every-so-often, he’d still been able to live a healthy life regardless and find proper coping mechanisms for his trauma. When Orion found himself falling in love, however, it was a struggle he hadn’t known quite how to handle, or even how best to ask for help with.

Orion realized something was off-balance when Carewyn Cromwell -- a Slytherin one year younger than him who he’d finally managed to convince to rejoin his Quidditch team after three years to help their team win the Quidditch Cup Final -- got badly injured by a Bludger and ended up in the Hospital Wing with a bruised lung. Carewyn’s condition had paralyzed Orion in a severe anxiety attack the likes of which his teammates had rarely seen before, and although he managed to get his emotions under control once Carewyn was conscious, even he was unsettled by how bad the attack was. Admittedly, though, Orion had always been quite fond of Carewyn, given how well they saw eye to eye and how much they both respected each other, and Orion had felt responsible for her having gotten injured. He probably would’ve simply passed his feelings off as just guilt and worry were it not for what he saw the morning of the Quidditch Cup Award Ceremony.

While training before dawn as he always did in good weather, Orion caught sight of a gleaming white Patronus in the form of a Winged Horse. His breath stilled, disbelieving -- it was the same as the Patronus he himself had only just learned to conjure earlier that year in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And when he flew down after the Patronus and saw who had cast it, he found Carewyn waiting for him in McNully’s commentator box. Orion would look back on that day and wonder how in the world he reacted as calmly as he did, while knowing the superstition surrounding people sharing Patronuses -- but at the time, the sight had only made him want to be with her, to talk with her, to...look at her...look upon her with more clarity than he ever had before. And when he did, he realized that Carewyn Cromwell truly was a beautiful person: a selfless, kind, resourceful person with more fire than a Fire Crab and all the courage of a Chinese Fireball. It was little wonder that her classmates regarded her with such admiration, whether because of her Cursebreaking or not. Anyone could fall in love with the likes of Carewyn Cromwell. Even he...could see himself falling in love with such a woman.

And yet, when another person might have tried to make a move...Orion hesitated. He only had one week remaining at Hogwarts, before he graduated and joined the Montrose Magpies as their newest Chaser. The dream he’d worked so hard for -- his “gold,” if one recalls Orion valuing the “tenacity of a niffler” -- was finally within his grasp. Could he really put all of that at risk, by trying to alter course now? And Carewyn had her own “gold” as well -- her quest to protect Hogwarts from the Cursed Vaults. She would never choose a romance over helping her brother and protecting her own found family. Orion didn’t even know if what Carewyn and he had could even be considered a romance. Would he even have looked at Carewyn as anything romantic if he hadn’t seen her Patronus? He wasn’t sure...but now that he had, wouldn’t he then be assuming that there was more between them than there really was? Was he only projecting the “soulmates” superstition onto them, just because he fancied her? A crush was not love, after all. As much as he himself believed in fate as well, Orion knew that Carewyn did not. More importantly, he knew she’d both want and deserve someone who loved her for who she was, not due to some old magical wives’ tale. As much as he admired her, Orion couldn’t say definitively that he was in love with Carewyn, and the thought of putting all of his dreams on hold just to try to grab at a chance -- as a Slytherin, Orion just couldn’t see the sense in it. He couldn’t make that choice, not after he’d worked so hard! A Chaser can’t get distracted by the Golden Snitch, when their job is to score goals. And perhaps, in the deepest, darkest part of himself...Orion worried that he could never be what Carewyn needed. He knew how much she loved her brother and how much she wanted her family to be as it once was -- he remembered the pain in her eyes, when he’d first told her he was an orphan. Carewyn needed a family -- a home -- something stable and warm to return to...all things Orion knew absolutely nothing about. He didn’t want a conventional family life -- he had no interest in getting married or having lots of kids or buying a house with a white-picket fence. He wanted to play Quidditch and be free to live his own life, the way he wanted. And as much as he thought it was possible he could fall in love with Carewyn some day, he dreaded the thought of sacrificing everything he’d ever wanted to pursue her -- of giving up the “gold” he’d been chasing for so long.

And so, after a lot of thought, Orion made the decision to keep his feelings to himself. If they were truly meant to be, maybe their paths would realign again someday, he told himself. It was a decision that tormented Orion for the next six years he played for the Montrose Magpies. Not that he talked to much of anyone about his inner conflict -- even Orion’s best friends Skye Parkin and Murphy McNully and “star twin” KC @kc-needs-coffee could only really read between the lines, noticing that he seemed oddly avoidant whenever any mention of Carewyn was brought up. Orion even entered into a few relationships, but none of them lasted long, often because Orion’s partner wanted “more” than Orion was willing to give. The Star Chaser didn’t want to sacrifice his freedom, his dreams, or his independence. It was the main reason he hadn’t chased Carewyn in the first place...even though she’d seemed to understand him so much more than any partner he’d ever had. Carewyn would still send him letters sometimes -- Orion didn’t answer as much as he probably should have, but he always had a lot of difficulty answering her letters whenever he was in a relationship. It made him feel like he was being unfaithful, somehow. And as the years went on and Orion lived his own life and heard about Carewyn’s successful trials at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he tried to tell himself all the more that he’d made the right choice not to pursue Carewyn. If you love someone, you have to be willing to set them free, right? Not that he knew for sure that he’d been in love with her, but...they could’ve been something, maybe...if he hadn’t been so cowardly...

Orion’s longest relationship was with a young woman named Delilah Flint, who had taken a desk job with the Magpies’ PR department. The distinction probably wouldn’t have had much weight (given that they’d still only been together for about a year), were it not for Delilah ending up pregnant. Neither Orion nor Delilah had ever been interested in marriage, Orion because he didn’t see much reason and Delilah because she came from a family who would’ve never approved of her marrying an orphan of mixed magical ancestry -- but after the birth of their daughter Eos in summer 1996, the two reacted in completely opposite ways. Orion, who had never really had much interest in having a family, nonetheless felt a wonderful new paternal feeling swelling up in his breast toward his daughter and promised himself and Eos that she wouldn’t grow up alone, unsafe, and scared like he had. Delilah, on the other hand, suffered from severe post-partum depression after giving birth, thanks in no small part to when Eos was born (right after the return of Voldemort was revealed to the Wizarding World), and she was also in such severe financial straits that she’d have to go to her pureblood family for help, who would never agree to help her knowing she’d had a child out of wedlock. Delilah tried to give Eos up to an orphanage -- Orion, understandably horrified, tried to pacify Delilah however he could, even going so far as to suggest marriage if it meant keeping her and his infant daughter in his life...but in the end, that December, Delilah dropped Eos in Orion’s lap and left, never to be seen again.

The following year, the Ministry fell, and Orion had to go on the run, just barely escaping the Death Eaters with Eos thanks to the help of his Quidditch League associates McNully, Skye, Erika Rath, Oliver Wood, and Andre Egwu. Going on the run with a one-year-old was a difficult proposition, and after several months, a group of Snatchers cornered Orion trying to covertly purchase a new wand from a private vendor after his had gotten broken, and they took him into custody. Orion, who was bundled up in a cloak and looked to be holding his arm as if it was broken under it, went quietly with the Snatchers to the Ministry, his face oddly pale as he forcibly tried to calm his intense anxiety. He was rounded up with several other prisoners and put in a room in the Department of Mysteries until they could be “processed through the court” (read: wrongly convicted of “stealing magic”) and transported to Azkaban.

Fortunately for Orion, Aurors Angelo Lancaster @angellazull and Talbott Winger had caught wind that a new round of prisoners had been brought in, and they reached out to their main contact in Magical Law for help in busting them out. The contact -- an old school friend of theirs who was an up-and-coming lawyer -- arranged the trial hearings’ schedule so that there was a noticeable window of time before they started. In that short time, Angelo, Talbott, and their contact were able to break into the room and rescue the prisoners...and yes, the contact in question did indeed turn out to be a pretty young woman with emotional, almond-shaped blue eyes and a short ginger bob wearing flowing dress robes and bright red lipstick.

When Carewyn and Orion got over the shock of seeing each other face-to-face again for the first time in six years, one of their very first exchanges was --

“You cut your hair.”

“So did you.”

Another involved Carewyn offering to mend the “arm” Orion was holding under his cloak.

“You’re hurt...let me -- ”

“No! No, I’m...not hurt...I...”

When Orion tentatively raised his cloak to show Carewyn his tiny daughter bundled up in a wrap around his chest and cradled in his arms, part of him had wondered how she would react. He hadn’t mentioned Delilah or any of his other relationships to her in those short responses he’d sent her -- it’d been uncomfortable for him, to try to talk about his love life in his letters to her. But regardless of the surprise that rippled over her face, when Carewyn looked from the little baby to up into Orion’s dark eyes, her pale face nonetheless betrayed a weak smile.

“Is...is it a she?”

“Yes. ...Her name is Eos.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened visibly, welling up with a beautiful warmth, like the kind Orion had sometimes seen her show toward her friend Barnaby or younger students like Cedric Diggory. A maternal warmth...

“She’s beautiful.”

Carewyn’s whisper made Orion’s heart swell up in his chest, slamming against his ribs as if it wished to push itself through a set of prison bars. Even after so many years, her soul was truly more like his than anyone else Orion had ever known before.

Together Carewyn, Talbott,and Angelo worked to shrink all of the prisoners down to a size that they could smuggle them out of the Ministry and then help them go into hiding. After the War was over, Carewyn helped Orion with the paperwork needed for him to claim sole custody of Eos, since Orion and Delilah not being legal partners meant that Delilah and her family would have first priority if they ever sued for custody. Orion wasn’t sure if the Flints ever would try to take Eos, but Carewyn was determined not to give them any legal opening.

“You fought for her, Orion, not them. And now I plan to fight for you.”

“Carewyn...”

“No. I don’t want them to ever feel like they can just waltz in and take her, not after leaving her to the wolves. I’ll do whatever I have to, to make sure Eos stays with the man who put his life on the line to keep her in his life and safe. She deserves that.”

The stubborn fire in Carewyn’s blue eyes and the sincerity of her convictions was all it took. Orion had been on the edge for so long, feeling faintly off-kilter with every step for seven years, but had always just barely managed to feign composure and balance...but now, in a single moment, it was all for naught. He had fallen -- despite his best efforts, despite all of his avoidance and his flagrant cowardice -- into the wonderful, swirling abyss of ethereal, warm chaos that men called “love.” In that moment, and in many moments after, Orion cursed himself for not chasing after Carewyn Cromwell from the very start...for wasting so much time and being so passive, so short-sighted...so consumed by “what-if’s” that he’d completely discarded the “what-could-be’s.”

Fortunately there was a chance, now, to make up for lost time. A rose is no less beautiful just because it blooms slowly.

#my art #my writing #hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #katriona cassiopeia #angelo lancaster #talbott winger #other people's mcs #eos amari #orion's haircut is basically a 'long hair with an undercut' look #that way he can tie his hair up and have it completely off his neck when he's flying #and of course he still wears his classic arm warmers XD #can I also just say that as an INFP I totally get the feel of being overwhelmed by 'what-if's'#to the point that you're too paralyzed to actually act?#and yeah choosing between your dreams and a budding crush does seem like kind of an unpleasant crossroads #and I daresay after making the choice not to pursue a romance it would be that bit harder to try to pursue that person #orion and carey's lives ARE very different -- right down to where they live for their jobs london england VS montrose scotland #naturally they find a way to work that out but it would seem like a pretty significant obstacle #and honestly it's probably good that these two took some time apart #carey needed to come to grips with her asexuality before pursuing any other serious relationships #and now orion has some relationship experience under his belt too #plus carey and orion both have their own kids now! carewyn becomes erik apollo's legal guardian post-War #yay single parents!! 83

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iturbide · 3 years

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(CheeseAndCake here) It is done. More CC!Edelgard in Heroes has been sent! I tried to make it clear that, while Edelgard has changed a lot, and is showing the dragonkin propper respect, her mind is still jumping to the thoughts she used to have before she gets a hold of her thought process. It’s still there, but she doesn’t let it show or let those thoughts dictate her actions and is doing her best to change it. I’m so proud of her.

You and me both her development as a character is absolutely fantastic, especially in the way that she still jumps to certain thoughts and then forcibly grapples with those very thoughts because she’s conscious of the fact that she needs to work on that. I especially liked how she reminded herself that it’s the second thought that’s important rather than the first, because that’s really important for people who are trying to change: if we tell ourselves that the first thought is the only thing that matters, then we just feel ashamed and guilty for reacting in ways we’ve been conditioned to, and it stymies progress. She really is working hard on changing, and that is absolutely something to take pride in.

You know who else would be proud of her? The Bad End AU folks.

In the interests of keeping this at least kind of contained, I’ll just stick to the core group: Claude, Hilda, Ashe, Annette, and Nika.

Claude

After getting summoned, would take pains at first to avoid any Edelgard, in part because at the time he was summoned the Edelgard of his world probably doesn’t know he survived; he might even be going by his given Almyran name rather than his adopted Fodlani one, both to safeguard his identity and because he’s spent years back home where they use his true name...though the resemblance between him and the other Claudes would still give him away to some extent, even if he is older and wiser than they are.

CC!Edelgard would probably be the only one to actively seek him out, since the others tend to be very focused on their tasks and don’t care to make small talk with those who aren’t in their immediate circle of confidantes (Hubert, Byleth, etc; occasionally they would chat with Lysithea, but part of it would be trying to coax her to the Imperial side). The first time she does, he would spend a solid ten seconds trying to size up the situation (because he’s pretty sure that’s Edelgard, but she’s not in the Imperial reds, but is she just trying to get him to lower his guard, or is there something else going on here?); having known someone very much like him for quite a while, it would be all the proof she needs to say with certainty that this is, in fact, Claude, because she doesn’t know anyone else that will just stare so intently at something (or someone) they’re trying to figure out.

She might try for the same Almyran icebreaker that she used with Legendary Claude, and for a split second he would get chills because fuck did Edelgard conquer Almyra too -- wait, no, if she did she’d probably make Fodlani the standard language, huh. The only sign of those internal thoughts would be a slight sharpening of his gaze as he looks at her, which would soften again once he comes to his far less dire conclusion and actually processes the words she said -- though at that point he’d laugh because him? Ruler of Almyra? He’s an advisor, she clearly has him mistaken for someone else.

Of course then she tags him as ‘heir’ instead (using the Almyran term), and his smile gets a little sharper, because if he’s guessing she only figured that out recently -- if she knew he was a prince at Derdriu, he suspects that she wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

CC!Edelgard let him go, of course. But this is about as close to a direct admission as Claude’s ever come, and despite the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings swirling through her she pushes herself to ask if he’d like to talk about it over a game.

Claude isn’t one to pass up a game, honestly. So the board is set, and they talk about their worlds over several matches; they don’t realize how time passes, engrossed as they are in the games and conversation. Someone quietly brings them a meal once it gets late enough, and they each offer a distracted word of thanks, eating without ever putting the match on hold.

They discuss his world, and how the Edelgard he knew ordered his death, only for their professor to land a non-fatal (but convincingly mortal-looking) blow; how the situation in Fodlan made his dream as good as impossible, so he took an advisory position under his father when he returned to Almyra while establishing an information network stretching beyond its borders that he hoped would do Judith proud; how news of a Blaiddyd brought him secretly back to Fodlan to evacuate Dimitri’s half-brother Nikita, and how he’s tried to give Nika a life of his own choosing rather than molding him into a leader for Faerghus; and most of all, about the dire situation in Fodlan, and how Claude is willing to take the fight back across the border if that’s Nika’s choice once he comes of age so that the people there can live by their own choosing again.

They discuss her world, and how she saw her conquest through, only to realize too late that she’d been deceived and manipulated from the start by Those Who Slither; how she was taken captive again, subjected to worse than she’d suffered as a child, until Claude and Dimitri’s cousin Ivanna created enough chaos for her to break free; how she joined them in the fight to put an end to what she had forged, casting aside the title of Emperor and seeking only to atone for her past evils in whatever way she could -- beginning with changing herself, expanding her view of the world and her understanding of its people along with it.

Claude never imagined that Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor of Adrestia and Conqueror of Fodlan, would tell him that he’s right to try and stop her. But then, this particular Edelgard has seen where her ambitions end up. It’s heartening, in a way -- and while he doesn’t think she deserved what happened to her (no one deserves to suffer the way she did), he’s still glad that she’s managed to realize how narrow her previous worldview was, and he’s proud that she’s trying to broaden her horizons. They might not become friends, necessarily, but he would be willing to help her work on that in much the same way that the Claude she knew did, which she would appreciate.

He’d also teach her more Almyran just because he can. She’s going to go back able to hold basic conversations and just wait until her Claude hears that.

Hilda

Much like Claude, she might also be going by another name -- though in her case, it would be an assumed Almyran alias, since using her own name would be dangerous with her supposedly dying at Derdriu along with Claude. She’s gotten used to it, for sure, but she also can’t wave off suspicion anywhere near as well as Claude does, since she has the classic Goneril Pink palette going on (and, as Claude’s mom pointed out when they first met, she’s too old to be Holst’s kid, so sister makes more sense -- and Holst only has one sister, officially).

Also like Claude, she would do her utmost to avoid any and all Edelgards, and for much the same reason: she was supposed to have died at Derdriu, so Edelgard realizing she didn’t could put her and Claude both in danger. Lucky for her, most of the Edelgards don’t have much interest in cross-House socialization; however, CC!Edelgard takes an interest in Claude, and if there’s one thing Hilda absolutely will not allow, it’s someone threatening Claude, so when she sees the two of them in conversation, the second she recognizes that this is an Edelgard -- something that wouldn’t be immediately obvious to her, given the outfit change -- she’d be putting herself bodily between them with her axe at the ready.

Claude is far more amused by this than Edelgard is. She’s not big on having weapons pulled on her, understandably, and there’s a momentary face-off between Hilda with her axe and Edelgard with her dagger before Claude inserts himself between the two women and suggests they just talk this out like reasonable people.

“Since when has Edelgard ever been reasonable?” Hilda scoffs.

“Since I was robbed of my freedom and nearly my life at the hands of foes I’d underestimated too long, and Claude offered me a chance to atone for my past.”

That’s enough to make Hilda take a step back. Claude has no interest in speaking for or over Edelgard, but he acts as a mediator between them as they talk, calming arguments before they can get out of hand and generally guiding the flow of conversation. Hilda isn’t as quick to trust Edelgard as he is, but even she can’t deny that what the former Emperor went through was something no one should have to face; she’s at least willing to give Edelgard a chance to change, and show proof of it -- and even she has to admit that the former Emperor’s progress is stark, in comparison to their last meeting.

Ashe

Unlike Claude and Hilda, Ashe doesn’t have a reason to hide his identity. He wasn’t part of the final battle at Fhirdiad, having been charged with Nika’s evacuation before the Imperial Army arrived at the Kingdom capital, so there’s no illusion that would be broken by discovering that he’s alive. His goal is to safeguard Nika’s life, and that’s what he intends to do.

Of course, this means that he has absolutely no love whatsoever for Edelgard or Hubert, since he believes (and Claude agrees) that it was the Emperor’s right hand man who’s been sending assassins after the young Blaiddyd. Claude might have a fair-minded perspective when it comes to Edelgard (though he still condemns her actions, make no mistake, he just recognizes that she’s still human and has potentially deeply flawed motivations that drive her), but Ashe still harbors some intense hatred and resentment toward her.

Hilda might be willing to listen to CC!Edelgard (with Claude’s mediation), but Ashe has no interest in hearing what any Edelgard has to say. He’s not openly aggressive with them, but he prefers to avoid them when possible -- and when he has to work with them, he’s terse at best, following orders to the letter so that he can distance himself from them as soon as possible. CC!Edelgard would have to put in a concerted effort just to talk with him, and even then he’d be unimpressed. She murdered his friend, her own step-brother -- something Claude’s secured proof of -- destroyed countless lives in the Kingdom (not to mention the Alliance and Empire), robbed nations of their independence and forced obedience on them...he might have done things he’s not proud of in the past, but he never committed atrocities the way she did.

He wouldn’t condemn her attempts to change. He knows the importance of getting another chance, of making amends and atoning for past crimes -- but at the same time, she took so much from him that he wouldn’t be able to forgive her. The pain she caused him is too deep and too personal, so while he would certainly acknowledge her growth and progress, he wouldn’t forgive her for what she did to him and his.

She would acknowledge that he doesn’t have to forgive her, though. She’s not going to try to win him over or change his mind -- but the apology is still important, because she recognizes the harm she caused him. She’s going to keep striving to better herself whether he accepts her apology or not -- and when she leaves, promising that she’ll let him choose when and if they speak again, Ashe would know that she really means what she says.

Annette

Similar to Ashe, Annette doesn’t have a reason to hide her identity. She wasn’t there for the fall of Fhirdiad, since Dimitri sent her off with Nika to keep him safe; the Empire has no reason to think she’s dead, so her being alive doesn’t need to be a secret. All she’s trying to do is keep Nika safe, and that’s exactly what she intends to do.

Unlike Ashe, though, she doesn’t go out of her way to avoid the Edelgards, and generally only leaves shared spaces with them when she has something to do. She knows how dangerous the Adrestian Emperor can be and generally is, so she prefers to stick closer to her friends in order to help keep them safe, specifically placing herself between Edelgard and her companion. Ashe removing himself from places where Edelgard is present generally ends up removing Annette, too, since she’d much rather stay with him than linger around Imperials.

CC!Edelgard would likely be the first and only one who actually bothers approaching Annette -- and the moment she does, Annette would be on her guard. If she’s with someone, she would try to send them away so they’re not in danger; if she’s alone, she would just be wary but open to at least trying to listen, since Claude has made some good points about Edelgard being human and therefore having very human motivations, however flawed the execution might have been...but at the same time, she’s still nursing raw wounds of her own. Not only is Edelgard responsible for the death of her closest friends, she also saw to the death of her father -- and estranged or not, she wanted to give him a chance and try to rebuild their family. None of that even gets into the fact that she can’t go home because of what Edelgard did to the Kingdom, or the fact that she ordered the murder of a child -- Blaiddyd or not that’s unconscionable to her.

Compared to Ashe’s icy loathing, Annette is much more passionate and emotional when it comes to her rebukes. Nothing Edelgard could ever do will bring back Annette’s family or friends, and after all the harm she caused...Annette can’t forgive her. Even if she understands what this Edelgard is doing, she just can’t bring herself to forgive that hurt.

But Edelgard would certainly understand that, by now. And she would explain that she’s not trying to make Annette forgive her: the apology was necessary as an acknowledgement of her own wrongdoing, and so that Annette could know that she recognizes the pain she caused. She’ll keep moving forward, striving to change and atone and avoid committing the same mistakes again. And that would be what finally cements in her head that Claude was really right about her: she really is a person, someone driven and flawed...but also someone who can change, if she wants to.

Nikita

Nika, unlike the others, has never had a personal encounter with Edelgard at the time he was summoned. He knows of her, primarily through accounts from Claude, Hilda, Ashe, and Annette, but he’s never seen her in person: he would only know to avoid her because the second they see her, Ashe and Annette would point Edelgard out to him and tell him to avoid her at all costs.

He would try, too. Since he would spend a lot of time with his Kingdom guardians, he’d either end up leaving places with Ashe when Edelgard arrives or going elsewhere on Annette’s advice. Hilda would be similarly defensive of him, though she would be confident in her ability to cover for him should Edelgard make a move and therefore wouldn’t encourage him to leave when they cross paths with the Emperor; Claude, meanwhile, would be the only person willing to engage with them, even if they don’t usually approach him.

Which is where CC!Edelgard comes in. After they’ve started interacting on a somewhat routine basis, if she approaches Claude while Nika is with him, Claude would go out of his way to introduce them -- and since he would have discussed Nika before, CC!Edelgard would know exactly who he is.

Nika’s heard a lot about Edelgard over the years. Depending on where it comes from, it can be either scathing or even-handed but still critical. And he would do his best to keep the latter in mind as he agrees to talk with her (with Claude mediating, because Nika would clearly want him there, judging by how he surreptitiously grips Claude’s hand when Edelgard makes the request). He wouldn’t know what to expect from her, really...but the story she tells of her torture and manipulation at the hands of a shadowy force would be unlike anything he could have predicted. There might be no real affection between the two, under the circumstances, but he would certainly be sympathetic to the suffering she endured, even if that doesn’t excuse her actions.

Given who Nika is, and what he intends to do, Edelgard might even try to help ensure his success as best he can: giving him what information she has about Those Who Slither, providing details on the Imperial Army’s structure and workings from her own world before everything went wrong -- anything and everything she can think of to ensure that when he goes back, he’ll be able to make Fodlan a better place than she did in her own world. He would accept it with respect and gratitude and promise to do his all...but he would still feel very strange about interacting with the woman that killed his half-brother. Even if he didn’t know Dimitri well, part of that is because she robbed him of the chance.

Ultimately he would be courteous and respectful, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to interact with her: he wouldn’t shy away from conversation when they happen to cross paths, but otherwise he would leave her to her own devices -- which, generally, would probably suit her, since she probably wouldn’t know what else to say to him. Ultimately, though, Nika would admit that Edelgard isn’t the person that he thought she would be -- which, he supposes, goes to show how much effort she’s put into becoming a different person.

#answered #cheeseandcake #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem: heroes #crest control #bad end au #this took me quite literally all day #i was trying to keep it reasonable and failed utterly haha #but i think i got the broad strokes down pretty well #i love how everyone has different takes on cc!edelgard and her growth

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omg-imagine · 4 years

Text

⊱ Forget Me Not (10/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex and cheating

A/N: It’s shorter than usual but it sets up the next chapter 👀

Also, huuuuuge thanks to @ficsnroses for reading this over as well as being super supportive when I was having a mini meltdown while writing this :)) !!

Anyways, hope you all enjoy!

Part 9

Eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the blinding daylight, Keanu almost didn’t recognize the white ceiling above. Gaze fixed on the crown molding, there was a small, yet discernable patch of grey in one corner, a soreness to his eyes. A light chuckle then escaped him, remembering when he repainted the room a year ago and had accidentally left the mark up there. He had promised to fix it, several times actually, but life got so hectic that he eventually forgot, and it was left neglected to this day.

Surrounded by the dark blue duvet he’d received as part of a house-warming gift years ago, the last time Keanu slept on this heavenly cloud of a mattress was the night you came home from the hospital. He’d gotten quite used to the smaller bed in the guest room, and waking up in this one was nearly unfamiliar to him. Shifting slightly, he stopped abruptly when he heard a soft moan to his left, feeling the warmth of another body pressed against him moving before the sheets settled again.

Turning to lie on his back, a sigh fell from Keanu’s lips at the sight of you curled up and facing the other wall. You were still in deep-sleep with one hand under your cheek, your hair spilled over the pillow, and your bare skin set aglow by the midday sun. The blankets barely covered your nude body from his eyes, and even after five years, it never failed to take his breath away.

You were beautiful, simply stunning, and utterly mesmerizing. Only a fool would choose to glance the other way when it came to you.

Mind drifting back to the night prior, the corners of Keanu’s mouth curled upwards into a soft smile. He thought about the tender way the two of you made love for hours, only falling asleep when dawn finally crept up, painting the skies outside a rosy hue. It was sweet and gentle, and Keanu hoped it was special for you, knowing it would be your first time with him. Though it had been an impulsive decision on his part, his heart swelled at the image of you experiencing pure bliss, something he had painfully longed to see again after months without doing so.

Waking up next to you felt like a dream to him, a place of endless peace and tranquility, one where the weight of his faults amounted next to nothing. For a moment, Keanu wished that it could stay this way; no guilt, secrets, and lies. Just you and him, home in your own perfect haven where the ugly past neither mattered nor existed. If he could, he would stay wrapped up in your arms forever, relishing the warmth and love he once took for granted.

But Molly’s ultimatum reminded Keanu that his world would soon fall apart. She had given him seven days to tell you the truth. Well, six now after he lost his chance last night. Even though that was generous of her, it wasn’t enough time for him to say goodbye. By this time next week, whether it be through Keanu or Molly, you would know of everything. Your heart had been broken too many times in past relationships, and he was sure that you would never forgive him for doing the same.

Keanu’s wandering thoughts ceased when you stirred awake beside him, letting out a yawn as you stretched out your limbs. Your eyes opened slowly, and after blinking a few times, you glanced at him with a tired yet bright and shining smile. Rolling onto your side, you rested your head on his bare chest, your fingers lightly skimming over the expanse, lazily drawing circles on his skin. His arm quickly came around your shoulders, pulling you close before gingerly kissing your temple then burying his nose into your hair.

“Good morning,” you mumbled softly, looking up at Keanu with your sparkling eyes.

“It’s the afternoon, baby,” he spoke, his voice thick with sleep yet filled with affection. “We slept through half the day already.”

“Well, we did have a very late night. It’s pretty understandable, don’t you think?” You giggled sweetly, nuzzling deeper into Keanu’s side. “So, about last night…”

He saw you bite your bottom lip, your gaze falling as if you’re pondering what to say next. A breath hitched in his throat as he silently studied your features. Keanu has never had someone so precious encased in his arms. Even with your hair mussed and eyes bleary, he still adored your natural state of beauty greatly.

“What about last night?” He questioned, genuinely curious.

A smile broke through your lips as you glanced back up at him. “It was perfect. I don’t know what else to say other than it was perfect. You are perfect.”

“I’m glad that you think so,” Keanu simply returned, slightly chuckling at the end as he craned his neck down to kiss you. “You’re perfect, too. So beautiful, and you feel so good.”

He couldn’t help himself. Keanu softly nudged you to lie back while he hovered above you, kissing a path down the column of your neck. He released a small groan when your nimble fingers tangled tightly in his dark hair, tugging them gently as your body arched upwards. You were craving more, and Keanu was willing to give you his all, realizing this would be one of the final instances that he could.

For a brief second, you stared deeply into his eyes, and that’s when he noticed the tears shimmering in them.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, purely concerned as he watched you quickly wipe away the wetness.

“Nothing,” you brushed off, your words coming out as a broken whisper. Keanu looked at you solemnly, placing his hand on one side of your face and stroking your cheekbone delicately with his thumb.

He hated seeing you cry.

“Y/N…”

“I’m not crying because I’m sad,” you finally reveal with a shake of your head and a tender smile. “I’m crying because this is everything that I’ve wanted. After Eric, I really believed that I would never find someone who loves me the way you do. I didn’t even think I could ever trust another person with my heart again, but then you came into my life.”

Keanu remained quiet, his body still on top of yours, but he held his weight with his elbows. His curtain of hair hid the sorrow and pain in his eyes until you reached up, brushing back the locks away from his face. He knew all about Eric and the emotional harm he had done to you, especially during the last few months of your relationship. He swore he would never hurt you the way Eric had, but he did.

“When I caught him with that woman the first time, it made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, or smart enough. I wasn’t enough for him that he strayed away, and found somebody else better than me. And for a while, I thought it was my fault. I loved him too much to let him go, even though I was blaming myself for things that I shouldn’t have had.”

“You’re more than enough, darling,” Keanu intoned softly, intertwining his hand with yours and giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. “He didn’t deserve you.”

Neither did he.

“I realize that later on when I left, but the pain didn’t disappear until you showed up,” you added, sighing. “It’s only been months since I’ve known you Ke, or at least, that’s how it seems like because of the amnesia. But you make me feel like I’m everything. You make me feel so loved and so beautiful…”

Gently, you pushed Keanu to lie down before swinging one leg over to straddle his hips. He started to notice the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, a wave of regret washing over him after hearing your words. You trusted him, loved him, saw him as the man you dreamed and longed for when in reality, he’s not.

Not anymore.

“If I end up not gaining my memories back,” you murmured as your mouth ghosted over his jaw, teasingly, “I’ll be content with the ones I already have with you.”

This time, it was Keanu trying to fight back his own tears. He’d deeply miss these intimate moments shared only between the two of you. He’d miss the softness of your lips and the warmth of your breath against his skin. He’d miss the sound of your voice, the way your laugh instantly brightens up the room and how your breathless moans made him feel desirable. He’d miss every curve of your body and every perfect imperfection on your skin. He’d miss hearing his name slip through your lips as you cry out in pleasure with him holding you close.

The end was drawing near, and nothing would ever prepare him enough for that moment. Six more days, and it’s over.

He would then miss it all.

---

“Y/N? Hello?”

You jolted slightly in your seat, seeing Molly waving her hand in front of your face to grab your attention. In the midst of your weekend brunch, you had gotten lost in your thoughts that were mainly of Keanu. Truth be told, you were lovestruck by him, even more so after the night you finally made love. Memories of it often flooded your mind, reminding you of how caring and attentive Keanu was, and how amazing it all felt being with him.

You never knew love could feel like this.

“Sorry,” you spoke once you snapped out of your daydreaming, which has lately become a regular occurrence. “What were you saying?”

Molly chuckled, shaking her head. “I was asking how work was going.”

“It’s going great, actually,” you beamed excitedly. “We’re prepping for that big fashion shoot in Japan next month. I’m still nervous about going, but it’s one of those opportunities that I’d be crazy to pass up.”

“Well, you should definitely go. Not only is it a great addition to your portfolio, it’ll also be a nice sightseeing trip, too,” Molly encouraged. “I’ve been to Japan a couple of times for work and let me tell you, it’s absolutely gorgeous there. From the culture to the food, I wish I could go back and experience it all over again.”

“I was actually thinking of asking Keanu if he wanted to go with me,” you shared, a soft smile appearing on your face. “I figured it’d be a fun trip for the two of us and escape LA for a little while. As far as I know, he doesn’t have anything important scheduled during that time. Plus, he’s going to be busy doing a movie next year, and we want to spend as much time together before that happens.”

Molly’s grin fell, her mouth pulling into a tight line. “I mean, it’s up to you if you want to invite him or not.”

Your brows furrowed at the strange shift in her demeanor. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Ke when I get home later.”

“How is he, though?” Molly inquired. You noticed very recently how tense she got every time you mentioned Keanu, and at this point, it was becoming worrisome. Did she know something that you didn’t?

“He’s good. Honestly, he’s doing great—we’re doing great.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Y/N. Truly.”

You reached for the glass of water on the table, taking a few quick sips before sighing. “I told Ke I love him.”

Molly’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly, and you heard a short gasp. “You did?”

“Yes,” you confirmed with a single nod. “I told him the night of his birthday, and… and we slept together.”

“Oh,” she could only say, her shoulders dropping, and her blue eyes flickering away from your gaze. “T-That’s… wow. I-I can’t believe he did that.”

“What do you mean?” You probed, cocking your head to the side.

Molly glanced back up at you, her muscles rigid, and the taut expression on her face bringing you concern. “He’s never going to tell you. He can’t let you go.”

Her voice was low and alarming, and you almost didn’t catch it. “Tell me what?”

A sense of dread began to spread as you waited for an answer. Molly swallowed thickly, the air in the small cafe you were seated in felt heavy, and it made you uncomfortable. You didn’t want to think of the worse. In fact, you didn’t want to believe that what she had to say could be bad. You had shared the last piece of yourself to Keanu, but with the way your friend was acting, you started doubting your decision.

“Molly, what is it?!”

Salty tears began to prick your eyes the longer you sat there, not knowing. Your heart thumped heavily against your chest as panic continued to gnaw at your guts while your mind did its best to keep you calm.

Keanu was a good person; he could do no wrong. He loved you. He could never hurt you.

But what if he did? What if he did more than what he told you?

“Y/N,” Molly sighed, her hands reaching across the table to hold your clammy ones. “I’m sorry that I have to tell you this, but after what you’ve done, I don’t think Keanu is ever going to come clean.”

“What did he do?” You questioned, feeling your heart shatter into a million pieces. “Please, Molly. Just say it.”

“Keanu’s not the man you think he is...” she stated carefully, scared of your reaction.

The following words coming out of Molly were unbelievable at first. You didn’t want to accept that there was any truth in them. It didn’t seem right that Keanu was capable of doing such a thing, but even though she couldn’t explain in detail what had happened, deep down, you could feel it.

Memories of the timeline before the accident didn’t come back to you, but you remembered something else from the night that changed everything...

Red-hot, searing anger.

---

Dark clouds began to fill up the entire sky above LA as the city braced for another storm. Keanu peered through the drapes to see small water droplets falling from above. The rain wasn’t heavy yet, though it still worried him while knowing you could be driving somewhere out there. He had called you just recently and asked if he could pick you up, only to learn that you were already on your way home.

It was Saturday, and usually, the two of you would go out on a date, but because of the poor weather, you decided to have a quiet evening indoors. Keanu had planned to surprise you with a movie night, one of your favorite things to do with him. The tv was already set-up, and the buttered popcorn was cooling off back in the kitchen. All he was waiting for now was you, and you’d be here any minute soon.

Taking a seat on the couch, Keanu then let a deep breath out as he checked the time on his watch, the roaring sound of thunder suddenly disrupting the silence. He could hear the rain starting to pick up, and through the parted curtains, he noticed the trees swaying wildly from the strong winds blowing outside of the house. The scene out there was unsettling, and he could only hope that you make it back safe and sound.

Moments later, the keys jingling outside of the nearby door alerted Keanu of your presence, and he quickly got up from the sofa and unlocked the door for you. Swinging it open, he welcomed you with a relieved smile breaking over his face, which disappeared in a split-second after seeing how you glowered at him.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted light-heartedly, though your expression remained. “I’m happy you got home—”

“Don’t,” you sternly interjected, raising your pointer finger in front of him. “Don’t you dare.”

Keanu watched in trepidation when you pushed passed him and stalked into the house, the rain dripping from your wet clothes pooling at your feet as you lingered in the foyer.

“I-Is everything okay?” He stuttered out, though he already had a feeling of what this could all be.

But how did you find out?

Molly.

“No,” you muttered bitterly. “You know damn well that everything’s not okay.”

“I don’t understand,” Keanu lied, once again feigning ignorance even though there was no point in doing so anymore. “Sweetheart, let’s get you dried off first. You’re shivering, you’re going to catch a cold.”

“Stop it, Keanu. Just drop the act!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, letting the tears fall freely down from your eyes. Keanu cautiously approached you, his fear finally unfolding in front of him, and there was no way around it this time.

“Y/N, I need you to calm down…”

“No,” you shot back angrily. “I need you to tell me everything, Keanu. What exactly happened between us?”

Keanu froze, his chest tightening at your simple yet difficult request. He wasn’t ready to do it today, but he had no other choice.

There was no more avoiding, no more lying, and no more hiding.

This was it.

This was the end.

This was the goodbye Keanu dreaded. The long, dreaded goodbye to the woman he loved.

Part 11

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @toomanystoriessolittletime @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee @ringa-starr @ficsnroses @iworshipkeanureeves @keandrews @greenmanalishi @feminine-machinegun @thehumanistsdiary @lussdew @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid @danceoftwowolves @ravenpuff02 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @allie1804-fan

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves imagine

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

I signed up for this, too

TITLE: I signed up for this, too

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her. RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: So… I had written the original one-shot for this imagine (Related to previous OS: I signed up for this) and then realized that I kind of wanted to give the story a little more depth. And so I wrote one little follow-up to resolve some of the questions I had in my head. It went wherever it wanted to, to be honest.

As far as warnings go, some language, mentions of abusive relationships, the horrid sensation that not every win is going to feel like a win, a dumpster fire human being (who totally deserved the blaster punch), and some awful logic.

= The local healer had said it was a muscle sprain, but Loki was pretty sure it was some absurd form of penance Stark had conjured up. Of course, even though he wanted to blame most of his sufferings on Stark, he had told Loki to take the day off and rest. But how could he rest when he had so many items left on his to-do list?

“Look, Rock of Ages, taking a breather won’t immediately turn you back into a baddie. I think you can rest your shoulder today and get back on the horse tomorrow without the stars falling out of alignment,” Tony argued over the line, choosing to ignore the pained grunts on the other end as Loki tried to put his jumper back on. “Are you even listening to me, Lokes?”

Loki rolled his eyes, glad that the man of iron was nowhere near him to see the expression. “Not at all. Obviously.”

“Take. The day. Off.”

A long stretch of silence passed between them before Loki deigned to answer. “I can’t, Stark.”

Tony made a clever sound on his side. “Meaning you have Charlie on your rotation today. Is that it?” Another beat of silence rang through the line. “Ugh, fine. Go to Charlie’s, but you go straight home, afterwards. You can’t be running yourself ragged. That isn’t helping anyone.”

“Fine. As you wish.” He did not sound pleased with the decision, but last time he tried to overwork himself, Stark sent a flight suit for him and locked him in a room of the Tower until he fell asleep. He wouldn’t put more severe measures past him, either.

“Come on, don’t be like that. Someone has to make sure you don’t kill yourself.” Loki grunted, having heard him before Tony sighed. “Grab some mint chocolate chip ice cream on the way. That’s her favorite.”

Another grunt and Loki stood from the medical cot with a frown. As long as he didn’t try to move his right shoulder in any meaningful direction, he didn’t feel like screaming in pain.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from shouldering several heavy, reusable grocery bags on that same painful shoulder when he was on his way to Charlie’s. He told himself that she was likely low on groceries again, though he knew that he kept her pantry and refrigerator overflowing in food. Whenever the mental image of his first meeting with Charlie floated into his mind, her face gaunt and pained, hoping death would sweep her off before anyone was the wiser, sent full-body chills through his system. Loki was not eager to repeat the experience. He had sworn to it in his heart.

Not that their relationship had gotten any easier.

Charlie, for the most part, was still weary of him; maybe even resented him. Stark had told him how smart she was, how good at her job as a web developer–something she could no longer do. She had a knack for getting things right the first time around. Which was particularly frustrating now when she felt like nothing ever went her way.

Loki knocked on the door, calling her name. He refused to continue using the greeting Stark furnished him with, and he had a sneaking suspicion Charlie preferred its disuse, as well. There was no answer.

When he opened the door, the apartment was seemingly empty. This wasn’t a rare occurrence. He put away all the groceries as quickly as he could, including the ice cream, and continued further into the home.

“Charlie.”

His ears prickled, and he twisted the bedroom door open to let himself in. Charlie was there, but not in good form. She was sat on the ground, with her mobile in hand and tears streaming down her cheeks. This wasn’t dainty or delicate–ugly crying, she would call it later. This was full-on, couldn’t-catch-her-breath, chest-wracking, head-pounding sobbing. Loki was surprised with how wide her mouth was and how much air she seemed to swallow that it was relatively quiet. Like if she were used to suffering in silence. The thought made him uncomfortable.

“Charlotte, darling, what is going on?” He hesitated placing his hand on her shoulder, though he had kneeled down beside her for that express reason. He was a monster. That wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t fix it. Gritting his teeth against the sour taste of bile in his mouth and the unwanted voices in his head, he shushed her quietly and tentatively touched her head.

Sniffling, Charlie leaned into Loki’s frame, causing him to lose his balance and land on his bum on the floor. She didn’t seem to mind the tumble, and even gripped his midsection in a vice while she sobbed. “Someone… call… charger… can't…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know…,” he trailed off, opting instead for smoothing down the cinnamon curls that looked to be in need of a brush.

“My charger.”

Loki’s nose scrunched up as he thought for a long moment. Whenever he felt like he no longer had to play charades to understand her, she went ahead and proved him all sorts of wrong. It shouldn’t be this difficult, honestly. “Your charger?” He felt her nod against his chest and the corner of his lips lifted reflexively. He sometimes wished he could capture these small, innocuous, sweet moments so he could keep them in perspective on days when she was having none of his attempts. He supposed he could take a picture with his mobile– “Oh. The charger for your mobile device? Is that it? You can’t find it?” Another nod against his chest. “I thought it was something serious. I was contemplating how much longer I would have to do chores for committing manslaughter for you.”

Charlie let out a surprised chuckle. “That’s not funny.”

“You laughed, anyway,” he pointed out with a smile he knew she couldn’t see. “Tony swapped out your chargers for wireless. There’s one on your bedside table by the lamp. You just need to lay your phone down. I told you about this last week.”

“I panicked.” Her voice and expression were both sheepish.

“It doesn’t do you well to panic.” The line was well-rehearsed, as often as he said it.

“Someone was calling,” she explained, brow furrowed into a tight frown.

“Even then, dove.” He started to maneuver them so they could get off of the floor, though his shoulder screamed from bearing her weight, bridal-style.

“It was Ben.”

“Oh.” Loki stilled, just short of putting her down on the bed. “Do you want to borrow mine? You could call him back.” The offer physically pained him, like an unnecessary tourniquet around the arteries of his heart that he would attribute to his utter hatred for the man. He managed to set her down on the corner of the bed before he looked for his own mobile in his pocket. He exchanged hers for his in her hand and put hers on the charging station.

“No! He left me, Loki.”

“He left you because of me.”

Charlie was glaring into the nothingness before her, looking rather irate. “No, he left me because of me. Because he didn’t want to deal with a blind girlfriend,” she grit out.

“I made you blind.”

“No, the Chitauri made me blind, you’re just the idiot being played who opened the door.” This was not the first time they had had this discussion. Every time they did, she showed Loki the human being’s capacity for forgiveness and his proficiency for being a fool. She was too kind.

“Charlie, you–”

“I’m not going to argue about this today, Loki. So, for all intents and purposes and ease of understanding, just assume I’m always right.”

Loki smirked, despite himself. Her response was a little more heated than usual, but it didn’t lack the certain bit of cocky humor he was used to seeing from her. “Whatever you say.”

Her shoulders slumped, though she seemed calmer. “Could you make me some tea?”

“Of course,” he replied, almost excitedly. Charlie didn’t tend to ask for favors and when she did, it felt like he was earning just a little bit of the trust she placed in him. “I’ll braid your hair after. You’re looking a right mess,” he teased. Even though she glared in his general vicinity, she allowed him to take her hand and bring her to her feet.

“Do you think I should call him back?”

Loki stopped cold, causing her to bump into his side. In one swoop, he pushed Charlie behind his frame and tensed. “I don’t think you have to, Charlotte.”

Standing at the kitchen island, glancing around the flat with interest was a man, a couple of inches or so shorter than himself, who Loki recognized from the dozens of photos he had put away in weeks prior. At the sound of their voices, he had turned to face Loki and Charlie and the gentle brown gaze turned so poisonous Loki had trouble breathing. He didn’t look particularly dangerous. On any other occasion, with his magic, the man would have been an easy feat to get rid of, but now… he was no better than a garden variety mortal. With a muscle sprain, at that. And a crippling sense of self-doubt.

“Get the fuck out of my house right now!”

Loki started, and he immediately felt Charlie grab a handful of his jumper and hold him close. “It’s alright. I have you,” he muttered. Her head popped out from around his large frame, as though she intended to peek around him.

“Charlie, what the fuck?” The man seemed no kinder when directing himself at her.

“This isn’t you house,” she replied, voice uneven.

“What have you done to her? I swear to God that if you’ve touched her, I will strangle the life outta you,” Ben growled, every step he closed in with causing the floor to tremble with his rage.

Charlie pulled Loki tighter. Her breathing was now coming in shaky pants that blew against the fabric of his jumper and tickled his skin. “Please, don’t let him near me.”

Loki half-turned, expression etched in concern. There were unshed tears building up in her eyes and her usually warm, caramel complexion looked pale and pasty. “Charlie, are you afraid of him?” She gave an uncertain nod. “Did he hurt you?” She didn’t reply, but the way her shoulders tensed and she lowered her empty gaze was answer enough. A growl ripped from his throat. “Lock yourself in the bedroom. Now. Call Tony.”

He barely waited for a response before he was strutting his own earthquake towards Ben. The other man’s eyes widened slightly at the oncoming Asgardian. Loki quietly swore that he would rue the day he decided to mean harm to Charlotte Camden. He would regret every single moment he had intended to roughhouse himself back into her life, as if he had not left her to slowly kill herself in the first place. Mostly, he was going to make him think twice about squaring off to a demigod who had spent his formative centuries fighting men several times burlier than him.

Sure, he was no better than a mortal, but his anger was transcendental.

Bam! Crash!

The blow had left Loki’s arm jarring and sent Ben in a crumbling heap to the floor. He breathed through the pain caused by both the sprain and the Nanny Cam, as Tony called it; a small sensor that could detect when Loki was doing something unsavory, like fighting outside of a gym, and sent a set of shocks through his system. It gave Ben the chance to scramble to his feet and spit blood onto the floor.

“So, is that all you got? Is that why you needed the aliens? Because you’re such a pussy?”

Loki made a noise of distaste. “Midgardians and their misplaced sexism. Is that why you felt justified to hurt her? Because you thought her the weaker sex?” He scoffed. “My world touts female warriors that are any Midgardian villain’s worst nightmare. You don’t offend me.”

“No, monsters don’t get offended, do they? They just refuse to die,” Ben snarled, lunging for Loki, who ducked last minute and crashed onto the floor with a hiss of pain.

A boot nearly went through his eye socket a moment later, before he rolled away. He had to fight both Ben and the sizzling at his nerve endings as he put the man in chokehold, praying to every deity he knew, anyone who would listen, for him to be able to subdue the other man before he himself passed out from pain. Ben kept driving his elbows into Loki’s ribs, causing his grip to falter and the process to start all over again. With one last burst of strength, Loki tightened his hold until his muscles nearly locked into place. It was a few seconds before the body in his arms went lax and he dropped the other man onto the floor.

Tony burst in the door a second later.

“Took you fucking long enough,” Loki panted, doubled over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“You good, Lokes?”

He shook his head, though that wasn’t helping the fact he had started feeling dizzy. “It burns. My whole body. Burns so much.”

“Oh, fu– FRIDAY, deactivate Loki’s Nanny Cam.” Loki let out a gasp and dropped to his knees, letting out a sob of relief as his muscles stopped warring against themselves.

“Loki?” Charlie sounded worried as she called from the bedroom.

Loki bit back a groan. “I’m coming, Charlie. It’s alright. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

She appeared at the doorway a moment after, lip quivering. “You’re lying.”

Tony looked sympathetic. Loki was having a hard time summoning the will to tell him to wipe the endearing look off his face as he glanced between them. “He’s OK, Cee. He just needs to breathe it out for a sec.” Stark suppressed an impish smile. “Do you want to help him to the couch?”

Charlie nodded, making a perfect beeline for him. Loki would have laughed at the occurrence had it not been for the searing heat in his lungs. The woman made her hardest effort to pull the much taller Prince to his feet and then felt her way to the living room. They dropped awkwardly into the sofa. Loki found the feeling of her hands clumsily searching for wounds sort of soothing. When she met no sticky patches of blood and no places where he stifled pained gasps, she sat back a little more relaxed.

“Is he still here?”

Tony had just cuffed Ben and was waiting for the proper authorities to come collect him. "Yes, but he won’t bother you. Tony has him.“ Charlie squeezed him as tight as she could and Loki felt his words become muddled with his chaotic thoughts. "I don’t deserve this.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s right. I’m a monster. I can’t fix you. This will never be enough.”

“Shut. Up.” She squeezed tighter.

“Charlie…”

“I’ll feel inclined to demonize you when you start hitting me for bumping into things like he did.”

“He did what?” Tony roared and Charlie started. Loki’s hand on her back settled her erratic pulse.

“That doesn’t justify me.”

“No, but it justifies me.”

Loki ripped his gaze away from the woman hugging him, forcing himself to focus on the limp body on the floor, instead. He could feel his brain justifying a million and one ways of torturing the cretin. He would enjoy it, making him scream in pain, but he had the feeling that Charlie would protest. After all, she had been mourning his departure just a few weeks ago. The vermin suddenly shifted as he stirred awake and blinked confusedly at Stark.

“Tony?” Ben asked weakly, before the whine of his suit blasters filled the air and Tony sent a super-powered punch into his face.

“Oh, shit. I’ll be right back.” Loki peeled Charlie’s arms from around him and pressed a kiss to her crown. He scrambled to pull Tony back. “No. No, no, no. Not worth it. Ton-Tony! Stop.”

“Let go of me, Black Parade. I’m gonna fucking to kill him.” Loki hissed at the strain he was putting on his shoulders again, as he held Stark in a vice until he settled. “He put his hands on her and I’m going to return the favor.”

“No. Let him rot. Possibly with a cell mate who needs a punching bag.” Tony grumbled, prying free, though he stopped the assault. “Could you take the trash out, now? I don’t think he needs to be here a moment longer.”

–

Loki and Charlie sat on the floor of her living room some time later. Her attitude was bright–Loki would even go as far as to call it chirpy. It was as if a weight had been taken off of her shoulders. She held a steaming cup of tea, a blend of Loki’s own devise, and sipped noisily as his fingers handled the tresses of her hair with care and efficiency. The overly complicated plait, fifteen strands altogether, looked impressive as he tied off the end in a small elastic.

“There we go. All done. Alright, Charlie?” She hummed her agreement and nodded, busy taking another noisy sip. “Ever the lady.”

“Ever the lady,” she mocked back, imitating him and laughing at the fact she could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “How’s it look?”

“It’s good. It’s brushed.”

“Yeah, but, how does it look?”

“Oh.” Loki faltered shortly, feigning to fix a strand here and there to buy himself some time to order his thoughts. “Well, your hair is light brown, cinnamon, and glossy. Very curly. Quite soft, too.”

“Yeah, it’s called conditioner, greaseball,” she teased easily.

He chuckled, shoving her the lightest bit forward in response. “I started with a single braid in the front of your head, and started adding others a third down until they all joined near the back of your skull. Then you have a fifteen strand braid running all down your back.”

“What? Too lazy to go for 21?” She had reached back and was feeling the intricate knots with her fingers

“I’m not sure you can sit still long enough for 21 or 28, though you would look–” He wanted to say pretty, but it felt too wrong on his tongue. “–darling. Like a puppy in a sweater.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was quieter and he assumed it wasn’t for the braid.

“Don’t thank me. You have nothing to thank me for. I only did what was right.”

“You know, one of these days you’re going to have to stop being so glum and penitent. Whoever wants to forgive you, already did and the rest don’t care enough to change their minds.” She sighed, putting the mug down with a soft clink. “I know it’s not worth much, but I’m glad you're–”

“Don’t! Don’t say it, please.” His voice shuddered, as did his whole form, especially when Charlie, with all the care in the world, turned around in her place and reached for him until she gripped his jumper. His green eyes were internalizing every detail of her overly concerned expression, from the frown on her lips to the little notch that formed between her brows as they pulled together. “Charlie.”

“Loki of Asgard, god of Mischief and burdened with glorious purpose, I’m going to tell you a really terrible fact and you’re going to have to deal with it.”

For a moment he nodded, before he remembered that though her hazel eyes looked lively, they could not see him. “And what’s that?”

“When you brought the Chitauri and I–you know… In a backwards way, you saved me.”

“Charlotte, I–”

“I wouldn’t have escaped, otherwise. It didn’t start with me going blind, but I suspect you know that now. I will live because of your hare-brained plots.” Her hand had glided up his arm to his neck, and stopped at the curve of his jaw. “Not that I’m saying anything you did was right.” She patted him gently with a ghost of a smile on her face. Her touch burned him in his inadequacy.

“Why are you telling me this?” He managed to choke out, as he covered her hand with his, reveling in the ache it made him feel.

“Oh, buddy. The answer to that is really fucking complicated.” She chuckled. “But, the short of it is, as it turns out, I signed up for this, too.” If she minded the tears catching on her fingers, she did not mention it. “So, what do you say? Can we help each other out? Be friends?”

“Yes, please,” he replied breathlessly before wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in tight. From within the cocoon of his embrace, she giggled, but otherwise remained still until he settled down. For the first time in a while, Charlie ate without complaint, Loki felt at peace with himself and they both ate a whole gallon on mint chocolate chip ice cream by the spoonful on the couch.

#Loki #Angst #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #I signed up for this too #Fanfictrashdump

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Nie Huaisang goes home, tries to deal with missing his friends, and gets a visitor

Nie Huaisang’s last month in the Cloud Recesses passes so fast that he hardly has time to register it.

Much against his will, he gets roped into joining Jiang Cheng’s study sessions. Those turn out to be rather intense, and Jiang Cheng might be a more severe teacher than even old Lan Qiren. It pays off though, because everyone passes their exams with flying colours. Even Nie Huaisang ends up with a pretty decent grade, in spite of his refusal to put any effort into this.

Lan Qiren congratulates him on actually putting some work into this at last, in answer to which Nie Huaisang just laughs to his face, too stunned to even get angry. He is still in a daze when he leaves the teacher’s office with his diploma in hand. He had honestly prepared himself to have failed again and he wouldn’t even have cared, but apparently he had underestimated Jiang Cheng’s determination to see everyone succeed.

“Come on, try to at least look a little happy!” Jiang Cheng scolds him later, when they all get to the Jiang cabin to celebrate. “What, did you want to stay here another year with Lan Xichen?”

Nie Huaisang scoffs and shoves him away before stuffing a handful of dried nuts in his mouth, pointedly refusing to answer such a stupid question.

He hasn’t seen a lot of Lan Xichen this last month. They’ve both been pretty busy, and Lan Qiren cancelled their last two compulsory meetings to give Nie Huaisang a better chance to study. But what little time they spent together has been… not so bad. They’ve managed to chat a little when they met in passing, and the meetings they did have were… fine. The first one was spent painting together, with Lan Xichen still exquisitely awful at Nie Huaisang’s style. The second they played Go and Nie Huaisang won, though it was a very close score. Both times, they actually ended up staying together after the incense stick had finished burning. It’s not even that Nie Huaisang hadn’t noticed. He was just having enough fun to allow it, just that time. And then again the time after.

It’s not that Nie Huaisang likes Lan Xichen any better than before. It’s not even that he’s stopped hating him. But what’s fun is fun, and to his surprise… Lan Xichen, on occasion, can be rather fun.

Nowhere near as fun as Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan, of course. The two of them make Nie Huaisang promise that he'll write to them and come visit. He extracts the same promise from them, and even gets them to grudgingly agree they might tolerate some overlap in their visits, if he so badly wants to have them around at the same time.

More surprisingly, Lan Wangji also comes knocking on the last day Nie Huaisang spends in the Cloud Recesses. He too offers a correspondence, which Nie Huaisang readily accepts. He doesn't say, but he's already plotting to invite Lan Wangji to Qinghe, and perhaps by some planning on error on his part, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian will be there at the same time.

More surprising, Lan Xichen also comes visiting a few hours after his brother. For a moment Nie Huaisang half wonders if he too will ask if they can write to each other. In the end he doesn't, choosing instead to say a few empty words about being proud of his fiancé's well deserved success. Nie Huaisang, who is not disappointed by this, ends up sending him away so he can finish packing.

Being home again is the best.

Nie Huaisang's first week back in the Unclean Realm is, without a doubt, the happiest time of his life. He tells Nie Mingjue everything he's done while he was away (everything he can share, anyway). He visits all his favourite spots in the Unclean Realm, in Qinghe, and in the countryside around. He checks on his surviving birds and dotes on them. He sleeps in as late as he can, and refuses to do anything even slightly useful. It's paradise.

By the second week, paradise loses some of its glow and boredom settles in. Doing nothing at all is only fun for a short while. More importantly, Nie Huaisang soon finds himself kind of lonely. Now that he's had friends, the company of his birds doesn't quite satisfy him the way it used to. His myna can speak a few sentences, but that's just not the same as chatting with Jiang Cheng or arguing with Jin Zixuan. Nie Mingue is there, but he's far too busy, as are most of the disciples. Nie Fangjie rose in rank after his time in Gusu and is rarely free, while He Zimu had to go home to meet the fiancée his parents picked for him.

Nie Huaisang writes to all his friends, but it'll be a long while before he gets an answer, and that depresses him further. He doesn't quite fall back to the sort of moods he was in during his first year in the Cloud Recesses, but it's not so far off either.

The difference is that this time, Nie Mingjue notices.

It's a right pain in the ass at first, because Nie Huaisang wants to wallow in his misery while his brother is determined to drag him out of it, even kicking and screaming. It sparks quite a few arguments between them, which is rather new. Nie Huaisang never really had the guts to argue with his brother before. Nie Mingjue doesn't seem to mind, anyway. If anything, he seems pretty happy to find that his little brother won't let himself be pushed around so easily.

By the end of Nie Huaisang's first month back at home, they've reached a balance of sorts. Nie Huaisang has to train daily, both with the sabre and in hand-to-hand combat since he definitely still enjoys that. He also has to learn how to help Nie Mingjue deal with sect business, which is even more boring than the lectures in the Cloud Recesses, but gives them a decent excuse to spend time together. Nie Mingjue doesn't say, but Nie Huaisang suspects it's also a way to prepare him for the role that will be his in the future. Qingheng-Jun is a healthy man with many years ahead of him, but someday Lan Xichen will have to succeed him and Nie Huaisang will have to step up and help him.

With all this piling up, when Nie Huaisang does get a bit of freedom, he rarely mopes around. There are too many things to paint, too many fans to decorate, and his birds to train, and that shop in Qinghe he wants to visit, or that new book of poetry he found in the library.

Which isn't to say there are no bad days anymore. Some mornings it's a struggle just to get out of bed. Nie Mingjue doesn't get it, even if he tries, and seems to think that on those days Nie Huaisang needs to be kept even busier than usual to push away any bad thoughts. After it happens once or twice, Nie Huaisang gives up on explaining why that doesn't work. Instead, when a bad mood strikes, he just hides. It's easy enough, in a place like the Unclean Realm.

The best place to hang out undisturbed, Nie Huaisang figures out, is a little alcove hidden behind the throne room where his brother conducts his meetings. Nobody ever goes in there, and he's half sure nobody even remembers it exists. He's done some research, and it was built alongside the main room so the sect leader's wives could listen in on important business without being seen by guests. It's not very big, but it's comfortable enough that he can lounge around and paint, or read, or just listen to his brother's increasing frustration over not finding him. It also means that if something really does require his presence, he can know and appear quickly at his brother's side.

It's Nie Huaisang’s second favourite place in the Unclean Realm, right after the place where he keeps his birds.

It's a little under two months after returning home that Nie Huaisang, hiding in his alcove and slowly recovering from a bout of depression by snickering over some very bad poetry, is startled to hear a familiar voice conversing with his brother.

"I'm really sorry for dropping by unannounced," Lan Xichen is saying. "I apologise for the inconvenience. But since I was in the area, I thought it'd be ridiculous not to say hi."

Even perfectly hidden as he is, Nie Huaisang can't help but tense. This is the first time he's anywhere near Lan Xichen since graduating a few weeks ago. He's not nervous, of course he's not, but he's also. He's not quite comfortable.

"Well, you know I'm always happy to see you," Nie Mingjue replies. "I'm a little busy right now, but if you don't mind waiting…"

"Actually…"

There is a moment of silence. Nie Huaisang is tempted to check what's happening through one of the small openings that exist for that exact purpose, but before he gets to that, Lan Xichen speaks again.

"Actually, and I hope you won't mind," he says, sounding oddly uncertain, "but the person I was most hoping to see is your brother. I'll be happy to chat with you as well of course, but if he allows it I'd like to spend time with him first."

Nie Huaisang feels punched, but in the main room, his brother just laughs.

"What, you didn't get enough of that brat last year? After how much you complained that he doesn't like you, I'd have thought you'd be glad not to see him until the wedding."

"Mingjue, don't tease me."

"Why not? I don't get the chance often. Oh, fine, I won't. I will survive this betrayal of seeing my brother's company preferred over mine, so go chat with him if you like. You'll have to find him first, though. He's gotten a little too good at hiding."

"Then with your permission, I'll look for him. I'm sure he'll let himself be found if he wishes to be, and otherwise… I'll just wait for you to be free."

Lan Xichen sounds so resigned, as if he dares not hope for the first option but the second would make him sad.

It's just so awkward to hear him be like this. Nie Huaisang almost miss the days when Lan Xichen was nothing but cold and insufferable. It made it easy to hate him, and at least Nie Huaisang knew where they stood. Now though… he just doesn't know what to make of his fiancé anymore. He's starting to wonder if maybe Lan Xichen wasn't sincere every time he's said that he wants them to get along, when he promised to improve and that's absolutely awful. It makes everything too complicated.

So Nie Huaisang discreetly escapes, and takes hidden paths to go be with his birds. It's not as good of a hiding place, but their company always calms him down, which he badly needs. Luckily it's even cleaning day, so that's a good hour of hard, gruesome work to distract him from the perspective of maybe facing his fiancé later.

There's only a few birds left, which still takes Nie Huaisang by surprise every time even though he should be used to it now. That incident really decimated them, and he can't even get new ones. In little more than a year, two at most, he'll have to leave them behind for good, so it'd be pointless. Usually it doesn’t bother him too much, but on a day where his mood is already so near to collapsing... As he cleans the cages and checks on food and water, Nie Huaisang finds himself focusing on that future loss. If he thinks of everything that he'll leave behind, he can make himself hate Lan Xichen again, almost, and he’s in a bad enough state that feeling hatred is better than not feeling anything at all.

"Good afternoon, Nie gongzi."

Nie Huaisang startles at the sudden appearance of Lan Xichen in this private space, and nearly drops the seeds he was carrying for his pair of parakeets. He quickly recovers though, and bows to his visitor.

"Lan gongzi, what a surprise! I had no idea you were coming to the Unclean Realm. If you're looking for my brother, you might want to try the training grounds."

"I've seen your brother already, and told him you were the one I was visiting this time," Lan Xichen explains. Even though Nie Huaisang already knew that, it sends his heart racing to hear it said so calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Mingjue was not sure where you might be," Lan Xichen continues, "so he allowed me to look for you while he handles other business. This seemed like a good place to start, and I was right."

His heart still beating too hard in embarrassment, Nie Huaisang turns around, ostensibly so he can continue feeding his birds.

"Lan gongzi must find me very childish, still so obsessed with my pets."

Lan Xichen does not reply right away. Nie Huaisang hates how careful he has become, just as much as he is grateful for it.

"If I have accused you of this, and for that reason, I'm sorry," he says at last, sounding painfully earnest. "It was wrong of me. From what your brother says, you are very diligent at caring for your birds and except when forced to go away, you always take full responsibility for them. There's nothing childish about that."

Nie Huaisang's heart squeezes at the words, so painfully he almost feels like he's dying. He hates this. He misses the days when he could just tell himself it was all fake, that Lan Xichen was either forcing himself or subtly insulting him.

"You're always trying so hard to say the right thing," Nie Huaisang accuses, with far less venom than he intended.

"I hope I can do the right thing as well. Just saying it doesn't do much good."

Nie Huaisang sighs. This is annoying. He hates that his heart beats so fast, he hates that his cheeks feel warmer, he hates that he desperately wants Lan Xichen to be sincere. He hates that he's certain Lan Xichen is sincere.

"Listen, just… give me a moment to finish this," he mutters. "Then we can go back and have tea or something. We have actual, nice biscuits here. They even taste sweet, if you can believe that."

Behind him, Lan Xichen chuckles lightly. It's not an unpleasant sound, as Nie Huaisang has discovered during his last few weeks in Gusu.

"If you tell me what to do, I can try to help you," Lan Xichen offers. "Though I'll understand if you'd rather I didn't."

"You'll get messy."

Another soft chuckle, making Nie Huaisang’s heart beat too hard. It's stupid, and he hates that like he hates all the rest, but he likes that Lan Xichen stopped trying to be controlled and perfect with him. He likes it too much. He hates it.

"I can survive a little mess."

"Then grab that bucket and bring it near that big cage."

"The one with the myna?"

"Hm."

Nie Huaisang hates that Lan Xichen apparently knows a little about birds. He hates that Lan Xichen doesn't complain as he grabs that bucket filled with filth and carries it as if it weighs nothing. He hates that Lan Xichen smiles at the bird inside and comments how pretty it is. Nie Huaisang hates Lan Xichen because that's what he's done for so long now, and he's not ready yet to face the new warmth in his chest when he looks at the other boy.

He hates everything today, and wishes Lan Xichen had chosen another day to visit, one where Nie Huaisang is capable of feeling emotions in a normal way so he could try to sort this out in a rational way.

When the birds’ cages are spotless and they all have clean water and fresh food, Nie Huaisang has no choice but to suggest it’s time to return toward the main buildings. Lan Xichen readily agrees and they start walking side by side. It doesn’t take long for something to bother Nie Huaisang, partly because it’s that sort of a day where everything is annoying, but also because a certain detail is becoming hard to ignore.

“How come your clothes are still spotless when mine are filthy?” he complains.

“I must have been more careful,” Lan Xichen replies with a small smile.

“You were not,” Nie Huaisang accuses. “I saw you step in several puddles of dirty water. Your robes have no right to still be this white!”

Lan Xichen chuckles, but says nothing.

“I’m going to have to get changed,” Nie Huaisang laments, annoyed that he is actually upset by that idea. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on having a guest today, so I wasn’t exactly well dressed to begin with. I just wanted something comfortable. But now seeing the two of us together, we look like a great lord and a peasant!”

“Nie gongzi is too handsome to be a peasant.”

Hearing this unexpected compliment, Nie Huaisang stumbles and almost falls face first on the ground, only for Lan Xichen to catch him just in time.

“This is… you’re just trying to distract me from your clean robes!” Nie Huaisang sputters, escaping his fiancé’s grasp so quickly that he almost falls again. “I demand to know how you did that!”

“It’s a Gusu Lan secret,” Lan Xichen retorts, smug enough that it almost feels like teasing. “In due time, I will share it with you, but at the moment, it’s impossible.”

“But there is a trick.”

“Obviously. Can you imagine how many servants we’d have to hire for laundry otherwise? We make children wear white, and people going on Night Hunts as well. Of course there’s a trick.”

It might be the way Lan Xichen says it, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, or the sheer ridicule of imagining Lan disciples in stained robes, but Nie Huaisang finds himself laughing. It's never easy to get that on days like this one, and he’s suddenly glad that Lan Xichen came. His fiancé is proving a more efficient distraction than what he’s tried so far.

When they reach the more frequented areas of the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang catches a servant and asks for tea to be served in his room. He then takes Lan Xichen there, inviting the older boy to find somewhere to sit. At first Lan Xichen appears torn between amused and mildly horrified by the mess (Nie Huaisang wasn’t expecting guests, and Nie Mingjue gave up on that particular fight years ago) before gaping in shock when Nie Huaisang removes his outer robe in the middle of the room and throws it in a corner for the servant to pick up later.

“Nie gongzi, are you really getting changed?” he asks, sounding so worried that Nie Huaisang can’t help laughing again.

“Lan gongzi, I’m covered in bird poop and mud, of course I’m getting changed. Ah! Don’t worry, I won’t remove the rest in front of you,” Nie Huaisang adds when Lan Xichen looks like he’s about to have an attack. He motions at a modesty screen. “I’m just removing my shoes and grabbing something clean to put on and then… I’ll try to be quick.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I leave the room?” Lan Xichen protests in a strangled voice, his face completely red.

“No need, that’s what the screen is for, and I’m not bothered. Just sit down, grab a book, and wait for me.”

Without paying his fiancé any more attention, Nie Huaisang selects some nicer robes and clean under layers. Once he starts undressing, he realises that he is dirtier than he initially thought, and is forced to give a quick wash with some water and a towel so he doesn’t ruin his clean clothes.

“I thought you were just getting changed?” Lan Xichen notes when he hears water being poured from its jug into a basin.

“The situation is worse than I thought. Cleaning is dirty business.”

Lan Xichen chuckles at that. “I’ll need to wash my hands as well, come to think of it.”

“Well, you can join me if you’d like. I’m mostly decent, if you’re loose enough on your definition of the word.”

“And what’s your definition?” Lan Xichen asks in a voice dripping with suspicion.

“I’ve got trousers on.”

A moment of silence follows this.

“I think I’ll wait until you’re done,” Lan Xichen says after a moment, and Nie Huaisang grins to himself imagining how uncomfortable his ever proper fiancé must look.

Still, it’d be rude to keep Lan Xichen waiting, and Nie Huaisang’s mood has improved enough that he doesn’t want that. He washes quickly, and gets dressed as fast as he can. His hair, as messy as the rest, is dealt with by tying it into a quick braid. It’s not the most refined he’s ever looked, but it’s not the worst either. When he emerges from behind the modesty screen, Lan Xichen stares at him with an odd expression, his cheeks dusted with red and his lips slightly open.

“Nie gongzi… this suits you well,” he mumbles, averting his gaze.

“Trying too hard again,” Nie Huaisang teases. “Go wash your hands, the tea should be here soon.”

Lan Xichen nods and gets up from the table. He takes a few steps toward the screen, then stops himself and looks for something inside his sleeve before handing it to Nie Huaisang.

“A letter?”

“Since Wangji knew I would be in the area, he asked me to give you this.”

Fidgeting with the piece of paper, Nie Huaisang feels something shifting inside him, as if the good humour he only just got back were already melting away.

“Well, that’s nice,” he stills says. “Do you mind if I start reading it?”

“Not at all.”

And so while Lan Xichen washes his hands, Nie Huaisang gets reading. It’s a short letter, clearly just written because the occasion was there (Nie Huaisang only answered Lan Wangji’s latest missive a few days ago, it wouldn’t have reached Gusu yet). Most of it is about the rabbits, though Lan Wangji notes that they are preparing for the next batch of guest disciples to arrive and he’s hoping they’ll be a quieter bunch this year. It’s only an innocent comment, but reading it makes Nie Huaisang ache for the company of his friends in a way he thought he’d learned to manage. It was so much fun to be all together in the Cloud Recesses, completely carefree. If he had known that he’d have to start behaving more grown-up upon getting home, Nie Huaisang would have gotten up to far more mischief, and he would have tried to enjoy his fun even more.

Just as Lan Xichen is done tidying himself, servants come in with the tea and some very fancy biscuits. Nie Huaisang gave specific orders regarding what’s to be served, amused at that moment by the idea of forcing his fiancé to enjoy something once in a while. It doesn’t seem so funny anymore, not even when Lan Xichen is looking at the biscuits with a mix of gluttony and worry.

It must show that Nie Huaisang’s mood is vacillating. When he’s done pouring tea for both of them, Lan Xichen has stopped staring at the treats and shoots him a concerned look instead.

"I hope the letter did not contain bad news?"

"No, it did not. I'm just distracted."

Lan Xichen sips on his tea and hesitantly picks up a biscuit, but does not eat it.

"Speaking of letters… I have to admit I envy my brother," he says in that cold, careful voice that still annoys Nie Huaisang with how controlled it sounds.

"How so?"

"When Wangji told me you agreed to a correspondence with him, I wanted to obtain the same from you," Lan Xichen admits, distractedly playing with his biscuit. "I even went to see you to ask for it, but in the end I wasn't sure if I should, so I said nothing. I didn't want to overstep some boundary."

Nie Huaisang thinks back on Lan Xichen's brief visit on the last day. He'd been disappointed when his fiancé didn't have anything to say to him that time. He doesn't exactly miss their excruciating weekly meetings but they were still part of what was clearly the best year of his life, and maybe he wouldn't have hated keeping in touch.

"You can always ask me now," Nie Huaisang offers. "We'll see what I answer."

"Very well. Nie gongzi, would you be willing to exchange letters with me?"

Nie Huaisang, to his own surprise, doesn't even hesitate.

"I'd like that, yes."

The smile that breaks onto Lan Xichen's face is nothing short of radiant. It's unfair, really, how gorgeous he gets when he's genuinely happy, and Nie Huaisang doesn't know how he feels about being the reason for that happiness. He doesn’t hate it, he supposes. He doesn’t hate Lan Xichen in general, in fact. It’s an odd thing to realise.

Nie Huaisang picks up a biscuit and bites into it, hoping to encourage his fiancé to stop being stupid and have a little fun. It works. Lan Xichen gives in and nibbles at his own biscuit. His eyes widen slightly as the flavour hits his tongue, and in a moment he devours the rest of it. Nie Huaisang snorts, more endeared than he’d prefer.

“So, do you want to talk about something?” Nie Huaisang asks, refusing to linger on the thought that his fiancé can be a little cute at times.

“Yes, actually. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but never found the right occasion yet,” Lan Xichen announces. “I would like to suggest some arrangements for when we are married.”

Nie Huaisang freezes and stares at him. As a rule, they don’t talk about their future marriage. They never have, except sometimes when arguing. Even in a good mood, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t want to breach that subject, so today, when he’s fighting the need to go hide until everything stop being so much…

“I don’t think I want to talk about that,” he replies, toying with his half eaten biscuit. “Lan gongzi, I don’t believe there’s much to be said on that topic.”

“On the contrary, I have plenty to tell you,” Lan Xichen insists. “I think it would please you to…”

“Not today,” Nie Huaisang cuts him. “I’m having the sort of day where nothing could please me, and quite frankly, that topic… it’s not something I want to think about at all. Can’t we chat about something less distressing?”

Lan Xichen frowns at that reaction. Nie Huaisang braces himself for his fiancé to insist, perhaps even for an argument to happen if Lan Xichen decides he’s tired of being nice without getting anything in return. Neither things happen.

“Of course I won’t force you to speak of this if you don’t want to,” Lan Xichen says with surprising gentleness. “I do believe we should discuss it while we have time, but if you’re unwell today, then the time isn’t right for it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Not unless you can magically change my mood,” Nie Huaisang scoffs, uncertain how to react to kindness when he hasn’t prepared for it.

“I could try to do that,” Lan Xichen offers, startling him. “Or something to that effect. There are a few Lan songs that can calm an unquiet mind. I could play one for you, if you’d like.”

Nie Huaisang drops his biscuit on the table.

“I thought the Lan songs were just used for battle?”

Laughing softly, Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Those would be the one most people know about, but we have many other sorts. To calm the mind, to help the body heal, to improve the quality of meditation… we’re a musical sect, and we take that very seriously. Even now, some members of the sect still try to come up with new techniques.”

“I had no idea,” Nie Huaisang admits. “I didn’t really try to learn about Gusu Lan, aside from all your stupid rules.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that. Ask any cultivator what Gusu Lan does, they will tell you that we invent rules faster than the flowers bloom in spring, and that we’re deadly with a guqin. We’re more than that, though, just as Qinghe Nie is more than brute force and sabres.”

“Uh. Guess I’m learning a lot about your sect today,” Nie Huaisang muses. “Secrets to keep your robes clean, and healing songs… Lan gongzi, your people are more surprising than I’d have thought.”

"I'm glad if you feel that way," Lan Xichen replies, his smile warm and soft. "I hope you'll want to continue learning more about us. For now though, would you let me play for you?"

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and nods. If this works, his mood will be improved. If it doesn't… Lan Xichen is a skilled musician, so he'll have that pleasure if nothing else.

It takes a little more preparation than Nie Huaisang would have expected to hear a Lan healing song. He can’t help a slight grimace when Lan Xichen explains he’ll have to get into a meditative state, never an easy feat for him, but apparently the melody itself is meant to help with that. Nie Huaisang grumbles and mutters and struggles to find a comfortable position on his sitting mat, but once he’s somewhat settled, Lan Xichen starts playing on his xiao.

At first, Nie Huaisang is certain this won’t work. His brain is still jumping from one thought to the other, aching with the way he misses his friends, and how he can’t seem to enjoy being home even when he should enjoy it while it lasts because soon, in some months now, even if there’s no clear date yet…

But as the melody goes on, Nie Huaisang finds that it envelopes his thoughts and pacifies them. The fears and worries are still there, but their sharp edges which were hurting him are rounded off by the music, making them less distressing.

When the last note drops, Nie Huaisang takes a moment before opening his eyes, enjoying the peaceful feeling inside his heart. It had been a while since he felt this calm. In fact, he’s not sure he’s felt like that before, not since his mother's death.

“That’s a very efficient song,” he sighs when he finally opens his eyes, slow and deliberate. “Thank you, Lan gongzi.”

“It’s my pleasure. Did it help?”

Nie Huaisang nods. He feels oddly light, in a very pleasant way. “Lan gongzi, you’ll have to play it again for me next time we meet.”

Lan Xichen laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with joy. He really is handsome like this, and Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at his fiancé. If Lan Xichen asked again to talk about their future marriage, Nie Huaisang would agree because for the very first time, the idea doesn’t fill him with dread. There are worse people to marry out there, and Nie Huaisang is starting to feel he might be as lucky as people have told him he was, all those years.

But Lan Xichen doesn’t bring up that subject again. Instead they end up chatting about Lan Wangji’s bunnies, and how much he dotes on them, which in turns makes them talk about the younger boy’s crush on Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang is just starting to share his cunning plan to bring both of them to Qinghe when there’s a knock on the door. Before Nie Huaisang can invite the person in, Nie Mingjue barges inside the room and unceremoniously comes to sit next to his brother.

“Very rude of you both to have tea and not invite me,” he comments, snatching a handful of biscuits and shoving them in his mouth.

“Gross!” Nie Huaisang gasps, wishing he had a fan to hit his brother with. He has to slap him with his hand instead, which is a lot less refined. “If you’re not invited, then why are you still here?”

“I can’t let my brat of a brother try to steal my friend,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Besides, you always have the best biscuits when you’re having tea. How come I can never get them when I ask for them?”

“Because I hide them from you, having paid for them with my own money,” Nie Huaisang retorts, grabbing the plate and holding it out of reach when his brother tries to grab a few more. “Don’t! They’re not for you! Lan gongzi, help!”

Of course Nie Mingjue, being the tall, long limbed monster that he is, can almost grasp the plate even when his brother is trying his hardest to keep his precious biscuits out of reach. They are both stunned and nearly lose their balance when Lan Xichen snatches the plate away from Nie Huaisang’s hands, looking a little lost about what his next move should be.

“Run with them!” Nie Mingjue enthusiastically orders. “We can share them!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes jump between the two brothers a few times before he shakes his head.

“He said he paid for them,” he softly protests. “If you want some, ask him nicely.”

Nie Mingjue gasps at that betrayal while Nie Huaisang, after the first moment of shock, starts laughing so hard he can hardly breathe.

“Xichen, you turn against me like this?” Nie Mingjue complains. “Aren’t we friends?”

His tone is so falsely pathetic that Lan Xichen chuckles and grins.

“We’re friends, but he’s my fiancé. I’ve got to take his side when it's needed, don’t I?”

Nie Huaisang’s laughter dies in his throat, stunned for a moment by that simple declaration, the way Lan Xichen says it as if it’s the most evident thing ever. Something shifts inside his chest, something big, something so soft it is nearly agonising.

The moment passes quickly because Nie Mingjue, not one to accept betrayal so easily, turns against Lan Xichen and tries to steal the biscuits from him instead. This in turn forces Nie Huaisang to team up with his fiancé so they can protect the precious sweets from being eaten in an uncouth manner. All three of them laugh when, after some struggling and a movement too quick, the biscuits end up falling on the floor. Nie Huaisang pretends to be heartbroken until the other two both promise they’ll buy him new ones, at which point he just joins them again in laughing.

He’d never thought the three of them would ever have fun like this someday, but he’s glad to have been proven wrong.

#xisang #worst engagement au #jau writes #this one got a little long oops #but it's soft? I think? There's softness and there's progress and those dumb boys are going to get somewhere someday??#mdzs

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iamtheotherdarkknight · 4 years

Text

Make Right (BruDick RP)

In Response to “It’s Killing Him”

@notyouraveragedickgrayson

If Bruce had to choose a moment when things really started to fall apart, he’d say was the day he pulled Jason’s still, broken body from the rubble of that abandoned warehouse. That surreal, numbness lifting as Bruce peeled away Jason’s mask to see his face for the last time.

That’s when the pain really hit him.

It was just like watching his mother and father bleed out in an alley - except it hurt so much worse. Maybe it was because parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children… And blood or no blood, Jason was his first child.

Watching strangers lower his boy – his son – into the ground that day is what finally broke him. By the end of the funeral service, it was just him and Alfred. Like it’s always been. And perhaps that has been Bruce’s mistake – maybe this is the way things were supposed to be. Maybe this cruel act was the universe’s way of reminding him of his place. It didn’t matter how long he trained, how much he learned or how many resources he devoted to his mission, he had to walk this path in solitude. ‘… or else…’

That night, Bruce stopped fighting the darkness - the Batman consumed him.

The carnage that followed Jason’s death couldn’t be called justice. Just needless bloodshed that falling short of killing. Violence that knew no shame. Batman wanted the Joker and he didn’t care what he had to do to get him. Batman had to make him hurt the way Bruce hurt. Torture him the way he tortured Jason. And the darkness only crept in further the longer Joker hid. There was nothing left to separate Bruce from the Bat anymore, no anchor. Just all-encompassing rage and an empty pain he prayed never went away. He needed that ache more than he needed food or air; it was the only thing getting him out of bed anymore.

Bruce couldn’t blame Dick for staying away. He deserved better than an emotionally crippled, hypocrite. How could he dare hold Dick accountable for his actions towards Zucco? Bruce knew full well what would happen when he finally found Joker. Arkham wasn’t enough. Blackgate wasn’t enough. Bruce knew that, and still couldn’t stop himself. That was until a young Timothy Jackson Drake appeared at his door, venti Americano in one hand and a tablet with a litany of evidence of Bruce’s double life in the other. More than that, the kid deduced Dick and Jason’s identities as Robins.

It was strange. All the information the young man had amassed over what had to be years – the eerily familiar singlemindedness Tim displayed in his pursuit. And all he wanted to do with it was convince Dick to become Robin again. “Because Gotham needs Batman. And Batman needs Robin.” The words rolled off the boys’ lips like an obvious truth he repeated one to many times. Like all whole world’s issues were nothing more than an uncomplicated problem to be solved over a cup of coffee and a few strokes of the keys.

A petty part of Bruce expected Tim to fall apart after failing to reunite the ‘Dynamic Duo’, Nightwing making it clear that he could never take the Robin mantle again. Imagine the Wayne’s rare look of shock when Tim came down the stairs of the cave, fully fitted in an altered Robin’s uniform. And when Bruce tried to protest, Tim simply shrugged it off and told him it was Nightwing who suggested he take the uniform. Tim would just have to do until Bruce found an adequate replacement… And if he resisted Tim’s help, he’d blow Bruce’s cover right out of the water.

It’s been years since that fateful day. Bruce would have loved to say that in that, he’s gotten better over time. That he had found a way to overcome the wounded savagery that overwhelmed him. That he didn’t slip back into those dark moods and was learning to be whole after having his heart picked apart, racked with guilt, shame and fear he concealed in anger. But that would be a blatant lie and nights like this he just didn’t care enough to keep up the front.

Tonight’s patrol had been taxing for the Bats.

The night ended early with the successful sabotage of Black Mask’s weapon shipment, but the win didn’t come without a fight. Batman had no idea where Sionis found the revenue to hire the mercs he had, but there was no way the people he and Robin encountered on that freight were anything ex-military. If it weren’t for his own decades of experience and Red Robin’s help tonight, the mission would have failed.

Damien left the fight with a concussion, Bruce ordering the boy go upstairs and rest. Tim, per usual, proved more resistant to his first dismissal, but his cracked ribs and broken arm and leg won out in the end. Between that and the three days Tim spent without sleep, operating the Bat near impossible. Not at Bruce was fairing much better. By the time they returned to the cave, the man sported several burns, bruises, and gashes from the explosion. The only way Alfred could get Bruce that stay still long enough to clean and dress the wounds when Bruce was sitting at the computer, typing up the reports for tonight. That was when Bruce saw the comm flash on his screen. The call came from Dick’s encrypted number.

… But he could feel ice in his veins when he heard the voice on the call.

“It’s me.”

And Bruce knew that voice anywhere.

It was a sad fact, but because couldn’t bring himself to open-up to Tim or Damien the way he had with Jason. Bruce had let his guard down with the young man and let himself be a father to him – something he could never bare to be to Dick. He could never presume to fill the void John Grayson left in Dick’s heart when he passed. Seeing Jason grow as an individual and Robin, principled and proud in the face of adversity. It always filled Bruce with pride… Perhaps that’s why seeing Red Hood stand over a fresh corpse, baring the face long dead son left him numb. Seeing that viciousness in Jason, felt like a cruel sick joke. Bruce’s only solace in Jason death was knowing the boy he cared for so much left this world with cleaner hands then him. But seeing Jason returned from the dead to become what felt like a reflection of Bruce’s darkest hours.

I was like he failed to save him all over again.

“Where is he?” Bruce demanded, his voice low and fierce. The logical part of his brain knew better than to think Jason would hurt Dick. In fact, the only person Red Hood hadn’t reconciled with was Batman. But Bruce didn’t always think rationally when it can to his first ward. Jason knew that better than anyone….

“With me and doesn’t wanna talk.” He clarified, adjust his hold Dick’s shaking form. “I’m calling a truce, old man. Let us in.” There was the briefest pause before Bruce overrode the security protocols and allow Jason to enter the cave. Bruce didn’t know could have happen to have Jason, of all people, to knock on his door and call for a truce, but he would be prepared it all the same. In the five minutes in took Jason to traverse the tunnels to central area, Bruce had covered his injuries and erased at trace of weakness. Not that it mattered once Jason ascended the steps to his platform.

Bruce’s stoic façade fell apart the minute his eyes came upon a harrowed Dick, bundled up in Jason’s arms. It’d been months since the he last saw his former ward – the two of them not necessarily on speaking terms. In fact, he and Dick had been on the outs ever since Bruce budded in a case in in Blüdhaven, stating under no uncertain terms what he thought of his ‘partner’, Catalina Flores. The actively avoided one another ever since.

Before Bruce could demand an explanation, Jason locked his green-blue eyes with his silently warning. It was always amazing how the two of them could communicate with out uttering a single word. It was part of the reason they worked so well together. So, when Jason eyes narrowed and gestured past Bruce, the man stepped aside and waited for him on the other side of the room. Once Jason was finished propping Dick in the same chair Bruce had occupied before their arrival. Despite Jason’s best effort, Dick still slumped over the edge like a ragdoll. And he was coming apart at the seams. It’s all Bruce can do, his brain running through every possible scenario, trying to deduce a reason for Dick’s state. Jason could come to him soon enough.

“He a panic attack.” Jason finally explained, his pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, but not reaching for his zippo yet. A nervous tick, just wanting something to chew on while he organized his thoughts.

“…What triggered it?” His mentor asked cautiously, trying to understand. His former ward had attack in the past. Bruce would care for Dick through the worse of them in the beginning, whenever the boy would have a nightmare or close call. But this was the first he’s ever seen the Dick since he became an adult. He was practically catatonic.

“You.” Jason spat out, as if to apply it was obvious. “Like it or not, all of this,” Jason gestured toward Dick. “Is on you.”

Without give Bruce an inch, Jason unloaded, recounting all that Dick confided in him. The young man’s mental health was in shambles and Bruce, whether he realized it or not, had only made it worse pushing Dick away. Especially when Bruce fired Dick. The older man had to admit, he was blinded with anger the night he fired Dick and all but kicked him out of the manor. Anger, and if he were being totally honest, fear. Fear of the unknown as Dick grew into the man, he was becoming, fear for the way he was started to see Dick. Because in all the years he raised Dick, he couldn’t see him as a son. And that terrified him to the core. Bruce had only realized the terrible mistake he made when the heard the Dick pulling out of the driveway for the last time.

And then Jason and the bomb happened…

“Pull your head out of your ass, old man. Your hot-and-cold attitude might work for the ladies, but that man behind me, feels fucked up enough about wanting you without your mile-thick wall of bullshit. And I know you heard me. Now, something has to change because I am not kidding around when I say that this situation, this denial, whatever ego or pride is in the way of you two... its killing him”.

Bruce was at a loss. Looking at Dick again, he felt a surge guilt run through him. Was it his fault that Dick developed this infatuation with him? Did he somehow poison the younger man’s mind and manipulated him -

“Stop, I know what you’re thinking old man. Stop making this about you and just make this right. If either of you were as sick as you think, you won’t be so scared of this.” Jason hissed, making his way to the stairs from where he came. “He’s in your care. Make it right, Bruce.” Jason repeated, warning the older man.

Bruce waited until he couldn’t hear Jason’s footsteps, steeling himself before approaching Dick for the first time in so long. He looked so out of it. Depressed and tired and just… gone. Bruce would have given anything wrap his arm around him like he had back when his thoughts towards Dick were innocent. But right now, it wasn’t about what Bruce wanted. It was about what Dick needed. So he knelt down on the ground before Dick so they were at eye level. Dicks eyes were downcast, but Bruce didn’t make a thing of it. Just spoke in the clearest voice he could manage, hoping that Dick would respond to him.

“Dick. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

#Warning: BruDick #brudick #Batmanrp #closed thread #do not reblog

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noonachronicles · 4 years

Text

Everlong Pt. 9

Kwon Jiyong/ G Dragon X Reader

Word count: 16k (LOL WTF)

Warnings: Language, Smut.

Genre: Hades/Jiyong. Greek God AU. Fantasy.

A/N: I had been feeling confident about this but then got nervous because....this is longer than most of my one shots and if everyone that’s been waiting so patiently hates it and it flops I’ll probably cry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Update Tag: @kathrynwynterbourne , @keepthelightoff, @blue-lungs, @violagoth , @un-idntfied , @optimizche , @de-gabyconamor , @134340-cm @wonderful39530 @ohgeezitsbreadgenie

Moodboard by bae @memoiresofaneternaldreamer

“Who is she?”

Hades burst through the entrance to the Hall of Destiny already panting. He didn’t have a lot of time, he’d left you asleep in the forest of Asphodel and had to make sure he was back by your side before you woke up. The Fates, with no surprise to him, sat unbothered by his abrupt entrance. Having already expected him.

“No one.” Lachesis grinned.

“Someone.” Clothos smacked her sister.

With a sigh Atropos finally looked up from the work in her lap. “We already warned you of her. I’m not sure why you’re coming to us now, Hades.”

“Why? Why did she come into my life? How is she connected to this world? It’s as if she is one of us without being one of us. This is impossible. I need an explanation.” Hades was frustrated. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do, tell me what it means!”

Clothos found his emotions interesting. Hades most typical manners were anger or calm. To see him merely frustrated was curious. “She is bound to you.”

“How?” He asked, his heart was racing, he needed to know. He had to make sense of you.

“We don’t know. Perhaps it was fate.” Atropos smirked. “She was born a mortal. And then by chance, it would seem, her thread intersected with your own. Now she is becoming one of the immortal, becoming... more.”

“Immortal?” He nearly shrieked, “I don’t understand. How does this happen? You don’t just become an immortal. You are born into it or you do something so worthy it’s gifted to you. It’s not as if she’s done something to deserve the right. You have to do something to become immortal.”

Lachesis grew annoyed by his claims. “You speak as if this was her choice, Hades. As if she asked for this. As if we three played a hand in it…This was you. Your thread found hers. Your thread intertwined. You made it your fate to never let her go and now she is bound, likely forever.”

“Show me.”

“You know we cannot.”

“SHOW ME!” Hades bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall.

Clothos stood reluctantly. Of the three sisters she feared him the most and thus was most willing to break the rules for fear of his wrath. He followed her as she slowly made her way through the hall to a door that stood wide and bright. Made of solid gold. She placed a gentle palm on the door, there was no handle or knob, and it seemed to have swung open of its own accord. The walls were dark stone but you’d never notice. The room was glowing bright, like looking into the sun. Hades squinted for a bit until his eyes finally adjusted.

The light from the room came from the strings that draped the walls like curtains, there were hundreds. All of them a warm and glowing gold that matched the door to the room. The Chamber of the Immortal. In the center of the room were five gold threads, thick as ship rope, hung from the ceiling. His and his siblings ropes. Clothos made her way to the five threads and beckoned Hades to follow.

“This is you.” She said placing her hand onto one of the ropelike threads.

As she did several smaller gold threads started to appear. Some of them disappeared into his entirely, some of them pulled away and then would attach back further down, some would attach and break away and never came back at all. They were all of the different immortal souls that had come into contact with the god in his lifetime.

Clothos lifted her other hand to one of the threads that seemed to appear out of nowhere, starting a few feet above where her hand was placed, nowhere near where his began. “And this is her.”

His eyes started at the top of your thread and followed it down. “So she really is no one?”

“She was no one and then she became someone to you. We don’t know how. We almost didn’t notice at all.” Clothos said quietly as he looked at how the two threads intertwined. “You can see it happened quite slowly at first. Barely meeting, just here and there. Now hers aligns with yours side by side, and may soon become fully encompassed, making her a true immortal.”

Your thread began as mortals threads do, as a twine. A normal and dull, beige tone. It remained the same for quite some time, the majority of your life so far. Then there was a slight unraveling of both your thread and his. They hooked together once or twice, a thin and weak connection. And then, as Clothos had said his thread had started to encompass your own. Pulling unraveled bits into his golden thread until yours had nearly disappeared into his completely. Only a single strand of beige was still visible. Towards the bottom your thread started to break apart from his once more, only this time your thread was gold like his. Smooth and silky like the immortals. His eyes followed the thread for a bit longer until it seemed to disappear. It didn’t end, an immortals thread didn’t end. It just simply faded from view.

“What’s this?” He asked the concern in his voice undeniable.

“A choice.” She answered softly.

He didn’t understand. “A choice that I make?”

Clothos shook her head, “A choice for her to make.”

“When will it happen?”

“Soon.”

“What will happen once she’s chosen?”

“It depends on the choice she makes.” Clothos felt pity at his exasperated sigh, “I can not tell you, Hades. You know too much now as it were.”

He held your thread in his palm and barely above a whisper he said, “...but she ate the fruit.”

Clothos nearly laughed, “That only works if you’re willing to reinforce it.”

“I’m going to!” He pouted, “I might...I could.”

“You were never going to make that girl stay here against her will.”

“I love her.”he was so frustrated he thought he might cry.

He was a god! He could have anything he wanted, do anything he wanted to. He made the rules. However he also knew Clothos was right. He would never make you do anything you didn’t want to.

“You love her so much you gave her immortality without even thinking about it. That you love her is indisputable.”

“But I could still lose her?”

“It’s her choice, Hades.” she said with a hint of pity. “You’ve given her a gift no god has ever given a mortal before. Absolute free will, completely unrestricted, no caveats.”

“Cou-“ he took a nervous breath, “Giving up her soul for someone else, could that do this?”

“Well, yes. In that case she would relinquish her immortality and her thread would be cut immediately. That could very well be why her future is so uncertain.” It was curious to the sister to see Hades in such turmoil, in this moment she didn’t fear him but she chose to help him regardless. “Perhaps... her decision could be persuaded.”

“Persuaded?” he asked hopefully.

“You are the god of the underworld, Hades. Use your tools.”

“Tools? What tools?” He asked more confused than before.

“You’re a clever god, you’ll figure it out.” She said with a small smile before going back to join her sisters.

Hades stood in the Chamber of the Immortal for quite a bit longer. He held your connected threads in his palm and thought back to every moment the two of you had shared together. The night you’d met, your first real conversation, the dream you’d shared…He inhaled quickly and patted his jacket where he felt his notebook. Maybe there would be some questions to answer. Perhaps he’d have to explain who he was. Despite all that he knew what he had to do now, this might be his only chance.

When you woke up the next morning Jiyong was by your side. Your arm was still wrapped snugly around his waist and his arm was thrown over your shoulder. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before leaning away from his chest, which you’d been resting on. He’d been watching you quietly, curiously.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” you blushed, your eyes moved down his body in an effort to avoid his soft gaze. You realized your leg had wrapped around his. You quickly removed yourself from him and sat up, “sorry...”

He chuckled lightly at the panic that was clear on your face. “Don’t worry about it. Are you ready for more walking?”

You groaned, your feet were so sore, just thinking about walking had them screaming. “Where we’re going, is it far?”

“No, not really. And we can stay there for a bit if you want, really get some rest. Eat something nice.” he said enticingly.

“Real food?” you asked, stomach grumbling as you stood up, “What are we waiting for?”

You followed Jiyong through the rest of the forest, amazed that all of the souls you’d seen the night before had just disappeared into the trees like they’d never even been there. Part of you hoped that when you died that this is where you’d come. You hoped you’d been good enough for it. It was such a neutral feeling being in the forest, no melancholy or pain. If you got to choose this place is what you’d pick.

Just out of the forest there was another path to follow. The two of you didn’t speak too much on the walk, but you did bask in the comfort of his presence. It was nice to have a moment where the two of you weren’t tense and arguing or angry with one another about something stupid. It felt like there had been too much of that recently.

You’d always thought you’d known comfort with Jiho. The way the two of you kind of just fell into one another so effortlessly. It had felt comfortable with him. Nothing had ever really felt different between when you’d just met to becoming his roommate and, finally, his girlfriend. There was just something easy about each transition, something so natural that had made complete sense at the time. Being around Jiyong was different, you had to admit. You weren’t even dating but there was still this feeling in your gut that drove you crazy. With Jiho it was always so simple. It just was. There was never anything to question or to worry about.

With Jiyong there was comfort, yes. There was an ease to being near him, absolutely. However, with Jiyong there was also this vibrating energy just under the surface of every other feeling you had. You realized after really thinking about it that the energy flowed through your veins constantly not just during moments of comfort and ease. It didn’t matter if you were yelling at each other, or if he was making you laugh or if everything was calm and it was like this, just the two of you in silence, existing together.

There was always this extra level to how you felt when you were with him. It was like an energy telling you how much you wanted it, every second of it, all the good and all the bad. If you were going to fight you wanted to fight with him. If you were going to laugh you wanted to laugh with him. If you were crying you wanted to cry with him near you. Taking the time to think about it you realized that the underlying current was passion.

You tried to think back to when you and Jiho first got tog

ether, tried to remember if there had been passion then. You knew there hadn’t been recently, just before he died. The two of you had started just going through the motions. You genuinely believed that it’s just what happened in relationships as they aged. Jiho had been your only real relationship, it was the only one you knew. You had no comparisons. But something sat heavy on your chest the very second you met Jiyong. Something that made you wonder if you were wrong all along about... everything.

“Do you see that?” You asked after quite a while.

Finally climbing out of your own thoughts you had noticed the silhouettes of flying figures just ahead. They seemed small at first, the size of crows, but as they grew near you realized they were much, much larger. Nearing the size of small planes. They looked like a bird of prey at first, but as you looked longer you realized they were some sort of bird, reptilian hybrid. Their teeth were razor sharp and several feet long. You jumped back, completely disturbed by the vision of a bird with teeth like that. As if sensing your fear one of the birds turned towards the pair of you with a squawk that blanketed the open air around you and appeared to descend.

“Oh my god, Jiyong!” Trembling in fear you threw yourself into his arms for protection, burying your face into his chest.

His eyes grew wide and he slowly wrapped his arms around you. He had been thinking a lot on this trip, about who he was before you. He realized that he’d actually been very unfamiliar with the urge to alleviate someone else's anxiety. He’d never been overly affectionate, the way he’d wanted to be when you were around. While he was being painfully honest with himself, he recognized that he never connected with Persphone like he did with you. He had been far from the perfect husband, he knew that. Even though he tried to make her happy, beyond that, he never really paid attention to her needs. He’d been selfish. He didn’t want to make those mistakes when it came to you.

He dipped his face closer to yours. The floral and spice scent of you clouded his senses momentarily. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before whispering against your ear, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

The aviguis, one of Hades beasts, often searched the underworld for attempted escapees, though they usually stuck closer to Tartarus. The bird, upon seeing his master was only diving down for attention and maybe a snack, as Hades often kept treats for his pets. Jiyong waved the bird away as discreetly as possible, keeping one arm tightly wrapped around you. Although slightly put out, the bird left without much of a fuss, just one more loud screeching squawk. It’d been so close when it released the loud cry that it shook the ground you stood on, causing you to press yourself into Jiyong even further.

Continuing to rub your back his fingers tangled in your hair. He lifted his hand up further, his palm cupping your neck, his fingertips gently massaging your hairline. You leaned your head back, into his hand, with a small sigh. So comforted by the feel of him your eyes had been closed. When your eyelids finally fluttered open he was staring down at you. Your eyes locked with his and you felt breathless. Overwhelmed by the perfectly curved shape of his eyes, the rich chocolate color, the surprising amount of affection reflected in them. He tilted his head ever so slightly and leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. You closed your eyes again, but then squirmed reluctantly in his arms.

“I can’t.” You said softly. The two of you already so close that your lips brushed against his, even as you declined his proposition for a kiss. “...Jiho.”

“Right...I’m sorry.” Jiyong took several deep breaths, collecting himself, before moving his lips just passed your mouth and leaving a small kiss against your cheek.

The second he pulled away from you, removing his arms from around your body, you missed his presence. He was only inches from you but suddenly he wasn’t close enough anymore. He started walking away, it wasn’t in heated frustration like it had been in the garden. It was relaxed, his hands in his pockets, on a leisurely stroll. As you followed you thought for sure you were more upset right now than he was that you hadn’t kissed just then.

“I was married once.” Jiyong said simply, casually reaching down and grabbing a small stone from the path.

“What? Seriously?” you asked, completely surprised by the confession.

“Yep.” he tossed the rock up high before catching it in his palm.

“You seem too young to have been married and divorced already. It must not have lasted long.”

“I don’t know.” he sighed, “felt like a milenium to me.”

“Such a drama queen” you said giving him a nudge. “Why’d you split up?”

“She was...we were young...and she never really wanted to be with me anyway. It got tiring, always trying to make someone so stubborn and so miserable happy.”

“You’re kidding. That sounds like the ideal circumstance for a marriage. A really stable foundation for a relationship.” you grinned.

Jiyong scoffed as he looked over at you, “You think you’re so cute when you’re sarcastic.”

“Maybe, but you think so too.”

“Yeah.”

The single word stopped you. You stood staring at him as he continued on walking. It took him a beat to realize you weren’t by his side any longer.

He paused, turning back to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just-” you shrugged before slowly making your way to him. “I expected you to say something snarky, not just agree with me.”

“So what? I think you’re cute.” he admitted as if it were nothing, “Beautiful even. Gorgeous. Stunning. Radiant. Breathtaking.”

“Stop.” you blushed furiously.

Jiyong laughed, “Why? Are you embarrassed?”

“No, it’s just…you don’t really mean it.”

It was his turn to stop in his tracks. Only he grabbed your wrist, stopping you with him. His eyes locked with yours, making your breath catch in your chest for a second time in all of ten minutes. “I do mean it. Of course I mean it. You know that, don’t you?”

And suddenly it was there again. That unshakable urge to kiss him and touch him. To give into every sexual impulse you’d ever known. Obviously you thought he might be interested in you. At the very least he’d wanted to kiss you, but even that didn’t have to mean anything.

It could have just meant that you had shared a very close proximity to each other for the last couple of days and there was some naturally built tension between the two of you. You looked at him and wondered how someone so beautiful could ever think you were attractive too. The subtle pout on his lips, the softness in his eyes, even his cheeks and his nose. With a deep breath you turned away, unable to take him in any longer. Instead you looked passed him a little ways away.

“What are those?” You asked eyeing a pair of large ivory towers in the distance.

Distracted, Jiyong turned to look as well, “That’s the towers of Elysium.”

“Towers? I thought Elysium was a field, like Asphodel was supposed to be.”

“Consistent.” He grinned. “Elysium was meant to be a paradise for fallen gods and the worthy at heart. Being stuck in a crowded field of wandering souls isn’t exactly a paradise for anyone. So some adjustments were made.”

“What’s inside of them?” You asked curiously.

“It’s hard to explain.” He said before biting his lip trying to think of how to describe it to you. “I guess, they’re paradises.”

“Paradises? More than one?” You asked and started to walk towards them.

“Not everyone is going to have the same expectations of paradise. Each tower has hundreds of stories and each story has hundreds of doors and through the doors are personal paradises of each of the worthy souls. Different souls, different versions of paradise.”

“And that’s where we’re going?” He looked over at you all wide eyed and excited.

“It was thinking it would be a nice, safe place to spend the day, maybe even stay for the night.” He shrugged.

”Wait...you mean like stay in one of the paradises?” You asked, looking over at him, “Ji, that would be so cool. I really want to see one. What if I never get the chance again? I’m not...like a great human specimen. I don’t know where I’ll go when I die, besides possibly getting stuck in the valley of sad roses.”

He groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. “I told you, you don’t belong there!”

You only hummed skeptically in response as the two of you continued down the path towards the towers. After just a few moments of silence between the two of you, you asked “Is that where you came up with your Hades story? Your own experience?”

He almost seemed nervous, but quickly wiped the look from his face with a smile. “I’m disappointed it took you so long to realize…”

You scoffed, “Yeah well, I figured you were too smart to get stuck in a shitty relationship. Apparently not.”

“Ohhh, okay.” he chuckled, “Smart people make relationship mistakes all the time. You should know.”

Your mouth fell open with a gasp, you tried your best not to laugh. “That was a good dig. I concede.”

“Thank you.” he said with a dramatic bow.

“Seriously though, sorry about your wife.”

He just shrugged, “It’s fine. My story isn’t over yet, right?”

“Definitely not.” you thought maybe you responded a little too enthusiastically and followed up with, “Probably.”

“Well which is it?” he laughed, “definitely not or probably not.”

“A guy like you? Definitely not.”

“What does that mean? A guy like me.” he asked

You blushed, “Just, you know…”

He turned to look at you but you’d been staring at your shoes as you walked, “I really don’t. Please tell me what kind of guy you think I am.”

Perfect. You thought to yourself.

“You’re like...really pretty or handsome...both. You’re just good looking or whatever. Obviously you have a career. Although I’m still not clear on what you do what is clear is that you make bank. You dress nicely and take care of yourself. You’re a real man in a sea of manchildren. You’re-” you paused. You knew if didn’t stay on surface compliments you might go too far. You could say too much and get yourself in trouble.

“Please?” he asked again, softer this time.

“It’s nothing I haven’t told you before.” you thought back to your embarrassing unrequited boat confession.

“Then it should be no problem telling me again.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance and sighed, “Fine. I’ve never not felt safe when you were around. You have a fearlessness and an arrogance that just makes me certain that no matter what the circumstance you’d be able to take care of me. Which, you know, is something a person likes to have in a partner. You drench everything in sarcasm and humor. Sometimes it makes it really difficult to know when to take you seriously. When you are serious, you’re always very warm, and kind. You are unbelievably thoughtful. You care. You try to appear nonchalant all the time, but you aren’t…”

“Stop.” he said suddenly and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“There’s more.”

“I can’t...it’s fine, just stop.” he wanted to cry or kiss you. Or he wanted to kiss you so hard he could cry. You saw him so differently than everyone else did. You saw him how he wished he would be seen.

“Pearly gates?” you asked looking up at the gate you’d come to that surrounded the towers. You could tell Ji had shut down a little and wanted to change the subject for him.

He rubbed his eyes, hoping to come off tired rather than emotional before looking up at the gate. It was made of white marble and gold but the marble did look like a pearl. He shrugged as he moved to unlock it, “Yeah, kind of a joke I guess.”

“Do you think Hades thinks he’s a really funny guy? He seems like he might.” you commented as you walked into Elysium.

He didn’t respond right away, just walked you towards the closest tower, and up the few marble steps towards the entryway, “Do you think he’s funny?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know him...but there’s potential for him.”

“Do you think I’m funny?”

“Comedic genius.”

“Well thank you,” finally he smiled as he opened the large glass door for you, “and welcome to paradise.”

Stepping inside, your mouth fell at the sheer size of the lobby. It was easily three stories high. The floor was a polished white marble, almost blindingly white. You actually felt guilty taking your first few steps inside. Your sneakers didn’t seem appropriate attire for walking on such beautiful, clean flooring. There were massive black marble pillars that lined the sides of the room, and you realized between each set of pillars were gold doors. Looking up at the arched ceiling you noticed the painting that covered every inch. Very sistine chapel vibes.

“Wow,” you muttered unable to look away from the ornate painting on the ceiling. “I was not expecting anything this fancy.”

“Is this fancy?” he asked curiously, as if he really couldn’t see it. “What were you expecting?”

“It’s just so renaissance Italy, I was expecting more futuristic hospital.”

Jiyong let out an uncharacteristic snort, “Your idea of paradise aesthetic is a futuristic hospital?”

You rolled your eyes, you guessed it did sound pretty stupid. “Maybe! Maybe I like a very clean hospital look, very high tech, space stuff.”

“Lies!” he laughed, “Such a liar.”

He kept laughing as he brought you over to one of the many gold doors. You realized as he pressed a tiny button beside it that they were all elevators. Once inside the elevator he told you to pick a floor, any one you wanted. So you closed your eyes and pressed. The elevator ride to the 62nd floor was quick and smooth. It felt like nothing at all before the doors opened.

The hall was very quiet and looked mostly like a ritzy old hotel. There was a maroon carpet that lined the dark wood flooring, white doors with gold trim. Beside each door was a gold plaque with a number engraved. Jiyong hummed thoughtfully as he walked you down the hallway before finally stopping in front of one of the doors. 6233.

“Ready?” He asked placing his hand on the doorknob.

You nodded enthusiastically and he opened the door to let you inside. It was just like walking through the front door of a poorly lit apartment as the lights were off and the drapes were closed. Even still it was light enough to see the walls of the living area were a mint green that made you cringe. There was a gilded crown moulding along the ceiling and a beautifully designed persian rug on the ground. Off to one side was an office with a small writing desk, at least the walls in that room had a dark wood paneling and wasn’t the horrible green. The couches and chairs were all made of elaborately carved walnut with pink velvet cushions. There was a porcelain tea set on the table that looked like it was from a thousand years ago.

Grabbing the tiny silver teaspoon between your fingers you gave the tea a stir. “This place is very fancy too. Very European, but less like Italy, and more like an old lady's house.”

“Do you not like it?” He asked moving around the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

“It’s very pretty, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not my,” you were going to say ‘cup of tea’. You thought the joke would have been worthy of Hades himself. Instead your voice caught in your throat.

You had moved to the window to pull back the curtain for more light. Plus you’d been curious about the view. Eyes wide with enthusiasm you dragged the curtains open completely and looked over your shoulder at a smirking Jiyong.

“We’re in Paris!” He nodded as you looked back out at the view. The Eiffel Tower sitting smack dab in the middle of the picture window. “Wait, is it real? Or is this like a smoke and mirrors, visual effects thing?”

“This is really, truly, Paris.”

As you looked down below you took in every fascinating detail. After what honestly took too long, you realized there was something very off about the scene in front of you. “Where are all the cars? Why are there so many horses? Jiyong...when are we?”

“We are in Paris in the 1890’s. This is the home of Oscar Wilde. There is a cafe a few blocks away that he really likes to frequent for writing.” He was being so nonchalant, you wanted to scream. “This is his paradise.”

“Are you joking? Is this a joke?” you practically shrieked.

He watched with much amusement as you revisited every inch of the apartment and all of its telltale details. The coat on the rack by the door, black with a thick fur collar and wrists. Cluttered writing desk in the office by the window covered in loose leaf papers, some blank and some covered in lines and scribbles. In the corner was a brown leather chair and beside it was a stack of books piled up to the arm rest.

You dragged your hand over the writing desk and looked over at Jiyong, “So, does your paradise have to be somewhere you’ve been before? Some place real? What’s the deal?”

“A person’s paradise is limited only by their imagination.”

“Elysium,” you shook your head in surprise, “I never would have guessed that for Oscar.”

“I-” Jiyong paused as you looked over at him, “I think Hades has a fondness for the classics.”

“Huh.” you mused, making your way back over to him, “Hades is an art snob. Who knew?”

“He scoffed, “He’s not a snob. He just has an appreciation for a creative, original mind.”

“Is that how you move in and out of the underworld so easily?” you asked, “By being an ass kisser?”

“I’ve never-” he started to defend himself and then stopped, “Seeing as you’ve never been nice a day in your life, I can see where you might confuse kindness with ass kissing.”

You pouted, “You don’t think I’m nice?”

“Try.” he grinned, “Say something nice.”

With your lips slightly parted, as if ready to respond, you froze. Everything you thought to say was too shallow. Comments about how good he looked standing there with the stubble that had been collecting on his usually clean shaven face. Or they were too deep for such a lighthearted conversation like this. I love you, you’d thought. I love you was something nice to say.

“No thoughts,” you muttered grumpily, “ head empty.”

“Not a single nice thing to say?”

“You really think I’m mean?” you asked quietly.

His shoulders fell immediately, “Y/n, it was a joke. Honestly? I think you’ve never been mean a day in your life.”

“I can be mean.” you argued, “I’m not a pushover. Am I? Do you think I’m a pushover?”

He scratched the back of his head and laughed, “Do you want to mean or do you want to be nice? Pick one so we can move on.”

“I want to be both!” you said in a gentle whine.

“Fine!” he grabbed your face in his hands.”You’re equal parts mean and nice. There’s never been a more perfectly balanced human being.”

A pleased smile spread across your face as he dropped his hands.”Thank you, that's all I wanted to hear you say. You think I’m the perfect human being.”

“Except that’s not what I said.” he responded, following you as you made your way out of the room.

“It’s what you think though. You think I’m perfect.” you said stepping out of the Paris Paradise and into the hallway. “Don’t you? Don’t you think I’m perfect, Jiyong?”

He gulped as he shut the door before turning around to face you. That’s actually exactly what he thought. When he looked at you. When he thought about you. Perfection. You were everything. He sighed, “Maybe. I might.”

“Oh please, that’s obviously a yes.” you laughed, “What’s next?”

“Want to see something really cool?” he asked. You scoffed at the question and he nodded, “Right, stupid question.”

He brought you back to the elevator and you both stepped inside. The doors had already closed as he stood for a moment looking at the numbers, trying to remember the correct one. With a sudden realization you watched as he pressed the button for the 158th floor. You were a little surprised when you stepped off on the new floor. You’d expected a bit of queasiness or dizziness from being up so high, but you guessed that was just a perk of being in paradise.

“Where are we going again?” You asked knowing full well he hadn’t told you yet.

“Do you want to ruin the surprise?”

“Yes! That’s why I asked, duh.”

“Duh…” he said mocking you as he finally found the door he was looking for. 15868. “I wanted to show you what I meant about limits only being those on your imagination.”

He opened the door and you stepped into a hallway. At least that’s the only way you could think to describe it. It felt like a corridor on a ship. All metal shiny metal walls with big bolts, no windows and low lighting. You were reminded of the corridors they showed in movies about submarines. It was also freezing cold. Even with your sweater on you were shivering. As you made your way down the corridor Jiyong threw his thick coat over your shoulders, you didn’t even need to ask.

You passed one door that opened to what appeared to be a living space. A tiny bed, barely big enough for one person. A metal desk with journals lined across the top. There was a set of blue striped pajamas folded nicely at the end of the bed, but not really much else. Nothing too telling about the occupant. The next door you found opened to a garden of sorts. The ceiling was lined with special lighting and what looked like sprinklers. They hung over large wooden boxes filled with all sorts of greenery. You looked over at Jiyong as if for permission and he just shrugged, so you went in.

There were vegetables and berries, against the walls were actual fruit trees. There were flowers and regular old green plants. And towards the back there was a collection of strange plants, ones you’d never seen before. There was one that was the most astounding blue color you’d ever seen, it’s petals appeared to be lined in purple led lights. You found two plants that were underneath a bell jars. One looked like it was a flower made of crystal but without knowing for sure you felt it was made of ice. It was spinning, suspended in air. You thought it might be ice by the way snow was falling around it, seemingly from nowhere. Beside it was a bold red tropical looking flower. But as you had been standing there, fascinated by the ice plant, you realized it had turned a bright yellow, and then a deep orange.

“What are these?” You asked, “I don’t understand.”

“Keep looking, you’ll see.”

He followed you out of the room and further down the hall. Finally it opened into a larger area. It was the bridge of a ship. A single captains chair sat in the center. You watched fascinated as, what was clearly a robot, moved around the room checking buttons and charts and screens. When you finally tore your eyes from the very Rosie Jetson-esque robot you caught the view out of the window that wrapped around the room.

“And to think I thought Paris was cool.” you muttered, walking over to the window.

As you looked out at the unfamiliar looming red and blue planet in front of you, you gulped. Immediately surrounding you there was nothing, emptiness. Passed the planet was nothing but stars and planets as far as you could see.

“Space? Seriously. Someone’s idea of paradise is alone in space.”

“Neil Armstrong.” Jiyong shrugged. “He always wanted to go further than the moon. So now he spends his time visiting different planets. Sometimes he picks up plants from them and studies them. Writes about his experiences in his journals. Mostly I think he just visits planets he saw on episodes of Star Trek, but you get the idea.”

“It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it must be so lonely, right?” you asked, taking in the quiet hum of the empty ship. “Is everyone always alone?”

“Oscar isn’t, he spends most of his time with a partner. Neil prefers solitude for the most part but he makes friends on every planet he visits. That’s what makes it a paradise for him. Every day a new adventure, a new friend.”

You bit your lip, looking out into the emptiness of space before you. You wondered what your paradise would look like. Who would be with you? Where would you go? How would you spend your days?

You looked over at Jiyong with a small smile, “Do you think we can find somewhere warmer?”

He nodded, “I think we can find somewhere perfect for you.”

While you did actually enjoy being in space and the phenomenal view, you made quick work of the dark, cold corridor. You had stopped once, to go back into the garden room and relook at the plants. In the hall you semi reluctantly handed Jiyong his coat back and followed him to the elevator.

He brought you down several floors but instead of taking you to a room he brought you to a long walkway that was showered in the sunlight coming from the glass archway covering it. It was a bridge from one tower to the other. The archway was designed to look like cut crystal and the way the sun reflected onto it made the floor beneath your feet look like a rainbow.

Through the window you had a pretty decent view of most of the underworld. On one side of the walkway was a view of the gates that greeted you, and in the other were the mountains near Tartarus. Once you’d reached the other tower he brought you to another elevator which led you up. It was the highest you’d been yet, the 300th floor.

Jiyong paused in front the third door of the day and turned to you. “You open this one.”

An immediate excitement surged through you, “Am I allowed?”

“I don’t make the rules, but I don’t see why you can’t.” he shrugged.

Taking a cautious step forward you placed your hand on the doorknob and gave a turn of your wrist. The smell of the ocean breeze moved passed you before the door was even all the way open. The room you walked into was basking in sunlight. A true gust of ocean air blew through sheer white curtains that opened to a modest oceanfront deck. It was the most beautiful ocean view, the water was a dazzling blue. You had never seen anything like it before in your life. You continued to explore the quaint bungalow. There were two bedrooms, each with their own en suite bathroom. One of the bedrooms had a sliding door that opened to the same ocean view you’d seen from the living room. The other room had a door that opened to a patio with a thick forest view, which made you feel like it had the best of both worlds.

Besides the two rooms there was a living room that separated them. The floor was wood but there was a massive, fluffy white carpet that covered most of the area. There was a plush, oversized sectional, and a couple of bookshelves. A huge television hung over an equally large fireplace. Separated from the common area only by a long counter was the kitchen, which truly caught your interest.

All of the rooms had been littered with vases filled with fresh flowers. Red gerberas. As he walked around the rooms, Jiyong curiously took in the details of everything. A small smile spread across his lips as he noticed each vase held one flower that had nearly snapped off and was dangling precariously. He gently fingered the soft petals and wondered if you’d realized the small detail too.

“This kitchen!” you cried out dramatically.

He moved casually from the bedroom to find you with the biggest eyes and the brightest smile as you checked every cabinet and drawer and opened every appliance.

“Is it nice? I don’t really use kitchens.” he asked rounding the counter.

“Four ovens!” you said looking over at him, “and watch!”

He leaned against the counter and watched you move over to one of the ovens and open the door.

“It’s off, it’s cold.” you said sticking your hand inside and grabbing the rack. You closed the door and pushed several buttons. There was a long beep and you opened the door once more. A gush of hot air flowed into the room. “Ready for baking in...what? A second?”

“That’s a neat trick.” he smirked.

“Okay fine, that could be nothing. It could be crazy advanced technology, but this?” you moved over to the large stainless steel refrigerator and opened the door. It was filled with everything you could need. Milk, eggs, beautiful fruits and colorful vegetables, perfect cuts of meat. You looked over at Jiyong and pressed your finger into a stick of butter, “hard as a rock. Touch it.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

“Touch the butter, Jiyong.” you said with a serious glare.

He reached passed your shoulder and pressed a finger against the solid stick, “Yep, that’s cold butter.”

“But wait,” you said dramatically, “there’s more!”

“If I call now it comes with a free knife set?” he asked sarcastically.

With a massive eye roll you grabbed the stick and held it in the palm of your hand and then looked at him pointedly.

“Touch it?”

“Touch it.” you nodded. He pushed his finger against the butter once more, only this time it went nearly all the way through. “Slightly warmer than room temperature. Perfect for baking.”

Jiyong didn’t say anything to that. He just looked at you with an adoration that brought a blush to your cheeks. He looked at you like he’d be happy to hear you go on about the temperature of butter for hours.

“Anyway…” you turned, suddenly feeling embarrassed, and put the butter back in the refrigerator. “Whose paradise is this? Because it’s actually kind of perfect.”

“Whose do you think it is?”

You leaned against the counter opposite him and looked around for a moment. Once realization hit you grinned over at him. You stood up straight, looking enthusiastic. “Bake something with me.”

“Oh,” he shook his head, “I’m no good at things like that.”

“This is my paradise, it would be impossible for you to fuck this up.”

“Ehh.” he made a very skeptical face, “I can probably do some damage.”

“Please!” you begged, “Anything you want. Anything at all.”

Foot tapping against the tile of the kitchen floor he contemplated for a moment. “Chocolate cake. Kind of like the lava cake at the bakery?”

“Hades cake?” you asked with a hint of excitement, “How appropriate.”

He stood back and watched as you maneuvered around the kitchen to pull out the necessities. You figured out pretty quickly that all you needed to do was think of the thing that you needed and open a cabinet, any cabinet, and it would be there. In barely any time at all you had everything laid out. Bowls and pans, spatulas and whisks, eggs, flour, butter, chocolate. Everything you needed, at your fingertips.

“I’ll give you an easy part.” you assured a nervous looking Jiyong.

“And what’s that?” He asked cautiously.

“Stirring.”

You set him up in front of the flat top oven with a double broiler. You handed him a whisk and he watched as you started to fill the bowl. Butter first, and then freshly shaved chocolate, fresh ground espresso beans, and freshly ground chili.

“Just stir?” He asked when it finally looked like you’d moved to somewhere else.

“Slowly, and with love.” You smiled as you prepared the eggs in one bowl and the dry ingredients in another. Jiyong was staring into the bowl like it was a witches brew.

He was fascinated by the way you moved around the kitchen. The way you mixed things together. He’d never seen you cook before and there was an art to it that he found beautiful and contagious. Once the cake was in the oven, you showed him how to make the frosting too. And he had to admit that you even cleaned things in such a way that it looked like a dance. When you were done it looked like you’d never touched a thing.

With your head in the refrigerator you said, “We should go swimming.”

“In the ocean?”

You turned around and shook your head, “There’s a pool outside and a grill. I think we should swim and barbecue. It would be fun. And when we’re done we can comeback in for cake.”

He nodded in agreement, “Yeah, that does sound nice.”

“Great! I’m going to go get ready.”

He watched you take off to one of the bedrooms to change before moving to the opposite. It was unsurprising to him when he found his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom. What did surprise him was how nervous he’d been in deciding how he wanted to look in front of you. He stood in front of his mirror for a long while in his bathing suit. Tried it with sandals on and then sandals off, shirt on and then shirt off, sunglasses and hats. He tried every possible combination before finally just running his hand through his hair and biting the bullet.

When he came back out you were already back in the kitchen. There was a tray of food ready to be taken outside and you’d been putting the finishing touches of frosting on the cake. When you looked up from the cake you’d been smiling but the moment your eyes hit Jiyong you froze. Your face flushed and you felt like you looked crazy staring like you were but you couldn‘t look away.

“What?” he asked. He thought if he brought the attention to you, you wouldn’t notice the way he’d been looking back.

You shook your head and dropped your eyes immediately. “Nothing. Can you bring the tray outside?”

“Sure.” He grinned and moved over to the counter. “You okay?”

“Perfect. I’m fine.” you said before clearing your throat.

You waited until he’d gone outside to collapse against the counter, distraught. You hadn’t expected to react so spectacularly to a shirtless Jiyong. To a Jiyong that was in something other than his typical fashion model-esque attire. You hadn’t expected him to look so casual and comfortable. Truthfully you hadn’t expected him to look like someone you wished was your boyfriend. His hair pushed back so sloppily and the scruff that had been growing on his face over the past few days. And the way he carried himself around like none of it was a big deal at all. You had to take a minute to collect yourself before heading outside.

Outside you were able to relax quite a bit, mostly because there had been a pitcher of margaritas on the table out by the pool. The two of you drank and cooked together. Shared a meal by the pool and went for a swim after. Before you noticed it happening you felt you’d been transported. Thoughts of the underworld and of finding Jiho had vanished. Now you were just simply on a beach vacation with someone you loved, having the time of your life. Nowhere to be and nothing to do except for playing silly games and snacking on delicious food while you watched the sun coming down on a gorgeous afternoon.

Leaning against the side of the pool you admired Jiyong as he swam back and forth, the entire length of the pool. After several laps he stopped and stood up. He pushed his dripping wet hair out of his face with both hands. You watched with fascination as water droplets fell from the ends of his hair, down his neck, sliding over his back. You felt slightly faint at the sight, it was honestly more breathtaking than staring straight into space.

His body was on the thinner side, which wasn’t a surprise to you. You’d known he was an average height but had more of a petite build. You hadn’t been expecting him to be so toned all over. Or to have so many previously hidden tattoos to expose. You hadn’t been expecting your mouth to be pooling with drool at the sight in front of you. The sharp angles of his profile, along with the setting sun as the backdrop, left you yearning. You were also certain that standing waist deep in the water wasn’t the only thing that had you wet.

“Beautiful.” you muttered to yourself as you stared.

Jiyong looked over at you with raised eyebrows. “What was that?”

“This place,” you choked out. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

“I would hope so. It’s your paradise.” he smirked before diving underwater once more to take several more laps.

A pout passed over your mouth as you watched him and you muttered, “I don’t know, feels like torture to me.”

He swam laps for a little longer while you contemplated swimming out into the ocean and never returning because you genuinely weren’t sure you’d survive the night with him looking the way that he did. What you didn’t know was that he had to keep swimming laps because looking at you standing there in your bathing suit with your lip tucked between your teeth every time he came up for air was driving him insane. It was the only way he could think to blow off steam. He moved through the water towards you and popped out of water. He leaned against the side of the pool after his last set of laps.

“I think I’ll go in and clean up. Shave, maybe.” He said running his fingertips over the scruff on his chin.

“No!” You shouted, surprising even yourself, before sinking back down into the water.

“No?” He asked, amused, “Do you prefer me this way?”

You shook your head. “I don’t prefer you any which way. You should do whatever you want...”

“Mmhmm.” He grinned and ran his thumb over his jawline, watching the way your lip rolled between your teeth once more. “Maybe it’s not so bad. I guess I’ll keep it.”

“Yeah. You should. That’s cool. Or don’t. Whatever.” You rambled as you moved to get out of the water, “I think I’ll clean up too.”

You cleaned up the mess you’d made with lunch to distract yourself as Jiyong got out of the water and dried off, though you imagined with it being paradise you could have just wished it away. You were pretty sure he knew it too, with the small smile he kept on his face. He’d asked you if you needed help and you assured him you didn’t.

Then you watched as he walked back inside, watched the way his skin moved over his shoulder blades when he lifted the towel to dry his hair once more. You hands shook with a mighty need to touch his bare hips, to trace the tattoos on his torso. With a sigh you looked back down at the table to find it was cleared and your idle hands were empty. So you went inside for what you hoped would be a relaxing shower.

Stepping out of the shower into the steamy air of the bathroom you felt much better. When you moved into the bedroom you pulled the towel tighter around you, and walked across the floor to the dresser. Pulling open the top drawer you found two sets of underwear. One was your usual, comfy, mismatched bra and panties and folded neatly beside them was a set of what you could only refer to as lingerie. A sexy, strappy, lace bra in blacks and reds with a pair of barely there black, lace panties. Your mouth felt dry as you looked over at the closed door. The only thing separating you from Jiyong. Your hand hovered between both sets of underwear. Knowing this was all you, you wondered exactly what kind of paradise you’d created here. With a quick gulp you grabbed the matching set, better safe than sorry.

You also grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a thin tank top, throwing your hoodie on over the whole ensemble, wanting to look as casual as possible. After brushing your hair and getting dressed you opened the door. A grin spread across your lips when you saw Jiyong had the same casual vibes idea as you. He was standing barefoot with his back to you. Wearing a black hoodie, the hood of his sweater pulled over his head. A pair of black jeans that had been cut just above the knees left loose threads dangling over his thighs. Your eyes snapped up as you felt your mouth start to water.

He had turned to you at this point and there was a small smile on his face as he caught you staring. “What?”

“Nothing…” you gulped, “you look very punk rock.”

“It’s fashion, y/n. Look it up.” he laughed as you rolled your eyes at him. “I was, um, gonna go sit outside for a bit and read. Would you like to join me?”

“That sounds very nice.” You smiled, “I’ll grab a book.”

You walked over to the bookshelf next to the sliding door that was opened to the deck. With an amused hum you picked up the only book on the shelf laying flat on its side.

“Find something interesting?”

You shrugged, “Sort of. This is the book I’d been working on back home. This place is a trip.”

“Paradise,” Jiyong said moving behind you, his hand brushed your hip as he passed, “anything you want, everything you need.”

It took you a moment to catch your breath as he walked outside. With your book in hand you made your way to the deck. Strings of white lights were hanging all over and around keeping the space warm and welcoming. Jiyong was sitting on the long cushioned bench that lined the banister that overlooked the beach, the water. The moon was full and bright, glistening against the soft waves like diamonds. His legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankle as he rested his feet atop the table. His hood was still up and his eyes were already diligently moving across the pages of his notebook. Moving around the table you tucked yourself into the corner of the bench, pulling your knees to you chest before opening the book in your hands.

For the first ten minutes you sat there not a single word was read.You’d realized that if you kept your gaze right at the top of your book you could watch Jiyong inconspicuously. Even though the only things you could see from underneath his hood were the tip of his nose and the pout on his lips. You still ached. Every once in awhile he would clear his throat or his tongue would poke out to run over his lips. You started to anticipate when he would turn the page because he always fingered the corner of the page for a minute before flipping it over. Your teeth dug a little deeper into your lip every time.

Finally realizing that you’d been staring for too long, you looked down at your own book. Still you could not read. Instead you tried to quick math to figure out how long it had been since your last time with Jiho. Then you tried to calculate your cycle because clearly this had to be some pathetic and annoying pms thirsting. In the end you hadn’t figured out anything useful. All you knew was that his voice was stuck on repeat in your head like some catchy song, “Okay. I’ll wait. Okay. We’ll kiss the right way like you want.” again and again and again, “Okay. We’ll kiss. Okay. We’ll kiss. Okay. We’ll kiss…”

Mad at yourself for wanting to wait, and mad at yourself for wanting so badly to break your waiting rule, you were finally able to read your book. If only as a way to get out of your own head. The book had been a good distraction at first and the plot line had hit a good twist. Then there was an unfortunately placed, very steamy, very intimate sex scene. It seemed very suddenly like your head was spinning so you closed your eyes for just a moment, to try and calm yourself. Your brain was not on the same page.

The scene in your head was set up exactly like this one. Full moon blanketing the deck with light, accompanied by bright whit fairy lights hanging above you. Jiyong sitting on the opposite side of the bench with this notebook in his lap.You stretched out one of your legs until your foot was pressing against his hip. He continued to look down at his notebook but dropped a hand onto your ankle. His fingers slid slowly, gently, up and down your shin and you were glad you’d shaved in the shower earlier.

It wasn’t enough, you needed more of his attention. You needed all of it. You pushed out your other leg, stretching until your toes were touching the outside of his thigh. You wiggled them underneath the ragged hem of his shorts. After a moment he dropped his legs from their resting place on the table and tossed his book to the side. With a quick turn to you he snatched your ankles in his hands. When he looked up at you from beneath his hood his eyes were bright gold.Your breath caught in your chest.

“You can’t handle me.” he said, but you knew it wasn’t meant as a threat.

“Let me try.” you whispered nervously.

Hands tight around your ankles he pulled, roughly dragging you towards him. With you on your back before him, he moved over you. His hand, smooth as a snake, moved up your sweater. You moaned as his lips met your neck, the stubble on his chin scratching your throat. Your eyes closed as he massaged your breast over the lace bra. His lips moved up to your jaw, your cheek. Another moan was teetering off the edge of your lips but he caught it with his own. Your first real kiss together. You might have cried if you’d given yourself the chance to think about it. Instead you pulled him closer. One hand dug deep in his hair, the other one clutching desperately at this collar of his hoodie, not wanting him to move even an inch from you.

“Y/n?” his voice was floating through your head but his lips were pressed against yours, “Y/n?”

Your eyes snapped open and you inhaled deeply. Jiyong was sitting across the bench from you, exactly as he had been before you closed your eyes. Only this time he was looking over at you.

“Uhhh, yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m going to grab something to eat. Can I get you anything from inside?” he asked with a small smile.

“Oh, no. I’m good, but thank you for asking.” You wondered how badly you were blushing as you reached your hand to your neck. You could still feel the scratch of his chin against you.

He stood up from the bench and dropped his notebook on the cushion. Stopping in front of the door he turned and watched you stare dreamily at the space in front of you with a smirk.

“Hey,” he called, and you turned to him with big doe eyes, “You’re sure you’re not...thirsty?”

“No…” you choked out, “No...yes! No, I mean yes, I’m sure I’m not thirsty.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as he walked inside with an upbeat hum. Pulling your hands back down to your lap you noticed the notebook where he left it lying on the bench, open to the center page. For the briefest moment you could have sworn you saw your name. You looked away, feeling uncomfortable. That was his private notebook, it wasn’t for your prying eyes. On the other hand...you were pretty sure you’d seen your name, and what could it hurt just to take a peek.

Leaning forward slightly for a closer look, you saw it. It was for sure your name. Jiho’s name had been there too and several other familiar names as well. Your heart was racing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you just read a few lines, just to get the general vibe. He would never have to know you even saw it. You turned towards the door to look inside of the little bungalow, Jiyong was nowhere in sight. Biting your lip so hard you tasted copper, you leaned over and snatched the notebook off the cushion.

Confusion hit first. You didn’t understand what it meant. Dates and times, starting from the day you were born up until earlier that day. Names of everyone you knew with what looked like correlating page numbers. Actions listed out like crimes, Forgery, age 10, mother's signature on field trip participation slip. Petty theft, earlier today, Oscar Wilde’s fountain pen. You looked down at the page, mortified, as you thought about the pen laying on the dresser in your room.

Realization hit quickly after, shock followed then. A flash of pain tore through your chest as you continued to read. As the pages flipped before you fell into anger, confusion again, and then more pain. You imagined that nothing would hurt as much as the list of times Jiho had committed adultery against you. Many of the names of the women looked familiar. Women you’d asked him about. Women he’d sworn you never had to worry about. His list of lies was so much worse. They left you feeling genuinely sick. There were so many you remembered not believing but pushing the feeling aside. Excusing him. Always making excuses for him.

I love you. Lie

You’re my everything. Lie

There is nothing more important to me than you. Lie

I love you. Lie. I love you. Lie. I love you. Lie.

Your lip was trembling. Tears fell onto the pages like raindrops as you continued on. Your grandmother, your mother, old friends, coworkers. Your father. The father you never met. He was nowhere near the monster your mother always made him out to be. He hadn’t abandoned you, he never knew you existed. She never told him. You met him once, completely by chance. He’d come back to the city for work and came into the bakery for coffee and wfi. He told you that you reminded him of someone, joked that you even looked a little him. He’d been polite and made you laugh. He died a couple years after that. Saved a teenage boy from a shooter at a gas station robbery. He was here somewhere in Elysium. You had two half sisters, still alive. Your chest felt tight. You flipped back and forth and back and forth again. Reading everything you could find. It took you some time but you finally realized there was someone missing.

Jiyong was in the kitchen shoving a forkful of cake in his mouth. His eyes raised in surprise when he saw you.

“You caught me.” he mumbled with his cheeks full. He looked at you for a long moment, swallowing the cake in his mouth and then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Still quite dazed you made your way into the room fully. You kept moving forward until you were standing in front of the counter. You lifted the notebook onto the polished marble and pushed it towards him.

“What is this?” you asked calmly. Calmer than you ever expected you could.

“It’s my notebook.”

You let out a long sigh, “It’s fine. Don’t tell me what it is. At least tell me if it’s true. What’s in the notebook. Is it all true?”

He nodded, “Yeah. It’s true.”

“And you knew?” You whispered the question. Jiyong nodded but remained quiet. “All the lies, the cheating…the things he manipulated me into doing for him. You knew? You must have. You must have read it all. You’re always reading this stupid notebook, how could you not know... You really knew this whole time?”

“Yeah.” He knew you deserved so much more but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You could have told me. All those times you tried to get me to leave him, why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” you quickly wiped at the few loose tears on your cheek.

“I couldn’t. It’s not what the notebook is used for. I couldn’t just abuse my knowledge for personal gain.” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wanted to tell you. Every time I saw you, I wanted to tell you to run from him...to run to me.”

“I would have kissed you. In the garden, you could have had me, if you’d just said something. If I’d known.” You said and tucked your lip between your teeth. “All of this time we could have been us.”

“Well now you know so what do you want to do?”

Minutes ticked by as you tried to think. What did you want to do? Keep going? Go home? Should you confront Jiho or leave him to rot? Every thought came out dull and incomplete. All of them overshadowed by one simple, carnal urge that was overwhelming every single one of your senses.

With a gulp you looked up at Jiyong, “I want you.”

“What do you mean?” He asked shakily.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

He looked you over for a long time, as if he didn’t believe this was really happening. With a single look from him you moved around the counter so you were standing in front of him. He slipped a hand over your cheek and cupped your neck, his fingers buried in your hair. Already there was a tremble in your knees and he hadn’t even kissed you yet. Leaning in his nose brushed against yours, your mouth was watering.

“Is this a dream?” he asked.

“If it is…”you whispered against his lips, “don’t you dare wake me up.”

“Agreed.” he grinned before sucking your bottom lip between his.

Inhaling sharply, you fell forward into him. If he hadn’t slipped his arm around your waist you were sure you’d have collapsed. You were unsure if it was because it had been so long or if it was because it was Jiyong, but you felt euphoric. It wasn’t until many delicious minutes had passed that he pulled away.

A whine escaped you immediately, “No.”

“No?” he chuckled.

“Come back.” you forced another kiss on his lips.

“I’m right here.”

You pushed your hips into his, “Not close enough.”

“Just breathe for a second.” he laughed again as you tugged at the strings of his hoodie.

You shook your head defiantly, “I don’t want to breathe, I just want you.”

He dragged your bottom lip between his teeth and smirked when you whimpered after he released it with a pop. “I told you, you couldn’t handle me.”

“Kiss now, gloat later.” you whispered against his mouth.

“Mmm.” he hummed happily, “but you know how I love to gloat.”

Tired of talking you hooked your hand behind his neck and pulled him forward. You moaned into his mouth in satisfaction of getting what you wanted. His hands slipped up your sides, dragging your hoodie with them. His fingers felt cold against the heat coursing through you. As the kiss continued your lips started to swell and became sore. Kissing was starting to hurt but you couldn’t pull away. He was like the first good meal you’d had in weeks and you couldn’t get enough.

You moved to unbutton his pants but his fingers grasped yours gently before muttering against your lips, “Slow down.”

“Slow down?” you asked, pulling away in surprise. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

“Y/n,” he whispered against your neck before leaving a small tickle of a kiss. “I want to take my time. I want this to last an eternity. I want to treat you how you should have always been treated.”

“I don’t deserve you.” you muttered, eyes closed, head tilted back as he kissed your neck

He stepped back and eyed you curiously, “I disagree. And I’m always right, as we know now.”

Leaning in once more he captured your lips in another kiss and you could think of no complaints. Well you could think of only one complaint. The edge of the counter was digging painfully into your lower back but Jiyongs hands were in your hair and his hips were pressed against yours and his lips were on your lips. There was no way you were about to push him away or ask him to calm down, if anything you wanted more. You needed him closer. You needed there to be a way for him to mold around you and seep through you like the oxygen through your blood. Instead of that you moved your hand behind you to leverage yourself away from the counter.

“Oh, no.” you cringed and Jiyong pulled away looking mortified at the disgusted look on your face.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?” he asked.

“Not you, never you.” you groaned and brought your hand in front of you, the whole side of it covered in chocolate cake and frosting.

Jiyong laughed at the sight. “Oh baby...what to do with you.”

You pouted as he reached around you, grabbing the plate his cake had been on. As he dropped the plate in the sink you cursed yourself internally for ruining the moment. Jiyong didn’t think it had been ruined at all. With a grin he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, lifting your chocolate covered hand.

“You always have me eating out of the palm of your hand.’ he muttered as your eyes met, and he dragged his tongue over your palm.

Your jaw dropped open as you watched him lick and suck until your hand was practically clean. When he was done there was some chocolate left on his lip and you couldn’t help yourself but to pull it into your mouth.

For awhile there was nothing else but this. Time stood completely still, space was irrelevant, no one else existed. It was just Jiyong and his kiss and it felt so good. At one point he pulled away with a pop of your lips and trailed kisses over your face, down your neck. Your hand moved over his shoulders s up his neck until your fingers were in his hair. Holding him close only encouraged him to leave little marks all over your skin.

He mumbled against your skin, “kissing is nice.”

“I think so too.” You said massaging the back of his head.

“Is it selfish for me to want more of you?” He asked, fingers toying with the waist of your shorts.

You leaned back and slid your hand around to cup his cheek, “Are you always so respectful and considerate?”

He smirked, “I’m trying, you make it difficult.”

“What if you stopped trying?” You asked. He looked confused by your question. “What if for tonight you just take what you want from me? I just want all of you in return.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jiyong, if you move your hand down my shorts like you’ve wanted to this whole time we’ve been talking, you’d find I’ve completely soaked through these panties for you. I’ve almost never been so sure of anything in my life.”

With his fingers tucked into the waist of your shorts he tugged your hips forward roughly. Keeping his heavy lidded eyes on you he unbuttoned them and then dragged the zipper down as well. Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter as you leaned back in anticipation.

Lip tucked between his teeth he reached his fingers between the lace fabric and you. “Fuck.”

“Told you.” you grinned but only for a second before your mouth fell open at the feeling of two of his fingers easing inside of you.

“Needy.” he noted as your hips rolled you further into his palm. “This is going to…”

“What?” You gasped as his nimble fingers curved. “Just say it. Let go.”

He leaned in, cheek pressed against yours, and said, “It’s just, this is going to feel so good on my cock.”

“Oh, damn.” You groaned, surprised by the tone in his voice, your thighs tightened around his wrist.

He didn’t drop his eyes from your face as he pushed his hand knuckle deep. Instead he studied your expressions as he searched for that specific spot. He thought you looked so peaceful. Head thrown back and your eyes closed, he was enamored by the stretch of your neck. He’d been able to elicit some delicious moans, but he was really living for the way your lip trembled into a pout every time he dragged his fingers from you. However, he wanted something else. Something more.

Suddenly you gasped and shot forward, “oh shit!”

Jiyong grinned as you peppered his face and neck with kisses filled with gratitude. “I think I found it.”

“I’m so close. Don’t stop. Please, just don’t stop.” You begged against his mouth.

“I won’t. I’m not.” He promised, going even faster as if to prove a point.

“Jiyong!” You cried out his name, and he thought it felt good but he knew it would feel better if it was his true name falling off your lips. You whined against him, m “If you stop we can’t b-be friends.”

“What? Stop this?” He chuckled, adding more pressure with his fingertips and dragging them excruciatingly slow against your g spot.

You sputtered out something incomprehensible and slumped against his shoulder. Your orgasm pulsed around his fingers.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He murmured into your hair.

The two of you stood there against the counter for sometime. You’d kept your arms around him, knowing you’d collapse otherwise, your thighs still shook like jello. He’d removed his hand from your shorts and sucked you clean off his fingers. He let out the tiniest groan as he did so, wishing he was devouring you, but he could wait.

After awhile you leaned back to look at him. “Did you ever try that with your wife?”

“Try what?” He asked brushing hair from your cheek.

“The thing with the hand and th-“ your eyes rolled back and you sighed, “I can’t even talk about it, it’s too soon.”

He laughed and moved to kiss the skin of your neck. “Probably. Once or twice I think.”

“You’re sure you did it just like that?” You asked with some uncertainty, “because if you had there’s absolutely no reason for her to have left you.”

Leaning his forehead against your shoulder he laughed again this time so genuinely your heart nearly melted. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.”

Running your hand through his hair you gently turned his face to yours, “I can really make you blush if you want me to.”

He looked at you for a long time as if contemplating the offer and then he smiled, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” Your tongue moved over your lip and you said, “I wasn’t lying when I said I want all of you.”

When he didn’t say anything you grabbed his hand and brought him into the living room. Once your toes hit the soft carpet you turned and pulled him into you for a kiss. His lips curved into a smile as your hands moved up his sides.

“We don’t need this.” you pulled away before dragging his hoodie over his head along with the shirt he’d had on underneath. Tossing his clothes to the side you looked back at the man you’d been thinking about all afternoon. Your fingers traced the black ink on his side. “Forever young?”

“Yeah.” he smirked, “Why don’t you join me?”

Laughing lightly you sunk down to your knees in front of him. As you unbuttoned his jeans he let out a long sigh, unsure of how he’d handle you. He already felt ready to burst. You looked up at him quite cutely as you dragged the fabric of both his shorts and underwear down his thighs. You couldn’t help but grin when you took in the look of him. Everything about this man was pretty, of course his dick would be pretty too.

One hand squeezed his thigh, just above the knee while the other one lead him between your lips. He jolted slightly as soon as your tongue brushed against the sensitive skin. His teeth clenched as you eased back and forth. Your tongue and head moving in tandem to create the desired effect.

Jiyong didn’t say much, he was finding breathing to be enough of a challenge. You hummed with your lips around him as you felt his fingers slip into your hair. If you were going to try and swallow him whole he figured he might as well try and help. His thighs were trembling underneath your hands. When you looked up he was bent to the side, one hand clutching the arm of the couch as he tried to remain on his feet. Every muscle in his arm was shaking and you knew he must be close.

With your best efforts you took him in as far as you could several more times until he gasped, “That’s it...oh shit…”

It surprised you when he dropped to his knees when he was finished and pulled you into a kiss. Jiho had always been the type to get grossed out by the idea of kissing you after head. Clearly Jiyong had no qualms.

During the kiss he leaned you back against the carpet, as his fingers made their way back down to your thighs and under your shorts until they were consumed by your warmth. They brushed gently against the patch of warm wet lace and he inhaled deeply at the feel.

“Oh my goddess.” He muttered before burying his face in your neck, his slightly bearded cheek sending a tingling sensations over your already overly sensitive skin. He sucked onto the skin at the base of your throat, salty with sweat. You lunged forward slightly as his fingers found their way beneath the lace and slipped inside of you with ease once more. “I’m going to build you a temple. Biggest temple anyone’s ever seen.”

You pushed your hips up into his hand greedily. “I don’t need a temple.”

“You’re too tight, too wet to go unpraised by the masses.” He disagreed.

You laughed, embarrassed. “Shut up.”

“Fine, a statue. Marble. Sculpted of this very moment.” He compromised, “The smooth arch of your back. The hair falling off your shoulder. My hand between your thighs.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you hummed at the image of a naked Jiyong fingering you carved into marble. “That’s very...erotic. And I would also like one.”

“There’s just one thing that I’d want to change.” he muttered against your mouth before pulling back. “You should be naked too.”

You lifted your arms over your head and he pulled the sweater from your body. He rolled the fabric into a ball and tossed it to the side. Both of you jumped at the loud crashing noise that followed. Your head fell back with laughter at the sight of the lamp that had been on the side table laying smashed on the floor.

“So smooth.”

He shook his head as he tugged at your top, “Just ignore it. Please.”

You grabbed his face after he threw the tank top to the side as well, a little more gently, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It’s forgotten.”

“Sexy bra…” he noted, “have you been wearing that this whole time or did you conjure it up just for me?”

“Does it matter?” You asked with a slight flush of your cheeks.

“Not at all.” He dropped his hands to your hips and pulled your shorts from your legs.

Propped up on your arms you watched Jiyong slink down until he was laying comfortably between your legs. His lips teased the soft skin of the tops of your thighs. The stubble on his cheek and chin leaving light scratches in their wake. Scratchy little kitten kisses as he moved towards the warm, moist patch of lace that kept you from him. His teeth dragged gently over your mound and a desperate hiss escaped your mouth.

“Oh my god.” You panted.

“Which one?” He asked quietly between your thighs.

“Wh-what?” You watched his arm snake around your thigh. His thin, nimble fingers trailed along the edge of your panties.

“I asked which god is your god.” He locked eyes with you as he move the fabric of your panties to the side.

“I...I,” you stuttered as the pink muscle that was his tongue flicked gently against you. “Ummm. Any...all of them any of them.”

“Let it be me.” He said before pulling you into his mouth with a light hum.

You whimpered, head losing thoughts and function with every movement of his mouth against you, “Do what? Do you want…”

“Say I’m your god.” He whispered before running his tongue deeper than before.

“Yes. Yes!”

You panted heavily and gasped for air. Every move of his mouth on you was methodical. He had you teetering on the edge, ready to fall completely. Whimpering was close to becoming real tears as he locked your trembling thighs into place. You were so close already, and for a second time. And then it just stopped. For a moment you laid there confused.

“Why?” it was all you could say when you looked down between your thighs to see Jiyong running his tongue over his glistening lips.

He sat up between your legs and hooked his fingers under the elastic of your panties before dragging them down your legs.

“You didn’t say it.” He said once he’d pulled the fabric from you and flung it across the room.

“What?”

He shrugged, “You didn’t say, you’re my god.”

You sat up and reached between your legs to grab Jiyongs shoulders, pulling him towards you. Your forehead pressed against his, you whispered, “You are my god. The only one for me.”

He leaned in for a kiss while he removed your bra. With your arms wrapped around him you laid back down bringing him with you. Your lips glued together once more.

“Can I?” he asked between kisses.

“If you can’t, we’re about to have a real problem.”

“May. I.” he growled against your neck, making you shiver.

“Yes, you may.” you gasped slightly at the feel of his teeth dragging over your skin.

He reached between the two of you and eased himself in. A long satisfied sigh escaped your lips at the stretch. There was a real sense of perfection in the way he felt to you. The way you fit together. It was as if there was nothing more for you to imagine in your paradise. You had it all. Realizing you’d never had a moment so flawless in your life before made your eyes well with tears.

“Does that feel okay?” Jiyong asked sweetly, planting a kiss against your cheek, “Do you feel good?”

“Mm, yes. It feels…” the words stuck in your throat as you looked up at him. His eyes caught yours. They were so gentle and made you feel so cared for. With a blush you ducked your face near his shoulder.

“What?” he whispered and eased you back so he could see you, “Tell me what it feels like?”

“I can’t, you’ll run away.” you pouted.

He just laughed, “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Just, it feels like I’ve been waiting for this. I’ve been waiting for you.” The way he looked at you made you want to both look away and never take your eyes out of him. “Does that sound crazy?”

“No.” he leaned forward, pulling your lips between his for a kiss, and you felt yourself relax.

Your teeth dragged against his lip while he inched his way inside of you and then rolled back again. There was a full feeling throughout your body. Your thighs tightened around his hips as they started to make quick work of you.

He trailed scratchy kissed along your jaw and you groaned when he whispered against your earlobe. “I’ve been waiting centuries for you and I didn’t even realize it. Now that I know I would have waited a hundred more if I had to.”

“Don’t stop.” you gasped, feeling that familiar tightening in your abdomen.

“I won’t.” he promised. His fingers tangled into your hair and he pulled your head to the side so he could drag his teeth across your neck.

“Fuck!” You moaned, digging your nails into the skin on his shoulders. “Jiyong...my god.”

“I am.” he muttered against your collarbone through his own heavy panting, “I am your god.”

You wanted to say something about his god complex, you knew there was a joke on the tip of your tongue, but his fingers trailing goosebumps down your abdomen and slipping between your thighs left you distracted. You dropped your arms to your side, fingers curling into the rug. He found your clit with ease, at this point he’d spent so much time with it you felt like they were best friends. His thumb rubbed you in slick circles, watching your reaction almost curiously. Finally reaching your breaking point your back arched so far off the ground you’d lifted yourself like the living dead. Your arms wrapped around Jiyongs shoulders.

“Oh, hello there.” He chuckled against the side of your head as you dug your teeth into his shoulder.

“I...fuck.” you whimpered as your body tensed.

Jiyong was grunting ever so slightly, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were squeezed shut. He looked like he was between agony and euphoria. He didn’t stop a single thing he was doing until you were limp and satisfied in his arms. He laid you back down making sure your head was resting gently before he rolled beside you.

You smiled quite happily and said, “Maybe this really is paradise.”

With a half groan half laugh he turned and kissed your shoulder. “Shower?”

“Together?” you asked turning towards him.

He grinned, “Of course.”

You dragged your fingers down his bare chest and smiled, “Again?”

“Again?” He asked incredulously.

Big wanton eyes met his when you looked up, “please?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes, “Alright, yes. Again.”

“You, um,” you teased the skin of his hip with your fingers, “don’t have to be so sweet about it this time.”

“I won’t.” He hooked his finger under your chin, lifting your eyes to his. “But you have to say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say what you want from me.” His tongue moved over his bottom lip, he looked devious.

“Why?” your cheeks burned with a blush.

Your stomach twisted at the small smile that spread over his face, “It’s going to sound so sexy coming from those lips.”

You released a long slow breath.

“I want you to fuck me.” He hummed pleased with himself. However you weren’t finished. “I want to be hand around my throat, hair ripped from my head, ass stained red with your handprint fucked.”

Jiyongs mouth fell open and he looked at you wide eyed and quite shocked. “Wow.”

“Did it sound as sexy as you expected?” You grinned.

“Sexier.”

You’d thought once more in the shower would be enough to successfully exhaust you but it had turned out Kwon Jiyong left you insatiable. Luckily one more time in the bed after the shower seemed to do the trick. And you were finally able to tuck into his side, ready for some much needed rest. Your eyes were closed while he left soft kisses everywhere he could reach.

“Don’t give up your soul for him.” he whispered after a particularly long kiss against your temple.

“What?”

“It took me so long to find you.” he sounded so soft, “I don’t want to lose you now. I can’t.”

“Okay.” you didn’t understand what he meant but you weren’t about to deny him a single thing.

Your thigh was draped over his, both of your legs tangled in sheets. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, tracing his prominent collarbone with your finger tip. Kissing the part of his chest that was nearest to your lips you smiled.

“Why aren’t you in book?” You asked quietly, you didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere, but the question had been eating at you.

He hummed, gently rubbing his hand up and down your back, “what do you mean?”

“The book. Your notebook, your name isn’t in it. I looked for you, I wanted to know more about you, but you aren’t in the book. Why not?” You placed your palm flat on his chest, his heartbeat was racing beneath the warm skin.

“I don’t need to be.” He said simply and looked down his face at you.

He hooked his finger beneath your chin and turned your gaze up to meet his. You pouted slightly, “What makes you so special?”

“Nothing.” He grinned and pressed a chaste kiss against your lips. You whined slightly and quickly lifted your lips to his for another.

You pulled away after a minute of his soft, swollen lips against yours, “You’re trying to distract me.”

“It’s working.” He smiled and leaned in once more. As he kissed you he shifted your bodies so that he was above you. Forehead presses together, noses brushing gently. He sighed, his lips tickling yours as he said with a sadness, “I don’t want to wake up.”

You laughed lightly, but then there was a sudden sinking feeling in your stomach. It was then that you realized that yes, this was a dream. “Me neither.”

You laid in bed for what felt like hours. Eyes closed, willing yourself back into the dream, but you knew it was done. Even if you did manage to fall asleep you knew you wouldn’t get it back. When you finally opened your eyes it was to a dark empty room. You could hear the sound of the waves through the closed windows. Sitting up on the mattress with a sigh you noticed the glow of light coming from under the door.

You wondered if Jiyong was awake. You wondered if he’d had a dream that matched yours and was now laying restlessly in bed with thoughts of you. You swung your legs over the side of the bed. You’re feet were silent against the hardwood floor as you made your way to the door. Before opening the door you looked over to the dresser where the pen you stole was laying beside a vase of flowers.

The common room was empty, it was only the single light on side table shining with a sigh of life. As you passed by it you could still imagine the sound of it shattering against the floor. You’d swear you could hear the sound of Jiyongs laugh and yours mixed together. The spirit of your perfect moment, haunting this place.

In front of the door to his room you bit your lip nervously. As slowly and quietly as you could you opened the door. You’d been needlessly cautious as Jiyong was wide awake, lying stretched out the length of the bed, ankles crossed. There was one arm behind his head and the other was draped over his bare stomach.

“Everything okay?” He asked with the raise of a single eyebrow.

“Yeah. Everything is perfect.” You shrugged, “it’s paradise. Remember?”

“Right.” he grinned, “Well what has brought you to me at this very late hour? Do you have a scandalous request of me perhaps?”

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes, “I just...couldn’t sleep. So, can I come in or what?”

“Sure.” it was a simple response but his face looked unbearably smug.

You crossed the threshold slowly, taking him in. All he had on was a pair of pajama pants, that hung loose at his hips. He looked like you remembered from the pool and the dream, unless the pool had been the dream too. You realized you weren’t sure where reality had stopped and the dream had started. He watched you, watching him, as you made your way from door to the bed and sat beside him. He knew you were looking at him and had been trying to figure out your thoughts but mostly you just gave off curiosity.

You gulped at the sight of the notebook lying face down on the bed beside him. You wished you could tell if that part had been a dream or reality. It had to have been a dream, right? You convinced yourself that it had been. It had to have just been a mixture of guilt from stealing the pen, and uncertainty you had about Jiho. The guilt of wanting Jiyong the way you did crashed over you. You’d convinced yourself Jiho was a monster to justify a second dream about someone who was meant to be your friend. You felt disgusting.

Jiyong saw the way you looked at the book. He wanted you to ask about. He wanted you to lunge over him and tear it open to see how real the dream had been. Even if he knew what you’d find inside of it. Even if it meant answering hard questions and ultimately confessing who he was. He was halfway there. Halfway ready to confess everything, but not quite enough to just offer it to you on his own. He thought if you’d only ask, then he’d be able to tell you.

You didn’t ask about the notebook. Instead you reached over him and grabbed it. He watched a little disappointed as you closed it and placed it on the nightstand before switching off the light.

“Oh, have you decided it’s time to go to bed?” He asked with a laugh as you laid down beside him.

“Yes.” You answered, slipping your hand over his bare stomach until you were wrapped around him like you’d been the night before.

“What? Now that you’ve had a taste of me, pillows don’t do the trick any longer?” He joked in an effort to downplay how he felt in this moment.

“You don’t always have to ruin everything by talking.”

Despite the bite in your words he could feel the grin on your face as you laid with your head rested on his chest. He wasn’t going to be able to make you feel embarrassed for needing him like this. Not with the way you could hear his heart racing under your ear.

#g dragon scenario #Kwon Jiyong scenario #Big Bang scenario #Kpop scenario #g dragon smut #Kwon Jiyong smut #Big Bang smut #Kpop smut #Everlong

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