#it is so important to me that dorian's eyes look like he's never had a thought

[lazylittledragon]

more domestics to warm the soul <33

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A/n: Let's A Go!

•Viktor Vasko•

Viktor was a large man, a large intimidating man but that did not stop you from falling for him. The one's who weren't close to him didn't know he had a kind heart, they didn't know how gentle and soft he was with you. Sitting on the bar too, you crossed one of your legs over the over. "Hey Viktor?"

A grunt was your reply, sighing you rolled your eyes holding out your hand for him. "Come here."

Placing down the glass he was holding, he took one long stride to you. "Ves?"

Grinning you sat up placing your hands on his cheeks, your thumbs caress his cheek. "Oh nothing! I just wanted you to know that I can hold the whole world in my hands."

Viktor's eye went wide for a moment, glancing away you heard him grumble something under his breath as he pulled you into his chest.

"HA can I get a hug too Viktor!" Rocky chimed in.

A deep growl escaping Viktor's chest as he held you close. "I vill kill him."

•Mordecai Heller•

"Mordecai"

Dropping his pen, Mordecai pulled off his glasses as he looked you over, you were practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes?"

Quickly making your way over to him grasping his cheeks. "I'm holding the whole world in my hands."

Tensing, Mordecai adverted his gaze. He didn't know what to say, how do you even reply to something like that? Scowling, his mind was racing a mild a minute. He knew he could just push you away but then that would only upset you and he didn't want that.

"Hmp."

Accepting his fate, he resigned to rest his head on your chest as you scratched behind his ear.

"Good boy."

•Dorian "Zib" Zibowski•

It was a lazy afternoon in Lackadaisy, the other band members have long since left leaving you and Zib alone. The man's head resting on your lap, a smile on his face as he enjoyed you running your fingers across his ears.

"Zib?"

"Ya Doll?" The cigaret he'd been smoking had long since went out though he opened on if his eyes to look at you.

Humming, you then let your hands cup his cheeks squishing them together. "Nothing too important, I just wanted you to know that I am just holding my whole world in my hands."

Grinning, he disregarded the cigaret sitting up. "That so? Well then? Can you give me a kiss?"

"For you, anything."

"Nice."

•Roark"Rocky"Rickaby•

Rocky was practically vibrating with excitement, he was hoping you'd like this date he set up for you. He's never felt this way about someone, nor did he ever expect for you to return his feelings.

Letting out a small giggle you shook your head as he gave you a small twirl on the dance floor. You were having so much fun. Your heart was pounding in your chest as Rocky pulled you in close. Your hands quickly moving to his cheeks as you gave him a cheeky smile. "Did you know that I am holding the whole world in my hands right now Rock?"

Eyes going wide, it did not take long for Rocky to let out a laugh as he swung you around the dance floor, a happy laugh leaving him. He was so happy, so lucky to have you.

"You're my whole world too!!!"

•Sedgewick "Wick" Alastair Sable•

It was an odd feeling, being in love. Sedgewick never in his life did he think it would happen to him. But there was something about, something he couldn't explain but he liked it.

He loved you.

Heading home, your head rested on his shoulder as you both walked to the car. A soft hum leaving his lips though just as you were about to enter the car Sedgewick pulled you in close, his nose nuzzled yours as he cupped your cheeks gently.

"May I tell you something."

Laughing softly, you shook your head smiling up at him as you lent into his touch.

"I'm holding my whole world right now."

Gazing softening, you quickly buried your face into his chest. "That's supposed to my word you know, can't believe you stole it from me."

"I'll make it up to you, promise."

"You better."

[athenodora-sulpicia-writer]

Vanessa ives - where we meet at a ball and she ask us to dance, she never got our name and follows us home to find out we are the daughter of Evelyn Poole. So we start seeing Vanessa behind our mothers back and maybe if you could add some smut between us and vanessa?

Forbidden Love- Part 1- Vanessa Ives

A/N: Hey @wandamaximoff2823 thank you for your request, I'm so sorry for the long wait, I've been really struggling to get back into writing but better as never I suppose 😅, anyway I hope you enjoy this and that it was worth the wait.

Warning(s): Scars, smut, mentions of neglect/abuse.

I was never one to be interested in the intricacies of the aristocratic ways of the upper class but mother had asked me to be here and what ever mother asked you to do was never a simple request but a very firm order.

I entered the lavish estate of a Mr Dorian Grey, unescorted of course, how scandalous. A butler or perhaps he was a servant came and took my cloak and directed to me where all the fuss and chatter was coming from, so I followed the sound of champagne induced laughter and discussion of who owned the most properties in the countries, which took me to a grand ballroom which was filled to the brim of upper class Londoners, an orchestra and the walls were completely lined with portraits, show off.

I weaved my way through the large doorway that lead into the ballroom a feat which would have been easier if everyone was deciding to take up the space. I'd originally dressed to blend in and not draw in to much unwanted attention, who would have thought that wearing dress of gold and white (the opposite of what my mother would have ever approved of) would have caught so many stares and glances.

A server came to me with a tray of champagne and though I was usually partial to a class or two I knew I had to keep my mind as agile as possible for the task my mother had sent me to do. I was told to not get to close to Miss Ives but just enough to use some effective Nightwalker magic on her mind, this should have been Hecate's job not mine but apparently according to mother "Hecate had her own tasks" I would have used the chores or enslavement but I'd rather not have a gash from the tip of my cheek to my chin so I kept my mouth shut.

For a moment as I was thinking a man approached me and I could already smell the alcohol from a mile, this would be wonderful not, I snarled for a moment at the thought but as the man was now in reach of me I returned my face to its natural composure.

"What's a charming dove like you doing all alone and without a chaperone?" This man, who looked old enough to be a someone who should start writing their will, asked me. Who looked like the usual upper class prick, my least favourite kind of mortal irritation.

"That is none of your concern sir, now if you wouldn't mind walking off to go and compare your assets, though I'm sure yours are lacking by the looks of things, with the other gentlemen I'd be most thankful." I said the man with my best 'I'm super important' voice but when the man didn't leave I know that my word choice may have been a little too much.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way," The man snarled at me and was quick to grab my upper arm harshly and with so many people in the room it would be easy to not notice or ignore what he was doing. "Now judging by your dress I'd say your still a maid, so why don't you be a good little heiress and have a drink with me on the balcony," Damn this dress I just wanted to wear something that was the opposite of the scars on back and now I was being mistaken for a maid because of it, just fabulous.

As more time passed and I hadn't responded, the man's grip on my upper arm was becoming painfully tight and even for someone like me, I couldn't hold back a wince.

"Ah cousin," I heard a feminine voice call out and upon hearing the voice my head turned abruptly to the direction of the voice and then I saw her. She had raven black hair, sky blue eyes and pale ivory skin and was wearing the most fabulous black and red dress I'd ever seen and she was walking over to me. Well that's half a job done and half a job failed.

Once she stood by my side she began to speak again, "Thank you for keeping my cousin company Sir," She spoke to the man who still had his hand on my upper arm, "But now that I am here I believe she is no longer in need of your company," Her voice which originally was soft and compliant of any woman in this room and now become more natural almost steely.

I could feel the man's grip tighten and I knew who was about to say something but for whatever reason after he made eye contact with my ravenette saviour he let go of my arm completely and walked off without another word. My first reaction was to rub at my arm, even if I knew it would heal within a minute or two.

"I Apologise for the cousin lie but I can tell when a woman is uncomfortable." She spoke to me with a kindness I knew would be there if she knew who I actually was. "My name is Miss Ives," She spoke again with a slight bit more formality, extending out a hand for me to shake and suddenly I was grateful to the creme gloves I was wearing because if I weren't she'd probably be able to sense exactly what I was.

"No apologies needed, It's a pleasure to finally meet you Miss Ives." I spoke with the same slight formality as she but then I soon thought of the implications of my words and I began to internally kick myself for making such a slip up, my mother was going to kill me if I messed this up.

"To finally meet me?" She looked at my with a smile and odd confusement in her expression. "Why have we been intending to meet one another before today?" She asked me curiously with a slight chuckle to her voice which was somewhere between being eerie and joyful.

"Not at all, I simply meant that," I paused for a moment to think of a better excuse for my slip up, "I've heard your name on people's lips before, it's nice to put a face to the name, Miss Ives." I said coming up with something that I thought was a decent enough excuse that would hopefully appease her curiosity.

"Oh, I didn't know I was a topic of gossip," She spoke again and though she was trying to feign ignorance I could tell she had noticed my slip up by the way her eyes looked at me and how her pupils darkened with triumph at her victory.

"Well anyway would you care for a dance?" She asked me her tone lighter with an undertone of something that was perhaps mischief, as she gave a slightly bow and extended out hand, facing upwards, to me.

"Well people do like to talk," I was very quickly scanning the ballroom for a quick escaped to the exit and when I found it I took my chances, "I must be going Miss Ives, good evening." I said the formal goodbye and quickly left through the small gap that had been left to the exit and retrieved my own cloak and quickly began to set off back up to the manor we were staying in that was slight ways away.

As I walked under the nights dark sky at a brisk pace, I thought of how I knew my mother would be anything but pleased at what she would see as a display of my incompetence at not completely her 'simple' task but I also thought about how what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, a policy I very much enjoyed using with my mother. Though if she were to ever find out I knew I'd probably be crucified upside down with no last words being allowed.

Not long later I made up back to our home, a manor that was slightly outside of central London. I walked up the stone steps that led to the large front doors which i opened with a heavy gust of wind which came when I turned my wrist in just the right way and I walked inside oblivious to anything else as I took my cloak off and threw it somewhere I didn't care to check.

As I walked further into the foyer at the front of the manner, I started ragging the gloves of my arms and unpinning the mass of my that sat atop my head. It felt euphoric when my hair cascaded down my back because finally all the weight was off the crown of my head and sighed out in a pleased way not caring for all the bobby pins that were fall the marble floor and making a clattering sound.

For a moment all I thought I could hear was the clattering of my bobby pins on the floor, which was a lovely relief because it meant that my mother possibly my sisters weren't in the manor or they were at least asleep, either way I was happy to not be bothered by any of them.

As I just about started to walk up the overly elaborate staircase upstairs, I heard a bang and then a mumble and quickly whipped my body around to the direction of the sound which just happened to be the front doors and then I saw her, Vanessa, well this is just fabulous.

"Miss Ives, what on earth are you doing here?" I asked feigning confusion and innocence as I walked down the few steps I had just walked up. I then walked over to where Vanessa was, in the middle of the foyer, taking in her surroundings of the dark and quietly frankly disturbing manor.

"You never told me your name," She began to say, the meaning behind her voice was obviously detached from what she was saying to me as she was to focused on surveying her new surroundings. "What possible reason do you have for being here?" She asked me finally making eye contact and her steely gaze was hardened and distrusting.

She must be able to feel the aura of the manor, Hell she probably had a pretty good idea about who lived here which meant she probably knew what I was. "Miss Ives I know how it may look but..." I began to say to Vanessa before I heard the creaking of floorboards coming from upstairs and as the noise grew closer the sound of footsteps accompanied it.

A horrible sense of dread filled my chest because I knew that it was just the wind or if it was a person, as I suspected it was, it wasn't one of my sisters, it was my mother. I didn't have much time to think and I'm not sure what compelled me to do it but I quickly faced Vanessa agin and twisted my wrist in her direction and a gust of with pushed her against one of the far walls and quickly I consumed her in enough mist to make her invisible.

Just as I turned back around to face the staircase but before I was able to regain my composure, my mother was at the top of the staircase in one of her robes and her hair pinned. "Oh mother, hello," I spoke trying calm my voice down as to not give anything away.

"Y/N you've returned, I assume the task I sent you on was a success then." She phrased it in a way that anyone would think it was meant as a question but I knew she didn't mean it as one, she never did.

"Yes mother," I spoke with my head bowed, lying through the skin of my teeth, praying she wouldn't notice my lie. "Lucifer's bride had a bit of a manic episode at the party and fainted," I explained to my mother whilst trying to come up with a believable lie, we were expected to refer to Vanessa as Lucifer's bride, the thought always made my skin crawl but I'd never let it show.

"Good, I'm pleased to hear," I eternally sighed of relief when my mother spoke like she had know idea that I had lied to her and I was grateful for it. "Well I shall retire for night now," She then finished saying as she walked back the way she came and the sound of her footsteps soon disappeared completely.

Once my mother was gone I couldn't even give myself a moment to enjoy my victory as I know Vanessa was still stuck the wall and covered in mist. I quickly ran other to where I cast her off and released from my nightwalker magic, to which she fell from the wall gasping for breath.

"Miss Ives," I quickly got down on the floor as she was still gasping, "Miss Ives you must leave, if my mother or sisters find you here you will never leave," I tried to encourage her off the floor and I eventually got her to her feet but she wasn't leaving. "Listen, I understand your in shock and still recovering but you have to leave right now," I kept urgently encouraging her to leave but it wasn't quite working. "Vanessa!" I shouted her name and this finally snapped her out of wherever she'd been in her head, she made eye contact with me once before running out of the manner and disappearing and all I could do was finally sigh in relief. What a night. __________________________________ So I've had to split this request into two parts because it was getting a little long. Anyway, thank you all for reading, I hope you all enjoyed and until next time fellow readers.

Tag List @ateliefloresdaprimavera @cissyenthusiast010155 @multifandomfix @multimilfs

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

In regards to the post I made about Henry earlier, here’s the headcanon 'theory' I have based on all of this:

Basil and Henry had a wonderful romance in college. It was a defining situationship for both of them, perhaps a genuine queer awakening for Henry (as he had toyed with the idea before, but had always seen it as a more ‘edgy way’ to generate outrage, Basil was the first person he genuinely fell in love with) and a validation of interest for Basil (“oh wow, a man really loves me! Neat!”). Regardless, there was certainly a romance between them.

I personally think Henry fucked it up because of commitment issues (Remember, while he complains about marriage, the real criticism is towards commitment as a whole. Being a bachelor gives you options, having to marry them away. He also consistently says 'eternity' scares him. Also Basil points to Henry being unable to understand his love for Dorian because Henry "change[s] too often") which then contributed to the breakdown of their relationship. But still, on Henry’s end, there was an egotistic belief that Basil would never find anyone as good as him (Henry) and therefore Basil was still and would always be his. Thus the violets: he might be in mourning for the nature of their relationship before, but he is faithful to the love they had. (“My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance.”)

And then Basil finds Dorian.

There’s an interesting thing that happens in the first chapter of the book where Henry never dismisses anything Basil says. In fact he goes out of his way to acknowledge them and expand upon them, even reassuring Basil at certain points. To me, it’s almost like Henry doesn’t grasp the depth of Basil’s love for Dorian. Basil seems to want to keep it that way, while also struggling to do so.

I think Basil's hesitancy is mostly out of guilt: Basil cares about Henry and feels that in some way this is partly a betrayal of their relationship (whatever that is to the both of them). I think it's also partly out of (justified) fear of how Henry will react.

Throughout the first chapter, Basil keeps confessing how much he likes Dorian ‘but only artistically!’, then backtracks hard, the moment Henry shows any interest in meeting Dorian (because that would prove Basil isn't telling the whole truth).

Henry keeps entertaining Basil’s little ‘it’s artistic only, i swear—” until this exchange:

““I am very glad you didn’t, Harry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to meet him.”

“You don’t want me to meet him?”

“No.””

The repeat of Basil's words is extremely important, it points to a double take (literarily!). I believe this is the moment when Henry realizes that Basil’s interest isn’t artistic in any way. And this also marks the moment every action Henry takes towards Basil grows cruel and spiteful. After Parker announces Dorian’s arrival and they head, Henry, for the first time in the intro, fully dismisses what Basil says to him. Dismissing Basil becomes a repeated action through out the rest of the novel.

“Then he looked at Lord Henry. “Dorian Gray is my dearest friend,” he said. “He has a simple and a beautiful nature. Your aunt was quite right in what she said of him. Don’t spoil him. Don’t try to influence him. Your influence would be bad. The world is wide, and has many marvellous people in it. Don’t take away from me the one person who gives to my art whatever charm it possesses: my life as an artist depends on him. Mind, Harry, I trust you.” He spoke very slowly, and the words seemed wrung out of him almost against his will.

“What nonsense you talk!” said Lord Henry, smiling, and taking Hallward by the arm, he almost led him into the house.”

Later when they meet with Dorian. There is an extremely interesting change from the 1890 ver.

1891 ver: “No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him.”

1890: “No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him. He was made to be worshipped.”

Upon laying eyes on Dorian, Henry realizes he cannot compare at all. Basil didn’t just replace him, Basil sought someone who was nothing like him and far superior to what Henry stood for. What better way to announce you’ve moved on than falling in love with someone completely different and even 'better' than your ex? 

After this, Henry forces Basil to ask him to stay. He makes an excuse when Dorian asks and plays coy until Basil finally says : “Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me.” 

By the way, Basil already asked Henry to stay on Dorian’s behalf (“If Dorian wishes it, of course you must stay. Dorian’s whims are laws to everybody, except himself.”), but Henry wanted Basil to say “I want you to stay. I want you to stay for me, Harry.”

[it-was-written-in-the-stars]

♡Dorian Havilliard x reader♡

A song for those who weep

Chapter two ○●○

Warning(s): contains mild spoilers for throne of glass and crown of midnight by SJM, angst

Word count: 1270

[Characters featured in this story do not belong to me]

♡♡♡

He stumbled over the threshold, his gaze flitting through the unnaturally empty room. Realisation struck him like a powerful wave. A rock colliding with the surface of a still lake, sending rings of water cascading outwards. You were gone. Vanished. As though the wind had picked you up and carried you away from him. He reverted back to when he had last seen you. He vividly recalled that vivacious smile which had decorated your face. What had provoked you to leave without a farewell?

He felt hollow, as though his insides had been carved out and he was cast aside as just a husk of a human being. Had his father done something to you?

A pile of leather bound journals lay on your four poster bed, its weight supported by a thick burnished book, letters engraved with gold decorating the cracked spine and cover. 'A song for those who weep'.

◇◇◇

You loosed a breath, aiming for the Palace library where you had intended to meet with Dorian. The interaction you had shared still buzzed around you, fluttering gracefully like the wings of a butterfly. It felt so natural to share such moments with him, to be around him. "I've missed you"

Your fleeting moment of elation was interrupted as you took note of one highly portentous thing. It was wrong of you to think something could blossom between the two of you. Afterall, his heart belonged to another.

You became painfully aware of another presence as you strode through the second floor corridor. She moved like the breeze, swift and unyielding.

"Celaena, it's lovely to see you" you muse as she falls into step beside you. She gives you a sceptical look, as though she doubted the sencerity of your words. "I need your help" she states, successfully blocking off your path. You quirk a brow, visibly intruiged. "I must inform you of something important but not here- there are far too many prying eyes" Celaena mutters, itching closer before looping your arm through hers. You fumble trying to evade whatever conversation awaited you, highlighting that you were in the midst of completing a highly cardinal task, but she brushes aside your complaints, opting to haul you into her lavish chambers.

It was just like how you had remembered it, the sprawling lounge fitted near the ornate golden fireplace. That same floccose rug spread out across a deep oak floor. An open doorway leading to her bedroom, and that beautiful wall mural tieing the arrangement together with a soft silk ribbon.

Your gaze lingers on that damned back wall. The place where you had last seen them. Exchanging a heated gesture of sizzling romance. A reciprocated one, unlike the cold hard blow you had received. If Celaena noticed a change in your demeanour, she didn't mention it.

She sucked in a breath, her eyebrows furrowing. "There is something rotten in Adarlan- and I intend to unearth what it is" Celaena began, her back straightening.

"But to do so I need more allies- and you are one of the few people I can trust to aid my cause". A grin stretches across her face as she peers over at your positively baffled expression. "I'm glad to see you back in the palace- there has been an absurd amount of testosterone circulating around here" she drawled. You blink. Once. Twice.

When the assassin had first waltzed over the threshold to the Glass Palace, she had swiftly barrelled into your tight knit group of friends. The two of you appeared to be tied at the hip, never missing a beat and dancing to your own boisterous songs. But she had known. She had been well aware of your feelings towards the Crown Prince. It hadn't just been heartbreak that had induced you to leave. It was also betrayal.

You took a steadying breath. She was your friend. You couldn't blame her for falling for Dorian. Right? It was your duty to help her.

"What do you mean by 'rotten'?" You ask, tearing yourself away from your seemingly endless well of self pity. Celaena crosses her arms over her chest, standing with the stillness of a statue. "You know what I mean- something vile is brewing and it somehow correlates with magic". You turn her words over in your head. You had a vague sense that this said 'rot' was linked in with the infamous King of Adarlan.

"But magic has been gone for years" You counter, a sudden feeling of dread embedding itself within you and rooting you to the spot. Celaena let out a distressed sigh, casting a sideways glance towards the glass balcony doors. "That's partially why I need your help". "I've been thinking a lot about this whole mess since you left-" she pauses, shifting back to face you. "-Why did you leave?". Your heart seems to halt. You should have expected your impulsive choice to be brought up.

"I needed some time alone- to think" you say rather somberly. It was a half truth, which happened to be the most you could offer. "I saw you" she suddenly muses, her tone tender. The words echo in your head. You feel your shoulders cave in, your heart cracking, ignoring the deplorable glue with which you had mended it. "That day after we retreated from the ball". It was getting hard to breathe.

You were plunged back into a recollection you had vowed to purge, a memory which had marred you in a way no other had. You were drowning, a floundering figure trying to grip onto some surface only to come to the harsh realization that nothing could save you from the lethal current shoving you deeper and deeper.

♡♡♡

You had been pacing along the corridors leading to the Crown Prince's chambers, preparing yourself for the confession you had been concocting for what felt like years. Your heart was beating wildly, threatening to escape your chest as you passed by Celaena's rooms. That's when you heard it. His laugh. In her chambers. Your feet moved on their own accord, propelling you back to the door of your friend's room. You peered through the opening, your heart dropping at the sight-

♡♡♡

"I have to go" you manage to get out before pivoting towards the door and rushing out. She calls after you, but you fail to acknowledge it. "I saw you". It was the final blow you had not been primed for. It was a mistake to return. You cursed yourself for having deemed yourself ready when you were still a crumbling mess. A heap of emotions sloppily strung together.

"Y/n?" A voice rasps from somewhere to your right. You halt your brisk trek, turning to face Dorian. "You weren't in the library- I was beginning to worry so I went to check if perhaps you were in your room but- is everything alright?". You try to force yourself to smile, to mask your pain but another memory hits you.

♡♡♡

Your gaze refused to leave them as they waltzed and twirled along the dancefloor with pristine, refined ease. They seemed to have been molded together, two perfect halves. You had asked him to save a dance for you. You had been seventh on the list he were to entertain. But he was currently dancing his twelfth dance, still nestled in the embrace of Celaena whom he had danced with first. Perhaps it was wrong of you to think you stood a chance but it was then that you had decided that you would share your feelings with him.

[haverdoodles]

The Gift

— (Dorian & Ellana)

.

Ellana wrenched her door open. “What?”

Dorian stood agape on the other side of the threshold, one hand still awkwardly raised to knock. Slowly, he lowered it, staring at her with visible incredulity.

“My goodness,” he said. “I didn’t know it was possible for you to look terrible.”

Ellana’s eyes narrowed. “Dorian, I am not in the mood —“

“Yes, yes, as I’m sure you’ve already told the five others who came knocking already. Fortunately for you, I am not daunted by the thought of being maimed.” He gestured impatiently. “Now, let me pass, will you? We haven’t got all day.”

Ellana bared her teeth in a silent snarl but did as he bade, stiffly stepping aside as he whisked his way confidently into her quarters.

“Now, then.” Dorian stopped in the middle of the grand room and spun towards her, bracing his hands on his hips. “The ideal would be to whisk you away from your exciting life of slaughtering demon hordes and toying with royalty for a day, but unfortunately Lady Josephine has forbidden me from doing so. She appears to be holding you hostage.”

“Important dignitaries are arriving at Skyhold,” Ellana replied. “I am to entertain them for the week.”

Dorian arched a brow. “Yes, and don’t you sound excited for it! You are exuding about as much enthusiasm as a cold, dead fish, sweetness.”

Ellana turned to shut the door. “If being the Inquisitor was meant to be enjoyable,” she said, resting a hand on the polished wood, “Then there would be far more clamouring for the position.”

There was a moment of heavy silence between them, swiftly broken when Dorian sighed. “Ellana. Come here, will you?”

Ellana obeyed, her bare feet padding soundlessly over stone and plush carpet to reach him. She stopped mere paces away, tilting her head back to meet the worried eyes of her friend, observing as they glowed gold in the sunlight.

“As I thought,” he said. “You are not alright.”

Ellana stiffened, and Dorian was swift to raise his hands placatingly. “I did not come here to lecture you,” he reassured her. “I am sure the Commander is already itching to do so. As a matter of fact, he is most likely on his way over here now.”

“Not yet,” Ellana responded. “Cullen is still pacing around his office, but he will make up his mind soon.”

Dorian pointed at her. “Alright, that strange, all-knowing connection you two have? Frightening. Please refrain from showing it off around me, it gives me the shivers.”

Ellana crossed her arms, ignoring him. “Dorian. Why are you here?”

He smiled fondly at the ice in her voice, unperturbed by her lack of welcome. That was a part of Dorian that Ellana had always found odd - he never seemed to fear her, not really. Even the most courageous of her Inner Circle knew when to back down in the face of her wrath, and yet Dorian barrelled on ahead without a care in the world. It was baffling and more than a little infuriating, but a small part of her couldn’t help but be relieved that someone she knew would not stand down against her. It was like an odd sort of anchor. It made her feel less invincible, more real.

Dorian offered his hand, to which Ellana slowly accepted after a long moment of suspicious squinting. He lead her across the room to her armoire, where a lovely golden mirror rested, catching the sunlight and reflecting it in lovely beams across the stone wall.

“What is this about?”

“I know your secret,” Dorian said, smiling slyly over her shoulder in the mirror’s reflection. “I will admit, it was not one I had been expecting.”

Ellana’s eyes narrowed into sapphire slits. In a dangerously soft voice, she replied, “What secret.”

“Nothing life-threatening, sweetness, unless you expect to be choked to death with a rope of diamonds by an unseen assailant,” Dorian replied amusedly.

“Do not toy with me, Pavus.”

Dorian met her eyes in the mirror, gold brushing against sapphire. “I know you secretly adore fine things,” he said. “I know that you have a private collection of silks hidden in your armoire, and a locked box full of shiny odds and ends that Te’lise has been collecting for you. I’ve seen the way your eyes catch on the finery in Val Royeaux and linger there, though you always look away before someone notices.”

No one was supposed to know.

Mortified, Ellana could only watch as her icy white pallor flushed a deep pink at his words. Fear and humiliation, two very unwelcome sentiments, twisted harshly in her gut. “I’ve had enough of this,” she said tightly, pulling away from him. “Get out. Now.”

“Ellana –”

“How dare you,” she snarled, turning away from him. Her hands clenched into trembling fists by her sides in an effort to provide some semblance of self control, though really all she wanted to do was whip a dagger out and stab something repeatedly. “Is that why you came here, then? To, to mock me? I thought that you, of all people – “

“Ellana!” Suddenly Dorian was in front of her again, staring down at her with wide eyes. “Maker’s breath, no. Never. I…” he trailed off, looking lost. “I apologize,” he said finally. “I did not think that through. I had intended to be lighthearted about the matter, but it is clear that this means a lot to you.”

He rested a hand gently on her shoulder. “I didn’t come here to hurt you,” he said sincerely. “I come bearing a gift, only I wasn’t sure how to go about it.”

“A gift.” She repeated flatly.

“Yes, though I fear I might have spoiled it with my careless behaviour,” Dorian lamented. “Here, face the mirror again, sweetness. I promise I will play nice.”

Ellana gritted her teeth, tempted to refuse. The earnestness in Dorian’s face stopped her, however, and with a sharp sigh of displeasure she finally did as he bade, reluctantly gazing at herself in the mirror.

Dorian’s hands rose from behind her, and a blur of silver passed across her face to rest lightly against her neck, icy cold against her skin. Ellana shivered, and her eyes widened.

It was a necklace.

The jewelry was comprised of two simple chains fused together at the ends, designed to create an elegant silhouette against the wearer’s neck. Two simple chains, and yet as they caught the sun and lit up like starlight, Ellana thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Oh,” she whispered very softly.

“I went with a simple design. That way, if you ever decide to wear it in public, no one can accuse you of being ostentatious.” Dorian was saying distractedly, brushing her hair over one shoulder so that he could clasp the piece on properly. “That isn’t all. I had the piece enchanted.” His eyes met hers in the mirror, bright with excitement. “Tap it with two fingers.”

Warily, Ellana did, and watched incredulously as it disappeared before her very eyes. She could still feel its weight against her skin, but there was nothing there. “Dorian…?”

“Tap it again.”

She obeyed, and the necklace was back as if it had never happened.

“I know you keep your secret a secret for a reason,” Dorian told her quietly. “You are a very private person, and as the Inquisitor there is more pressure on you than anyone else in Thedas to maintain a flawless, indestructible front. You do not want the world to know that you are just as much of a living, breathing person as anyone else, do you.”

Ellana thought of the locked box in her desk drawer, and of Te’lise pressing shiny pebbles and glittering gemstones into her hand each time she returned from a day trip, her face alight with an understanding smile. “No,” she responded. “I do not.”

Ellana turned towards Dorian. “You…” she started, and stopped. She felt strangely incapable of speaking. “Why?”

Dorian smiled at her. “You are my best friend,” he said. “Dare I say my only friend in this cold, barren wasteland that is the South. In mere months you have shown me more unconditional support than anyone else in my entire lifetime, and that… that truly means a lot to me.”

“Your best friend.” Ellana repeated. The title felt odd on her tongue, foreign. “I did not know that I was… friend… material.”

Dorian laughed, the sound echoing out into the chamber and bathing it in warmth. “I will admit, you aren’t the most approachable sort, but you are my best friend nonetheless.” He ran an approving eye over her. “Ah, as I thought. You wear it well.“

“Dorian. I…” But what was there to say? The words died in her throat, and she was left staring at him a bit helplessly.

Dorian gave her a half-smile of understanding. “No need to thank me, I can’t stand sappy confessions. Just do me a favour, will you? If you decide to wear this publicly, I want to be there when the Commander eventually notices. Nothing will be more priceless than watching him trip over his own feet.”

“You are incorrigible,” Ellana said, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, face softening ever so slightly as he chuckled.

“I know.” Dorian replied, raising a hand to rest it against her back. There was nothing left to say.

It was odd, being cared for in such a manner. The necklace was a welcome weight around Ellana’s neck, grounding her after what felt like millennia of wandering Skyhold as a fading ghost. She felt real. She felt… pretty. Ellana slowly raised her arms, wrapping them loosely around Dorian’s waist.

The two friends stood together like that for a long time, stirring only when Cullen did eventually come knocking.

[gayalienwilde]

My secret fairy gift to @thomtrebond one of the longest analyses I've ever written until now (so much so that I'm still working on this). Truthfully, I was afraid that The Whole Shebang podcast had already said all there was about the Oscar Wilde references in Velvet Goldmine, and it has been a while since I've read The Picture of Dorian Gray, but while writing and doing research for this (I've studied more for this analysis than I ever have for school lmao) I realised things that I hadn't thought of before so this was a surprise for me as well! Also, since this analysis is gonna be split into different parts I'll link them all once I'm done with them. I hope you enjoy your gift <3

Part one: The importance of being Jack Fairy

When thinking about Velvet Goldmine and Oscar Wilde I'm reminded of the first episode of the miniseries "Queers" (2017), although I can't stand Mark Gatiss (Sherlock trauma) this episode is well written and just thinking about it makes me cry. There will be spoilers for the episode in this analysis, so be warned.

For the people that don't care about spoilers here's a small summary of what you need to know to understand this analysis: in the episode, titled "The Man On The Platform", the protagonist, a WWI soldier, gets asked about how gay men recognise each other, and he answers saying:"A certain liquidity of the eye." Later in the episode, he recalls a story from his teen years, while waiting for a train with his family he sees a prisoner getting taken away, he meets the gaze of the prisoner for a second and he feels seen by him and thinks "He knows me for what I am", after that he learns that the prisoner is Oscar Wilde.

In Velvet Goldmine, it's the pin that creates this connection between the characters and Oscar Wilde, Jack is able to find himself and others quite like him after finding the pin, and later we have all the young queer fans relating to Curt and Brian. The movie shows that self recognition through the other is an important aspect of queer communities, having an example of queerness to relate to or be inspired by makes it possible for people to find each other and learn about themselves.

In Jack's case, Oscar Wilde is not only a connection to queerness but also an inspiration for his art. Jack Fairy is the personification of art, specifically born from aestheticism's idea of "art for art's sake" Jack's persona is just that, beauty that exists simply to be beautiful and reveal nothing, the movie adds to this by never making Jack Fairy speak, even during the Death of Glitter concert he's either reciting a poem or singing, the little we know of Jack's inner thoughts is shown in the flashback of him as a child, adult Jack Fairy is a complete mistery to us.

What's interesting about this is that, unlike Brian, we never feel that Jack's persona is a manifactured one, even if we know nothing of him, and his looks and aesthetics are obviously thought out, he still appears much more genuine than Brian. Following Wilde's idea of art as an amoral creation that never expresses anything other than itself (in true wildean paradox fashion Wilde himself doesn't always respect this rule), it then becomes obvious why it doesn't matter if we know nothing about Jack, the way he presents himself is enough to express everything he wants other people to see, he's being truthfull to himself never trying to justify or moralise his art or himself but simply being, any possible reading or interpretation about his persona becomes then nothing more than the viewer's own thoughts or ideas projected onto him and do not necessarily reflect the truth, adding to the allure of his persona and making it a perfectly malleable art medium, free of bounds or expectations (apart from beauty, which is of course what all art, according to Wilde, should strive for).

On the other hand, Brian constantly trying to add a message to his aesthetic ended up being to his detriment since what he was saying was being fed to him through the record company to attract press, not leaving then any room for interpretation and putting strict barriers around his art, and of course to define is to limit causing his entire act and persona to never be as authentic feeling as Jack's. It's clearly artificial but not in a camp way, even if it might have started off that way, the alien and uncanny later becomes fake the same way advertisement is, planned and trying to get your attention for money, reaching the peak of uncanny valley with Tommy's way too pristine looks and character.

But even after having roasted him I have to admit that Brian's character has a much bigger connection to Wilde's work than Jack does, since Jack's story is more inspired by Divine from Genet's "Notre-Dame-des-fleurs", even having a scene from the book remade almost exactly in the movie, with Jack it makes more sense to compare him to Wilde himself since, just as Wilde became one of the major exponents of aestheticism and homosexuality in England, in the movie Jack is one of the original inspirations of the Glam Rock movement and an iconic figure in the queer community of the 60s and 70s, so of course he'd be the one to find the pin and carry the legacy of Oscar Wilde.

Tune in next whenever I post it to see me roasting Brian more in part two

[kiatheinsomniac]

Could I request AC Shay finding out that reader is his daughter, maybe during combat and then him realizing? Maybe reader had disappeared when the whole Davenport homestead attack happened or something. Please and thank you!

☾ ⋆ﾟ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Shay Cormac

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: canon-typical violence, unhappy ending

｡･:*˚:✧｡ shay cormac

♡ Shay had done everything in his power to look for you once he was recovered enough to leave the couple who had treated his injuries.

♡ once he became a Templar, he used all of their connections to look for you but they couldn't find out what had happened to you when the brotherhood turned on him

♡ he was equally as heartbroken as he was filled with rage when all of his efforts were fruitless. It was obvious that they had moved you elsewhere so that he wouldn't find you and he was set on getting you back, no matter how long it took.

♡ sometimes his search for you had to be put on hold as the timing of his missions as a Templar became of utmost importance and yet he never gave up on his search for you, it would always be picked up again and he would chase whatever lead he could find regarding your whereabouts.

♡ it would be decades until you ever saw each other again though. It was 1776 and you were in Versailles with your adopted father Charles Dorian. You had left for a few minutes to grab a plate full of snacks for yourself and your little brother Arno to share, only to find him missing from the spot that he had promised your father he would not move from. Instead, Charles was in his seat.

♡ finding the situation odd, you made your way towards him as he appeared asleep and it made you worry for his health but someone else beat you to it and there was a scream as he fell to the floor, dead.

♡ the shock kicked your brain into detective mode and your eyes went to all the exits in the room, finding that while all the other guests were now crowding around your father, one man was leaving the room and striding away from the growing ruckus.

♡ with your heart hammering in your chest, you followed him and paused only to grab a sword that had been placed on display on the wall if he was indeed the killer. Your confrontation had taken you by surprise, testing your fencing skills that Charles had insisted you undertake 'to teach you discipline and grace befitting of a lady'.

♡ you quickly found yourself outmatched by this older man's skill but, just as a blade emerged from his sleeve and poised over your throat, he froze as his eyes locked with yours, uttering your name in a whisper of disbelief, looking at you as though you were a ghost.

♡ this man knowing your name had only terrified you more and you felt sick as you began to see the similarities between his face and your own. Charles had never hidden from you that you were adopted, you had been told that you had been born in the British-American colonies and there was some disaster that separated you from your father who his allies did not know how to find.

♡ you suddenly lost all heart to attack him as your heart was filled with conflict. You had precious few and faded memories of your father and here he stood in front of you: with the blood of the father who had raised you on his hands.

♡ you hissed for him to get out of your sight before you went to seek out Arno.

☾ ⋆ﾟlike my work? why not: 

∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ join my taglist ∘ consider following/reblogging

🏷️@gojohater101 @daddyadler @veryfancydoilies @fischchenlein @writing-noah

[bookishdream]

Library

Okay, my first attempt to write about someone from the Shadowhunters chronicles James Herondale x fem!Fairchild!reader (btw no Grace, no romantic relationship with Cordelia)

The ballroom for sure looked marvelous. The big chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling in their full, rich glory. Every handle for a witchlight had glass around it that mirrored the look of rain droplets, conveying the light even more beautifully. Y/n couldn’t keep her eyes off of the two, monstrous elements of the ballroom. No matter how hard she tried, she always thought that they would just fall on her and the participants of the events. And it was a hell of an event. Tessa Herondale did an outstanding job, decorating the room with gold ornaments, black tablecloths and curtains. Gold cutlery and lucent champagne flutes were sparkling in the bright light given by the enormous chandeliers. 

Y/n caught one of the flutes and drank all the liquid in a quick motion. The Angel knew she needed it. She was hiding behind the pillar, peeking every now and then, making sure that her annoying brother wasn’t coming her way.

“Hiding, aren’t we?” Y/n jumped at the sudden appearance of a voice that she heard so many times. “Did someone ask you for another dance?” 

James Herondale was looking at her with those big, gold eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. Y/n couldn’t ignore the fact that he was indeed beautiful, proving the rumors right. His black hair, that was tousled by a force the girl was not aware of, his eyes and what was more important, his selfless heart and bravery. Unfortunately, he was struggling with his mind and y/n was one of the few knowing about his secret relationship with the demon realm.  

“Don’t flatter me, James,” she remarked, hugging the pillar closer with her back, her palm clenched on the champagne glass. “My brother has been bothering me with looking for a possible suitor and since I have no interest in doing such a thing, I avoid him.” 

“It sure seems like cowardice to me,” the boy commented, making a step closer. His hand gently removed the flute from y/n’s fingers and he put it onto the table closest to them. Then he took her gloved palm and without a warning, led her to the nearest exit. 

“And running away isn’t cowardice? Your hypocrisy will never cease to amaze me,” y/n’s words came out as a whisper. She couldn’t contain her excitement, wondering where the boy was leading her. “James, care to explain where we are going?”

“You’ll see,” he sent her a bright smile, only his eyes were seen in the dark corridor. Not even a single witchlight was in the handle. “Be patient, love.”

Y/n’s heart rose whenever he called her love. It was basic, but except for Cordelia, he didn’t have nicknames for his friends. Perhaps the names he’s called Matthew that were too vulgar to say out loud. When the girl saw the door to the London Institute’s library, she could feel her smile growing wider. Her gloved hands started twitching and she desired to just be around all of those books. James opened the door, letting her through first and y/n saw the rows of bookshelves, the magnificent fireplace with an area to sit and relax around it. On the table beside one of the chairs was a book, opened half-way through. The fire from the chimney was giving a soft gleam to the area, making it look cozy and inviting. Y/n picked up a book and read the title. 

“Are you reading The Picture of Dorian Gray?” She didn’t know why she was whispering, perhaps it was simply the atmosphere of this place or perhaps she didn’t have to speak louder, for James was only a few centimeters from her, looking down at her eyes. “Do you know…”

“That it’s your favorite novel? I am quite aware, for you’ve been telling everyone who is willing to listen,” James answered her unsaid question. Y/n’s cheeks flushed, her eyes slightly widening. “And I am always willing to listen to you.”

“James,” the girl started, but she stopped when she felt a warm hand on her cheek. James had one of his palms on her waist and the other was caressing her face. “You know we oughtn’t.”

“We are all alone here,” she didn’t realize that the boy got closer, she wasn’t even sure he could’ve gotten closer. It was almost like he wanted to erase everything that was between them. “Perhaps Jessamine is somewhere here, but she shall give us some privacy.” 

“Darling, we aren’t engaged,” y/n wanted to create some space between their bodies, but James was reluctant to let her go. “My brother shall never acknowledge our love.”

“Matthew? He was jumping around like a lunatic when I confessed my feelings for you,” he frowned, searching for her eyes. 

“I had Charles on my mind,” she remarked. “With Mother in Idris and Father in his state, he thinks he can rule over my life,” y/n rolled her eyes.

“Then we should step forward with our undying love and I shall challenge him for a duel, should his reaction be unfavorable,” James’s eyes blinked with humor, letting her know that he should do no such a thing.

“Matthew has a wrong impact on you, darling,” it was her turn to touch his cheek. It was free of any stubble. 

“Then you must save me from him,” he joked. “I will be the damsel in distress and you shall be the knight in the shining armor,” he took her palm into his hand, took off y/n's white glove and gently kissed her knuckles. “Then you shall take me as your loving husband and we shall live happily ever after.” 

Y/n laughed at the mere thought of her saving James, but she considered what he insinuated, he wanted her as a wife, a partner, someone he shall spend his whole life with. But when she’d firstly realized she was hopelessly in love with him, they were both 15 years of age. Matthew was always the one closer to James, they always knew they’d be parabatai in the future, and y/n was never allowed to do the things boys did. But one day when she was relaxing with Lucie and an unpredictable demon ruined their afternoon tea, y/n panicked. Yes, she had been trained, yet she had never seen a demon so big and disgusting and terrifying. Fortunately, James and Matthew were in the close vicinity and they managed to slaughter the demon, ichor spilling everywhere. It had been James, later that night, that was holding y/n, calming her down, listening to her silent sobs and reassuring her that she was still a Shadowhunter, even though she froze, uncertain what to do. It had been James, later that month, that had helped her with training, snuck out with her to patrol the vicinity and conveyed his own knowledge. Then, she knew that he was the one who had stolen her young heart. 

“Will you marry me, Y/n Fairchild?” James whispered, his golden eyes looking at her hopefully, his lips formed into a soft smile that he always had when he was with her. 

“Of course I will, silly,” she kissed his nose, slightly, making his cheeks flushed. James didn’t wait for any further invitation, he ducked his head and kissed her strongly, making her heart sing and her body lightweight. 

“Lucie, have I drunk too much or are they kissing?” Y/n heard her twin’s voice, when she stepped away from her fiance, her cheeks blushing she saw Matthew and Lucie standing in the doorway. “Charles is going to be furious.”

“I need to speak to Cordelia, she shall be thrilled!” Lucie squeaked, running to her own parabatai. 

[guideoftime]

▴ — @tsxrugi ;; Sheik & Ronin. ‘ Why are you looking at me like that? Yes, I deceived you. I’ll deceive anyone if I have to, why should you be special? ’

   Dorian was right. Dorian was right and it’s not FAIR. 

   Sheik should… have known that no one would ever be interested in him just because of him. Because of Sheik and who he is. Because he’s just not that interesting, he’s not special, he’s broken and crazy and why would anyone want to deal with that? Why would anyone want anything to do with someone like him? He’s just a nerd who lives in a library and is haunted by trauma that isn’t even his. 

   So this should make sense. The words spoken to him in such a cruel way should make sense. Because they’re true, no matter how much they hurt, no matter how much they cut his heart from his chest, no matter how much they strangle him. They’re true and–he hates it. He hates it so much. He wishes he had never knocked that mask off of the Yiga’s face. 

   Pure white hair, dark red eyes, Ronin’s face and voice–all of it makes sense. The way he acts, the way he finds Sheik easily, the way he spends too much time around him. He was never interested in Sheik, he wanted whatever information he had and honestly, he had no idea what he might have been looking for or learned. Sheik let him in. To his house, to his village, to the Castle–to his heart. He let him so deeply in and he has no one to blame but himself. 

   How much did he learn?

   What did he get from Sheik in the end? Was it worth it? Doing this to him? Ripping his heart from his chest and crushing it beneath his foot? Squeezing the life from it and wringing it dry? Was it worth ruining everything?

   Sheik gave him his heart, treated him like his confidant, confessed things to him no one else knew, talked about the things in his head, and let him into his bed. He spread his legs for him and he feels dirty now. Used. Because he was, wasn’t he? Ronin, or whatever his name was, used Sheik in the end. Like a dirty tissue and old napkin. Now he was just looking to discard him since he clearly got what he wanted. 

   The anger, the rage and hurt that rushes through him wasn’t like anything he had ever felt before. He knows there are tears falling down his face but he had kept himself together tight enough to not sob. What was sobbing going to do for him anyway? He has to keep his head steady on his shoulders, has to strengthen his heart, because there was no out for this now. It was just the two of them across from each other, wounded and angry, one far more calm and cruel than the other. White hair isn’t a good look on him, it makes Ronin look old. 

   He has to pull himself together. 

   Nothing special. Nothing matters. It was never important to him and neither was Sheik. 

   “You should have driven that blade into me when I was cooking dinner that first day, but I suppose you wouldn’t have gotten what you wanted if you had.” He climbs back up to his feet, the daggers thrown to the ground as he yanks the harp out quickly. The golden instrument is cradled in the crook of his arm and Sheik drifted his gaze over toward Ronin’s own, red eyes meeting red. He finds he misses the bright golden color of his eyes, what they once were, and it hurts to see the red reflected back at him. 

   “I don’t matter to anyone, why would I matter to you?” 

   Pathetic. That sounds pathetic and Sheik isn’t. He might be a lot of things, he might be crazy and weird, but he wasn’t pathetic. He wasn’t a coward, he wasn’t useless, he wasn’t pathetic and weak. He is better than this. He just needs to pull his head together, because no one else is going to pick him up now. No one is going to walk him home, help him relax his mind, hold him after a nightmare. 

   Why does that make him feel so lonely now? 

   He grips the harp tighter in his left arm and moves his right fingers over to the strings, gripping them tightly. He doesn’t wait for Ronin to figure out what he’s doing, he throws himself at the other with everything that he had. Which, with the harp, could really vary. Finding control over his magic, to use the harp like he needs to, it’s difficult. He doesn’t understand the magic that runs through him, how to use it properly and channeling it into the harp is even harder. It takes a level of control he just doesn’t have. Especially when he’s already injured and with his emotions so rapidly out of control. 

   Which is why this goes as bad as it does. The harp does work, he can feel it land a few good hits on Ronin, following his anger and frustration and hurt toward the target of those emotions. But as much as it works, it equally begins to grow out of control. The harp amplified his magic, and with how uncontrolled he was it began to grow even more unstable. 

   Sheik can feel when the harp no longer works, when the strings snap in his grip and just like a rubber band effect his own magic slams back into him and attacks him. The harp is dropped as he’s thrown to the ground, his chest constricting tightly as his breathing is cut off. It feels like lacerations across his heart, ripping it to shreds and the sensation is echoed physically with the gashes across his chest and along his body. Matching the cuts from the Windcleaver that he already had. 

   He can feel his body trembling, the amount of blood he was losing was actually alarming but no more than the pain in his heart. He doesn’t even bother picking himself up from the ground, instead his hands curling into the grass and gripping it tightly. A sob finally forces itself from his lips and weakly he curls his arms in under his head and buries his face in them. It hurts, Hylia above it hurts and he hates it. 

   To be deceived, and so cruelly at that, his heart was just no longer there. Did he even know him at all, in any way? The person that talked about his childhood, that soothed Sheik after a nightmare, that pulled him into his lap and held him close. That told him he loved him? 

   All of it was a lie? 

   He hates being lied to. 

   “Kill me.” He’s going to die here anyway, betrayed by Ronin and then his own magic. It would be a mercy to simply put him out of his misery. To finish what he started and just run the blade through his heart. Shred it to pieces. It would probably hurt less.

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday Niri! For DADWC, how about #31 from Artifacts of Thedas, for Cullen and Dorian (heh heh): A Satinalia mask

HI DEMA thank you!! This deliciously fit right into my ongoing masquerade side quest fic set in Pravinquisition AU, previous installation here

Also I was an absolute maniac and managed (I hope) to shove five Cullen & Dorian prompts into one scene, so thank you @zenstrike, @rosella-writes, @kiastirling, and @liza011 for these additional prompts:

overdramatic arguments about non-important subjects

All I Do is Wear Cool Outfits, Tell Jokes and Hide My Depression

doing things in sync

'Rule one: Don’t get caught.'

Madness. But perfect for them and I think I got them all

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1350

---

Cullen stood sentry in the corner of a marble-pillared room, watching the revelry with distaste. A pair of inebriated Orlesians had taken it upon themselves to climb upon a makeshift stage and butcher the Fereldan tavern song Andraste’s Mabari. He was nominally glad the panther-shaped mask he wore hid his grimace, though the rest of him wanted to wrench the damn thing off his face. It made his forehead itch something awful. 

He was grateful to see Dorian stroll into the room and make eye contact. The Tevinter mage looked far more comfortable at this soiree than Cullen knew he would be in a million years. Dorian cut a sharp figure in blues and greens. He wore a black half-mask; it was adorned with feathers and sparkled even in the dim light.

“I hope you’re not grinding your teeth too hard in there, Commander,” Dorian said jovially, sidling up with a goblet of wine in one hand. “You’re like to give yourself a headache.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, only to realize how correct the mage was. He worked his jaw, trying to loosen it up. “I didn’t think I’d have to suffer attacks on my homeland when I agreed to come here, that’s all.”

Dorian tilted his head, caught wind of the lyrics, and took a stiff sip of his drink. “I see your point. Perhaps we ought to go somewhere a touch, ah, quieter?”

“Please.” 

They ducked down a hallway that spilled out onto a small courtyard. The chill night was a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the Comte de Valette’s estate. The place seemed deserted, so Cullen removed the mask to the feel the relief of open air on his face. Any moment an angry Orlesian noble would probably materialize and command he put it back on — the allure of secrecy and all that — but for the moment he could think unburdened. 

“Tut, tut, Commander,” Dorian chided, smirking at his clear hatred of the mask and all it signified, “do you also remove your helm mid-battle?” 

“This farce of a party is hardly the battlefield,” Cullen grumbled. “And perhaps if I hadn’t let Fidencio design my entire outfit I’d feel less like a made-up doll.” The whole ensemble had been the bard’s idea. Cullen stood all in black, with a paisley patterned in velvet on his jerkin, gold trim on the sleeves, and a black overcoat. He already felt like a mummer’s idea of a pirate, but then Fidencio had insisted upon the damn mask to complete the look. Because a lion — Cullen’s suggestion — was the official sigil of Orlais and would send the wrong message. “Did the bard pick out your costume as well?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Commander, but I’d never need a theatre man to dress me properly.” Dorian smirked into his wine goblet. “I happen to dress this sharply on the regular, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Why, this was just my Satinalia mask from last year.” 

“I bet.” Cullen paid the boasting no mind. “Anything to report?”

“Sadly not. The Inquisitor and I spoke to all the premiere nobles of the Orlesian court — you think they’d want to hide their identities better, but I found them quite easy to identify. They had little and less to say. Nothing but praise for the Comte, but curiously no one can find the man.” 

“Strange, do you think?” Cullen asked. “That the Comte should be so aloof?” 

“Ah, who knows?” Dorian countered. “I’ve been to galas in Tevinter thrown while the host wasn’t even in the country. He’d do it just to remind everyone he still had more money than the Maker.” 

“And Lady Thalia?” Cullen asked, scanning the windows facing the courtyard. In the orange glow of the rooms, the revelers cut ghastly, demon-like shadows. Or maybe that was just how it seemed. The mind could play tricks, and Cullen hadn’t wanted Thalia to accept the Comte’s invitation even before he learned that de Valette was rumored to be some dark mage. 

“She was with Fidencio, last I checked. In that room with the enchanted butterflies.” 

“Maybe I should check on her. No offense to Fidencio, but I’ve seen him in the sparring ring. He’s more of a lover than a fighter.” 

Dorian snorted. “That he is, for certain.” 

Cullen waited for a snide remark about Fidencio’s swordplay in alternative arenas, but Dorian merely smirked. It seemed he was too polite to grasp for the low-hanging fruit. That was fine with Cullen, who had uncovered a strange sense of foreboding he couldn’t shake. He replaced the asinine mask on his face and headed back inside with Dorian matching his stride.

Dorian led the way to the butterfly room, which was full of the flitting insect lanterns and simpering party guests, but no Inquisitor or the headwear-loving bard. Cullen’s bad feeling worsened. 

“Well, they were just here,” Dorian added unhelpfully. 

Cullen walked brusquely from room to room, checking with his stationed soldiers along the way, but none had seen the Lady Thalia. Even Blackwall confessed they’d only crossed paths before she’d met up with Fidencio. 

Dorian kept pace, cracking bad jokes along the way, until Cullen finally snapped, “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?” 

Dorian sobered. “Ah, yes, the humor is just my dominant coping mechanism, I’m afraid. I’m actually a bit nervous myself.” 

Cullen let out a slow breath. “Any idea where they could have gone?” 

“No, but I think we must employ process of elimination here, Commander.” He leaned against the wall in a small, winding corridor and crossed his arms. “Thus far the masquerade has been confined to the ground floor of the chateau and surrounding environs. As Inquisition soldiers have been stationed in both places, I think it’s safe to assume they’re not there.” 

“So that leaves, what, upstairs? In the guest chambers? ” Cullen did not like to think about what might be transpiring up there. One heard tell of what transpired at certain Orlesian parties. “I hope Fidencio would not be fool enough to let Thalia near any sort of—” Could he even say it?

“I think it’s unlikely Fidencio would have led her to an orgy,” Dorian said blithely. “Unless she asked to go— which is also unlikely,” he added before Cullen’s pulse could spike too much. “Goodness, you have met the girl, haven’t you? She can barely handle one man, let alone a whole gaggle.” 

Cullen chose not to dignify any of that with a response. “So then, where else?” 

A silent beat passed between the two men, and they spoke in unison: “The cellar.” 

“There must be one,” Dorian said. “This is a castle. What’s a castle without a wine cellar?” 

“And a dungeon,” Cullen said darkly. What if the Comte de Valette had made an appearance after all, and now Thalia was his captive? 

“Commander, your imagination is at times alarming,” Dorian said lightly. 

“I’m in charge of an army. I’m paid to think about the worst case scenario.”

“Be that as it may.” Dorian paced back and forth in the corridor, and raised a finger in the air. “I think I might know a way in.” 

“Oh?” Cullen asked. 

“A little staircase I came across when I took a wrong turn earlier in the evening. A pageboy assured me it was just the servant stairwell and steered me back to the party.” 

Cullen drew the mask from his face, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Do you think you can find it again?”

Dorian stroked the end of his mustache. “I’m fairly certain, yes.” 

“Though I suppose we’ll have to think of a fine excuse, to allow ourselves entry,” Cullen mused. “Unless we want the entire chateau alerted to our movements.” 

“Spoken like someone who never snuck around much in his youth.” Dorian flashed him a mischievous grin.

Cullen sighed. “What do you want me to say? The Templar barracks were well-monitored.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me; that was not meant to be a slight. I only mean, Commander, you’ve not yet learned rule number one in subterfuge: don’t get caught.”

[yuki-hitomi-chan]

Show us your ocs!!!!

Okay okay. Note that I'm bad at remembering to take screenshots, so the ones I have will have to do. I'll do my video game ones, including Dragon Age (origins and inquisition) and Baldur's Gate 3. Yes, they're all very similar I know, and yes I like playing as elves shush.

Baldur's Gate 3

Current Tav: Rion About: Half-Elf/ Rogue/ Thief/ Urchin Canon Romance: Gale

So this is Rion, and he's romancing Gale. He's pretty charismatic (12) but don't ask him to lift anything. He's like every other guy in the game and has a total of 8 STR. You also can't see it here, but he has red highlights that show up in the sun. As for personality, he's mostly good aligned, although he will sometimes cause problems on purpose, especially if he thinks it's funny. He's a sweetheart and has a bad habit of picking up stray children (he wants to protect them like he wasn't when he was a kid), so yes, he finds the tiefling kids funny and even gave them some tips on how to improve their scams. Fun note: He's transgender, which is why he makes certain decisions (He got magic hrt don't ask me how it works it's magic), especially if it comes to affecting how he looks.

Also, I didn't realize that there was another half-elf with his name in the game until I met them. Was a bit funny, since they pronounce it like Rye-on and he pronounces it as Re-On.

Dragon Age Origins

Hero of Ferelden: Da'len Tabris About: City Elf/ Duel wield Rogue/ Assassin Canon Romance: Zevran Arainai

Da'len is my Tabris Warden! Her name means "Child" in Elven, and the story behind that is her father heard a mother calling to her child, and thought it was a wonderful name despite her mother's (rightful) disagreement. Turns out, she's just permanently named 'Kiddo' (which earns her some weird looks from those who actually understand elven to her annoyance. She didn't choose her name, her shut-in father did). Always the troublemaker in her family she wasn't ready to settle down at the beginning of her adventure, giving her family a headache, but that doesn't mean she won't kill for them. She fell in love with the assassin who tried to kill her. She's somewhat grated against humans, which gets her in trouble a lot, especially when she doesn't put up with their bullshit, and even more so when she thinks a knife is a good way to solve a problem (I mean, sometimes it is). Still not sure who's bright idea it was to keep her as the leader of the group, but nobody important died, so that's gotta count for something, right?

Ironically, despite having a mabari, she's not really a dog person.

Dragon Age Inquisition

Inquisitor: Ferris Lavellen About: Dalish elf/ Archer Rogue/ Assassin Specialty (I also played him as a mage at one point.) Canon Romance: Dorian Pavus

This is Ferris! He's a Dalish hunter turned savior for a god he doesn't even believe in! (Well, he sort of recognizes the maker as "a god" but more like the human's god versus his pantheon.) He originally had brown eyes, but due to the Breach and it's magic, he got very green eyes that sometimes weird people out because of how unnaturally green they are (No, they never change back, so good thing he looks good with green eyes). He struggles at first because he has no idea what proper human social cues are, but eventually he figures it out. He doesn't really like being a leader, but does it because someone has to fill the role, and he's the only one who's going to do it. He wasn't too sure about Dorian at first, but he came to fall in love with his sarcasm and flirting. (Ferris is not subtle about his flirting with someone who could be considered an enemy socially, something that makes Cassandra and Josie want to pull out their hair)

Fun fact, this boy right here is how I figured out I'm a gay trans man!

So that's my OCs from those games. If anyone wants to learn more about them, feel free to drop an ask! I know I got a bit ramble-y here, but I had fun!

[theluckywizard]

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you @melisusthewee and @nirikeehan for the tags!

I've been writing a bunnnnch since I got back from vacation and have been working on a Hawke and Rose smut scene on Giant's Staircase in the Western Approach for an academic-style smut writing exercise. It will feature in my long fic In the Shattering of Things down the line at some point! "With this caution and exhortation in mind, write a sex scene for a story in which you know your fictional characters well. Objective: To gain access to this rich material indirectly so that this experience often considered universal can feel singular, as though come to be for the first time in history." As with all smuts, I believe the set up is just as important as the business. So here is some set up! CW: spicy but probably mostly SFW

“Cats again, is it?” asks Dorian, smirking at us both. “A proper hunt. I spotted a half dozen at least. It’ll take all night,” says Hawke. I slip my arms around his waist without hesitation and Dorian salutes us both. We stroll lazily toward Hawke’s chosen destination, my insides humming with the intensity of my delight as his lips meet my hair, inhaling deeply. “Always upping the ante, aren’t you?” I remark, my eyes sweeping up the ruins. I can see the orange dance of firelight on the sandstone blocks above. He promised to find us a place we could wrap up in each other’s arms all night. At least we’ll have the high ground. “I challenge you to find a better place to canoodle than this,” he says, handing me up. We scramble up the crumbling structure which time has miraculously stabilized, hanging on to each other for balance. The tower top glows from the light of a small brazier he brought up, blankets laid out across the stones. To my left I regard a humanoid skeleton that Hawke has clearly sat up against the parapet wall, a dusty bottle inside its bony clutches and a desiccated, ages old wheel of cheese by its side. I turn to Hawke slowly, eyebrows raised high and his fingers tap over his cursed grin the way it always does when he’s desperately trying to contain gleeful laughter. “He was like this when I got here, I swear.” “I don’t know how you’ll ever plan to top this one,” I remark. “And the pile of varghest carcasses was pretty outrageous.” “Mm. Sounds like a dare. And you know I can never pass up a dare.” From up here we have a clear view of the camp below, far enough away that I assume they can’t hear every detail of our conversation, but if they looked up, they would know that something was afoot on top of the tower. Hawke claims my hand as I continue to survey the scene and draws me close with a sudden tug, knowing full well the effect of that little acceleration, my insides molten with anticipation. I assert myself though, aware of how I could passively ride his passion to several climaxes. I cradle his face in my hands, at least to prove I’m not resigning myself to another night with him, surrendering to his persistence the way I had for months. His chin and jaw are freshly shaved and his cropped locks fall over his forehead, too short to be tucked behind his ear the way they used to be. I run a finger over his handsome brow and then down to his soft lips which part on a wisp of a sigh. The intensity of his look dissolves into a vulnerable entreaty for more of me, the same look he’s given me since before that time in the tower when he’d first unlocked me. We meet in a feverish embrace, our kisses having greater urgency now like they’re somehow more fleeting in spite of being less so than ever. Something to desperately cling to while bashing our way through impossible danger. “You must have something planned,” I say, kicking off my sandals and standing on his big feet. “Aside from ‘make my beautiful lover come several times’? Not really,” he says, his fingers grazing over the hardened peaks of my breasts, my stay joyfully abandoned back at camp. “A bit ambitious. What if I want to turn your knees to jelly for a change?” I ask, my head dropped all the way back to gaze up at him with a grin. His brow lifts high, his smile slightly agape, his chest heaving on the deep, amorous breaths he draws. “Anything you want.” “Anything? What if I’m secretly some sort of depraved monster?” he says, bending for another kiss. “Well, I can always say no,” I remind him, pressing a brazen hand over his hardening length. “Oral. In a sailboat. With a squid and a sweetroll.” “Tempting, but no.” “Like a dog. Covered in honey, wearing our helmets.” “You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?” I say, poking him gently in the belly. He shrinks back slightly, his hands leaping up protectively. “Lie down.”

Tagging in case they have WIPS to share! @crackinglamb, @rakshadow, @about2dance, @warpedlegacy, @monocytogenes, @rowanisawriter, @skyeventide AND YOU

[slytherhys]

Hi can you write F I and N for manorian (the November prompts)

A/N: promised someone I would write manorian soon so I’m here to deliver. This prompt just made things better and easier. 🫶 I really don't know how to feel about this one but I've been trying to write it for over a week and I'll lose my mind if I don't just post it. 😭 I hope it lives up to your expectations though 🫶

Prompts: "You bought me hot chocolate? / Academic Rivals / "Are you blushing?" "No, it's just cold."

Easy Smiles - A Manorian OneShot

Manon wrapped her coat tightly around her body, cursing the Rifthold cold just as she had done every single day since she had first moved to the Adarlan capital. No snow covered the ground – none ever did in Rifthold – but the biting chill wasn’t any less ruthless. Especially to Manon Blackbeak, whose blood ran as warm as her country’s arid skies.

She absolutely hated it. Hated that it was so far from home, hated that it was always cold but never enough for her to finally become acquainted with snow, and she hated it because it was the first place where she had finally started truly feeling like herself.

How such a place could’ve been the same city where Dorian Havilliard had been born and raised was a mystery to Manon, but she tried not to think too much about it. About him. Even if she failed most times than not.

She was on her third year of college and, on all accounts, she had made it (much to the Blackbeak’s Matron delight). She was top of almost every class; an amazing internship awaited her; and she had just recently started sitting in some of the most important meetings that took place in her family’s company. She was ready to be the leader she’d been born to be. A true Blackbeak – a legacy that went beyond borders. And she could feel it in the stares of her colleagues, how they gave her wide berth whenever she was around; how they avoided her gaze or her presence overall. Manon didn’t mind – if she had a reputation, it was because she and her family had done well to earn it.

So, of course the fact the Havilliard heir seemed to completely disregard such legacy had become something of an intriguing feature that Manon couldn’t help but admire. Even if she tried to.

She was well aware of the fact everyone in Rifthold seemed to bow down to the Havilliard name. Their company had built the city, had turned it into what it was today: the sparkling capital of the Adarlan Country. But Dorian’s confidence went beyond that. It went beyond his family’s name; beyond the fact he had bested her in two classes (mainly considering he loved to ignore the other three where she had bested him) and beyond the fact he was the only student that could match her in a debate. No, it was something that glinted in his sapphire eyes whenever they locked on Manon; it was something warm and sticky that seemed to cover her entire body whenever he smirked her way.

It was something that would definitely send her grandmother to an early grave.

Manon shook her head, trying to push her wayward thoughts away just as she reached the building of her next class. It was also the only class that she didn’t share with Havilliard, which made his presence just inches away from the door all the more surprising. The warmth greeted her immediately as the wooden door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and so did the jarring sound of giggles and sugary praises. Manon took off her coat as she tried her best not to roll her eyes to the back of her head.

She didn’t even need to look to know exactly what she would find: Dorian Havilliard – the man of the hour – leaning against the stone wall with a grace that irked her. A smirk would taint his full lips, fooling anyone who didn’t pay attention to think of him as the golden boy everyone had so lovingly named him.

But Manon knew better: she recognised the wicked gleam that shined in his sapphire eyes, the speed and wit with which he would easily disarm anyone he would ever consider a threat. Those people would never need to worry, they were of no competition to Dorian Havilliard.

But Manon Blackbeak was aware of just how aware the golden boy was of her. She had yet to decide if she felt annoyed or flattered by his attention.

A zing rushed through her body, her skin prickling as her stomach rolled on itself. She knew he had seen her, felt it in her skin as his eyes trailed down her body.

Annoyed. She was definitely annoyed by it, she thought as she rushed through the corridor, ignoring the side glances people sent her way and definitely ignoring the giggles and swoons coming from her left. It was none of her business if Havilliard preferred to spend his time with brainless-

“Blackbeak.” A smooth voice called out, and Manon blamed the temperature change for the shiver that ran down her spine. She kept walking, not slowing down her pace even as she heard his footsteps against the green carpet, already in rhythm with hers. 

“Havilliard.” She said in return, never looking his way. And she didn’t have to – she knew he’d be wearing his usual black coat and dark pressed-on slacks that complimented his long legs perfectly. His raven curls would be falling down his forehead, making her feel a way that ought to annoy her. Not to mention the stupid smirk on his handsome face that seemed to follow her even when he wasn’t around – she knew exactly what she wanted to do to it, and it was entirely too early for that. “Is the company you keep so dull you prefer to follow me around like a lost puppy?” She asked, the shocked gasps coming from his friends the only proof she needed they had listened to her every word. She could see Dorian shake his head from the corner of her eyes, and she refused the smile that threatened to break free at his amusement.

“Paying attention to me, are you, witch?” He teased, and it was all Manon could do not to roll her eyes at the nickname. She had been graced many nicknames – none nearly as loving as the ones Havilliard had received – but witch just had to be her favourite. How original it was.

She refrained from snapping though – if there was anything Dorian Havilliard enjoyed, it was riling her up, and Manon refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Can I help you with something, Havilliard?” She asked instead, her voice as cold as ice as she turned the corner, just feet away from the classroom. 

Not that it stopped Dorian. It never did. 

“You can start by looking at me.” He drawled, his long legs easily keeping up with her rushed pace. 

“And why, exactly, would I do that?” She furrowed her brows, looking at the watch around her wrist. She was already 5 minutes late to class. If her grandma found out she wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“You’re infuriating.” He grumbled, his words lacking any heat. Manon bit her chapped lip to keep from showing her amusement. “Will you just stop?” He groaned, but Manon shook her head. 

“I’m late to class, Havilliard-”

“Manon.” He said softly, and her name on his lips was enough to nearly send her tripping. He had never called her anything other than Blackbeak or witch, but her name on his lips sounded good. Too good. She turned around, panting slightly. Had she been running? She hadn’t even realised. 

Dorian raised his brows, looking at her with a mix of amusement and annoyance – their speciality, really. In his hand – both his hands – there was a white cup, the liquid warm enough that steam danced in the air above it. He stretched an arm, a hesitant look on his face. 

Manon frowned. “What is this?”

He sighed. “I thought you were smart, Blackbeak, do you really need me to spell it out?” 

He looked exasperated, and Manon would be lying if she said it wasn’t a good look on him. A sickeningly sweet odour filled the air between them, and she couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip as she stared at his offering.

“You bought me hot chocolate?” She asked reluctantly. 

“Ah, the prodigy lives after all.” He smirked, but Manon didn’t miss the way his cheeks seemed to darken under the fluorescent lights. 

She grabbed the warm cup, a shiver running up her arm as warmth spread through her fingers. She tilted her head, squinting her eyes slightly. “Is it poisoned?”

“So I could get expelled?” He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I wouldn’t risk my place in the university for you, witch. You’re not that special.” He drawled, putting his now free hand inside the pocket of his pants. He looked so effortlessly casual it made her want to throttle him.

Manon hummed. “And yet you bought me hot chocolate.”

“And yet I did.” Dorian shrugged, an easy smile on his face as he watched her expression. Manon ignored the way her cheeks seemed to heat under the glare of his blue eyes and prayed that Havilliard would ignore it too. 

If only she were so lucky. 

“Witch, are you blushing?” He asked, a smirk tilting his lips upwards. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She scoffed, forcing herself out of the haze that was Dorian Havilliard. She wasn’t blushing. Absolutely not. “It’s just cold.”

Dorian hummed, eyeing her with a victorious gleam in his eyes. And even as she started walking away again, Manon could feel his eyes on her body, trailing down her form as she walked to class. She rolled her eyes as she stood in front of door, refusing to acknowledge the fact she felt more alive than she had ever felt. 

“Witch?” He called as she was about to enter her classroom, making Manon stop and raise an eyebrow as she turned to him once again. He seemed to blush under her gaze, but his cocky demeanour never faltered. “Are we still on for tonight?”

Manon tilted her head, enjoying the way he seemed to grow more restless with every second that passed where she remained silent. 

On all accounts, going out with Dorian Havilliard was a terrible idea. He was her competition – now and in the future when both took over rivalling companies –,and everything her grandma despised – everything she had been taught to loathe, to steer clear of. 

And yet, he was the only person who could make her heart race; the only person who set her blood on fire with his stupid arguments and easy smiles. 

How could she ever reject him?

But Manon simply smirked, never one to soothe a nervous Dorian Havilliard. “We’ll see.”

[herenya-writes]

Day 10: Fortune

The sound of footsteps on his stairs snapped Arlaros out of his paperwork-induced trance. He looked up from his work to see Dorian hesitating on the top step. Did he have an appointment with Dorian that he had forgotten? He thought he had found an empty day to work on everything that had been piling up.

“Leliana said I could find you here,” Dorian explained. “I would have knocked, but I doubt you would have heard.”

Arlaros shook his head with a smile. “I still don’t understand why I need the entire tower to myself,” he admitted. That had been Josephine’s call, and while he thought the space below his room (and his room) could be better utilized if given to the Inquisition at large, Josephine insisted that he keep the entire tower.

Dorian was still lingering on the top step. Ah, right. “Come in and have a seat.” He often forgot most people preferred invitations into his quarters. It was all so different to the communal way he had been raised.

If Dorian was offended by his slow invitation, he didn’t say. He walked over to the chairs across from the fireplace and sat, his eyes sweeping across the room as he did. He settled into the plush chair like he had sat there a hundred times before, and Arlaros had the fleeting thought that he’d like to see him there a hundred more times.

“I see our dear ambassador has spared no expense with your quarters,” Dorian commented. From someone else, the words might have sounded like an insult or accusation, but Dorian just seemed amused.

Arlaros stood from his desk and made his way over to the fireplace, lighting it with a flick of his wrist as he did. When had it gotten so late? “I’m sure the furnishings cost a small fortune. I’ve told Josephine a hundred times that I don’t need anything this fancy, but she insists. I can stand against demons all day, but if Josephine insists on something I’ve learned it’s best to stay out of her way.”

That earned him a chuckle. “There is something to be said about status. The Inquisition has put you at the very peak of its hierarchy; your living quarters should reflect that.”

“No one sees my quarters. I’ve never entertained dignitaries here, and I don’t plan to,” Arlaros argued as he sat in the chair across from Dorian. He still wasn’t used to the way he sank into the plush cushions. “I’m sure any money that goes into maintaining all of this could be better used elsewhere.”

Dorian hummed. “You hold meetings with various Inquisition members here, do you not?”

“Only when I’m too busy to leave, and only the inner circle really, plus any of the runners Cullen and the others send.”

“Status is important inside the Inquisition as well.”

Arlaros slumped back in his chair. “People cannot seriously place that much importance on what my bedroom looks like. That’s ridiculous.”

Dorian held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t make the rules. I’m afraid you have become a symbol, and the ambassador knows it. I can think of worse fates than an Orlesian bed.”

A blush began to creep over his face. Here he was complaining about his comfortable accommodations when Dorian had left behind a home even more opulent to be here. “What did you need to see me about?” It wasn’t a graceful change of topic, but Dorian didn’t mention it.

“I believe I have found a way to trace Corypheus’s Tevinter heritage. He claimed to be one of the magisters who stormed the Golden City, and there is some record of who those people were. However, I will need access to several books found only in Tevinter. I was hoping you might be able to arrange for the Inquisition to obtain them.”

“Of course. Our relationship with Tevinter is a little strained, but I’m sure if Josephine can’t work something out Leliana can.” Arlaros frowned. “You didn’t have to come all the way up here to ask. A request sent to the war table would have been fine.”

It could have been a trick of the firelight, but Arlaros swore he saw Dorian flush slightly. “Ah, well if you must know I had a bit of an ulterior motive. You had locked yourself in your tower all day, which hardly seems healthy.”

Something warm spread through Arlaros. “You came to check on me?”

“Yes, I suppose. Can’t have our noble leader keeling over because he forgot to eat dinner.”

A smile pulled at Arlaros’s lips. He still hadn’t gotten through all of the reports he needed to review tonight, but if Dorian was offering… “Are you asking me to eat dinner with you, Dorian?”

“Well if I am, I ought to do it properly.” Dorian stood from his chair and gave a flourishing bow. He looked up from the bow and held out a hand. “Inquisitor Lavellan, would you do the honor of dining with me this evening?”

Arlaros laughed and took his hand. “The honor is mine, Lord Pavus.”

[kiatheinsomniac]

AAHHHH HI REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! could u please write an arno dorian x reader imagine where the reader and arno are in a relationship but readers parents disapprove so they force reader to move to another part of france, but arno doesnt know so he just assumes that either reader died, or they ghosted him BUT one day, many years later, reader and arno cross paths again and all of their feelings rush back raster than the speed of light??? okok that was very specific so u dont have to do it but it would be awesome 💗

notes: I honestly love this trope so much, reminds me of I Know Those Eyes/ This Man Is Dead from The Count of Monte Cristo musical

pairing: Arno Dorian x Reader

word count: 1k

☾ ⋆ﾟ  MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

I never stopped loving you

You couldn’t stop the flow of hot, angry tears as you threw on your cloak, haphazardly tying the bow at your neck before your father grabbed your forearm and you were practically shoved into the carriage, the door slamming shut behind you. The carriage was already loaded with two trunks that contained your most important belongings. Your father’s face came into view at the window, his expression one of utter fury still. 

All this because your lover, your dearest Arno, had accidentally forgotten to take his coat with him after another of your secret meetings where he would climb the balcony to your room during the small hours of the morning. 

“Perhaps, by the time you’ve come back, your aunt will have taught you how to be a lady and not a common whore! I will not tolerate a woman with my name – my own daughter, no less – behaving like a harlot!” 

“By the time I’ve come back, I will have bedded all the men that Lyon has to offer!” You spat back spitefully, not meaning it at all. You snapped the curtain of the window shut so that you no longer had to see his face and reached forwards to knock against the wall of the carriage, signalling for the driver to begin the journey. When you heard the gates to the chateau close behind you, you finally allowed yourself to sob, choking on your tears as you were taken away from Versailles for as long as your father deemed fit. You would not be allowed to return until then. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The following evening, Arno waited for you on your balcony but there was no sign of you. 

He waited the evening after that. No sign of you. 

A letter pushed between your balcony doors the next evening. No reply. 

Another letter. Another. Another. Another. 

They all found their way to his doorstep the following month and, as he held them in his hands, in his room, he fell into a chair with tears in his eyes. 

What had he done wrong? 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That had been long ago and since then, Élise had taken a place in his heart while misery had taken place in yours. You had not been able to move on because you had not been allowed to say goodbye, not been allowed to give your love an explanation. You had finally been allowed back to Versailles, ghost town that it was these days, and had made your way into Paris with an old friend who you had stayed in touch with via letters. Élodie was only two years your senior but had the most adorable little girl of five years now whose eyes shone like her mother’s. The three of you were going out into Paris for the day to a café that Élodie had heard of where they put on theatre performances. 

You were greatly looking forward to it, having missed the Parisian operas that you once attended with your parents before they sent you away. You were delighted to be going to see a performance once more and with better company this time. The carriage was drawn to a halt outside the café-theatre and you got out after Élodie and her little girl. The three of you made your way to your reserved table, excited for the upcoming performance. You all ordered your coffees and little cakes and your eyes turned towards the stage, looking around at some of the guests, towards the bar where– all the blood drained from your face, your lips parting as tears sprung to your eyes at that familiar face. 

“Élodie, excuse me, I– I need a moment.” You almost stumbled out of your seat, afraid that if you took your eyes off him, he would vanish. He was clad in blue robes, trimmed in red and gold, white straps crossing over his chest that was covered in brown leather and golden buttons. You stood just behind him, a hand shakily reaching out to tap his shoulder, feeling as though you were with a ghost. “Arno?” Your voice came out so quietly that you were surprised he even heard you to turn around. When his eyes met yours, his expression matched the one upon your face. “I thought I’d never see you again…” You wanted to crash against him, to pull him into the tightest hug you could muster and never let go but you knew that there was every chance he did not know your side of the story. 

“Y/n… Where have you been? Where did you go? I wrote to you everyday for a month and–”

“I wasn’t home!” You burst out, wanting to amend this misunderstanding immediately, “My father found out about us and sent me to my aunt’s in Lyon. I’ve only been permitted to return this week and everyone in Versailles said they hadn’t seen you around in years.” You did your best to force down sobs as you looked up at his face, at the new – though, likely not new to him – scar across his nose and cheek. “Arno…” You began, wondering whether or not it would be appropriate to say what you needed to be said after he had been left to assume that you wanted nothing to do with him for so many years. But you lost him once and you wouldn’t allow it to happen again before you confessed this to him: “I never stopped loving you. Not for one second.” His eyes softened entirely and he reached forwards to take your hands, stepping closer to you. 

“Are you here alone?” He asked and it stung a little that he did not say anything in response to your words. 

“No. I’m here with a friend and her daughter.” 

“I’ll have their seats upgraded right now. I have so much to tell you, Y/n, so much.” He squeezed your hands for a moment before it was no longer enough and he threw his arms around you. In turn, you wrapped your arms around his chest and could have wept. The last thing Arno wanted was to ever let you go: he had lost everyone, thought he had lost you too, and now you had come back to him. “I’ll never let you go again.” He whispered against your hair.

🏷️@daddyadler