#I think about Dorian like I'm paid for it sorry

[heliomanteia]

My sole criticism of Veilguard is that I didn't see Dorian "I'm bending over backwards to fight tyranny in my homeland" Pavus hit Solas over the head with a heated "what the fuck do you think you are doing?"

Dorian traveled with us in the future with the Veil brought down and witnessed the horrors it brought (and based off his reactions in DA:I I assume he retained memory of it), then traveled back home to rid it of the very "for greater good", "the old order of the world long gone" stuck up tyrants Solas is a second away from becoming. All of it after Solas was one of the few people to challenge Dorian's past biases and misconceptions born out of being a privileged highblood Tevinter — to add to the irony.

I remain firm in believing that Dorian is the kind of person to care for people he made friends with during Inquisition even if their paths went separately. And knowing (through Inquisitor and Rook, especially if Rook is a Shadow Dragon) what is becoming of Solas, I can't imagine him not feeling this passionate "get a HOLD of yourself" empathy of his that comes with a heated smack over the head and is followed by "I expected better of you".

[owo-writing-man]

I'M SHARING ALL TH3 POEMS WITH RELIGIOUS THEMES. SO IF ITSNT FOR YOU SKIP THIS ONE. IT'S GONNA BE A COUPLE OF THEM

The only one I wrote was the last one. Dorian wrote all the others.

-mac

---------------------------------------

I wish I was normal

No,

But,

God,

Do I really wish it

Stone me for my straying eyes,

Banish me for my impure thoughts,

excommunicate me from the community

But for God's sake I wish I was normal

Forgive me father for my sins,

But i pray I was normal

I pray to the lord that made me this way,

Please God, why can't I be normal?

Do I go astray the loving community for saying this?

Will I get looked down upon?

How could I wish this?

I should be happy I was born this way?

everyday is a gift?

How dare I go against their teachings?

But God,

Dear God,

I wish,

I pray,

I really do,

I want to be normal.

---------------------------------------

A prayer that never made it to god

please let me be okay

Let it all be alright please

I'll do anything

Let this be okay

I don't want to be like this much either

But you made me

So you know I'm like this

Please make it okay

There's so much that's wrong

There's so much hell and suffering

that seems to be going on

For people like me

And i just don't understand why

God,

Dear God,

Why?

I know this isn't your will

You're not supposed to be hateful like this

So God,

Dear God,

Why are you doing this?

Maybe its not you

Maybe its the people

Maybe its the people

who use your name in vain

Because maybe I'm using your name in vain

Maybe I'm praying for the damned

Maybe its me and others like me

But I really think the people who are using your name in vain

are the people who damned me

the people acting like this is the will you want

Is this the will you want

Dear God,

My God,

Please don't make this happen.

Please make this stop

Please make it end

Maybe praying is useless

Maybe there's no point in begging you a god who's probably never paid attention to anyone once in its life

But please

My Dear God,

make this end.

Make this stop

Make me safe

Make the people like me safe

That's what I want

That's truly what I want

Please

Out of all the prayers you could hear

out of all the things you can grant

I really

really hope this is one of them

please

Damned God,

The damned's God.

---------------------------------------------

Dear God,

Do you love me?

Is heaven what I imagined?

If so, I don't want to go.

Will I even go to heaven?

Am I going to hell?

Was Dad right?

Do you not care about us?

Was this some sick joke?

I'm scared.

I feel alone.

Are you there?

Do you care about me?

Am I going to heaven?

Am I going to hell?

Do I belong in either?

Am I the person you wanted me to be?

Are you real?

Are you there?

Do you care?

Do you love me?

Do you hate me?

You must hate me.

---------------------------------------

Dear lord,

In your house of holiness

Will you bless me tonight.

In your house of forgiveness,

Will you atone me of my sins.

In your house of love,

Will you show me your love.

My Lord,

Can I be holy?

Can you forgive me?

Can you love me?

I'm sorry I am this way.

But God you understand.

You are forgiving.

It is your plan.

Promise me I didn't stray from your plan.

God I love you.

I would never betray you.

I'll repent if I have to.

Tell me I don't have.

-----------------------------------

[destinyc1020]

Confession:

I check N's account every now and then. My parasocial self thinks she still have something for Tom. She often post stories whenever T or Z go viral. Few things I remember:

1. Her posting being at Soho House (I think in London) in 2023 when Tom celebrated his birthday in Soho House (US) with his family and Z.

2. Her posting on Sept 1 or 2 2022 (depending on the timezone) and captioned it Good old goods. Well what I see on the post is she wants to show that she's out and happy (nothing wrong about that but girl, why sept 2 of all dates?)

3. When Tom went viral because of fixing his girl's door, N posted a story about his current boyfriend being a handy man or something to that effect (well I admit I may be overthinking this one and my understanding of British humor could be wrong)

4. Shared a story about attending Dorian Gray opening night which happened the same day as Dune 2 premiere in London (and TZ went viral that day as expected)

Sorry for the rant, just need to let it out..

Thanks Anon for your confession....

I'm just going to be honest here since that's what I usually am on my blog lol. I'll give you my honest opinion. 😅

I'll first be honest and admit that I really haven't paid much attention to N (if at all) since 2021 lol.

Once it became apparent that Tom dumped her to get back with Z, and he and Z were starting a relationship back up again, I really didn't see the need to follow whatever N was doing tbh.

I mean, maybe you might be on to smthg? But my honest feeling is that you might just be reading a little too much into innocuous things. Just because N posts on the same day as smthg going on with TZ doesn't automatically mean she's not over Tom or over a breakup.

She and Tom barely dated each other... 👀 It's not like they dated each other for years upon years, or even went out on dates like a regular couple (most of their time together was spent indoors during the Covid-19 shutdown).

Honestly? It's 2024. If she were still pining after a guy that dumped her almost 4 years ago back in 2020, I'd say that it's time for her to go to therapy and figure out what's going on there, coz that's not normal. 👀😬

With that said, I personally doubt N is still holding a torch for Tom. It was pretty obvious when she was throwing shade re: their breakup, but after 2021, I haven't seen her behaving in that manner. I also kind of get the feeling that she made peace with the whole thing long time ago.

Sometimes, I think fans forget that Tom was actually her rebound from Stanley. Tom himself was also still rebounding (imo) when he dated N. 🤷🏾‍♀️

I really don't think it was as serious as some fans made the thing out to be tbh.

Last I checked, N seems perfectly happy with her new beau. ☺️

[yekkiz]

it’s that time of year again… 🎄🎅🎉🎊 no. the highlights of your 2023 media consumption of course! just like last year, i want to know your top 5 films, books, tv shows, songs/albums, pop culture moments if that’s your thing, and as a bonus: any favourite personal moment/achievement in the last year? new to you, new in release, either works! can’t wait to see your response and wishing you a happy new year! 😁🩷

HEY!!! I'm adding media I've loved this year wether it was released this year or not if thats ok but most of these did in fact release during 2023

long paragraph..,,

top 5 films

Beau is afraid - absolute favorite 2023 movie, Ari Aster will never fail to get into the depths of my brain in such beautiful and traumatising ways...it was truly a ride - watched it twice in the span of a week because the itch inside couldn't stop itching god it was so good, it felt like a dream and a nightmare and god knows how bad i love things that feel like dreams and nightmares, the mystery of what it means to "dream"

Talk to me - YES!!!! great horror!!!!! BEST montage scene of the year (yes. that scene with Le Monde song) great great great rhythm it felt like 2000s horror. simple main plot doesn't always mean its gonna be predictable or boring, LOVE a good "not so original" idea when its greatly made and this is the perfect example! classic horror is so back

Infinity pool - insane. loved every second of this. original premise, critic message, GREAT cast, sick visuals...Mia Goth the actress that you are

M3GAN - camp! not much else to say really. watched it a couple times during the year it's just become a personal comfort movie i just love that doll shes everything to me

Pearl - yeah I watched this way too late.........for an A24 horror enjoyer.... sorry father for i have sinned. Rewired my brain chemistry, changed my life forever, did irreversible damage on my psyche etc. Beautiful splendind wonderful i CAN'T wait for maxxxine

top ¿? shows

haven't watched many remarkable shows but there we go with my little ranking...

Severance - incredible visuals, incredible storyline, amazing concept overall, can't wait for season 2

Better Call Saul - this show is all I breathe and Im genuinely worried that I won't be able to like a show as much as I like bcs - fav show i've ever watched, genuinely

La Mesías - best 2023 spanish show.............i love shows i love media i love art. when i watch things like this i feel so honored i'm able to witness such things for so little payment like. this isnt worth a suscription i feel like i owe more for letting me see such thing. i feel like im a voyeur when i encounter media that's so carefully made, with so much taste and eye for detail...like i shouldn't be allowed to watch through my laptop screen in my bedroom . just wow if you have the chance and find a sub version i can't recommend it enough

that was my top 2023, other shows ive watched...just rewatched the office, currently rewatching breaking bad, I think you should leave...

top 5 albums/songs

Desire, I want to turn into you - Caroline Polachek - so ethereal, so dreamy, feels like a movie and like when you fall in love and start noticing things you usually never paid attention to - the beauty of your hometown, your lover's hands or how their smile folds in certain ways when they see you, even how you perceive yourself differently

fav track - either I believe or butterfly net

Fanfare - Dorian Electra - from one extreme to the other..complete chaos and noise and I'm soooooo seated for it! such a complete album with 0 skips, always gonna love a fame themed record that talks about things that aren't relatable at all and gotta love the pop culture moments aswell, they're always so campy yet manage to be deep at times i love an unserious but self aware king what can i say!

fav track - wanna be a star

American Gurl - Kilo Kish - oh i love love this album i love the sound of it, the videogame vibe...every single song is so addictive I'll be minding my business and a random song from this album will pop into my head

fav track - no apology!

Preacher's Daughter - Ethel Cain - well this was certainly something it literally felt like a horror movie and of course I'm so here for it. terrifying, disgusting, sent shivers down my spine the first time I heard it on full length...and still does when I do. such a great album and def one of the best ones ive ever heard, top 5 for sure

fav track - family tree

Ultraviolence - Lana del Rey - yeah i'm 10 years late and thank god I am bc only god knows the irreversible damage this would have done to teenager me

fav track - florida kilos

2023 personal highlights

started the year doing a really nice trip that somehow helped me clear thoughts about my future

I got accepted into the masters degree I wanted which also gave me the chance to meet so many cool people and make so many good friends <3

I've been able to draw soooooooo much - my arm is doing sooo much better

got a tattoo I really wanted! got that flash design in my mind for a while and it's finally on me

this year was so hard for me and my family and it was such a challenge. I'm so proud we could manage through it all, and hopefully this year is easier on us

thanks so much for the ask Imo! sorry I wrote a lot and half of it it's just nonsense though!! I wish you a happy new year <333

[acourtofquestions]

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

Chaolaena 🤝 Gracie Abrams

“I told the truth, oh, but you didn't like it, you went home.” — Celaena turning into Aelin as she leaves and says those words I love you, I’m sorry

“Charm all the people you train for, you mean well but aim low. And I'll make it known like I'm getting paid.” — Her trying to get by, get back from Endovier, become the King’s Champion, keep her own rules & values even as they all think she’s a killer for hire instead of the one saving these people, the show she puts on for her freedom, but prices it does ask & she pays.

“I like to slam doors closed.” — You will always be my enemy.

“Trust me, I know it's always about me.” — The worlds most wanted assassin, the love triangles, the Queen who was Promised, all these titles he doesn’t even know are adding up to her.

“Thankful you don't send someone to kill me” — I mean come on, has a line been more them during their breakup?

— And then we get to THE bridge: —

You were the best but you were the worst. — Chaol reflecting back on them.

As sick as it sounds, I loved you first. — Aelin reflecting back on them, & how it was always Chaol… even with Dorian.

I was a dick, it is what it is. — Yes. Either way😂

A habit to kick, the age-old curse. — Aelin trying to hide who she was, to be better, not another Tyrant, not another Queen of Assassins, yet trapped in the same: under a crown, under a league, under a cursed path chosen by the gods to kill her.

I tend to laugh whenever I'm sad. — Aelin, my love. Those first Celaena chapters as they marvel at this broken girl who still smiles & laughs & stares at stars.

Stare at the crash, it actually works. — watching it all fall down over & over again. Watching Archer; the same shot that haunts Chaol.

Making amends, this shit never ends. — the two of them go through this over & over & over… mostly cause the trust is always a little broken… even just in the fact he once addresses “a son of Adarlan and a daughter of Terrasen”

I'm wrong again, wrong again. — Aelin thinking she has found it; she is Celaena & it is Sam. She is Lillian & it is Dorian. She is Elentiya & it is Chaol. Vice-Versa: Chaol and Lithain, Chaol and Celaena, Chaol waiting for Aelin, Chaol and Nesryn. Until they (kind of help each-other) find the right one: Rowan & Yrene.

[puffpasstea]

Matilda

Chapter 2

Read Chapter 1 here.

Harry was surprisingly easy to talk to. All my apprehension about going into an appointment unprepared had melted away as soon as we got into the rhythm of the conversation.

"I'm relatively new to all of this. 'researching for a character,' I mean. and acting, in general." He smiled meekly and leaned in a bit closer to me as he spoke, as if confessing a secret.

"Right. That's why you're signed with Marvel" I said unselfconsciously but immediately tried to walk it back, "I mean, that's what I've heard... I don't know."

He shook his head and chuckled. I watched his chest rise and fall and wondered how even his laugh could put me at ease.

"What I meant to say was that I could use all the help that I can get here. My last English class was at 16, so, it's not exactly all fresh in my mind."

"Well, why don't I take a look at the literary references that your character is making in the script and we can pull some materials from there?" I asked flipping through my notepad, looking for nothing in particular.

"Not sure about that." He leaned against the wall as he spoke. "I mean I'm not sure I'm allowed to share the script."

"Oh, yes, of course..." I felt my face turn red with embarrassment.

As if reading my mind, Harry spoke again, "Not that you're not a completely trustworthy stranger"

I laughed.

" Seriously, it's a great idea though! I'll just have to make sure I can show you everything first."

"In the meantime, maybe tell me about your favorite books and authors? Maybe I can give you some recommendations, or ways to incorporate them into your prep?"

His grin was wide and toothy. "okay, yes. Favorite authors? hmmm..." He gazed into the distance trying to recollect some names and titles.

"Emerson?"

I nodded. "Solid start, okay, what else?"

"Murakami-"

"hmm..."

"What's wrong with Murakami? Oh and Bukowski!"

His eyes widened at the hissing sound that I made in response.

"What? He's VERY expressive."

"And sexist."

"I like to think he's self-consciously making fun of typical masculine thinking by portraying it that way...."

"That's very sweet of you, Harry. Don't worry I won't hold it against you."

"Okay, fine, who are your favorites?"

"Oh, man. name a genre, or time period. Just overall? Mary Shelley, Oscar Wilde, Charlotte Bronte. I specialized in Shakespeare for a while. But-"

Turning to look at him, his smile and piercing green eyes caught me off-guard.

"wow, you're, like, a proper Matilda."

"Like from Roald Dahl you mean? well, no. I mean, I get paid to do this."

"And soon I'll be getting paid to pretend to do this." he smiled sheepishly.

As we walked past the bookshelves on our way back out, Harry slowed down and turned towards the "W" stacks, stopping there to browse.

"Can I help you find something?" I offered.

"Think I've got it," he reached to one of the top shelves to grab Oscar Wilde's The Picture Of Dorian Gray. In an effort to be helpful, and "do my job" I stood on my tiptoes attempting to reach upward and get it for him, but, since I'm significantly shorter than he is, I only stumbled and got in his way.

"I'm so sorry!" I gasped as my back bumped into his chest. The scent of his cologne as intoxicating as the feeling of his breath on the back of my neck. I could feel my heartbeat through my entire body.

"It's okay. You're alright?" He placed a hand on my shoulder to help steady me.

" I'm okay. Just short." I quickly scrambled out of his way, letting him get the book.

At the front desk, Harry and Fran made small talk while I attempted to scan the book out for him, talking twice as long with our entire interaction --complete with me almost knocking us both down-- replayed in my mind, causing me to misspell the book details repeatedly.

"It's all yours for the next 60 days." I slid the book across the table towards him.

"I'll let you know how I like it. And about sharing the script if possible!"

Harry was barely out the door before Fran had turned to me and said "so? he's handsome. tell me everything."

***

As the next three days went by, I found myself wondering, in spite of my attempts not to, if Harry would come in soon. Glancing at the door every time anybody walked into the library, wondering if Harry was enjoying Oscar Wilde, wondering if he'd share the details of his film-in-progress one day...it all felt childish. However, it also felt like a refreshing change from the usually thought spirals that ordinarily occupied my mind.

I'd moved out here for this job shortly before the nearly two-year global health hazard hit the world. Libraries, thanks to ebook access, and inter-library loan programs, were among the first to go online. Now that everything's back to normal, I find my social life non-existent. I have yet to get a chance to meet anybody or go anywhere which often makes me wonder if moving out here on my own was the right decision, if there's something wrong with me that makes me unapproachable or unfit for socialization. But every time my phone buzzes with a notification from my parents, I'm reminded that my isolated existence is still better than being around a family that makes me feel alone when I'm around them. What if I'm wrong though? What if I need to be more forgiving?

on the morning of the fourth day, unable to sleep and haunted by doubts about how I've chosen to live my life, I walked into work earlier than I needed to be there only to find Harry and Fran sharing breakfast and laughing loudly.

Harry had grabbed a chair and was sitting on the opposite end of the front desk with his back to the door. Luckily, he couldn't see the startled look on my face, nor could he see me smile and fix my hair using my reflection in the glass doors before I'd approached him.

"Matilda! You're here!" He smiled and reached over to the improvised breakfast buffet that he and Fran had set up to grab me a cup of coffee.

"Matilda?" Fran asked.

"It's a thing." Harry responded nonchalantly before turning back to me and asking "cream? sugar?"

"uhh, no, just black thanks...what's all this?" I gestured towards the food.

"Harry brought breakfast." Fran said, handing me a bagel. "You should eat. She never eats, you know."

I frowned and watched as Harry grabbed me a chair. " Here, sit. And do eat please. You're gonna need your strength. We have a lot of work to do." He leaned over and produced a stack of papers from his backpack.

I smiled at his use of "we."

"So, you're cleared to read the script" he patted the stack of pages before handing them to me. "But," he placed a folder on top of the script, "not before you sign some paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"It just says that you promise not to disclose the details of the script or filming process to any media outlets, and that if you do, the production company has the right to sue you for all you're worth. That sort of thing."

"Ah. Standard stuff. It's not like I'll know much about filming anyway..." I said reaching for a pen from behind the counter to put my signature to these forms.

"well, that brings me to the next thing. How'd you like to work with us?"

"who's us?"

"Well, me. And the set designers. Tell us what sorts of books we should have in the background of certain scenes, at each character's home, that sort of thing. Would you be interested?"

[nochiquinn]

campaign 3 episode 33:

not to MiCrOeXpReSsIoNs but laura does not seem to enjoy this ad

why does that seem like a very short preorder

or is it bc I don't makeup

now I know Laura doesn't enjoy it, bc sam keeps doing it

the pure joy on matt's face 🥺

"that's a marisha thing! laudna has never said 'copy' in her damn life!"

matt really does look good in that vest, it's a good color on him

how serious fearne was when she told mister to go to laudna

matt's grudge against mister continues

travis' accent just went FULL texas

"you're pretty close to the legs already" that would feel like a microaggression if liam wasn't the first person to talk about how short orym is always

HOLE CHECK

okay that's cool

"fool me once" kind of thing

yeah yeah fuck yeah

YEAH YEAH FUCK YEAH

IN

fuck the WHAT

"I haven't driven one of these but I was one once"

laudna

lauDNA

I mean that makes sense, hard to have the upper hand on someone you don't know is there

I desperately want this animated

the hole-bearer

"not until I hear from the boss" "you mean keyleth?" "she's not here."

this was byplay but give me all the meta of orym not exactly swapping his loyalties but opening them up

polyloyal

"smash cut to the title"

the squeak echo

guess how much attention I've paid

Are They Within Ten Feet Of Me

chetney

oh. oh shit.

oh SHIT

oh well fuck

you leave revolution grandpa ALONE

is. is that a bluff. letters is that a bluff.

SAM IS THAT A BLUFF

use a WHAT

oh dear

it's bad we're running

welP

hey travis I hate it

"orym can't run away, bc he protecc" HE COULD THOUGH

keyleth, beautiful under the trees…

orym wake up……I don't like this…..

"wave of mutilation" "name of my high school band"

HEY

HEY MATT

"spread your wings and fly, bitch"

chetney's fomo

imogen you useless lesbian

SCREAMS

wait but

does laudna HAVE a heartbeat?

"let's go before travis wants a new character"

remember when they were all convinced SAM was gonna off all his characters

STOP IT

the sendinG STONE LIAM I'M GONNA

"I know I'm gonna see will and derrig again" I AM GOING TO FIGHT YOU

YOU TOO MATT

NO ONE IS SAFE

liam clinging onto travis

the get anders meme but GET KEYLETH

(I still do not actually know what the Get Anders meme actually was)

"sorry we were scheming"

oh the appropriately understated creepy whispers for her being Extremely Focused

otohan daschund

"all the women in my life just staring at each other"

HEY MATT WHAT THE FUCK

"that was a hell of a run" ashlEY

don't think about dorian don't think about dorian don't think about dorian

I'm going to fully pass out

I HAVE to believe there's something happening where they're gonna wake up on the fucking moon or something

or this is one big imogen nightmare

or SOMETHING, matt is not usually this ruthless of a dm

and he's letting them roll back and forth and retcon so much dklfjsldjs

something something persona 4 adachi fight

HEY MATT

skdjfskd 3 am callback

GET HER TENDONS

great googly moogly it's all gone to shit

REVERSE SEPHIROTH I'm gonna steal his shinbones

I DESPERATELY want this animated

what

matt opening next episode: fire.

[morgensdale]

Killshot [Dorian Gray X Reader]

• I looked up the Dorian Gray tag two days ago and found nothing written about him so I decided to change that ;) I'm obsessed with this man so why not really. Please like and reblog if you could, much thanks <3

Warnings: language, light smut, kissing, angst.

It was another late night at the bar you'd usually worked at, people coming and leaving, stumbling couples and chattering prostitutes, dancers fetching drinks here and there as you served them pleasantly.

You had worked as a bartender for a good year now, it paid off rather very well and you were happy doing the job. Not that you liked to drink at all, you'd once tried it but refrained as it's not the drink for you. And the best part of being a bartender was meeting cute guys almost every single day, you would never make a move on any though, some would flirt and throw trashy comments on how you dressed since the bar you worked at had a theme and you got to stick to it. Tight pants, tight shirts, bold make up, etc.

Until one day a tall, long haired gentleman walked into the bar, his two other friends tagging along the same table. You couldn't help but stare, he'd come and order so many drinks a night and you'd happy serve and flirt back, in fact he was being the most respectful ever it made your heart jump how he's not like all the other lads that would come here. Filthy.

It lead to one conversation after another, you thought you'd only see him when he came along with his two very grown friends, he looked around your age, stunning black eyes and brown hair you'd notice from a mile... but then he started coming alone, often sitting at the bar, watching you serve. Sometimes he wouldn't order, you would insist he'd at least have water on the house (Your boss caught you twice, wasn't happy with customers not paying) but you didn't care, he looked very lonely, and lovely. You'd have bonding conversations and what not all that was even before you got to know his name. "I'm Dorian." He said with a faint smirk that made your heart twist in your chest, and from then you'd often meet around the bar, he'd invite you for food, for coffee. Even.

Things was running so smoothly with you two until he stopped showing up to dates, not even come around the bar. You feared he might be thrown off over something you did or said, you haven't seen him for a good week now. It broke your heart entirely, you had no idea how to take it, you had no idea what to say to him after he's back.

One night the bar emptied earlier than usual, you were cleaning the bar table and some glasses, tidying up the place after your late night shift was over, hearing a subtle clicking noises you put the cloth down and stared to where the noise came from. And then you saw the same long- longer brown hair pop up. He was there, in front of you. You hadn't realised you were shaking,  it was a month since you'd last seen Dorian, since you'd last talked to him. "Dorian?" You asked, coming around the bar, having no idea how your legs picked you up at this point. He looked blank, ashen. He looked tired, not the usual look he had.

You walked closer to him. "I'm sorry." Was all he said ever since he'd walked in. "Dorian i-" you said and stopped yourself, you didn't want to excuse his behaviour without even any excuses being mentioned yet. He took a gentle step towards you, his face going into the light that had come from the ceiling, his face as perfect as ever, his eyes still as dark as you remembered them. You didn't know what came next as he grabbed your face into his palms and kissed you, kissed you hard enough that you felt the breath was knocked out of you. You whimpered against his mouth but you gave in and kissed back, this was indeed your first kiss with him.

And thinking he might disappear again after this, hating yourself for thinking like that. You kissed him even harder until you both tripped over each other, tumbling across the bar floor which you thankfully had wiped before he'd arrive. Your back hit the floor rather a bit hard as you moaned against him, he only pulled away to kiss down your neck until you pushed him off. "What the hell?!" You yelled , feeling frustrated with his behaviour. What was even happening? "What is this- what- what is all this- what do you want from me!? You leave- you leave without a trace for a month and then you- come and do this!" You said, wiping your mouth as you screamed at him. Tears building behind your eyes, a lump being formed in the back of your throat, your chest as heavy as ever.

His face fell, he knew he fucked up. His face said it all, he ran a hand through his hair and shifted closer to you, only for you to back away from him. Still feeling the heaviness of his lips on yours, the kiss still lingering on your neck as well, you shivered. "Stuff happened and- I needed to stay away, I didn't know- I didn't know I'd hurt you." Dorian said, pulling his knees to his chest. His eyes slowly finding yours, you hated the way he made you feel. You were so sure of him but you weren't so sure anymore now. "You broke my heart, hurt is too little of a word." You bit your lip, hoping it would make the feeling of his lips on yours go away but it didn't work, you hadn't realise you wanted more.

He put his hands over his face and you heard him sigh, his hands dropping to his side, His eyes finding yours again. "I want to be with you, more than anything." He said again, it all seems just excuses, part of you wanted to believe him but the other told you run. "You didn't think it through, when you decided to just leave me hanging. " You said, your eyes glaring into his. "I would spend my whole life apologising, if that's what it takes." Dorian said, his eyes had this glow in them, it's compelling. You sighed and fought against it. Telling him to go was easier than whatever was happening now, risking he may leave again, disappear forever this time. You wanted this, you wanted him. You felt stupid for it but you've been so alone for so long, it felt right with him, so right. You knew nothing could go wrong at first but then everyone makes mistakes, you can't push him off from the first one. As long as he tries to do better is what matters.

But you still needed time to think it through, now and that your boss gave you extra hours of work because of some other bartenders taking breaks. You felt so exhausted, you needed a release, a bath and a good nap. You felt yourself sigh once more before you stood up. "Dorian go home." You let yourself say, you didn't want to but things came together all at once, you're not sure you can handle it.

"No." He said before standing up, towering over you. "You're all I thought about, when I was away and I couldn't stop- you can't tell me to leave now."

"I just did."

"Do you really want me to leave?" He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. No, you wanted to say. No I don't want you to. You wanted to say so badly, words didn't come out and for that he really walked away from you. Making sure You took a good look at him for that may be the last time you ever see him, probably.

Two days later you finally asked your boss for a day off, another bartender took your place until you took time to cool off, deal with your heartbreak and sleep deprivation. Later that night you heard a faint knock at your door, it was around midnight and the neighbourhood was quiet around this time. The streets were also pretty dark which you loved. You walked from your room to the door, twisting the handle to find Dorian standing on the other side of the door, his hands shoved into his pockets, his hair wet. You had no idea it was raining. "Come in." You said, stepping to the side, his clothes didn't catch much water as his hair did, He looked perfect though. You closed the door behind him, crossing your arms to your chest. Him being at your place pricked at your veins, you felt more nervous than the obnoxious kiss you'd both shared two nights ago. "You're all I thought about." He had said two nights ago, not wanting to leave but only doing it because you'd asked him to.

Not finding the right words you decided to help him get warmer first, dry his hair as you gave him a cup of tea he held with his pale hands. You only sat across from him, a different couch. your heart hammering against your chest as you looked at him with the corner of your eyes to find him staring at you. The feeling of him against you two nights ago came rushing back, that kiss on your neck was hard enough to leave a mark you had hidden with your hair.

He sat the cup down, turning his body towards you. "Can we talk?" He said, his accent hitting every word he'd said. You only nodded, you felt like your voice was hidden and wouldn't come out. "I want to sort this out, with you.. anything you need, just tell me." He said, his eyes catching the fire from the fire place in the distance, he looked so honest and sincere it melted your hear. I want you to kiss me like you did two nights ago. But of course you couldn't say it, you only hoped he somewhat felt the same at all. "I- I want you to be honest with me.." You finally found the right words to say. "About?"

"No, just general honesty.. if you want space, tell me. I would understand." You said and with that he just nodded. You hoped he might leave after this but he didn't, you fought the urge to want him ever since he'd Came to your place. "I don't need space from you." He added after a minute or two. "I want you more than ever." He said then, your knees felt like jelly at that second he got up and walked to where you sat, placing his hands on your thigh

separating your legs gently as he went in between them, on his knees. His face inches from yours before you gave in and kissed him, hungrily, aggressively. A clash of tongues teeth and mouths. Your fingers raking through his freshly dried hair as his hands brought you closer to him, he tasted like tea and honey which made you smile against his mouth before his fingers went underneath your shirt, finding their way to your breasts and giving them a light squeeze before you gasped at his touch.

Pulling away for a second to talk to him, your lips still few inches away. He only leaned closer before you spoke up. "I haven't... before." You said and his eyes changed into a reflection of worry and understanding at the same time. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to." His fingers still being inside your shirt he took them off with that. "No- no I want to." You said reaching and holding his hands into yours, he'd searched your eyes as you nodded to assure him once more. "I want you." You whispered before he grabbed your face again, his lips finding yours into another hungry kiss. Better than the one you shared at the bar, you hadn't realised you were leaning closer and closer until you were shifted from your seat on the couch and you fell into his lap, your knees clashing with the hard floor which made you yelp into his mouth, breaking a small laughter. "Ouch." You said before he smiled too, his cheeks flushed red before he grabbed your waist and your leg with his hands, laying you down on the floor, your laughing died down as he leaned in and kissed your neck, soft kisses that made you close your eyes and take it in, your hands finding their way into his hair. He bit on your skin gently before licking it to soothe the pain continuing the kisses all the way down to your shoulder then your chest, he looked up at you before he'd grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. You helped him help you take off your shirt, remembering the time you had been waiting for him to show up after a while of his disappearance, wishing he'd ever be here and there he was.. all over you, it felt so surreal, it was happening too fast. "Dorian wait." You said and he stopped whatever he was doing, his eyes looking into yours.

"This is happening too fast.." You said. "Did I do something wrong?" He asked and you shook your head. "No- god no way you're perfect. I'm just- I don't think I'm ready yet.. and with us- I just got you back and I want us to talk." You said, sitting up and grabbing your shirt back. "You're right, I'm sorry.. For everything." He'd said. You were grateful he wasn't persistent or pushy, but you still felt like he's way into his own head and you wished you could let him open up to you, tell you what he's thinking about.

He leaned against the couch, watching the fire place burn as you put your shirt back on, kneeling beside him. "Hey." You said, leaning your head over his shoulder. "Whatever you want me to tell you, I can't do it." Dorian spoke up. "Why not?"

"I just can't" he snapped his towards yours. You had no other choice but to leave it behind, and go along with whatever he may wish to tell you. "Alright." You said, nodding. His eyes a burning flame, he searched your face for a brief second before looking away.

You weren't gonna push him away for it, you're gonna stay by his side for whatever it's worth. You leaned against his shoulder and let yourself fall asleep, best night of sleep you've gotten for a good month now.

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

--

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

[blarrghe]

I. Wish to learn. About the inquisitors shiny cape

Been putting this off, sorry! So I drew some outfits/hairstyles for my Inquisitor a while ago and as I did a little ficlet popped into my mind for each and every one. This is the one for this art, in which the Inquisitor has a Shiny Cape.

(No guarantees on me finishing them any time soon, but psa that anyone can go ahead an request a ficlet for any of the other outfits, too...) --

Inquisitor Taren Lavellan swept into the room with a swoosh. A silvery blue cape swung about him as he stepped lightly across the woven rug that kept his feet from freezing on the floors of their chambers, high in a tower of the fortress Skyhold.

Their chambers, hidden away atop a mountain. Plenty of rabble and riffraff to deal with outside the fortress' walls and even just downstairs, but not behind those doors. It was actually official now, Josephine had made them sign something. And Dorian liked that, their chambers.

"Dorian," he hopped up to the place where Dorian lay lounging, leaning with a book across from a low-burning fire on a very comfortable Orlesian settee. Josephine had bought the settee during the Inquisitor's last lengthy foray into the field. She'd bought it because Taren had the habit of spending his free moments outside on a garden bench, and, in her words, "the poor dear was going to catch cold." Taren kissed Dorian on the cheek, and the brush of Dorian's skin with Taren's own cold cheeks as he did revealed that he had clearly not yet given up his habit of spending the majority of his sitting-and-thinking hours outside. "I have made a very exciting discovery," the Inquisitor declared.

Dorian closed his book and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The Inquisior nodded, grinning. "First, be honest. How do I look?" he asked.

Dorian moved the book to his side and sat up, lifting from his leaning sprawl over the length of the short couch to swing his legs forward and work his eyes slowly up and down the length of Taren's body. "You look..." Dashing as ever. Roguish smile, unruly hair -- though a little more ruled than usual today. He'd braided some of it back and left the rest to curl. The cape, shimmering around him like silk threaded sky, brought out the deep moss green and spark of life in in his eyes. He gave it all a spin while Dorian considered, twirling in place like that braided cord carpet was the great hall of the winter palace. "Very nice, actually," Dorian smirked back at the Inquisitor's small slanted smile, a smile which always seemed ready to crack into laughter at any moment. "For what occasion are you all dressed up, my Lord Inquisitor?"

The Inquisitor dropped his cape, letting its shimmering liquid silk pool onto the floor. "I'm not," he said, smile widening to a grin. "Look at this shirt," he pulled a bit of fabric forward, away from his torso where it fell loosely and comfortably over his slim frame, "what do you think it's made of?" Dorian shook his head, and gave the fabric an obligatory pinch. It was fairly soft, though a little stiff to the touch, as though recently washed and sun-dried, dyed a faded pale green, loosely spun. "Linen," he answered. "Linen!" The Inquisitor beamed. "And these trousers?" He lifted and tucked away the ends of his tunic, the soft green linen shirt had obscured a pair of very ordinary trousers. A deeper green, tapering at the calves where simple leather ankle braces met his feet in the elvhen style of a barely-there sandal. Unremarkable, until he touched them. They were very soft, and upon closer inspection between his thumb and forefinger, subtly embossed. "Velvet," he noted, jealously impressed, "embossed with --" he leaned forward. He'd thought at first that the Inquisitor had managed to incorporate Dalish designs into his formal wear, as he did sometimes with his more casual ensembles -- when he paid his outfits any mind at all, that was. There was a shawl he liked, with ancient and fraying Dalish embroidery, a bag he stuffed to spilling that was decorated in careful beadwork. But upon closer inspection, the art on his current trousers was not Dalish at all, but Tevene. His pants were all spiralled in snakes. "Are you making a statement about me with velvet-embossed trousers?" "You noticed!" Dorian laughed, falling back against the cushions of the settee. "Who taught you that?" The settee, too, was upholstered in embossed velvet. Dorian suspected Josephine had known just with whom to place her orders. "You did," Taren answered, still grinning, "I listen when you talk." Dorian let out an amused snort. "No you don't," he teased, "I have more than once caught you napping." "I do!" The Inquisitor protested lightly in return. "And I noticed when you made one about me." "Oh?" "You always have a square of embroidered dales laden wool now, its worked into everything you wear." "Aha," Dorian flicked an eye once more across the Inquisitor's form before him, admiring his easy posture and simple ensemble of linens and velvets one more time before pulling him down into a seat, into his lap, into a seat on his lap with his happy green eyes sparkling into his from mere inches away. Splaying his fingers across the smooth velvet on his thighs, pulling him closer and feeling the give of his body through the thin linen of his shirt.

"Yes," he kissed him, quickly and with a proud smile. "That is about you. But you didn't need to notice that, amatus, it wasn't for you to notice. It is for the people who notice these things to notice. You don't need to become one of them." "Well, I listened when you talked, and now I notice things." The Inquisitor waggled his eyebrows playfully, "the things I wouldn't do for your love." "Madman." Dorian kissed him again, longer this time. Deeply.

"So, watch this," with a flush still in his cheeks, Taren sprang back up, away from Dorian's hold on the couch, and picked his cape gingerly from the floor. He gave it a shake, then threw it round his shoulders again and sealed it quickly at his collar with a simple silver clasp. "Fancy, right?" Dorian chuckled as he shook his head. "Your definition of fancy…" "I could meet dignitaries in this." "You could meet dignitaries." Taren crossed the room to a dresser, where he found a large Inquisitorial pin, heavy with its golden sword and flaming eye, and added it to his ensemble. "And now?" Dorian laughed again; it really did elevate the outfit. "The king of Ferelden," he said, "but if the Queen-Consort were to be present I'm afraid you'd need a couple more medals. She's real nobility and a national hero, after all." "I've met the king of Ferelden. You were there, remember?" Taren replied as he turned again to search through a small chest on the dresser, "we were both covered in blood and ichor. He didn't seem to mind. "Fine," Dorian agreed, still mildly chuckling through it, "I suppose with the right earrings, you could treat with the empress of Orlais in that outfit." Taren returned from the dresser holding up a pair of golden hoops to match his pin. "How about these?" "Mm, the winter palace should throw another ball." "See?" He returned the earrings and the pin carefully to their places, then returned again to Dorian. Taren flopped onto the seat himself this time, landing beside Dorian with his cape billowing about him in ripples like the lyrium shimmer of a barrier spell.

The look suited him in more ways than one. Outside of the walls of his fortress he dressed practically, but soft fabrics and shiny baubles brought out his eyes and smile in a way that rough leather and metal armour never would. Yet in the brief moments that he hadn't spent fighting, he'd only been picked apart -- from his ears to his lack of shoes. Skyhold had become a home, but a restrictive one. He'd never cared much about appearances, and Dorian had nothing but appreciation for that insistent rebellion, but even he had been guilty of talking his ear off on the necessity of style when his chambers had become theirs.

But he looked, now, like he belonged. On this couch, in these chambers, with his shimmering spell of a fancy cape and his entirely too comfortable clothes beneath. Comfortable and yet impressive, the confidence of a Herald and the heart of a healer. It was funny, in its own twisted way, that the Inquisitor was supposed to heal the world. Everyone said so, and Blight it he wanted to, but most of the time bringing about peace and healing was the farthest thing down on his long list of duties. The world needed its Herald, and Taren Lavellan was, miraculously, the best suited person Dorian could ever imagine for the job, biased though he was. And yet, never did the world seem to want him. Not as he was. Except right here, in their chambers. Taren leaned into him, shrugging from his cape and pushing it to one side until it was draped over an armrest, curling closer as he took up Dorian's discarded book. "All I need is a nice cloak and some shiny shit, and I can wear whatever I want and still look important," he rounded off the declaration of his important new discovery, beaming. "Mm, I don't know," Dorian plucked the book from his hands and tossed it to the armrest with his cape. "Personally I believe all of this would look better tossed on the floor." He began tugging on the tunic, loosening its laces at the collar, "and these look very important…" he dropped a soft kiss to the edge of his collar bone, poked a rougher one under the fabric at his shoulder. Taren laughed a tickled laugh, and pulled himself back around onto Dorian's lap, his too soft shirt already half lifted.

[transfenris-truther]

Dragon age inquisition blorbos!

Thanks for the ask! I don't actually talk about characters I dislike much, so if you're a fan of the characters I don't like, I'm sorry. Know that I think that's completely valid. Inquisition had some polarizing chacters in it and that's part of the fun.

Blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): Genuinely hard to answer. Probably Dorian, but he only SLIGHTLY edges out Iron Bull.

Scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) Dagna is delightful in every iteration. But so is Scout Harding. There's a history there with Dagna though, like every time I look at her I'm like, I paid your tuition and I'd do it again.

Scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) Okay, so people will say she's not underappreciated but she DEFINITELY is. Vivienne is one of the best characters in Dragon Age hands down and the whole fandom sleeps on her because she's unromancable, a woman and Black. Yeah she's pro-circle... Kinda? But she's literally the only person making pro-circle arguments that actually make sense. She's trying to draw attention to problems that a lot of the people in the rebellion haven't thought about. People are so willing to cut literal Templars slack over their circle opinions, but God forbid Vivienne speak about her own experiences as a mage. And when fandom isn't treating her with a double standard and being overly critical, they just write her out. It sucks.

Glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) Honestly, Josephine's sister Yvette. I love that she basically came to Halamshiral to get the hot gossip and roast her sister. Yvette lives a life of pure joy and she deserves it.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) Sera! There's definitely parts of fandom that appreciate her, but mostly people hate that she has internalized racism even though it completely makes sense for her character and it's a real thing that people struggle with. People nitpick all sorts of stuff about her. They hate her voice and hair and plaid weave. I don't think so. Sera is an anarchist icon and she can have all the bees her deranged little heart desires.

Horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) Cullen. I simply don't like him. He has cop energy. I didn't like him as a random noodle hair in Dragon Age Origins and absolutely nothing has changed since then.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) I am hoping the plot of DA4 will involve sending Solas to superhell.

[harusha]

I just saw your post about PJ and I'm wondering, do you have any book recs?

On mythology specifically or overall? I’m gonna do both since I’m not sure. Also sorry for the relatively late reply, I had to think about this, and I just got back from dinner.

The Count of Monte Cristo- Fantastic page turner, and a genuinely good “revenge” tale. It’s actually one of the first of that kind (or at the very least, one of the most popular ones). It’s also a book that a lot of people cite as the one that changes their mind on classics as “boring.”

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn- Somewhat of a controversial pick (both because of its subject matter and because it’s often “required high school reading,” ie “boring” to a lot of people.)

Huck Finn is an exceedingly complex character, and his friendship with Jim is really good. Pay attention to what Huck Finn does and says; he’s an unreliable narrator due to how he was brought up, his age, and his illiteracy. There’s also a lot of symbolism and other literary devices at play in his character (ex. notice his fixation with death and how it colors how Twain writes him). It’s very much a book I recommend if you want to study the unreliable narrator as a trope, the  Naïf version of it.

As a side note, it’s very poignant because of how Huck learns to condemn his racism. One of the messages you can get from this book is “If this uneducated poor white boy can learn to overcome his prejudices, so too can someone who has been educated, has money, etc.” It is a brutal condemnation of racism (though you do have to consider the time period, the “lens” of which you have to view through.)

Lolita- Another controversial pick, and one I’ll upright say as a lot of trigger warnings attached (google the summary, and you’ll see what I mean).

Beautiful prose (some of my favorite in literature actually) and a monster of a protagonist. When you read this, remember how Humbert Humbert is framing it. He is telling his tale to a court; he is unreliable and will frame events to make himself appear sympathetic. One notable factor of the author’s skill is how often Humbert gains the readers’ sympathy despite the atrocious subject matter. I personally felt viscerally uncomfortable reading his thoughts, and this is one of the few books that has ever made me feel that way. I didn’t fall into the sympathy trap, but look at any discussion of the book, and you’ll see what I mean.

I also recommend this author’s (Vladimir Nabokov) other works.

Franz Kafka’s literary works- Kafka is one of my favorite authors because he really showcases the isolation (both due to WWI, technological advancement, and the “beginnings” of modern capitalism) of the beginning of the 1900s, and he’s one of modernism’s premier authors. His works often deal with the themes of isolation, judgement, and outcasts. 

In particular, I’m fond of “The Metamorphosis” (cliche pick I know) and “In the Penal Colony.” The former is a short story so quick read if you just wanna try his writing style + it’s very influential (See Part 1 of Tokyo Ghoul for one example).

Also know that Kafka had a very strained relationship with his father and a conflicted relationship with his religion. I recommend reading “Letter to his Father” first to get an understanding of Kafka’s psyche to truly get pass the “nonsensical” nature of his works. It, like the title says, is a letter he wrote to his father, but his mother never delivered it.

If you want even more info on Kafka to understand his works, I recommend Kafka: Judaism, Politics, and Literature which covers a lot more (and in more succinct words) than I can on his works and life. As a fun fact, Vladimir Nabokov also placed him as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century. On Kafka himself, he thought he was a failure of a human being and writer, and now look at him. He’s up there in the Western Canon with Shakespeare.

Paradise Lost + Paradise Regained- If you’re interested in Lucifer (or Samael if you subscribe to that theory), this is a must-read. Beautiful, haunting, and with a very charismatic figure in Lucifer. Alongside the obvious Divine Comedy, this work has influenced the portrayal of Lucifer and Hell quite a bit imo. Namely, the “sympathetic” portrayal you find in works such as Supernatural. It’s also an epic poem so it’s best listened to imo rather than read.

No Longer Human- Osamu Dazai’s work if you’re into that one show. An incredibly depressing book that’s often thought to be semi-autobiographical. It’s a haunting book that I don’t recommend for prose, but for the mood it evokes. I don’t recommend this unless you’re in a decent state of mind.

The Catcher in the Rye- Mildly controversial pick in that you either hate Holden or love him. It’s a book where you have to be in the “right” state of mind to appreciate Holden. For example, the period of moving away from home for college  This work deals with societal isolation and human loneliness and features an unreliable narrator.

It’s just a very particular feeling you have to be experiencing to appreciate Holden. I think anyway.

The Epic of Gilgamesh- Not super fancy or a reinterpretation of whatever. Just the oldest known written work of mankind. I like it a lot, but I like Sumerian myth so YMMV. It’s still missing a few tablets last I checked, but still a good read.

Also the related Enuma Elish, you get the creation myth.

Vampire Chronicles- I recommend the first three or four so books honestly. Afterwards, Anne Rice just goes off the rails. Prose is pretty, and Lestat is a terrible person but fascinating to read about. I am partial to Armand though tbh.

Dracula- I think this is another page-turner. I certainly enjoyed it. I don’t think it’s as scary as it would be in its’ published time period, but it is a classic Gothic horror. The unabridged version may look intimidating, but like Monte Cristo, you’ll sweep through it rather quickly.

“A Rose for Emily”- One of William Faulkner’s short stories. I think it’s a lovely piece and showcases the Southern Gothic (crumbling house, decaying and failing tradition and the southern nobility, etc.) There’s a theme of decay and time passing throughout this work.

As a side note, I actually enjoy Faulkner a lot, but he’s a difficult author imo. It’s not as apparent in this work, but more so in Intruder in the Dust (the first racial thriller) and especially The Sound and The Fury.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof- A play that deals with repressed homosexuality (maybe, it depends on how you interpret Brick’s dialogue and actions), loss, and denial. I quite like it a lot, and Tennessee Williams actually was gay (was because he’s dead and all). I read it, but tbh I feel like it would be better watched if you can find a performance on Youtube.

The Picture of Dorian Gray- Oscar Wilde’s most well known work imo. I enjoy the prose and the themes of corruption and indulgence present throughout the novel. There’s also a lot of allusions to Faust in it if you’re interested in that.

Peter Darling-a more modern choice but it features a trans and gay protagonist. Part of what I enjoy is how it’s not browbeaten into you that the protagonist is trans. It’s interwoven into the character where it’s an important part of him, but to where it doesn’t overwhelm his entire character. However, this is a novel where I feel the beginning and ending are great, but the middle is so-so. It’s a retelling of Peter Pan.

The Tain- Focuses on Cu Cuchulain and his cycle.

Poetic Edda- A must read if you’re interested in exploring Norse myths outside of Marvel. It’s basically a collection of tales.

Arabian Nights- Scheherazade is one of my favorite female figures from literature. She’s daring, clever, and particularly resourceful. It’s a frame narrative sort of tale so you technically won’t be seeing her as much since she’s telling each story, but it’s a lovely piece and perfect for a bedtime read because of its collection of tales. A lot of them have been referenced in media and related as well.

The Book Thief- Classic YA novel rec. It’s set in WWII and one of the novels that really showcases what YA could be. Basically a classic gem in the rough pile.

John Keats- He’s a poet, but I love his poetry because of how haunting and dark it can get; he often deals with themes of mortality.. Ode to Nightingale is particularly good.

China’s Four Great Classical Novels (Journey to the West, Dreams of the Red Chamber, Water Margin, Romance of the Three Kingdoms)- I decided to clump them here since this is already super long. Each one is incredibly well-known in Asia (and obviously China), and you can find allusions everywhere to these four novels. Each novel is rather long and expensive though (I paid like 40 USD for each set). Journey to the West follows Sun Wukong, unarguably one of the most well-known figures in literature (at least in the East; he’s super influential, but somewhat less so in the West; keyword somewhat). Dreams of the Red Chamber has some very pretty poems, but it’s often thought to be the semi autobiographical work of the author (it deals with the rise and fall of his family and the dynasty).

Daiyu’s flower poem is one of the most memorable for example.

The blossoms fade, the blossoms fly,  the blossoms fill the sky. Their crimson fades, their scent dies out,  and who is there to pity?  Drifting threads gently twist together  and float past the springtime lodge;  Falling willow floss lightly sticks  and strikes the lady’s window drapes.

Water Margin is a bit “bawdier” than the other ones imo, but it’s a good tale and has many notable figures and scenes. On Three Kingdoms, it’s the one I’d recommend to start with if you’re interested in military intrigue and battles.

I also have a Goodreads where I organize everything by shelf if you prefer to look at that. I do need to update it though tbh.

https://www.goodreads.com/Mahariel