#and Dorian was none the wiser

[theheadlessgroom]

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

@beatingheart-bride

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

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

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

[love-toxin]

Dorian doesn’t know his own strength, you say? 👀 can’t wait for him to get all mean n’ bruise my cervix prrrrrr-

somehow I have this image of like...Dorian being so paranoid about being found out as an android/hunted down by Trinity that when you arrive on scene, he's so suspicious of you (because you're too pretty and make him feel too weird to be any normal human) and obsesses over thoughts of you without knowing he's in love until you do something drastic--like show up at his apartment door with some desserts you made or just to deliver his mail that was in your box by accident. and you have such a huuuuge crush on him you let him drag you by the arm into his place and shut the door behind you, thinking he's finally confessing his feelings for you even though he looks like he's about to punch something to everyone else.

(cws: rough sex, dubcon, afab darling)

cut to him holding your arms back and absolutely plowing you on his bed from behind, your pretty legs all shaky and your tits jiggling so mesmerizingly as he drags his cock in deep squelching thrusts through your precious, messy cunt. he's trying to interrogate you but he sounds somewhat garbled because of his messed-up voicebox, and it just sounds like guttural moans to you so you're none the wiser. when you try to squirm off he thinks it's cause you're trying to get out of talking--even though it's really cause he's pushing you to the brink of cumming your brains out--and he yanks you back by the hips every time, slamming you down on his cock even harder to hear you yelp and squeal before you bow your head in submission again.

eventually he realizes he's not getting the answers he wants, and that you're actually getting pleasure out of this questioning session, so he plucks you off the sheets and manhandles you in front of his mirror, just to bend you over the coffee table and make you look at how pathetic this is. how much you leak and drip all over his sweatpants as he pries you open, how your back arches and your tongue lolls out of your mouth when you should be clamming up and kicking him off. what's really pathetic is how hard he is, to the point that his cock has taken on a purplish hue at the tip (he didn't even know it could look that way) and it's no surprise when he decides that if you aren't going to talk, you should at least put your mouth to use and stuffs his tongue inside it. he hates all you Trinity scum, but he hates you the most, because no lemming of theirs should ever have such a soft, clingy pussy and the sweetest eyes when you beg for him to cum. he hates that you run your fingers through his hair and flash him a wobbly smile as you confess that you like him too, and that you wish you had said something sooner. he shouldn't cringe when you gasp in pain at a particularly bruising thrust, and he especially shouldn't pull out and lift your hips to his face to kiss your sweet, sloppy pussy better.

eventually, he'll have to realize that you're not with Trinity at all and that he just has a fat crush on you, but that might not come for awhile. so there's plenty of time, once he's finally let you drop and catch your breath for the session, to interrogate you again. maybe he needs new methods; new positions, new tortures to put you through, like sitting you on his mouth until you squirt or fucking those beautiful tits until he shoots ropes all over your adorable face. maybe he just has to pin you in a mating press and let you feel his biceps flex as he holds you down, threatening to put you in a chokehold if you don't give up Trinity's secret plans. there's so much he can do...and he won't rest until he's tried everything to get you to fess up, innocent or not.

[broodwolf221]

happy dadwc! for solas/varric this week: i think i've earned the right to learn the truth

happy writing!

-inquisimer

oooh them.... <3 ty for this! a little beginning of their romance blurb @dadrunkwriting 718 words cws: none

He was reading when Varric entered, barely glancing up at the dwarf before turning his attention back to the book. Something had been building between them for quite a while, but Solas had been loath to commit. It was wrong. It was selfish. It was cruel. So lately he'd tried to keep his distance, but it seemed a passive conclusion would not be permitted. “You certainly turn tail early,” he said casually, Solas' shoulders tensing. “I mean, I know I'm kinda rusty, but I didn't think my flirting would scare you off so easily.”

Oh, he resented that. He wanted to snap that he wasn't afraid… but of course, that was the exact reaction Varric was trying to provoke. That frustrated him, too, how simple it would be to fall for the other man's prodding. “Perhaps I simply tired of it,” he said, wary of meeting his eyes. He knew it was a cruel response, dismissive, but if they couldn't have this, then it was crueler still to let the possibility linger. Best to make a clean break instead.

Varric snorted, and that was not the reaction he'd anticipated. He looked up from the book with a sigh, only to find the other man smirking at him. Another unexpected reaction. “Look, I don't chase. You want me to back off, I'll back off. But seriously, you aren't anywhere near as secret as you think you are.” Varric drew closer, hip against Solas' desk and arms crossed. “Just tell me the truth. I think I've earned that.”

“Have you?” He shot back, but even he could hear how empty it sounded. Varric didn't even bother with a reply, aside from his smirk growing. Damn dwarf. “It is… not that easy, Master Tethras.” Something flickered across Varric's face at that, and his smirk seemed to stiffen, held deliberately. Solas had wounded him, and that weighed on the both of them. He settled back with a frown, meeting Varric's eyes. “Have you thought this through? The world is at risk, powerful forces are aligned against us, and I am a mage. An apostate. Should we succeed, I highly doubt I'll be able to linger. What would we have? Some brief dalliance? Is it not kinder, for both of us, to let it rest? Is it not wiser?”

“Shit, Chuckles.” Varric sounded strained, although Solas couldn't quite place how. “I'm not proposing. And this isn't my first ‘dalliance.’ I care about you, and you obviously feel the same. What's better about burying that? We may die tomorrow, or in twenty years—but in either case, I'd rather live today.”

He stared at Varric for a moment, then shook his head, even as he felt a traitorous smile creep onto his face. “Of course that would be your view. Of course it would.”

“And of course you'd be so deep in your head about this that you can't even see straight.” He snorted, unwilling—and unable—to contest that. Instead he tapped his fingers on the pages of the book a few times before closing it and standing, Varric straightening up. He stood in front of the other man and met his eyes for long moments, superficially debating with himself although he'd all but decided.

Varric grinned when Solas bent down and grabbed his jacket, kissing him hard. Heavy hands settled on his hips and Varric's warmth seeping through his clothing was a delight. Varric may not chase a relationship but he certainly chased Solas' mouth, pressing forward and reinstating the kiss when he began to pull away. Then he was being urged backwards until he felt the seat brushing against his thighs, sinking down into it. It made kissing easier, their height a better match now. “Ahem.” They jerked apart at the sudden voice, Varric stifling a laugh as Solas felt himself blush. “Please, do get a room. A different room.” Dorian sounded entirely too smug about it, but Solas had to admit it wasn't a terrible idea.

Still, he let Varric pull away without protest, tilting his head back to glare up at Dorian as the door to the rotunda opened and closed. The other mage smiled and shrugged before giving a little wave and turning away, and Solas heard his muffled laughter drifting down. 

He found himself wondering where, exactly, Varric's room was.

[aggravateddurian]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @ghostoffuturespast, and I just realised @gloryride. Thank you!

I made new headers for my WIP Whenever posts! As you can already see, they're inspired by the display of the Pip-Boy and computer terminals from Fallout 3 and 4.

WARNING! LONG AND DETAILED POST AHEAD! MANY PICTURES INCLUDED!

Full post below the cut

Mostly VP related for Cyberpunk. Working on a 'fan novella' related to the changes going on with the crew, esp. with regards to the impending departure of Trey on his new journey, and the addition of Jakey to the crew. A lot of costuming updates and fixes for new and old characters alike as I work through and modernise NPV files and such with new knowledge.

VALERIE OCAMPO-GONZALEZ - APPEARANCE AND LORE UPDATE

I've given Val her glowing yellow iris rings back, as I believe that they're an essential part of her character design. I've also settled on her accent, it's somewhere between that LA Chicano accent and a general Filipina-American English accent. Val has a tendency to code switch mid-sentence, and subconsciously shift into Cebuano in high-stress situations.

DORIAN BAUTISTA - APPEARANCE UPDATE

I've also finally updated some of Dorian's appearances. It's been just over a year since I first made Dorian as an NPV and he's due for an update. I believe his 'Corpo Tactical' and 'Fixer' outfits are a lot better suited now. I can actually imagine Dorian as a background fixer NPC at the Afterlife, and not think he's out of place.

"mfw Meredith hits me with that 'enny store employment termination."

Dorian has crossed the Rubicon and gone full fixer. I've resurrected a plot point from the original Brother's Shadow storyline where Dorian is fired from Militech due to Meredith's machinations, and he and his colleague Kaylee Anderson end up going out on the edge, working for Nightowl, the always illusive and unseen man behind Val's crew.

JAKE McCORMICK - APPEARANCE UPDATE

Jakey's finally bought some new clothes! I thought one day he needed some Aviators, and from there I thought that he also needed a jacket. Hence, two new casual appearances. Then there's his 'business attire.' Jake found this surplus NCPD vest and duty belt, and now it's his standard 'work' attire. The Militech eyepiece was a gift from Nightowl for 'good work performance.'

Since I came up with the Buckeye Wasteland idea, I've since put that to the side as my thoughts about my Fallout OCs evolve. Firstly, let's talk about Laura West.

LAURA WEST - APPEARANCE AND LORE UPDATE

"The Volunteer"

The protagonist of my Fallout fanfic, Laura West is probably the last person you'd expect to become a wasteland adventurer. She's not particularly strong, she's not a crack shot with a weapon, and she's not particularly lucky. She has passable charisma and endurance, but where she really shines is her Intelligence.

Before being sent on an important mission to save Vault 53, Laura worked as a computer technician in the vault, a job she was fairly well-suited for. However, she was the last pick to be sent to find a reactor regulator for Vault 53's damaged fusion reactor.

Ezra, the Overseer's son, was better qualified, but the Overseer couldn't bear to send him out into the wasteland, so Laura volunteered to go in his place, to Ezra's horror, because Ezra has a thing for Laura (a feeling not reciprocated by our heroine).

EZRA JOHNSON - APPEARANCE

This is Ezra. Ezra's father is the Overseer of Vault 53, and as a consequence, he gets away with way more than most vault residents could ever hope to. He's not very intelligent, strong or charismatic, but he's a crack shot, has excellent endurance and the luck of the Irish. He could accidentally kill a deathclaw and be none the wiser.

Ezra works in the maintenance division in Vault 53, a vital position, given that everything in Vault 53 was designed by Vault-Tec to fail constantly, as part of the experiment to test how residents would respond to the constant stress of having to constantly work to keep the vault from failing. He is also a massive bookworm, and has memorised just about every volume of the Vault Dweller Survival Guide.

Ezra also has a thing for Laura, a feeling that Laura doesn't reciprocate.

Moving swiftly on...

I've been working on a short story set in the Freerunners universe, elaborating on our favourite definitely not Judy Alvarez-inspired space ranger starship pilot, Zoe Alvarado, and her past as a Confederation of Free Settlements Ranger. I really need to get all the Freerunners characters drawn, because I feel that just telling people about how they look isn't working. I will probably end up using Cyberpunk 2077 to visualise their faces for y'all, at least.

Cyberpunk RED: 2077 Edition - The Old Blood

Remember my Cyberpunk vampire shit from a couple months back? I know some of you remember that, before I took my hiatus and recovered from yet another work-related stress issue. Well, what I haven't shared is that it's been running as a Cyberpunk RED campaign!

My players have learned the dark secret of the Consortium Sanguinis, and one of them has been kidnapped! It's a race against the clock to save him (and his AI brain ghost) from the machinations of literal vampires who walk amongst us!

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

That's about it. Thanks to all who actually read my yapping.

I'd like to tag three people, as I always do:

@chevvy-yates

@gloryride

@streetkid-named-desire

Feel free to join in if you want.

Thanks everyone.

[aleyothorncrow]

Winter Melting: Chpt. 7 Hush

Rating: M || WC: 5,195 (/31,762) || Haven Arc || Chpt: 7/??

(-> Read from the beginning)

Chapter Excerpt:

Mirenan left the party early for this?

Bull’s Chargers smuggled her into the Chantry to close the Rift there with none of the mages in Redcliffe the wiser. They fought back the demons, their numbers too great to be bothered by the wisps of magical wards lining the floors, though Mirenan grew dizzy watching the mercenaries whip by at different speeds—Krem charged by blindingly fast outpacing Skinner’s arrows. Mirenan waited in her hood, huddled behind Iron Bull’s hulking figure until Varric gave them a nod. Solas reinforced her barrier as she stepped out to close the rift with the same practiced flick of her wrist. This time Cassandra had not joined them—the Seeker had been tasked with negotiating with the grand enchanter Fiona at the tavern, taking Vivienne, Blackwall, and Cullen as back-up. When they reconvened at the tavern later, Mirenan judged from the Seeker’s scowl that the negotiations had not gone well. Blackwall looked grim as ever, but Vivienne, usually composed enough she hardly needed a mask to hide her expression, might as well have shouted for how much her single arched eyebrow exclaimed, “I told you so.” Cullen just looked relieved. “We’ll march the troops back to Haven,” he explained to the Iron Bull, who had surreptitiously joined him at the bar to order drinks. “It’s probably best we head back separately, to avoid arousing suspicion. You and the Chargers can rest here and ride back in the morning.” And so Mirenan found herself on a stool squished between Bull and Varric’s broad shoulders in a tavern half-packed with Chargers and half with wary-eyed mages.

Chapter-specific tags/warnings below the cut.

Chapter-specific tags: Lavellan, The Iron Bull, Solas, Varric, Dorian, Clan Lavellan OCs

Chapter-specific warnings: No content warnings for this chapter.

[nobodyexpectsthe]

it's probably worth mentioning that pirith isn't an exploration of an evil inquisitor, it's more the exploration of shoving someone who is not trained in military tactics, politics, espionage, etc into a role that requires mastery of all. he is a skilled warrior, yes, and he was in line to be the next keeper of his clan - but he was still just in line. and leading the dalish is different from stepping foot into a role that demands you play a game you didn't even know existed.

prior to the death of his clan he was exceptionally kind and prioritized the underdogs over political power, as one should, but that kindness made him an easy target for manipulation and the lack of powerful allies left the inquisition lacking. realizing that the men and women of orlais and ferelden could and would die for their stubborn pride was a terrifying realization.

the default worldstate i like playing with is the one where every choice he made backfired on him. however, the choices he made were to bolster a force capable of crushing corypheus and avoiding corruption within the ranks. to this day, the inquisition is an incredibly powerful force that he has squarely in his control. he is not a puppet to anyone. and now that he has the power he so desperately needed when things were beginning, he does his best to use it wisely while appearing as the unconquerable inquisitor/

come veilguard he is older, wiser, and holds immense guilt for everything that went wrong. yet he can't show that none of these decisions were made easily, nor that they were not made out of malice but out of a lack of better choices in the moment. he was a man out of his element, fighting a war so much bigger than he was, and the only option he could see was one where someone lost.

this isn't to say he didn't care for his party members or advisors. he did try to heed their advice, but he grew to resent the fact that they made no calls and left the blame at his feet when things went awry. of all of them, i think he most likely still has contact with vivienne, cullen, dorian, varric, leliana and cassandra though they are not terribly close.

that said, pretty much everything is malleable and i'm always happy to adjust any details bc malleable protagonists are hard enough to figure out dynamics with before you even start factoring in hidden resentments.

anyway tl;dr, i'm replaying inquisition and might adjust some of the choices in his default world state as i do.

[giransbunnywife]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bee-devilling]

Nope! In fact I have very thoroughly thought out Misha's middle name and the lore behind it (partially because I headcanon him as trans, so his name is obviously an important decision to him)

Middle names are patronymic in Ukraine, he's going to get his father's name, despite the fucker being better fit as a sperm donor than an actual father.

But Misha has a rebellious attitude, and a forged birth certificate, so he can fix this.

So while his mother puts in Михайло (Mykhailo) on the birth cert, and asks about changing the suffix of his middle name (because it's gendered, translates to son/daughter of ___) he's like "actually, I've a better idea"

Because this is the fake one, and his adoptive parents will have no concept of Ukrainian naming customs. It's also the one the government will never find, so he doesn't have to stick to Ukrainian naming customs if he doesn't want to (and he doesn't, because his dad sucks).

Everyone but him and his mother will be none the wiser. But they know what his birth cert says, and they are the only people who need to know that at least on a sentimental and not-quite-legal level, that his name is Михайло Тамаравич Бачинський, Mykhailo (Misha) Tamaravych Bachynsky.

According to the government though, his name is Тетяна Олександрівна Бачинський, Tetyana Oleksandrivna Bachynsky

Also, to add to the choir name headcanons:

Also also for the rest of the choir's middle names:

Constance Eleanor Blackwood (canon)

Ocean Faythe Justice O'Connell Rosenberg

Persephone Jennifer Lamb (listen I know that odds are, Penny's name is Penelope. Maybe it's mentioned in Legoland, idk, haven't read it. But I don't care, you can pry this name headcanon from my cold, dead hands)

Richard Keenan Potts

For other characters names/personalities (probably way too detailed but eh) (also I don't have these for everyone but hopefully I will soon I'd love to add to this):

Noel Dorian Casimir Gruber

I think Constance's brothers (I hc there's two of them, fraternal twin boys) would have classic names like Constance does, but they can have cute nicknames like Connie. I've named them Matthew/Mattie and Alexander/Lex. Lex has a very similar personality to Constance, he tends to stick by her or his brother, and is extremely shy. He's not very vocal about his wants or needs, but Mattie was always ready to speak up for him if he needed it. Mattie is a complete social butterfly, and has enough energy and enthusiasm to make up for the timidness of his two older siblings. The second he learned to talk, he did not shut up.

Noel's mom is Roxanne, and to put it simply, she would lay down her life for her son (in fact she basically already has, if we're going by my idea of what happened with Noel's dad. And she'd fucking do it again) and sure, maybe she didn't deal with his coming out in the best way possible, but she does care about him and she just wants him to be safe above all else, and unfortunately in the situation they're in that means they have to barricade the metaphorical closet door just a little. I also headcanon that Noel has an older sister named Camille, she's about 7 years older than him and moved out without any indication of where she was going or where she might be now.

Misha's mother is Tamara, obviously, she's named in the musical. She was the coolest mom ever. She never cared about his grades in school (thought to be fair to him, he was a great student when he lived in Ukraine), she was always encouraging about his hobbies, and she was definitely the first follower of BagEgg on YouTube. She wanted to raise him to be as independent of her as he could be, and she realised once she got sicker that it was the best possible thing she could have done. She was very accepting of him when he came out as trans; well it wasn't coming out as such, it was 6-year-old Misha insisting he wasn't a girl and that he didn't want to be Tetyana anymore. She tried to help him as much as she could, and when she had to forge his birth certificate to get him out of the country she happily changed his name on it, if it meant he could live a safer life in Canada without any judgement based on what he was or wasn't born as. I also think Misha has a little sister, Lyuba. She also emigrated to Canada with Misha, but they went to different homes at opposite ends of Saskatchewan, and he hasn't seen her since.

Would it be stupid to have middle name headcanons for the choir?

And name headcanons/very light personality trait ideas for their family and friends (if they have any)?

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

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

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

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

[thereluctantinquisitor]

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

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

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

Things Thought Lost (Pavellan, Post-Trespasser)

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

“Magister Pavus?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are too good to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… that was when Dorian recognisedwho it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was he doing here? How did he…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Dorian removed the mask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These were strange times indeed.

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

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

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

“But the clothing they had on was—”

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

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

“Ask you…?”

“Why I’m here, Dorian.”

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

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

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

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

“And that surprised you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“And did you…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least, not alone.  

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

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

“You came anyway,” Dorianmurmured. Varlen nodded.

“I came anyway.”

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

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

“Until today.”

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

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

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

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

“Funny. That’s probably because Iwill.”

“You remain stubborn as ever.”

“Did you expect that to change?”

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

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

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

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

“No. Not at all.”

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

“You called me amatus.”

Dorian blinked. “What? When?”

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

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

—“Did you mean it?”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[aggravateddurian]

Clara Martinez: Owner of a Lonely Heart

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

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

Clara Martinez

FIA Operations Officer

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

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

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

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

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

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

2077 - Reunion and Fallout

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

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

She contacted Val as soon as she could...

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

[hurgablurg]

the third hotdog is the doomed-by-the-narrative energy both halves of southern gothic are giving off. the dog in the back is dorian half a world away being none the wiser.

Fearne's love interests are going to put her over the fucking edge

[hallucinosims]

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

Reid at the psychiatrist A three part mini opera Chapter 2

beginning || previous || next

[theheraldsrest]

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

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

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

-Lord Lex

Cullen

“Maker, give me strength.”

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

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

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

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

Josephine

“Dearest, there you are!”

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

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

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

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

Solas

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

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

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

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

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

Cassandra

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

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

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

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

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

The Iron Bull

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

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

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

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

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

Dorian

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

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

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

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

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

Sera

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

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

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

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

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

Blackwall

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

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

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

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

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

[reikiajakoiranruohoja]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[saphirered]

Bard's Surprise

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

Dorian Storm x reader (3) Mistletoe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you lying to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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