#obviously not all elves have talents but even if they didn’t. they should be trained on their natural ability.

[lotusishere]

I will never understand how elves don’t use their powers. How are you grant the opportunity to have an ability and be given natural abilities as well…and you’re ass? It’s diabolical. For example, why does nobody actually test out the true capacity or abilities? Why is everyone so focused on what specific way instead of testing it out to see if they could do other things? They train their telekinesis yet I never see them use it. Bronte’s old ass didn’t even know he could inflict positive emotions and he’s so old that his nonexistent wrinkles have wrinkles on wrinkles. He’s like a walking bald cat. For elves to claim they’re superior in their ways and understanding. I’m not seeing a lot of understanding.

[nyadversary]

asking since your harry potter post was really interesting and made me wonder - are there any magic systems you really like or think are well-constructed and consistent? what are the traits of a good magic system?

oh i definitely don’t feel qualified to make any broad statements about what makes a magic system Good, it depends so heavily on what kind of story you’re trying to tell. i do want to say more about why i think the magic system in HP is ultimately bad though, and i have at least one example of a system i like to compare it with. under cut

very very early on in the HP series — i’m talking about the first few chapters of book 1 — we get the impression that magical ability does symbolize something? like think about how the series opens. the first chapter of the first book follows vernon dursley, a man who lives an extremely mundane life, likes it that way, and is highly perturbed by anything unusual happening or by anyone who seems out of the ordinary. he’s, what, CEO of a drill company or something? some comically boring but well-paying job. petunia is a housewife who passes the time spying on the neighbors. their infant son is already being spoiled and treated more like a prized possession than a human being. and these people hate anything they think is weird, which of course includes anything to do with magic. the dursleys know for a fact magic is real and it pisses them off and they hate it. 

when harry is left at their doorstep, mcgonagall protests and says the dursleys could not possibly have less in common with magical people like them. either she or hagrid says something to the effect that the dursleys are the biggest muggles around, which stuck with me because it implies that magical ability lies on a spectrum and the dursleys, who are outright opposed to anything the slightest bit unusual, are the furthest from magical anybody can be. this implies all sorts of things about what magic could represent for the series going forward — creativity, rejection of social norms, etc. — and, since these people are harry’s only living blood relatives but he winds up finding community for the first time once meeting other witches and wizards, it appears to be setting up a found family theme. which all sounds perfectly good, and people will still cite this as being a theme of the books. the main problem with that is it isn’t the intended theme going forward at all. 

JKR’s weird obsession with blood lineage honestly needs to be unpacked in a whole other post and i don’t think i’m the guy to do it but... obviously as the series goes on, the importance of blood family gets underlined again and again. it turns out harry is being protected by some sort of sacred maternal blood magic (which is never explained) and this is why he has to live with the dursleys, people he hates and has nothing in common with. the fact that they’re his blood relatives trumps anything else. magical ability generally is passed down within families, and in the later books much time is spent going over various magical lineages (voldemort’s family, dumbledore’s family, sirius’ family, the malfoy family, the hogwarts founders and their descendants, etc...). any notions of magic symbolizing creativity is undermined by the lack of actual creativity in how the magic is presented going forward (like i said in the other post, it winds up serving mainly utilitarian functions in the story) and as for rejecting the status quo, the series embraces the status quo. the happy ending the characters work 7 books to achieve just has everything “returning to normal” — voldemort is killed and the remaining death eaters dealt with, the ministry gets a new PM, hogwarts gets a new headmaster, and things continue on as they were before. issues of systemic injustice are left unaddressed, the subplots about magical beings fighting for full personhood status (centaurs, merpeople, house elves, etc) are left unresolved, slytherin house is allowed to continue on as an institution and presumably many wizards are still just as bigoted towards muggle-borns as they always were, and — oh yeah — the idea that muggles are innately inferior somehow? never explained or addressed. the takeway is just that if you can’t do magic, you suck. it’s so disappointing. all the pieces are there for a way better story (hey guys i think there might be some systemic problems with your magic school and your magic government do you wanna try fixing that maybe?) but JKR was never gonna write that story because it’s one she doesn’t believe in.

to summarize how magic works in harry potter just so i can really make it clear how boring it is:

magic ability is innate and the vast majority of people lack it. with relatively few exceptions, the ability runs in families — it’s rare for someone without magical ancestry to have the ability and it’s also rare for someone with magical ancestry to not have the ability

with only a few exceptions, all wizards are able to learn all spells. some wizards are stated to be unusually powerful but how much of this is due to raw magical potential and how much comes down to other factors like education, general intelligence and ability/willingness to learn, desire to cause harm in the case of the unforgivables, etc is unclear. some magical abilities, like being able to speak parseltongue or being a metamorphmagus (or whatever the fuck shapeshifters are called in this series) or being a seer, are innate and can’t be learned by most wizards. like magic itself, whether or not you have any extra ability seems to be genetic (these are all traits we know run in families)

in order to perform magic, devices like wands, cauldrons, etc are used as instruments or vessels to direct the user’s innate powers. there is no summoning, channeling, or ritual use involved and spells typically only go wrong if the wizard in question is inexperienced or something is wrong with their wand. with very few exceptions (the main one i can think of is divination, which is handled very ambiguously and most of what trelawney teaches is implied to be complete crap), magic works in very predictable and straightforward ways

so it all boils down to “you’re either a wizard or you aren’t, and you almost certainly aren’t unless you come from a magic family, but if you are — good news! you have basically the same abilities as any other wizard. don’t worry there’s nothing even vaguely pagan involved.”

which, like. how utterly dull. there are so many other ways one can approach these issues and nearly all of them that i can think of / have seen done are more interesting than this:

you could have a magic system where magical ability is much more specialized. instead of all magic users being all capable of more or less the same stuff, let’s say person A, B, and C are all magic users but each has a unique magical ability (say A can fly, B can talk to animals, C can become invisible) and, while they might be able to develop their individual talents and become stronger, they can’t learn each other’s skills. charlie bone, which is a crap series overall but which i do think has a more interesting magic system, falls into this category, as does a lot of superhero stuff although it’s generally not called “magic” in those stories.

another, similar, approach would be to have more specialized branches of magic that characters train under — say pyromancy, necromancy, etc. — and so, while it might be possible for a water mage to learn a fire spell or two, characters have much more individualized skillsets. RPG magic tends to be this, obviously. harry potter kind of vaguely gestures in the direction of this trope in that the professors obviously specialize in their particular subjects, but it’s not as if snape doesn’t know charms or whatever — it doesn’t amount to much of anything in practice as all the adult characters are capable of performing a diverse range of spells.

how does one wind up with the ability to do magic in the first place? is it innate, and, if so, is it random or does it run in families? is it associated with any other traits? are there drawbacks to being a magic user? can non-magical people acquire the ability to do magic through some other means, and, if so, does this represent an irreversible change? are magic users really “human” or are they something more? are non-magic users lesser? is there any loss of humanity associated with magical ability? do magic users channel their own innate power or are they channeling something else — if so, is it a godlike entity, demonic, or does it defy moral classification? is there “good” magic and “bad” magic, and, if so, is the delineation clear? if these are different branches of magic, are they wholly distinct in how they work or is there overlap? etc, etc, etc.

ultimately i don’t think anyone should be worried about finding the most unique combination of these tropes, because they’ve literally all been done 10 billion times — if i started off listing popular examples of how these tropes are handled in other media pandemic will have ended before i’m done. what’s important is how writers choose to handle these questions when telling their story. like, what does magic mean to the characters? what does their use of magic say about them? what does magic symbolize? etc... these are opportunities for the story to have Themes and Meaning and impart something to its audience! tbh i think it really says something that the magic in harry potter is so ultimately unimportant to the story that people didn’t bother asking the usual questions about what magic itself / the magic system might symbolize... if you look at what rowling might actually be trying to say with any of that, well, it’s not good.

i guess to end off with an example i like. in the bartimaeus trilogy, which is an extremely good YA series and i highly recommend, magic ability isn’t innate at all. magic in this universe is all done via summoning “demons” (energy beings from another plane of existence basically) and binding them to one’s will, which as you might expect is very dangerous if you fuck it up and summoning is on such extreme levels of academic bullshit that you basically have to study your entire life to do it safely (learning dead languages, being able to draw elaborate pentacles with perfect accuracy, etc etc). in practice, this means magic is something only the ruling class does / can afford to do. anyone in any significant position of power is a wizard, while everyone else — the “commoners” — is a second-class citizen under the thumb of what are essentially superpowered politicians. while the fact that magic exists isn’t a secret, the majority of commoners have no idea how it actually works, that it’s really just summoning and anyone can learn it. they’re being encouraged to think of wizards as innately superior/gifted and to defer to them as their betters. yknow, Or Else. there’s much more i could say about this but it’d wind up being its own post and i’d probably have to just break down the entire plot of the trilogy, but i think from what i’ve said you get a sense of the themes / commentary here. 

this has run long but point being, magic systems Can be used to say something about the story and the characters and to make some sort of thematic point or provide social commentary perhaps, and i think it’s cool when they do. harry potter tries its best to avoid having the magic mean anything and when you do try and analyze what it means, you just get a story about how some people are just way better and cooler than others because of. uh. their blood. so rather than further unpacking that suitcase i say you could just throw it away and, as they say, read another book

[treviso-nights]

The Bad, Bad Mages -- Cullen/Dorian/Lavellan

rating: T words: 3.5k summary: dorian and lavellan make a bet and cullen thinks she’s literally gonna die lmao but are we surprised

A/N: normalize cullavellan bickering 2021

read on ao3

xx

Dating a mage was new for Cullen. As a former Templar, it was to be expected. An entire youth was spent reading about magic, studying how to intercept spells and nullify their effects. Even in the Tower, rumors about mage-templar relationships seeped into the walls, tantalizing the nearest ear with delicious, naughty details of the affair. Experimental magic in bed gone wrong, boyfriends and girlfriends stolen from the other -- the large replica of Andraste in the sanctuary defiled by unspeakable acts performed by the coupled… gossip like that wasn’t uncommon at all. 

But that, as Cullen learned later, wasn’t magic. The faulty experiments in bed… perhaps… had merit. In Lavellan’s defense however, those were on him.

All of it, even the oop-sies, helped contribute to the fact that his relationship with magic changed as he and Lavellan grew close. She was patient and helped him deconstruct all of the learned misconceptions taught by the Chantry... albeit, in an abrupt or Lavellan-like manner. 

Initially, Lavellan had chosen to speak to very few people about herself. Burdened by the weight of the proverbial crown and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of humans within the vicinity, Lavellan was often quiet. Only Solas was privy to her thoughts, a fact that had consistently annoyed Cullen, taunting from the back of his mind whenever he’d found a moment to himself. 

What was even more distressing were the commonalities between the two elves: their mutually shared heritage -- despite Solas’s protests -- and their magic. Cullen couldn’t have anticipated that Lavellan would ever choose him. However, in the daydreams that had allowed for such a blessing, he’d imagined himself the most diligent student, an endlessly submissive disciple to the arcane arts rooted in the most basic parts of her identity. 

She would show him everything she desired, and he’d be so pleased to be wrong and corrected, and how glorious it would feel to finally release his learned hatred for what was so obviously a beautiful and fantastical way of life --

“Well, go on then, you coward!” 

Cullen paused the mental frivolities and looked up from his station. 

The warm, spring day was mild, a promise of life in the coming months. It wasn’t often that he worked outside, at the desk originally set up for him upon their arrival at Skyhold. It had little privacy, too much noise, and too many dauldings to ignore. The sun felt nice though, and was compelling to even the hardiest Ferelden after the cold months. When the weather agreed, it was an occasional indulgence.

The majority of his days were spent pouring over paperwork and reports from the Inquisition’s military, so he was surprised to hear Dorian nearby. The mage rarely ventured outside the library and when he did, it was usually for something nefarious. Which meant more paperwork for Cullen. The likelihood of this increased when Cullen realized Dorian sounded happy. 

One of Sera’s pranks, perhaps. A bucket of ale thrown on an unsuspecting fool, a flock of chickens released at an inopportune moment. The possibilities were endless really, but as long as it didn’t concern him, Cullen wasn’t too perturbed. This was another thing to ignore. Nothing to report or intervene with. Nothing that would result in serious injury, and minor report accidents could always be done away with. Sigh. Mages. No. Not mages. People.

Dorian’s face glowed copper in the weak sunlight, and was inclined to the top of the front gate and its adjacent battlements. A feeling of unease tingled down Cullen’s spine as he followed Dorian’s gaze from where he sat at his desk. So, a serious injury report after all. 

A lone figure poised on top of the tall entrance, and although collapses of the psyche weren’t exactly uncommon at Skyhold, it always chilled Cullen to behold the various ways a person could destroy themselves. He’d talked many a soldier down from such a precipice, and so his mind instantly launched itself into those memories, attempting to retrieve the helpful things he could say to this person who was so clearly experiencing a break in their psyche -- although, why in the world would Dorian ever encourage something as horrific as that?

Because Cullen was a ruddy, stupid idiot. That’s why.

It was her hair. It was always, indubitably, the first thing he noticed about her. The inhuman, eternally stunning, silver hue of her hair that was somehow white and not white at the same time.

Normally, Cullen’s finely-tuned, battle instincts would’ve had him on his feet within the second -- weapon drawn, muscles taut with the routine of one-thousand encounters. This was a different kind of war however, and Cullen felt his body lock down with terror. He was, for the first time in his life, frozen at the sight of his soulmate teeter-tottering atop of an eighty-foot wall as if it was nothing more than the height of the ladder in his room. 

He was also extensively, at length, confused.

“Shut up, Dorian!” Lavellan yelled back. 

Did she not see Cullen right there -- as he had been the whole afternoon, working -- watching her now? 

“I want to wait for the wind to stop, first.”

He didn’t need to see in order to know how hard he was clenching the edges of his desk. He could feel the meager wood loosen beneath his palms. He didn’t know where his voice was. Had he been born with one? Cullen couldn’t recall. He could only observe without understanding and shift his gaze from one mage to the other as they bantered.

Dorian preened his robes as if they were the most important things in the world. “If you want to call it quits, just say so, dear. There’s no shame in backing out of a bet.” He paused. “Well, that’s not exactly true. There’s permanent, soul-crushing shame, of course. The personal kind. But one should then think of how fast the legends of your great, colossal cowardice will spread across Thedas, weakening the Inquisition’s influence, undermining its authority in every part of the wor--”

Dorian’s ceaseless monologue ended the moment Lavellan dashed forward, completing one, full stride before leaping into the air. 

Cullen felt himself physically choke on the air in his lungs as it rushed forth, spewing out of his body. Without consciously moving, he was on his feet at once, bracing the bulk of his weight against his desk as Lavellan swan-dived into the lethal space separating her body from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Dorian’s cheeks lift, as if he were pleased with the decision. Satisfied, somehow. 

Lavellan seemed to fall for an eternity. Her hair, loose, was a silver flame trailing after a comet. No scream. Nothing to suggest either terror or exhilarance. The soldiers he’d been too late to save -- some of them had screamed on the way down. If given the chance, Cullen would’ve bet on their regret at the halfway mark. 

In the other, more various scenario, there’d been some sort of marker to reveal the purpose of the exercise. A hollowed out wagon filled with hay to catch new assassins-in-training should they lose balance, or something along the likes. He didn't know the details of this or if it was safe -- all he had was the visual of the Inquisitor bound by a free-fall and rapidly advancing towards a dismount she wouldn’t survive.

Suddenly all of the purpose in his life seemed to flee, leaving nothing behind but an emptiness that felt every bit as terminal as the inevitable impact of Lavellan’s body dashing to pieces.

No.

He bolted out from behind his desk and prepared to catch her himself. Dorian stiffened as he passed -- irrelevant information to file away -- and Cullen flung himself into the sparse throng of bystanders who’d stopped to watch. She was but a slice of color above him, and he frantically searched for a way to soften his arms, cursing the hard, metal bracers he favored. Perhaps the trick was to relax his elbows so that she would sink naturally into them. 

Bones would break, of course, but he’d do his best. Solas was talented at healing spells. As uncomfortable as that would be, he knew Solas would help. 

Cullen planned to ride out the impact alongside it and defer to the natural laws of gravity. Instead of catching her without movement, he’d bend at the knees, dispelling the force of her fall into his own legs and hopefully away from her body. 

For her head and neck, he could widen the space between his arms, making room for the back of her skull to connect so there wasn’t room for whiplash. Of course, if her skull connected with the metal bracers too harshly, that would kill her as well. Would she, in her terror, raise a barrier to protect herself before contact? Would the instinct to survive override whatever instinct pushed her off the gate? Was that the only thing that could save her?

Cullen, hazardously alert, projected his consciousness into every fiber of his body. No battle before had ever been this important. Not Kirkwall, not Corypheus, not even his own torture at Kinloch Hold. He would save Lavellan from herself and whatever moronic horseplay Dorian conned her into, and he stepped forward once more, leveling with her, whole-heartedly determined not to miss…

Lavellan passed over his head with ease, blurring with magic. She hopped in and out of the Fade -- a new ability to her ever-expanding arsenal -- and materialized above the ground beside him. The sound of shoulder blades scraping grass and dirt kicked up behind his back. A safety roll, to displace the momentum. Of course. And then, she was on her feet again. He’d felt the soft, separate vibrations of her boots register in the earth. The sound of her laughter followed.

… how incredibly IMBECILIC he was! Senseless! A fool! A bone-brained buffoon! He was Orlesian, but worse. Could he remember their national hymn? Cullen scrambled to find the words. Orlesian sycophants sang of their stupid, mother country. As a stupid Orlesian, Cullen was also required to sing.

How had he ever completed Templar training? He was dull as rock! The most unintelligent, somehow sentient creature to ever disgrace Thedas! 

Death. That was the only honorable thing left. He would fall on his sword that night, and a good riddance to the most ridiculous waste of life the world had ever seen. Did his living will include Lavellan? He made a mental note to leave her out of it. Disown her entirely. Josephine could work out the details, but Cullen would make sure to capitalize every letter: LAVELLAN GETS NOTHING.

“Pay up, you pretentious oaf,” Lavellan spat, doubtlessly at Dorian. “And let this be a lesson that my pigheadedness is stronger than your vanity.”

Cullen was filled with stone. On the one hand, he was a bumbling ass -- his arms were still outstretched, waiting to fulfill a rescue that was never needed in the first place. On the other was the timbre of Lavellan’s voice. Breathless, but compelling. Playful. Adoring. Alive.

But not for long.

Mages. It was the MAGES! It had always been the mages! Evil, hateful minions of the dark. Cohorts of the lowly, manipulators of the real and solid. A tarnish to everything good. Bitter, poisonous vipers, infecting those around them with their wily wickedness. Cullen could see it now. What his life would be without their mischief constantly shredding his nerves like failed cheese! There would be a semblance of peace -- not much, but a morsel. Enough to survive on. Ampleness to purge the sick and twisted idiocy of magic from every corner of his existence.

He didn’t know what his face looked like, or if he still had one, but Cullen willfully lowered his arms. They felt like marble at his sides. A useless discarding of rock. They never would’ve been able to catch Lavellan like this. The simple texture of their skin would’ve killed her, smashed the bones in her body to dust. He was a simpleton for thinking he could have ever been of help. 

He might’ve been wrong, but Cullen thought he was sweating. It was just as well. His physical form was clearly disintegrating under the guise that he was even remotely necessary to the world. Slowly, he commanded his feet to turn him around, to face the two mages and their heinous, flagrant disregard for his psychological well-being. 

Whatever Dorian had said in response to Lavellan’s barb was lost in the haze of Cullen’s own fury. When Cullen successfully rotated, Dorian’s glimmering eyes flickered from the elf’s onto his. They blazed violently. Glee. Joy at his suffering.

Evil. 

Hateful.

A devious, cat-like smirk pulled at the corners of Dorian’s mouth. He looked back to the Inquisitor, squaring his shoulders in what Cullen thought to be a show of smugness.

“Yes, darling I hear you,” he said. A musical inflection seeped into his voice as he spoke. “A bottomless pit of humiliation and everything. Et cetera, et cetera. Now, may I direct your attention to a matter more pressing than my gigantic, unquenchable ego?”

There was minute comfort as Lavelan stiffened. Oh, look! What a familiar posture! Was that anxiety she was feeling? How novel!

Evil.

Cullen watched the color drain out of her. It was a slow process. Lavellan had become tanned during her escapades into the wilderness, darkening even the freckles dug across her cheeks and nose. Without the blush, only the violet in her irises were left, trembling with unease as she pivoted. 

Even the vallaslin on her forehead, normally a blood and wine color, paled. It was almost comical how bleached and palid she was, leaving the most elven things about her to glow in defense of her now lifeless visage.

They didn’t say anything at first. On a typical day, just the sight of her was enough to wind Cullen. He would melt with love for her and all of the silly antics, at her impish delight in always getting her way. Her way was usually the best way, at any rate. It was hard to disagree with such an amazing woman who was so caring, so thoughtful about the needs of others. 

The blood leaking out of her must have found its way into his body, because he suddenly felt on fire, exploded from the inside out by all of the heat. Was the sun mocking him as well? Had it increased its intensity just to spite him?

The fact that she didn’t apologize right away was obnoxious. He was going to wait for it, for the eloquent, persuasive speech she would certainly give -- she always did when in trouble -- but there was only her silence. The horror in her eyes at being exposed. The fear of a mere scolding etched all over her face. 

“You just HAD to, didn’t you!?” Cullen shouted. Had he meant to yell? Probably not. This was good, though. Their first public fight. The Inquisitor and Commander. Nothing inappropriate about that. 

Whatever worry about being reproached was visibly replaced with petulance. Such a child sometimes. Lavellan’s brow crumpled, and new blood found its way into her cheekbones as she yelled back at him.

“Yes, actually! I did! Dorian said I wouldn’t clear the jump and you know how I feel about being challenged like that!”

Cullen felt the familiar tug of the scar on his lip that contorted whenever he was angry. “I do know, Ellana. I know that you’re nigh a mabari, but STUPID! Idiotic! Who’s made you this dumb? Should we get you a tutor?”

He ignored the blushed darkening of her vallaslin, which had always fascinated him. Twining, coiling lines of devotion to a patron god. In her culture, to choose a vallaslin was to choose the deity behind it, which Lavellan would soon need because Cullen would throw her off the battlements himself. Let her barrel roll out of that.

Ellana rolled her eyes at the insult. “You Fereldens and your dogs. Always needing to establish dominance, which is exactly my point!”

Cullen grit his teeth together. “Dominance? Why would you ever need to dominate Dorian--”

“--Ooh, now that’s an intriguing idea--”

“--when all he amounts to is a spoiled, rich brat who plays with corpses?!” Dorian earned a glare for interrupting. 

Dorian, still glowing in the warm, spring day, tutted at Cullen. “I believe the word you’re referring to is necromancing, good captain.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed to slits and Dorian grinned, showing Cullen his hands, palms out. Homicide wouldn’t help the situation. Probably. He had to remember to breathe, to inhale through the nose. Recalibrating with a shake of the head, Lavellan’s gaze was still when he returned to it.

He expected her to shout back at him, defend her best friend, but what she did surprised him. Lavellan cocked her head. Chewed on the side of her cheek and then laughed. All of the stress in her vallaslin smoothed out at once.

“Well, you’re not… wrong,” she conceded. Dorian grimaced behind her, as if he’d smelled something rotten and spent festering nearby. Then, the creeping, unconquerable smile she wore when she knows she’s won began slithering onto her awful, sinful, depraved, beautiful mage-face.

“In fairness,” she crooned, “I can now buy you the Orlesian whetstone you’ve wanted for so long.” 

FUCKING Orlesians. Cullen didn’t know who was more corruptible than them, save for mages. Stinking, destructive mages.

Cullen did note the proud look on Dorian’s face as Lavellan knowingly hoodwinked him into submission. Which, now that he thought about it, was also public!

“You’re going to kill me,” was all he said. A simple revelation. The rage drained away and marble arms returned to flesh. What did his face look like now? Calm? Resigned to his inevitable, eventual death?

Lavellan cocked her head again, swaying like a teenage girl in love. Overdoing a bit, if you asked him. The final nail in the coffin.

“Well, if I do,” she started, “I could always bring you back.” And then she proceeded to lift her left hand -- the Anchor hand. Its green magic pulsed as if to emphasize the promise. Or, was it a threat?

Dorian stifled a laugh when Cullen’s mouth audibly popped open.

Magic was terrifying. She was terrifying. 

He’d meant to bring a hand to his face, to rub away the stiffness in it. When the glove connected though, Cullen heard a loud slap echo across the courtyard. Lavellan flinched. Maybe the gesture had been too violent? He didn’t feel it. He was only aware of the ache in his head -- a timeless throbbing -- as if the pain had always been there. Because of magic, obviously. 

Lavellan’s mouth curled with a new smile. “Maybe you should go rest, Cullen. I promise not to jump off anything else today. Sound good?”

He wished she would just shut up because everything she was saying only made it worse. Cullen knew he would have nightmares about this day… as if he didn’t have enough already. Pointy, horrible dreams about her willingly jumping to her death would probably never leave him, and it was all of her fault. And magic’s. 

“Yeah. I’m going to go… slip into a coma or something.” But of course, Lavellan could always rip the Fade apart just to find and bring him back -- a horrific addendum.

But, no. Only one thing mattered now. His bed. Technically, it was Lavellan’s bed, as he’d taken to sleeping with her at night. Under normal circumstances he would’ve been too shy to slip into her room during the day. So many people around to gossip. Not that their relationship was a secret, but it was the principle of the thing. A demerit in the gentlemen’s code.

Although, because she’d single-handedly ripped the nerves from his body, he’d never have to worry about anything else ever again! With Lavellan’s bed and a few hours of unbothered rest, he’d be as good and traumatized as any other well-adjusted person in the Inquisition.

Cullen shuffled forward, pausing, because the normal routine called for a kiss on the forehead. Before he lowered himself however, his eyes narrowed of their own accord, squinting like two astrariums which combed through her face, scouring it for an iota of common sense. 

Where was it? Smothered, choking behind all of the magic? Struggling to be set free and realized? 

What has she done to you? Cullen wondered. What has the bad, villainous, shameful mage put you through? 

There was a glower to his face when he returned to it. More of a scowling really, as if she was the first darkspawn to ever curse the planet. Not too far off the mark. Elves could be darkspawn too, right? What were they called? Shrieks? 

She looked up at him with ease. Lavellan knew she’d gotten away with it for the most part, so what else was there to do but pity him? 

“I’ll meet you tonight,” she said, leaning up to kiss his forehead. The vallaslin stretched with her smile. Blood and wine and wayward, contemptible neglect for his mental well-being. Shimmering, fiendish, magnificent violet drilling into him, carving the soundness out, one blink at a time.

Words, incoherent, bubbled from him. A string of oaths, perhaps. He headed for the castle’s staircase when more words percolated. Loudly. He didn’t turn to personally tell her, nor did he modify the volume of his voice. He merely called into the air, letting all of the Inquisition -- and the Maker -- hear him as he headed to bed. 

“You can sleep on the sodding ground for all I care. I’m locking your door.”

Lavellan would unlock it within the span of a single heartbeat, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point was that he was tired and emotionally scarred and she could leave her stinking, e v i l magic outside their bedroom entrance where, at least for that night, it could no longer disturb the very fabric of his soul. 

If he launched her off the bedroom balcony and into the Frostbacks, would a safety roll still save her? 

Something to consider.

[theredhairedmonkey]

It's interesting you think Harrow was referring to Sarai when he asked Callum to be Ezran's partner, defender, and closest advisor. I always thought he was referring to Viren, and asking Callum to become Ez's High Mage. Why doesn't the letter mean that?

Well, Harrow had no way of knowing Callum would become a Mage, so I don’t think having him become a High Mage is what Harrow had in mind. It’s true that he intended Callum to inherit the Key of Aaravos, but that could have meant any of a variety of things, not necessarily that he has to become a mage to unlock its secrets. Needless to say, if Harrow truly knew of Callum’s magical abilities, he would have had him trained to master them, rather than just force him to learn sword-fighting and all these other princely skills he was having trouble with.

But in the more abstract way, “partner, defender, and closest adviser” does refer to Sarai and not to Viren. Because (1) While Sarai was alive, she was all those things for Harrow, and (2) at the time that Harrow wrote the letter, Viren was none of those things.

Sarai was indeed Harrow’s partner

Sarai: “You’ll be a champion of love and justice, and I’ll be fighting by your side.”

I mean…this one should be straightforward.

Sarai was also Harrow’s defender

Sarai: “I think this was in our marriage vows, right? Something about keeping you alive when you're acting like a brave idiot?”

Even prior to their marriage, it’s hinted that Sarai was a general—perhaps the general—of the Katolian army.

Opeli: “Your Aunt Amaya, and your mother before her, saw to it that our army was the best trained and most disciplined force in the kingdoms.”

As a general, her entire mission was to not only protect the kingdom but to protect the king and his family. For their entire relationship, Sarai was always the defender, either keeping Harrow alive or keeping Harrow safe.

Lastly, Sarai was Harrow’s closest advisor

As stated by Viren, Sarai was the one Harrow sought advice from. Whether it’s about the wisdom of hunting down the Titan, or about the insecurities he had with being King:

Sarai: Harrow, what troubles you?

Harrow: Why do I deserve this? What did I do, except being born with everything?

Sarai: You are humble, and grateful, and kind.

Whenever he’s seeking wisdom or guidance, it’s always Sarai. According to Viren, she “made him better. Harrow told me he was never as strong or brave as Queen Sarai believed him to be, but he tried every day to be stronger and braver so he could live up to what she saw in him.”

Viren, on the other hand, was never able to fill Sarai’s shoes, whether when she was alive or dead.

He was never Harrow’s partner

Viren clearly thought so.

Viren: “He insisted I stand next to him in the painting, because he knew I would stand by him through anything.”

But when he tried to express this sentiment.

Viren: “Right now I do not come to you as my King. I think of you as my brother.”

Harrow blew up at him.

Harrow: “I see the problem now. It’s that you believe you are special. Better than everyone else, above the laws of this kingdom.”

We’ve never seen Harrow have this kind of temper, before or since. So, I’d wager that Harrow’s anger must have been building for quite some time. Viren was perhaps always overstepping his boundaries, seeing himself as a “partner” to Harrow while the King always saw him as a subject. A loyal and capable subject of Katolis, but a subject nonetheless.

It’s interesting to note that, while Harrow does not regard Viren as his brother, he emphasizes that Ez and Callum are brothers, and wants them to treat each other as siblings, rather than as King and subject.

In his letter to Callum, he stresses that, whatever lies before him and Ez, they’ll face it together. As partners.

“I may not have long. So I’m forced to ask myself…what can I pass on to my sons in the short time I have left?”

“Soon you will both face a lie.”

“I ask you and your brother to reject history as a narrative of strength and instead have faith that it can be a narrative of love.”

“I will be watching over you and your brother always.”

“I have a selfish wish. And that is for you and Ezran to be…free.”

And when you look at the kind of relationship Harrow had with Sarai, and the kind he had with Viren, ask yourself which one he wanted his sons to have?

Viren was also not his defender

Think back to how Harrow joked about executing Viren for disturbing him.

Harrow: “Viren, didn't I tell you if you ever woke me up this early again I'd have you executed?”

Harrow: “So, what's so important that you come into my bedroom risking your life like this?”

While this is obviously a tongue-in-cheek joke, it does hint at the fact at how Harrow saw Viren at the time. He preferred to keep Viren at somewhat an arm’s length, and regarded the matters he brought before him as relatively trivial rather than life-or-death. Even though Viren does do things to protect his King, it’s clear that Harrow regards these as ancillary—the Crownguard formed the bulk of his protection, and he was already making preparations for his defense when Viren arrived.

And if there’s an exchange that justifies why Harrow keeps so much distance between them, it’s the following:

Viren: “Know this, every one of these men and women would gladly trade their life to save yours.”

Harrow: “Would you?”

Viren: “I-uh…”

Harrow: Get out.

Lastly, Viren was not Harrow’s closest advisor

Harrow doesn’t rope Viren into any of his plans—while Viren was free to make his own plans, Harrow didn’t include him in any defense strategy he himself came up with. He sees Viren as primarily a problem-solver, but not necessarily whose advice he trusts his life with.

And even when Viren provided counsel to Harrow, his actions made it clear he did not regard Viren as his closest advisor.

In fact, he seems to have choice words for Viren.

Viren: “You're acting stubborn and ungrateful.”

Harrow: “Should I be grateful that you destroyed that dragon's egg? Thank you for starting this unwinnable war? Thank you for angering the dragons and the elves so much that tonight they are here for my life?”

Harrow questions and second-guesses all of Viren’s advice. In fact, there’s not a single time that I can think of where Harrow approaches Viren and asks him for his guidance. Instead, it’s usually Viren who approaches Harrow with plans that Harrow reluctantly signs off on and ends up regretting.  

It’s clear by the point Harrow hands Callum the letter, he doesn’t keep close company with Viren. He holds Dark Magic, Viren’s primary craft, in high contempt. He thinks Viren is primarily responsible for the assassins coming to kill him. He thinks all of Viren’s plans have amounted to mere shortcuts for which the “blood price” would have to be paid for eventually.

When Harrow is writing to Callum, he doesn’t want him to have a relationship with Ez that he had with Viren. By that point, their relationship had deteriorated to the point that Harrow is miffed when Viren calls him his brother, he no longer loops in Viren to his defense plans, and questions and criticizes the advice that Viren gives him.

Instead, he wants the two boys to have a relationship like he had with Sarai, who Harrow always sought advice from, with whom they had an incredibly positive relationship that made Harrow want to do and be better, and with whom Harrow would trust his life with.

I’ve already written before here how Callum has already become a “partner, defender, and closest adviser” for Rayla. I’ve also written here about some of the things Callum has in common with his mother, and one of these days I plan to write about the other commonalities they have. But Callum really is his mother’s son—I think Harrow saw that and wanted to foster those qualities. When he saw moments such as:

It reminded him of how he and his wife used to spar.

And it made him see the close bond that the two boys have with one another. They’re inseparable, they fully trust one another, and they would always be at the other’s side. For Callum’s part, he will always protect his brother and look after his wellbeing. He could speak his mind, and work together with Ezran to build a better and brighter Katolis.

Harrow could never imagine having that from Viren. And honestly, it’s quite possible that this is part of why Viren held Callum in such utter contempt—without having any special talents with spells or steel, this boy will be in closer company with his King than Viren ever could be.

No wonder he has so much hatred for him.

[mareebrittenford]

I’ve never believed in magic. I’ve never seen anything that’s convinced me of it, especially not living here in Anaheim, California. It might feel magical to make that big trip to Disneyland, but outside of that shiny spotlight, it’s all boring or depressing. 

There’s no magic here. It’s not a special place to grow up. It’s too far from the beach to be cool, too far from L.A. to be hip. It’s dull suburbia, pushing the edge of seedy.

Perhaps that’s why I felt so drawn to something that felt a little outside of normal. The Fairy House. 

I’d never noticed it before this last summer. I call it The Fairy House because it looks like something straight out of a fairy tale, the old-fashioned kind that hasn’t been processed to remove the nasty bits. It’s got a real wood shingle roof covered in creeping vines. There’s diamond-shaped windows of wavy colored glass and a fence that looks like drunk elves built it in the middle of the night out of materials they thought were pretty. It even smells special. Rich and damp and green, despite the baking dry heat that’s overrun everything else.

It’s obviously just a house. A funky, water-restrictions-ignoring old house that’s shoved its way into my head. I don’t even know why I noticed it. There are other old houses that are falling apart around here.

But somehow it’s just special. Cute. Not quite belonging.

I’ve altered my running route, to the point of doing extra miles in the summer heat, just so I can run past it. It keeps my mind occupied for the rest of the run, coming up with stories about what if. What if it really was enchanted? I’ve been reading up on older versions of the familiar stories. The kind where there’s no magical save at the last moment. The kind where people die for making bad choices. 

If the house were really enchanted, I’d say there would be a 50/50 chance of my fascination being a curse or something. But I wonder, as I stop in front of it and breathe in the sweet smell of flowers and grass, if this was how Hansel and Gretel felt. This strange desire to know. To see. To go inside.

In the end, they’re just silly stories to keep my mind entertained on the long solo runs. Around here people know better than to believe in magic. When you’ve seen backstage, you know that it’s all a trick. All there is to magic is people working to create the illusion.

The house might not be a planned illusion. But my stories about it are just stories, like an oasis in the desert that evaporates when you get closer.

I’m fifteen, so even if I’d ever been taken in by the idea of magic, I’m too old for it now. I have more important things to worry about. School. Getting into college. 

When I meet up with the track team the week before school starts, I casually suggest that we take the run along Orangethorpe. Because there’s trees. Everyone wants shade, right? Of course it’s already late afternoon, since no one wants to run in the full heat of summer if they can avoid it. So shade isn’t that important.

I still want to run past my fairy house. It’s been a few days, and I miss it.

Lionel, the new team captain, rolls his eyes. He knows my motive. He’s one of the few people that has bothered to keep up his training over the summer. He’s also one of my best friends. I’ve made him run this route enough times for him to complain about it. 

“You need to be careful, or people are going to start calling you the girl who obsesses over weird houses.”

I roll my eyes, but he ignores me, turning away to call out and get the attention of the messy group. He has to clap his hands and yell a few times to get their attention.

Now would be the time to give an inspiring speech about the exciting competitions we have in the season ahead of us, and Lionel makes an attempt, but he’s not much for inspiring speeches. He’s a tall black guy, his long, lean body the ideal runner’s build. He’s going to be good at most of the captain stuff, and he’s got a great eye for talent. But he’s not what you’d call a natural public speaker. We’ll have to find our inspiration elsewhere.

That doesn’t matter today. It’s traditional to make this first run easy. The hell workouts will come in the next few weeks. 

“It’s better to start soft so these out-of-shape idiots don’t quit on us,” Lionel told me earlier. Their commitment level isn’t the best anyway. We aren’t exactly an all-star team. 

I mostly tune out his speech and focus on twisting my hair into a rough French braid so it doesn’t frizz or tangle too much. Of course as soon as I start sweating I’m going to have a frizzy halo around my face, but at least it’ll be kind of controlled. 

Lionel finishes talking, and we all straggle off down the street, some people dropping to a walk almost immediately.

I fall into step with Lionel in a pack with a few other kids who haven’t skipped training completely over the summer.

“Oh wow, I wonder why we’re running this route,” he says smirking. He knows very well why.

“Why are we?” asks Brad, dropping in on my other side. He crowds me a little, and I edge closer to Lionel. Brad has never forgiven me for only going on one date with him. That was one more date than I should’ve. It gives me perverse pleasure to see that his pale skin is now bright red and he’s streaming sweat. Someone didn’t stay in shape over the summer.

“Lyse has a local tourist attraction she likes to cruise past,” Lionel says. He puts on a high-pitched voice. “If you would turn your attention to the building coming up on your right. It’s a falling down old house, which our esteemed teammate Carlyse believes to be inhabited by fairies—” I elbow him in the side, and he makes a choked sound as if I’ve done him some actual harm. Carlyse is my full name, but he only uses it when he wants to annoy me.

“What?” Brad frowns. “What are you guys even talking about?”

We’ve just reached the house, and I flick my thumb at it in annoyance. “This old house. I think it’s cute. And I don’t think fairies live there.” Okay, when I’m right in front of it… maybe I do. Or something like that.

Brad shakes his head. “Why are you guys always such jerks? I'm not an idiot. It’s a model train store. Perfect for nerds. You should visit.” He snorts in annoyance and gives up his battle to keep up with us, dropping back to a walk. 

I look up and down the street. It’s a light industry/retail area, and the fairy house is sandwiched between a mattress outlet and a janitorial supply store. Further down is a sporting goods store, and a FedEx depot. There’s lots of businesses. But one thing there isn’t?

“Hey, do you see a model train store anywhere?” I scan back and forth.

“Nope. Just your dopey house.”

���What was he talking about then?”

Lionel shrugs, unconcerned. “He’s just pulling your leg. You know how he is. Or maybe he got confused. There is a model airplane store down on the next block.”

How could he look right at the fairy house and see a model store, train or otherwise? It’s weird. I look back over my shoulder and see him with a couple other teammates who have stopped to walk too. They’re laughing and pointing at the house.

Obviously he’s not confused. Just Brad being his usual asshat self.

I resolve to put him and the stupid house out of my mind.

I actually succeed for a week or so.

This is the opening from my new book The Liminal Gate. Check it out!

[theharellan]

@nxthero​ asked: What does Solas look for in potential agents? What personality traits, skills, and backgrounds tend to produce his most dependable agents? Who does he most trust from among his ranks?

Are there any examples of someone being the complete opposite of who he would typically seek yet they rise to be one of his best and/or favored allies? Conversely, are there any examples where he has had high hopes for someone among his ranks but they've fallen short of what he expected of them? Are there any standout cases where things have gone extremely wrong such as agents completely botching their missions or perhaps an intentional betrayal by one of his own?

What does Solas look for in potential agents? What personality traits, skills, and backgrounds tend to produce his most dependable agents?

One of the first things I feel I should note is that most of Solas’ agents aren’t recruited directly by him. In Elvhenan, most people found him through resources littered across the empire by the rebellion. Many of the connections Solas had before becoming Fen’Harel were lost to him, I headcanon that Mythal and him fell out and only allied later, many nobles pledged to him were quick to distance themselves, with only a select few faithful remaining out of loyalty to him rather than investment in their own freedom, at least initially. Some former allies (like Miraen, one of Joly’s ocs) later join through their own initiative, but overall he’s building up a new base of information, rather like an Inquisitor who disbands the Inquisition to take a more covert and subversive route to stopping Solas.

That being said, those looking for recruits did have an idea of what he liked to see. The look in someone’s eyes could communicate a lot in Elvhenan, and rarely did anyone care to look for talent where they looked. Agents and spies in June’s temple is what led Vher to his cause, rumours of a place where their talents could be properly recognised. They looked for the selfish and the selfless, the meek and the brave, as those who did not wish to help had other avenues with which to find their freedom, “let none be beholden but by choice” and all that. This lack of discernment for initial recruits led to deception: it was easy enough for nobles to send their slaves to spy for them, and just as simple for the Ben-Hassrath to do the same, but also denying people protection for lacking certain qualities would be counter to the whole reason they were taking up this fight in the first place.

What Solas looked for (and looks for) in those who became part of his inner circle is initiative and gall. Miraen joins of their own will, for their own reasons, though their history together owes a lot to their place. Vher joins because they deserve recognition for their achievements, and because when they arrive at the sanctuary they throw the ruin of June’s inventions at his feet. For those who join him in the Dragon Age, Bruno was initially a part of a group of freed slaves who were to be protected, but insisted upon (even demanded) that he learned how to help. Many who joined him were still under the impression that he was a god, as one mosaic wouldn’t cure most of that misconception, so he recognised the courage it took to confront him about anything. Those who took chances with him were rewarded.

Who does he most trust from among his ranks? Are there any examples of someone being the complete opposite of who he would typically seek yet they rise to be one of his best and/or favored allies?

Miraen is one. They’ve been friends since before the war that created the evanuris, and while there is some initial skepticism on Fen’Harel’s part when they wait until he joins the revolution to join themselves, it doesn’t stick. He comes to trust Felassan, who as we see in The Masked Empire is clever and quick, and truth be told his levity is much-needed. There are also varying levels of trust: Sylvas is one who he trusts to accomplish her mission, as is Vher, but he rarely trusts them with his doubts, while Adahleni is someone Solas hesitates to assign when the nature of the work is particularly cold, but someone he may go to with his thoughts.

A pretty good example of someone who Solas likely didn’t expect to become important to him would be Bruno. He has no training as a spy or in combat when he’s recruited, but has enough heart that Solas thinks it’s worth trying to train him. Despite being goofy, he ends up demonstration aptitude for deception he wouldn’t have considered. He’s not his best or most useful ally, he’s still young and has a lot to learn, but still more than what Solas expected. If my Solas is late to his boss fight in DA4 it’s probably because he’s doing Bruno’s loyalty/personal quest.

Conversely, are there any examples where he has had high hopes for someone among his ranks but they've fallen short of what he expected of them? Are there any standout cases where things have gone extremely wrong such as agents completely botching their missions or perhaps an intentional betrayal by one of his own?

The most obvious one is Felassan, someone whom Solas trusted with the eluvian network, failing to do so. Not having the network severely hindered their movements and denied them a safe place to hide, in-game it’s a visual difference alone, but in the lore humans (and possibly other non-elves) struggle to move through the Crossroads, obviously giving a group of only spirits and elves the upper-hand. The betrayal was fixable, he has the network by Trespasser, I tend to play it that it was either taken by another agent or that an alliance was established with Briala to achieve it. Whether Felassan lives or dies, he is privy to less information than he was, though there is a potential for some reconciliation as ultimately Solas does recognise Felassan was right. By the end of Inquisition there are modern elves joining the cause and he’s realised he was wrong about the nature of the world whether or not he likes the Inquisitor because my Solas isn’t defined by that relationship alone.

Others have proven to have been deceiving him from the beginning, as I mentioned spies were sent into the rebellion’s ranks. Most did not come close to doing any lasting damage, the way Solas structures his organisation makes striking its heart difficult. No one group can reveal all its secrets. There have also been cases where former spies end up joining the cause in earnest, as nobles overestimate the loyalty of their slaves.

Botching missions is something he is more forgiving of, as someone prone to making mistakes himself. There is investigation into if it truly was an accident, but otherwise they are put somewhere they can do less harm or trained accordingly. What’s less forgivable is those who, in his words, “ have no interests beyond creating disruption.” His forces are no strangers to causing chaos, it was an effective strategy for spreading word and sowing doubts into the minds of the populace, but some wanted no more than petty revenge or just to do harm. I’ll probably talk about this in more detail when I read the relevant Tevinter Nights story, but as he says in Trespasser he wants the people of Thedas to have some stability and peace. It’s one of the drawbacks to his disjointed organisation, people are taking orders from people who have never met him but speak in his name, or are doing what they will and declaring it part of his grand plan. He ends up devoting resources to stopping them. The tactical benefits of stopping them is debatable, one could argue that it wins him recruits, others could say that provoking further conflict between the modern factions of Thedas is in his best interest, but between Trespasser and Dread Wolf Take You there is an emerging pattern that demonstrates Solas is hoping for a third option.

[captusmomentum]

ARRANGED TANZANITE RETURNS WITH A BANG!!!!!

fair warning tho this fucker is COMPLETELY UNPROOF READ. I told myself I’d get something posted today and i’m doing it even if it’s janky as shit I’m too tried to actually edit it atm so whatever. ENJOY!!!! IT’S FLUFF (KINDA????)

@theladypirate @feynites

Seeing Inan with her clan peers is a bit of shock. He’s generally used to her being good natured but nervous and prone to anxiety. Kind but not someone he call sociable. That is until now at this little impromptu gathering of  many of the younger clan elves currently in the city. It’s about as raucous as you’d expect for a group of youths this large but there’s nothing untoward going on so tolerable to his sensibilities.

What’s the focus of his and Uthvir’s attention now is Inanallas who had been called away from their table about 2 hours ago by some friend and is now embroiled in leading some large group songs and play acting what is clearly very popular childhood tales to the delight of the crowd. The songs at the start had been the most jarring, He had absolutely no idea she could yell that loudly and wished he had not found out by her yelling obscenities at her fellows. It must be the drink— though he knows she hasn’t drunk enough to lose her senses so completely but— clearly it must just be that she’s extremely drunk. People are very different when inebriated that’s just normal.

The play acting is actually quite engaging, it’s not a quality production by any stretch of the imagination, but the stories are the tales that Inanallas and her peers where told as children, folk lore and such which is actually deeply interesting. Uthvir is going along with the crowd laughing and crowing with the lot. Honestly.

Inanallas seems to usually end up as a villain or something similar (which he finds offensive frankly, his spouse is not a villain!) and they do a very good job being an incredibly hammy villain, shifting to match the character, some of which he cannot help but note are quite attractive— not that she’s normally not, in fact, her main form is definitely more attractive than any of those. Definitely. His spouses are very attractive just like he is, they are all very good looking.

He takes a healthy swig of his wine.

They are all drunk by the time they make their way back to their apartments, not embarrassingly so but still. Inanallas is still in exceedingly high spirits leading the way as Uthvir endlessly goads them.

“I’m shocked, I hadn’t realized we’d married such a talent” They drawl wickedly.

Inan spins around and bows dramatically as they walk backwards.

“Why thank you! I pride myself on being a rank amateur thespian.”

“Amateur? No, I thought you scenery chewing was truly professional.”

He can’t help the burst of laughter at that apt jibe, but he quickly covers his mouth and works to contain the outburst. Inanallas wink at him roguishly and Thenvunin can feel his face flush from more than wine.

The mood is high when they get back and as comfortable as it as ever been between them all which is practically sublime after all the stress and terrible awkwardness of it all. Their conversation seems impossible to break the train of and they all end up still at chatting in the living room hours later and much more sober by the time he realizes how late it is and how he really should get to bed. He’s loathe to end this moment but he supposes someone among them has to be responsible, though it pains him to have to wear that mantle so frequently.

“I’m sorry to say but it is terribl—“ before he can finish he’s overcome by a yawn which he covers quickly with his sleeve. How embarrassing!

“Tired? Oh no wonder! Look at the time!”  Inan exclaims sympathetically, noticing the hour herself.

He nods. “It’s unfortunate we have to end such a wonderful night but we really should be to bed.”

“Oh? I don’t think it really has to end just now does it? Though I agree moving things to the bedroom is for the best.”

Thenvunin stares at Uthvir aghast. Honestly! The savage! If anyone here that should’ve been playing the villain it’s Uthvir not Inanallas! How typical of them to ruin a perfect night with their lewd lustful ways! His gaze snaps to poor virginal Inanallas who this must be traumatizing to only be even more horrified. They’re grinning at Uthvir with a look he’s categorized as ‘Inan is about to go along with Uthvir’s Terrible Plan’. He’s Doomed.

Before he can try to dissuade them (because of course he would) Inan has scooped him up as if he weighs nothing and his flush returns with a vengeance. A hot spike of embarrassing arousal pierces him and he works furiously to regain his composure. He is clings to them tightly—for balance! And focuses on the impropriety of it all and not how solid her arms are or the feel of her so close.

“ I— You! Put me down at once! This is— I swear—! You two are incorrigible! Even after all this you to still want to— to—!”

Uthvir chuckles as they open the door to his bedroom for Inanallas.

“Oh come now, I thought you just said were loathe to part with your beloved spouses? We’re simply remedying that.”

He huffs angrily but supposes it was bound to happen eventually. They are married and it was only a matter of time before they prevailed upon him thusly. He must simply stay strong and preform this more lewd duty of a husband.

Only, by the time Inan places him on his bed and topples on top of him, nuzzling his collarbone it’s clear that she at least is just as tired as he is. It’s no shock, they were the most active out of all of them. Looking again at Uthvir as they sit next to them even they too look a bit sleepy. It looks like the likelihood that they’ll be jointly ravishing him is quite low. He feels a bit put out— only that he has to continue to wait to get it over with. Obviously.

He cannot help flush further when Inanallas begins to undress him.

“W-what—?!” he gasps—demands.

“Well you can’t sleep in your fancy clothes can you?”

Once again he’s thrown for a loop, it must be part of some evil clan mind trick since he’s so throughly caught wrong footed that he’s practically wanton under he as she works, maneuvering him out of his dress. He notices with mounting horror has she shifts that he is definitely reacting and as she is straddling him she must certainly have noticed. But maybe she hasn’t as she doesn’t exclaim in shock or make some lascivious remark like Uthvir. Maybe she’s simply is so untainted she doesn’t even know how to tell? But then he’d be a monster for exposing her to something to lurid—

He’s distracted by the trail of kisses she leaves down his neck that seem to hit sensitive spots too well to be lucky that makes him rethink that.

Uthvir sits back down —Uthvir had left? With one of his nightgowns in hand— one of the red ones. Gods, red— Honestly the elf had no shame.

“Tell me Thenvunin,  would you like us to dress you as well?”

Thenvunin shoots up one of the hands on Inan’s thighs —when did those get there?— reflexively going to her back to keep her steady and safely to him.

“I am more than capable of dressing myself thank you!”

They raise their hands in mock defeat and offer him the offending garment.

He snatches it and Inan takes it as her cue to leave his lap and he instantly misses her weight. Without her body to obscure it, his reaction is in full view. Quickly he gets up and turns his back to them as he changes quickly in an attempt to preserve some of his dignity.

He can hear clothes flying and hitting the floor and he looks down at the growing pile of what’s clearly Inan’s clothes before looking at her in time to see her boots go flying. She haphazardly wrestles her pants off and throws them to the floor as well leaving her in only what could best be described as a kerchief held up by string and tiny panties. He stares openly for a moment as he now can very clearly see the full extent of her tattoos before his senses come back and he quickly returns his attention to the pile of clothes. He’d wonder how someone who wore so much could disrobe so quickly if it was clear she tore them off her like an animal.

He snaps back around at Uthvir’s growl of approval to them oggling Inanallas. Honestly! He returns to the bed and quickly slips under the covers for modesty, closer now he can keep an eye on that beast and make sure they do not try to take advantage of their spouse.

“Inanallas would you be a dear and help me out of my armor?”

“Yeah of course.”

She moves closer to Uthvir and he can see her back. He feels a jolt as somehow her back is even more covered than her front. He didn’t think that— Well it’s not as if— Tattoos can be quite artist even if her’s are quite brutish thought he would never say that were interesting to him—It’s doing things to him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

He shifts the blankets.

Uthvir and Inan move quickly and soon Uthvir is out of all their many pieces which are set away much more neatly than Inan’s own articles. Inan comes and slips in beside him as Uthvir removes only what would be truly uncomfortable to sleep in before joining the two of them.

Thenvunin is quite certain he’s about to die from the strain.

[lightforgedeve]

Battles and Orphans

Dear Journal, Sorry my writting is rather messy today, i'm a bit sore and worn out. I seem to be out of practice with my abilities in combat so i really had to hoof it on training. Today some of us went off to help our allies take back a small town being overrun by the undead. I think i did well enough, i only got an arrow in my collarbone. Could have been worse. Though i ended up slipping and falling which was rather embarrassing. Luckily the High Vindacator didn't see. Instead he saw me almost finish slaying this big ugly monster thing with guts coming out of it's stomach and throwing hooked chains about. However...he ended up finishing the beast upon his arrive. It was beautifully executed, i just wish it was me slaying it. The battle was rather quick, but tense. Our allies took one side of the town and we came in from the other. There was only five of us in the end, plus a lion. Which seems to be a clumsy creature. Don't know why the Humans have that animal as their sigil, sure it's pretty but don't see what else it has after today. The ending was...rather anti-climatic. The one who seemed to have been the boss well...died rather easily. One of the other paladins in our allies side throw a Lights Hammer at it, the High Vindicator and i filled it a bit with our own energy as it flew and as it struck the being, well they fell, rolled down the hill and died. The other beings were more of a challenge. I guess being a leader can get ya a bit rusty. I'm rather worried of that, so i'll be increasing my training regiment from now on. Afterwards, the High Vindicator and i went on a scouting tour of the area for our future mission. He also told me about some of the places we will be targeting and explaining on how they can not be spared, the people within the areas i mean. Of course i wish to show mercy, however i have faith in my High Vindicator and i believe in his words on such matters. For this campaign i will prove my might and not show mercy. Later on i went to Stormwind to see about a nice city meal and to relax a bit. I ended up meeting with Eveneah and we shared a drink and had a chat in the Mage District. We were bumped into by a fellow who had joined, a Panadarian so i stayed back a bit. He seemed a bit..scattered brain? I think i'll be keeping a eye on him anyways. I think it's a him...i can't really tell with them bears. Upon finishing some delicous cocoa Eveneah showed me the cities library. I find it's weird that it's within the Kings home and open to the public, just seems unsafe. Humans have weird ways of going about some things i think. The library was nice though, a wide range of books on different histories. The Elves library is bigger and nicer though i will say, however theirs isn't as diverse. Another of our order happened upon us, think their name was Talia? They seem nice enough, though a bit uncertain as to why they are with us. They look like a good fighter though, a good form and nice armor so i look forward to see what becomes of them. Soon i was by myself so i helped myself to a couple books. I noticed some in a glass case, i thought it was weird putting books there. They were much older too, which i was happy about. I like older history, don't want it being lost after all. So i helped myself to one about a war in the same area we had just come from, i figured it'll be helpful in the future. Maybe there's a plan we didn't consider that was used, or some old trails or hidden pathways that we could use to our advantage. Sorry i haven't gone into grand detail this time, like i said i'm very tired. So i'm going to sleep now. Good night.

Dear Journal. Ugh! Aursuna is soooo mean! We were meeting some new recruits at our home base to give them a tour, have them introduce themselves and see abou assigning them to divisions and surprise! I'm the one giving the tour. I had to really rake my brain to remember what all the buildings are used for. I almost forgot what the Augaris building was for. I've never talked to a crowd before either! Well..not like..addressing them. I felt so nervous! And i obviously did a bad job as the High Vindicator and Aursuna kept stepping in to add things. Oooh i hope i never have to do something like that again! The new recruits look promising. We have two more in the Infantry which i'm of course happy with. One seemed uncertain as to where they'd like to go, but i'm sure they'll be able to talk to someone about it to get a better idea of what each division does and see where they can best grow with their talents. After the tour, Eveneah took us on a tour of her own. Taking us to Stormwind. it was nice seeing it in anothers eye and being able to get some history of some of the areas. Like how Lion's Rest use to be a park but is now a memorial ground. It's a beautiful area, but i find it can be over crowded and i get a bad feeling something dark still lingers there sometimes. Than we headed off to the Cathedral area. I've already been a few times, but i've never been inside the Cathedral. I...wasn't sure of it's purpose till now. It's quite big and you can really feel the Light shining over you there. I still get this odd feeling in their too though. Though Eveneah did confirm with us that some people do practice the Shadow arts, as well as a Discipline art which is a delicate balance of both the Light and Shadow. I think it's an interesting idea, but i'd never want to be part of that. Bah. The next place was the hardest place to be. The orphanage. it was so heart breaking, seeing so many children without families. At least the kids seemed happy enough, besides their stares at us. However one boy caught my attention, he was all alone and looked rather sad. So i offered him to join our family. Apparently...that is not a thing one does. There is this process to "Adopt" and also...Aursuna and the High Vindicator wouldn't allow me to keep him. Which...with their reasoning i understand and i do agree. It's not like i'd be there with him all the time and i do have to go to battles and missions and if something happened to me well he'd be alone again. Which would be super bad. I just think we should adopt all the orphanes, bring them into our family, raise them together for our future and take care of them all together ourselves. Like how it was on the Ship. Some kids lost their parents in the battle, but someone else was always there to help out or be there for the child. Even my moma took in someone whose parents died in a battle. Uh, but anyways. It was hard. Later we went on to the Kings library. I went on ahead to return my books. There i learned in a harsh lesson, i wasn't suppose to take the old book that i did. I had to pay a fine, i thought he was saying i was fine, but...no, that wasn't the case. He was very angry. Aursuna did step in for me and took care of it, but i wasn't allowed back in the library. Which was fine because there was a little girl in the gardens so i went to go play with her. Also...it seems i have my own...bodyguard? Lyn'dara kept following me and keeping close to me since the orphange, which...i found odd and she did say she was suppose to keep an eye on me. I don't know what for. So i decided to teach her how to play fish so she could join the little girl and i in for a game. OH! I also learned that Aursuna has this...file for me, apparently it's big and it's for in case i make more mistakes. I really don't know how to take that! She is really confusing me at times i tell ya. For instance, when i was explaining the game of 'Go fish' to Lyn'dara, Aursuna just runs right over and talks on quickly and than said she missed me. How confusing is that! We were only apart for a few moments. I'm starting to think she needs a vaction. For the end of the tour we went down to the Valley of Hero's, though...all the statues they have i think need to be replaced or least the plaques. They have Turalyon there and Alleria, but it says they are dead. Obviously they are not. And Khadghar looks like really weird, with a beard. Eveneah explains this alternate timeline thing? She doesn't get it much herself, i have no idea how that's possible. Her not understanding something and about what or how an alternate time line could exist. Pfft. Impossible! There were two other hero's as well, both just assumed deceased. Which, by this track record they are wrong. Maybe we'll meet those two in the future too! To wrap up the night, Eveneah had a picnic ready. However it was just me and her at the end, which i didn't mind. We chatted a bit about the orphans, how the tours were, little things. I like talking with Eveneah, she's really relaxing to be around. Even if she did admit before that she dabbled in the shadow arts. However, i can't sense any of that with her and she's a very kind person, so i'm not going to let that affect how i think of her. While we were eating i say someone with a beautiful feline! I think it came from Argus too. Than i saw her again in Telaar! She was waiting to talk to Aursuna, who i was checking in on. I wanted to let her know that even though we were apart again for a while that i missed her too. I hope it helped. I'm not really sure, it's just...all...weird. So while the lady with the cat and Aursuna chatted i fed the feline. it's so big and pretty and nice too! My Marsuul and it got along rather well, even though he was mean at first. My Marsuul i mean. Such a little fighter. Of course i was able to chat with the new comer too, her names Siva and she's joining our ranks too. So i look forward to working with her. She's...uh...interesting to say the least. I'm not quite sure how to take her yet i think. She's...definitely different than what i'm use to. Whew, that was such a long day. I didn't even get to do some training, i'll have to work extra hard tomorrow! I best get some good sleep. Night!

[deadlydollies13]

The Potion Master’s Grace Ch. 13

“So which one should I wear? This one?” Grace held out a black dress from inside her closet, “Or this one?” she held out a light blue one.    “The blue one; it makes your eyes stand out,” Severus said, sitting on the edge of Grace’s bed.    Grace had come home from the hospital the previous night. She had to stay on the oxygen tank for at least a week. She was ordered to take it easy; not do anything strenuous, and to basically stay in bed or on the couch for the week. But, Severus was making an exception for this one night on the promise that she would stay in bed for the rest of the week. How strenuous could a date be anyway?    “You don’t have to rush around your room, you know. You still have about an hour.”    “I know, but I still have to do my hair and makeup!” she called out from inside the closet.    Grace came out, her hair in curlers, pulling her oxygen tank behind her, and her blue eyes even bluer than before in contrast to her dress.    “I think you should just go like that.”    “Haha, you’re funny,” she said sarcastically.    Severus never understood why girls liked makeup so much, but he knew that Grace had a lot of it and treated it like it was her diamond-encrusted baby. It took her a good forty-five minutes to do her makeup and he hated the fact that he was fascinated by the whole process. She covered up most of her freckles with some liquid stuff that was almost white because she was so pale, but still, her freckles showed through. And then she spent ten minutes “blending” her eyeshadow whatever the hell that meant. And he had to be completely silent when she put on eyeliner, which she put on with scotch tape. And she put sparkly powder on her cheekbones until the light reflected off them.    “Which lip color goes best?”    “I just noticed Luna isn’t here,” Severus said, looking around.    “Just pick one.”    “She’s here almost every day. She never leaves.”    “Dad!”    “Grace, I know absolutely nothing about this… That one,” he pointed to one of the tubes.    “Thank you. And Luna is helping her dad with something for The Quibbler,” she said letting her hair out. “There! And I’ve still got ten minutes.”    Severus sighed, “Why can’t you just stay little forever? Just, don’t grow up.”    “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll always be the same height.”

-

   “You have a car?!” It was the first thing Grace said when she walked outside into the warm summer evening.    “Why are you acting so surprised?” Draco grinned, obviously amused by Grace’s amazement over the black 2016 Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead Coupé.    “I didn’t know Wizards drove cars.”    “Of course we do. Well, at least I do.”    “Have her home by midnight, Draco! And don’t wreck your father’s car!” Severus called from the doorway.    “Yes, sir!”    “Bye, dad. See you later!” Grace waved off and Severus went back inside. Grace walked over to Draco, the wheels on her oxygen tank making a most satisfying noise on the gravel.    “You look beautiful, Grace,” Draco said. She felt her cheeks turn pink but she hoped he couldn’t tell in the dark night.    “Thank you, you too. I mean, you look handsome. You- I like the jacket,” Well that was a stupid thing to say, Grace. But he did look rather nice. He was wearing a dark gray button-down that made his eyes stand out and a black leather jacket that just made him look even hotter standing next to the car. And his hair was styled, but messy at the same time. Grace couldn’t explain it, she just knew that Draco was the most gorgeous guy she had ever seen.    “Thanks, Little Red. Shall we go?” he opened the car door open for her.    “Such a gentleman. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She got in very carefully, and even sitting she was careful not to touch anything. The car was worth more than her life.    “Nope, it’s a surprise.”

-

   The best thing about Draco was that he made it easy to be yourself around him. He was always interested in what you had to say and made you feel like your interests were as important as anything else.    They didn’t talk much on the way to wherever they were going, instead, they listened to songs Grace hadn’t heard in forever. And then Don’t Stop Believing came on; the ultimate sing-along song. Grace was biting her lip, Don’t sing, Grace. That’s weird. He’ll think you’re weird.    But then, “Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere.”    The night could’ve ended right there because nothing could top Draco Malfoy singing to Journey. And he was actually bloody good! He looked at Grace, just egging her to join in. And she did.    “Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere.”    Then they both sang together, belting at the tops of their lungs because it was amazingly fun and they didn’t care. During guitar riffs, they laughed hysterically at themselves or even sang the guitar chords. Grace didn’t care her hair got a little messed up in the wind, and Draco might’ve gone a bit over the speed limit. None of them felt shy, or self-conscious.    When the song ended, Grace was out of breath, but she could’ve care less, “Draco Malfoy, you did not tell me you could sing!”    “Oh please! Why aren’t you on one of those talent shows? You’re amazing!”    “Stooppp.”    “Grace, I’m serious. I mean, I never paid attention when you sang in Flitwick’s stupid choir but-“    “Hey!”    “But, I guess when you’re not singing about spells and charms, you’re pretty good.”    “You’re a prat, you know that?” She looked away but he could tell she was grinning.

-

   “Draco, this place is so… extravagant,” Grace said as they entered the restaurant. To begin, there was valet parking, which Grace had only seen in movies. And everyone in the restaurant was wearing gowns with fur shawls and three-piece suits and drinking fine wine and tiny entrees. It wasn’t even a Wizard establishment, and she still felt so out of place.    “Don’t worry about it,” he laced his arm with Grace’s as the hostess led them to their table.    Grace tried to hide behind Draco but she could still feel eyes on her. It was probably because she was pulling an oxygen tank behind her and they all thought she was sick or dying. She whispered, “I feel like they’re all staring at me.”    “That’s because you’re the most beautiful girl to walk in here,” he whispered back.    Draco really was the perfect gentleman the entire night. Pulled out Grace’s chair for her and he ordered for her. Not that she knew what the menu said anyway since it was in French or Italian. But whatever it was, it was delicious. They even had champagne without question. Although, what hoodlum minor could be able to afford this place? Well, Draco Malfoy, of course.    The conversation was never awkward. She never once felt awkward or anxious and could speak freely to him because he truly liked her, and Grace’s love for him grew stronger by the minute.    When she was with him, even when he sat by her hospital bed, she forgot all of her sorrows. It was like he made every bad thing that ever happened to her go away. Her biological parents never even existed, she was always Severus Snape’s daughter.    “A toast,” Draco said holding out his flute.    “To?” she did the same.    “To… To us. To you finding happiness and serenity, to me finally breaking free of my parents’ hold, to this wonderful night, and… even more so if you’ll be my girlfriend, Grace McClivert.”    Grace felt her cheeks go bright red, and she couldn’t simply hide her smile. But Draco’s cheeks were also pink, and somehow he managed to keep the rest of his expression cool and contained.    “Here, here,” she said, clinking their glasses together and taking a sip. Draco mirrored her and finally allowed his eyes to squint and smile into his glass.    The bliss of their time together didn’t last for long, for when they left, and the valet pulled up with Draco’s car, Grace was reminded how different she was from Draco.    Draco grew up without a struggle; he never had to do any chores or worry about where he’d be staying next or getting food from. He grew up happily with a family that was his own and had house elves that served him. But Grace, she spent her years at the home sleeping on a dirty mattress, wearing hand-me-down clothes, cleaning and taking care of the younger children for her keep and struggling to get a full portion of food. Even when she lived with a foster family, she wasn’t treated very well. Most saw she was able to do housework, and that’s just what she did if she wasn’t at school. It was when she’d stand up for herself that they’d send her back, so she just learned to stay quiet and do as she was told if she wanted a “home.”    “Draco, that was amazing. It was truly something out of a movie but-“    “Too overwhelming?” he cut her off.    “Yes. I just- I’m not used to that sort of stuff. And as much as I’d love to live a carefree, extravagant life, I’m afraid I couldn’t grow out of my habits of getting my hands dirty and doing everything myself and working for it.”    Draco nodded, and then made a sharp turn going down a road in the opposite direction of home.    “Where are we going now?”    “Another surprise. Besides, it’s not midnight yet.”    They pulled up alongside a cliff, and by the edge was an old playground set. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years, and no wonder; it was in the middle of nowhere and dangerously close to the edge. They got out and Draco turned up the radio so they could hear the music from the playground. He pulled along her oxygen tank as they made their way to the swings. The earth beneath them had been pushed away from kids before them and left a dent in the dirt.    Draco sat looking towards his car and Grace sat looking towards the cliff edge. It overlooked the town that was nearby Snape Manor. The night was dark except for the few twinkling lights in the windows of the town and the millions of stars over their heads. They both swung gently, Draco keeping the pace going easily, but Grace had more trouble as she was using her tiptoes and could barely reach the ground.    “In Ireland, it’s all just hills and cliffs. When I was little, we used to play at this one cliff and underneath was a small beach, and we’d throw rocks into the sea and see who could throw their rock the farthest. The big kids and adults would jump off the cliffs into the water, but we were never allowed.”    “Do you miss it?”    “Hmm… Sometimes. I don’t miss the people, just Ireland itself.”    “Maybe one day you’ll go back.”    “Maybe… And we’ll jump off a cliff.”    The silence between them was always comfortable, sometimes they’d stop talking just to listen to the song that was playing to fully appreciate. Finally, Draco looked over at Grace, smiled really big, and said, “Merlin, you’re my girlfriend.”    She was about to say, Yes, I know, but it hadn’t hit her until just then. She was Draco Malfoy’s girlfriend. Draco Malfoy was her boyfriend. She had a boyfriend. There was actually a boy on this damn Earth who liked her for her! And he was amazing to her, “Yes, yes I am, Dray.”    They both sat, swinging, laughing and being happy. Grace could see it all right there, a happy future with Draco, knowing she’d always be safe and loved. But then she started thinking about what would happen when they’d start to take things further if they even got that far before he broke up with her. How could she tell him she wasn’t a virgin, how could she explain? Her laughter turned into shaking breaths and tears rolled down her cheeks.    “Grace? Gracie, what’s wrong?” Draco hopped off his swing and kneeled down in front of Grace, taking her hands in his.    “I’m sorry, Dray. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”  she wanted to put her face in her hands, hide her tears, but he wasn’t letting go, so she just brought her face to her hands instead. He let go of one hand to stroke her hair.    “Gracie, why on bloody earth are you apologizing?”    “I didn’t want you to know,” he could barely make her words out through her muffled sobs.    “Want to know what?”    “That I’m broken!” she shouted and lifted her head up.    “You’re not broken, Grace.” Draco looked down at her wrists, “I told you, your scars make you look like a badass. Means you’ve actually lived through something. Shows you're a fighter.”    Grace wanted to cry even harder. He was being so kind and understanding and she hated it cause it’d hurt him when he found out. It’d be easier if he found her as broken as she saw herself. “Draco, I’m not- I’m not,” she tried her best to get herself under control. “I’m not a virgin, Draco.”    “So, you’ve had a boyfriend before?”    Grace wished she’d just die right there. Just dropped dead on that swing or would fall off that cliff. She shook her head in shame.    Draco was an intelligent boy, but Merlin did it take him forever to piece everything together. Perhaps it was because he’d lived a sheltered life, or it was all too much for him to take in. But when it finally did, Grace could see the realization flash in his gray eyes, but he said nothing. He just pulled Grace close and held her until she stopped shaking. When she took one last deep breath, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”    “Don’t you dare apologize, Grace. Don’t ever apologize for that.” He kneeled in front of her again and took her wrists in his hands and kissed both of them.    “You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And the bravest, with the kindest heart.”    “Those things won’t heal me and make everything go away, you know.”    “I know, Grace. Nothing can fix what you’ve been through. No person, no amount of words; we’ll just have to love you and show you that you matter, and help you see yourself differently than how you do now, no matter how long that may take.” He kissed her wrists again.    They sat there in silence for a while, sitting in opposite directions on the swings, holding hands, just listening to the music. Fix You by Coldplay came on.    “How appropriate,” Grace said leaning her forehead against the chain of the swing. She was smiling again, not wide with teeth, but with her lips and mostly her eyes. They shone like sapphires in the moonlight and contrasted with her blue dress.

"When the tears come streaming down your face


When you lose something you can't replace


When you love someone but it goes to waste


Could it be worse?"    

   “Grace?”    “Hm?”    “Can I kiss you?”    Grace turned to him, thinking she had heard him wrong. Surely, Draco hadn’t asked permission to kiss her? But she heard the metal chains creak and his soft lips were on her’s. She almost lost her footing on the ground that kept her still, and it took a moment before her brain finally clicked and yelled, rather loudly inside her head, Kiss back, you bloody git! Even with an oxygen tank, her breath was taken away.    The kiss was sweet, there wasn’t any tongue or gross noises like in the movies, and didn’t last as long as Grace thought it had. For her, the universe stood still for a moment, and as cliche and gushy as it sounds, she thought she saw fireworks. But in fact, it was just the twinkling lights of the nearby town.    They pulled apart from each other but were still close enough that Draco could probably hear Grace’s heart pounding out of her chest, but his was doing the same. Staring into each other’s eyes, they both smiled. Grace finally lost her footing and began to swing softly, laughing.

“Lights will guide you home And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you”