#please help I've forgotten how to MINGLE

[marinawolf]

Part 2- You're Mine (Supercorp)

by marinawolf

You guys wanted a part 2! So here it is. Be warned, it's pure smut. NSFW.

(part 1 here)

Kara stood outside Lena's apartment, her heart pounding with a potent mix of anger, confusion, and a hint of something else she couldn't quite define. How could Lena, her friend, just kiss her like that and then vanish into a meeting without a word? It was completely unacceptable, and Kara was determined to demand an explanation.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked on the door. Her knuckles rapped against the wood, each knock echoing in her ears like the resounding beats of her own unsettled heart. Seconds ticked by, stretching into an eternity, until finally, the door swung open, revealing Lena Luthor herself.

Kara's breath caught in her throat at the sight of her friend. Lena looked breathtakingly beautiful, her hair cascading in gentle waves down her shoulders, framing her face like a soft, dark halo. She wore a cozy, cream-colored sweater that hugged her figure in all the right places, emphasizing the curves that Kara had never been able to stop herself from noticing. Her blue-green eyes shimmered with a mix of emotions—regret, uncertainty, and something deeper, something that made Kara's pulse quicken.

Lena's lips curved into a smile as she looked at Kara, her eyes tracing over her friend's form. "Kara, hi," she greeted, her voice soft and tinged with a touch of nervousness.

Kara tried to speak, to demand answers, but her voice caught in her throat. The sight of Lena, looking so undeniably alluring, rendered her momentarily speechless. She found herself gazing at those lips, those lips that had pressed against her own so passionately earlier, igniting a fire within her that she had never expected.

Lena's lips were perfection, soft and inviting. Kara couldn't help but remember how they had felt against her own, the electric surge that had coursed through her body, leaving her breathless and craving more.

Shaking herself out of the reverie, Kara stepped forward into Lena's apartment, her determination returning as anger mingled with desire. She had to confront Lena about what had happened, about how she had dared to kiss her and then disappear without a trace.

"What the hell was that, Lena?" Kara finally managed to say, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and longing. "You can't just kiss me like that and then act as if nothing happened!"

Lena sighed, her gaze shifting from Kara to the floor. She closed the door behind them, creating an intimate space where their conversation could unfold. "I know, Kara. I know it was wrong of me, and I'm sorry. I should have explained myself before I acted impulsively. But please, let me explain now."

Kara crossed her arms, her anger still simmering beneath the surface, but her curiosity demanding answers. "Fine, Lena. Explain. I want to know why you thought it was appropriate to kiss me and then disappear into a meeting."

Lena took a deep breath. "Because I was jealous, Kara. Jealous of you and James, of the way you two were interacting at work. I couldn't bear the thought of someone else having your attention, of anyone else touching what's mine."

Kara's eyes widened in surprise, her anger momentarily forgotten as she absorbed Lena's words. "Yours?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lena took a step closer, her gaze intense. "I'm in love with you, Kara. I've been in love with you for a while now, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. I tried to hide it from myself, but seeing you with James today… it made me realize that I can't hide it anymore. I can't pretend anymore."

Kara's heart skipped a beat, the weight of Lena's confession sinking in. She had spent countless nights grappling with her own feelings, pushing them aside for fear of ruining their friendship or being rejected. And now, standing there in Lena's apartment, with the truth finally laid bare, it was overwhelming.

A mix of shock, elation, and a flood of long-repressed emotions swirled within Kara. Her mind raced, struggling to process the magnitude of Lena's words. She had never allowed herself to imagine that Lena felt the same way, that they could be more than friends. But here she stood, confronted with the undeniable truth.

"You're in love with me?" Kara echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief and hope.

Lena's eyes searched Kara's face, her vulnerability laid bare. "Yes, Kara. I am. I've tried to deny it, to hide it even from myself, but I can't bear the thought of someone else having you. You're mine."

As Lena spoke those words, a surge of longing washed over Kara, erasing any lingering traces of anger. The unspoken tension between them crackled in the air, a palpable magnetism drawing them closer. Kara's resolve wavered as her own hidden desires surged to the surface, urging her to surrender to the inevitable.

Closing the distance between them, Kara reached out, her hand gently cupping Lena's cheek. Lena's eyes fluttered closed, her body instinctively leaning into Kara's touch, savoring the warmth and tenderness of the connection. Their gazes locked, their unspoken desires now tangible, their hearts beating in synchrony.

And then their lips met once more, but this time the kiss held the weight of their shared confession. It was a kiss filled with years of longing, unspoken words, and the promise of a love waiting to be fully explored. Their lips moved against each other with a newfound urgency, their tongues dancing in a passionate, intoxicating rhythm.

Lost in the depth of their kiss, Kara felt the curves of Lena's body pressed against her own, and it drove her crazy. Their hands roamed, memorizing the contours of each other's bodies, fueling the flame of desire that had been smoldering for far too long.

Between breathless kisses, Lena whispered, her voice a breathy plea, "You are mine, Kara. Say it. Say you're mine."

Kara's voice was husky with need as she responded, her words laced with a fervor she had kept hidden for far too long. "I'm yours, Lena. I've always been yours."

Lena's touch sent shivers down Kara's spine, and she couldn't help but lean into it, basking in the tenderness that emanated from every caress. She gazed into Lena's eyes, her heart swelling with a newfound certainty.

Their lips collided once again in a fervent clash, their tongues intertwining in a dance as old as time. Kara's hands instinctively tangled in Lena's hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss with a desperate hunger. The taste of Lena was intoxicating, a heady blend of sweetness and whiskey that consumed her senses. Lena's teeth grazed Kara's lower lip, teasing and inviting, eliciting a low moan from deep within Kara's throat. Their lips broke apart momentarily, leaving them both breathless and wanting, their foreheads resting against each other.

Kara's voice was husky with need as she whispered, "I love you, too," before crashing her lips against Lena's again.

Lena's hands instinctively found their way to Kara's waist, pulling her closer, their bodies pressing against each other with an undeniable magnetic force. Kara's hands roamed freely over Lena's back, her fingers tracing the curves and contours that had haunted her dreams for so long. Kara felt the heat of Lena's body pressed against her own, their closeness stirring a wildfire within her.

Lena's lips trailed a blazing path down Kara's neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and nips, marking her as her own. Kara arched into the touch, her senses overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure that crashed through her body. She surrendered herself completely, her trust in Lena unyielding.

As they kissed, Kara's mind filled with vivid memories of every stolen glance, every lingering touch, and every moment that had led them to this precipice of desire. She could almost taste the bittersweetness of their missed opportunities and the longing that had simmered beneath the surface for far too long. But now, everything was different.

Lena guided her to the couch, and Kara tumbled onto the soft cushions, pulling Lena down on top of her, unwilling to let go. Kara's senses were on fire as she continued to explore Lena's lips with a searing intensity. Lena's hands roamed Kara's body with purpose, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her fingertips traced the curves of Kara's back, the gentle dip of her waist, and the swell of her breasts, igniting sparks of electricity in their wake. Kara's body responded eagerly, arching into the touch, aching for more of Lena's caress. Suddenly, Kara felt Lena's fingers fumble with the buttons of her shirt, one by one until it was open, exposing Kara's bare skin. Lena's hand moved with a desperate urgency as she reached for the clasp of Kara's bra, and let the material fall away and Kara gasped as she felt Lena's hands on her waist, tracing the curves of her body with her fingertips.

Desperately, Kara tugged at Lena's sweater, and Lena relented. She sat up, knees on either side of Kara's legs, and pulled the garment over her head before discarding it on the floor. Kara suddenly forgot how to breathe, transfixed by the sight of Lena, her smooth skin glowing in the soft light. Her eyes traced the curves and contours of Lena's form, drinking in the raw beauty that seemed to radiate from her very core. Kara was enraptured by the elegant slope of Lena's collarbones, the subtle dip between them, leading to the the most mesmerising sight of Lena's breasts. The absence of a shirt allowed Kara to appreciate the natural grace of Lena's frame, each subtle muscle visible.

Lena's hands moved down to the waistband of Kara's pants and the touch jolted Kara from her reverie, her gaze shifting from Lena's alluring bareness to the connection they shared in that moment. She watched with desperate anticipation as Lena undid the button of her jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper. Kara moaned softly as Lena's fingers brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

Kara closed her eyes as Lena placed searing kisses on her neck, her collarbone and then on the swell of her breasts. The desire coursing through her was something she had never felt before, something entirely new and uninhibited. Lena grabbed Kara's wrists, placing them above her head and holding them there as she lowered her head to Kara's chest, capturing a pink bud between her lips, flicking her tongue over it. Kara gasped, and Lena switched to the other breast, softly licking and biting, causing fireworks to erupt behind Kara's eyelids. When she stopped after a few minutes, Kara almost whimpered, the slickness between her legs a testament to her desperation.

She was appeased when Lena brought her lips to her body body once again. Letting go of Kara's wrists, Lena's lips once again found their way to Kara's skin, kissing below Kara's breast, down her stomach. Her deft hands found Kara's waistband again and Kara instinctively raised her hips as Lena slowly her pants and underwear down her legs.

She felt Lena's breath on her most intimate parts and held her own breath, her pulse quickening. Kara's breath hitched as she looked down at Lena, captivated by the darkening intensity in Lena's blue-green eyes.

She let out a gasp the second Lena's mouth, hot and wet, pressed into her and moaned as Lena's tongue slid along the length of her centre. Her hands tangled in Lena's hair, gasping Lena's name in desperate, breathless whispers. Her tongue teased Kara's entrance, eliciting a soft moan from Kara. Lena swept her tongue upwards, across the bundle of nerves and Kara moaned, loudly this time.

Lena closed her lips around the bundle and mercilessly licked it, turning Kara into an incoherent mess, before swiftly letting go, moving up Kara's body to crash her lips against Kara's. Kara groaned as she tasted herself on Lena's lips, but she was desperate for Lena's touch.

Lena reached down, her fingers finding Kara's entrance, her other hand once again gripping Kara's wrists above her head. She paused, her molten gaze on Kara's face, as if waiting for permission that Kara had already given the moment Lena touched her. Kara whimpered softly, needing to feel Lena, her desperation overtaking every thought in her mind. In that moment, she belonged to Lena, mind, body and soul. Suddenly, Lena pressed her lips against Kara's once more and slid two fingers into Kara, thrusting hard and fast, setting an unforgiving pace. When Lena curled her fingers, Kara gasped, lost to all coherent thought. The only discernible word she uttered was Lena's name, which fell from her lips like a prayer.

"You're mine," Lena whispered in Kara's ear, her fingers keeping up an unrelenting pace, "Say it."

Kara couldn't help but wonder why Lena wanted her to say it again when it was so obvious. How could she ever belong to anyone else? How could her body ever respond like this to anyone else?

Every touch, every stroke, sent ripples of pleasure coursing through Kara's veins and so, she whispered, "I'm yours."

Lena responded by picking up her pace, placing fiery kisses on Kara's neck as her fingers continued their delicious assault. Kara moaned, unable to silence herself.

"Let go for me," Lena whispered against Kara's neck, biting down slightly, letting go of Kara's wrists.

Almost as if asceding to Lena's demands, Kara reached her highest point with a gasp. Her back arched and she clenched around Lena's fingers, coming undone in a way she never felt before. In that electrifying moment, she understood with absolute clarity that Lena had claimed her- heart, body, and soul.

She looked up at Lena, smiling tiredly,

"My turn," she whispered, before pulling Lena to her once more, capturing her lips in another searing kiss.

[queen-scribbles]

Unbalanced

Finally wrote Endrali and Senya having a conversation that's been floating around in my head for longer than I care to think about. 😅(aka one of two scenes standing between Ardrali and the Unmasked Regret convo👀👀👀)

---

Endrali had learned early and well after forming the Alliance to take days of peace when she got them. Even now, the larger dangers settled--Eternal Empire dealt with, Fleet pacified and under her command--there was still plenty to keep busy. From threats like Tassar or the Sith on Ord Mantell to people who simply wanted a neutral arbiter and sending aid to... everyone, her to-do list hadn't gotten any shorter.

So when a day like today came along, the whole thing to do as she pleased, she took it without hesitation. Most of this one was going to be spent with her flowers. The snow orchids were thriving in the beds that framed her personal landing area--she checked after meditating with Arcann, since she was right there. That had her in a good enough mood to be humming as she headed for the room off the Force Enclave she'd turned into a greenhouse for some of her acquisitions less suited to Odessen's climate.

She'd left the tending to droids for too long. It would feel good to get her hands dirty--perhaps literally--seeing to them herself today. This was one of the best ways she'd found to help her mental balance with all the demands on her time and attention. It was, she had to admit, also her favorite. Something about the connection to and care of other living things centered her better than just about anything.

There was someone already here.

Her stride slowed at the recognition, her senses reaching out to determine who.

An unnecessary effort, as Senya stepped around one of the large planters in the middle of the space. She smiled. "Hello, Commander."

Endrali matched the smile and greeting both. "Hello, Senya. I wasn't expecting to find anyone here."

"I can leave, if you were wanting to be alone," Senya said with a glance at the door.

Endrali shook her head. "Not at all. It's just I thought most, if not all, of the Alliance had forgotten this room exists. If you were planning to meditate or something I can be very quiet."

"I finished." Senya chuckled and shook her head. "I was enjoying the atmosphere." She reached to brush her fingers lightly along the petals of a Balmorran ashmantle. "There is a sense of peace here that has helped greatly... in the aftermath."

"I'm glad." Endrali shifted. "It provides the same sense for me."

Senya cocked her head. "Are you responsible for this, then? I do remember Lana mentioning you have a talent for it."

Endrali nodded, casting a fond look at the vibrant plant life that filled the room. "My favorite way to relax."

"Don't let me get in your way," Senya said, raising her hands apologetically and stepping toward the door. "I know how rarely you get a chance for that."

"Oh, you can stay, I don't mind," Endrali said quickly. "I'm happy someone else is enjoying it. Today's just the first time I've had in a while to take care of them myself, and it surprised me to find someone else here, too."

"I believe I'll take you up on that, then," Senya nodded. She smiled again. "Just tell me if I'm in the way."

"I will," Endrali smiled back, and turned her attention to the black and gold blooms nearest the door. They were thriving; she should split them or shift to a larger planting bed... The contentment of losing herself in her favorite hobby soon had her humming again, the same tune as before.

It was only a few moments before a flicker of emotion rolled off Senya, surprise mingled with something less tangible. Bittersweet and melancholy. "I... didn't know you were familiar with Zakuulan music, Commander."

"Hm?" Endrali spun in her direction, hair slipping loose of her stubby ponytail. I'm not, really...

"That song. It's a Zakuulan lullaby." Senya smiled despite the emotions Endrali had sensed and slowed by a tall plant with curling yellow petals. "I used to sing it for my children." She shook her head as Endrali opened her mouth. "It's a good memory, not a painful one. It just caught me off-guard here, from you. It's been awhile, since..."

"Ah. I... don't even know where I heard it, to be honest," Endrali admitted with a sheepish laugh. She paused to think as she fixed her ponytail, but the last few weeks had been absurdly busy; she'd been everywhere in the galaxy it seemed, except Zakuul. And it wasn't like Arcann was the type to sing to fill silence during the time they spent together. (Which was most of that running around.)

"A little mystery," Senya said, something mischievous or knowing at corners of her smile. She was silent a few moments, fingers running along leaves as she moved on, pacing by the the dark green gold-splotched fern, the climbing vines from Yavin 4, the drooping white bells of Leaders Heart.

Endrali worked contentedly in the silence. Some of the Felucian violets were starting to wilt, and a quick check of soil composition showed why. She'd just set about replacing it when Senya spoke again.

"I've been meaning to thank you, Commander--again, I know." She studied a shade lily in one of the recessed corners. "For trusting me. When we first met, and about Arcann, both times I asked it."

"Of course," Endrali replied (as she had before), tamping the fresh soil around the violets. "Everyone deserves a chance at redemption." Atonement. She snorted softly. "Even those who feel like they don't deserve it." Besides, Arcann was hardly the first she'd extended that mercy to.

"Still. I am aware it couldn't have been a... popular decision, even if you found it easy. And it warms my heart to see the faith you've placed in my son."

"He's earned it." Endrali brushed dirt from her hands as she faced Senya. "It was apparent he's changed, I'm happy to give the chance to prove it."

"Oh, you've done more than that," Senya chuckled. "Some would say anything short of execution was second chance enough; confined to Odessen in an advisory capacity, banished from known space, something... less pleasant. Not many would trust him with assignments, let alone watching their back."

Endrali briefly rubbed the scar at her ribs as she crossed her arms. "He's earned that, too." Smiled at the ironic truth of her next words. "There are few here I trust more." Even if he was trying to kill me less than a year ago. "We make a good team."

The knowing smile was back. "So I've noticed." Senya brushed aside a trailing tendril of ivy that draped against her shoulder. "You've been good to him. Good for him; helping bring out the man I knew he could be."

"I do enjoy making things grow," Endrali joked lightly, gesturing to the greenhouse surroundings. "And he's become a good friend, Senya." The warmth twisting in her chest made friend feel like the wrong word, but that's all... that's what they were. She cleared her throat and shook off the wrongness. "Aside from watching my back and saving my life several times, I like talking to him." She focused on picking dirt out from under her nails rather than Senya's smile that made her feel too seen. "Or, more talking at him. It frequently turns into him listening to me chatter, which I appreciate. I'm always willing to listen back; I know part of why he'd quiet is he's... carrying a lot, and not undeserved. I can pick up on it sometimes when we meditate."

There hadn't been any sense of that the last few times, however. Including that morning.

A glimmer of satisfaction--contentment--rippled from Senya as she leaned against a planter. "He knows he can talk to you," she said softly. "And trusts you enough to do so."

Endrali bit her lip to hold back a threatening grin, the warmth dancing in her chance again. "I'm glad."

Senya chuckled. "It's the mark of a good leader who can make friends out of enemies and gain their trust." She pushed off the planter and headed for the door. "I've taken more time than intended for what was supposed to be a simple thank you, so I'll let you go back to enjoying your free time." The shimmering satisfaction lingered as she paused in the doorway. "But as I said, Endrali; you're good for him. Thank you."

Thoughts knocked askew by the heartfelt emphasis of the words, Endrali managed a nod and murmured thanks of her own.

"He's good for me, too," she whispered to the Felucian violets, which nodded in turn from the rush of breath as if in agreement. It was a struggle to get back her equilibrium with the words ringing in her ears, but Endrali (eventually) shook it off and went back to tending her plants, humming under her breath once more.

"The burning star of Izax bathes the sea in light..."

[fuck-yeah-pierrelepew]

Beach Boy (Pierre x Reader)

A short lil fic bc I'm on a Pierre kick (well, I've always been) ^^ Desperately looking forward to summer... please come now...

(Please note that this uses feminine terms for the reader)

Ah, the beach! Compared to the darkness seen in a lot of Acmetropolis, the beach was so bright, so sunny! It was a breath of fresh air from your usual days of work and driving back and forth from place to place.

You layed down on your beach towel, soaking up the sun and all the vitamin D that came with it. As the sun rays melanated your skin, a man approached you...

"Ah, you are looking quite, how you say, lovely, madam..."

As you looked up, the man smirked as he took your hand and kissed it. Sure, it's not like you were begging for a boyfriend, but you were single and, in fact, quite ready to mingle.

You noticed that the man was wearing nothing but a small pair of black swim shorts, matching his long, flowing black and white hair pretty well. His body was also quite slender as well, almost resembling an hourglass with how small his waist was... Not to mention his eyes or his hips, or his...

"Ahem. I am talking to you."

Whoops.

You tried to explain, feeling udderly embarrassed. "Ah, well, I was just admiring, uh..."

"Madam, I will have you know that eating too much candy is bad for you... even for eye candy, heheh." He said, chuckling at his own joke. You couldn't help but chuckle as well. God, he was so smug, but he did capture your heart...

"Ah, I didn't introduce myself! I am Pierre Le Pew. Very pleased to meet such a beautiful, gorgeous lady such as yourself~" He said, reaching his hand out.

"Oh, well.. my name's (Y/N). And I'm very pleased to meet such a handsome, sexy guy like yourself~" You responded, feeling proud the the clever response you just did.

You continued to banter flirtatiously with him for a while more. As the waves crashed by the beach, you seemed to have forgotten about everything else, as you and him found sweet, hot love.

[jaehaeraxtargaryen]

setting: king's landing, new valyria. a breakfast pavilion in the winding gardens of the red keep. a late morning during king jaehaerys' ii coronation, the lost princess has decided it is due time she try to be brave like her elder brother and mingle with his esteemed guests... (ft. @illyaoakheart) @fromspringandfire

Jaehaera Targaryen had never been very skilled in the art of conversation. Because when the dreamer spoke, it often wasn't words -- but dreamy tangents, words that seemed more like poems that speech. Her lavender eyes so pale they were nearly white. They'd slowly glaze over, and she'd suddenly look thousands of miles away. One moment there, and the very next... gone. Her fingers, if you watched closely, would ever so slightly tap unheard music upon an unseen piano. All these poems, these riddles. That was what her septas had always said. Tsh, tsh, tshing their tongues. Princess, you must stop speaking such nonsense. Your father will be displeased. Sometimes, it was you make people nervous. Stop acting strange.

Just then, The Queen of The Reach had looked quite unsettled when Jaehaera had curtsied to her, the movement as light as air and as fluid as a dance. Something she’d practiced a million times alone in her other room — a hummingbird in a silver cage, singing the days away.

Illya had been kind when Jaehaera congratulated her on her newborn son, a dreamy smile upon her lips, and had greeted her in return. The Rose of Oldoak even smiled when the princess told her how beautiful her dress for her morning prayer had been -- deep emerald greens dripping with gold that glowed in the morning light. More than one rose in the garden, but roots sink deep. A fox, tail dipped in white cream.

"Highgarden is so full of roses..." her head tilted, bird-like and dreamy, "...i'd find it hard to pick a favorite." Jaehaera's silver lashes had fluttered. She'd never been to Highgarden. What a wonder it must have been.

But then Queen Illya’s eyes had been the same — the same as every person who had looked upon her. With surprise, then confusion — then a deep cautiousness that eventually melted into discomfort. She had forgotten how people looked at her — how they had looked at her mother. You make people nervous. Tsh, tsh, tsh.

Her grandfather Otto had never found it displeasing -- just as he'd never scolded her mother.

Because Jaehaera could not help herself. Sometimes, though she stood in a room of people, she was suddenly in a different place entirely -- in a place she'd never been, or a place she'd never seen. A beach, recently -- with emerald green waters and two bright suns in the horizon.

Then Queen Illya's expression had changed again, from Jaehaera's eyes to somewhere over her shoulder. She excused herself, and Jaehaera at last turned to watch her go. As she walked away, Queen Illya walked past a woman -- she had tilted her head, but walked straight past her without stopping. An acknowledgment, but the smallest possible sort.

Jaehaera hadn't noticed.

She turned around to see who the woman was, and roses and foxes were forgotten. Instead, there was birdsong, and the smell of spring. Wrens and new things. She merely saw Laena -- and a bright smile erupted on her face. The Princess all but floated over to her half-sister, quickly taking her by one of her hands. "Jaehaerys told me you'd be coming. I was so pleased to hear it." It had been wrens -- the birdsong. "He has planned so many wonderful things. I've never seen so many people." Her smile is bright. "But it is most wonderful to see you, Laena."

Haera had never had a sister before. It had always been she, and her brothers. It was... it had been settling, comforting in a way, to look upon someone and see pieces of herself. The soft parts her brothers did not always have... soft, kind eyes.

[forlornmelody]

Today’s List of Nice Things;

1) 9.5 hour work day doing what I love! And making a living wage doing it. Yasss.

2) Saw a bunny rabbit as we were setting up for the day.

3) Ran the portable dishwasher ALL BY MYSELF. And the kitchen didn’t get flooded. Idk why but running one for the first time is super intimidating. 

4) IKEA’s cafeteria is open again. This has been a PSA.

5) Gonna go to a queer outdoor concert tomorrow. Maybe I’ll run into some cute folks? Make friends? Make more than friends? Fingers crossed. 

6) NEW TITANS SEASON 3 TRAILER DROPS TOMORROW. 

[imnotrevealingmyname]

The Blanket

Loki X Fem!Reader one shot

A/N: This is the sleepy!Loki fic I was talking about. I had planned for it to be a standalone one shot, but it fits in well with the Little Things series so why not? It turned out differently to what I'd imagined, but please be gentle with me. It's been a while since I've posted anything.

Warnings: Unrequited love (kinda), idiots in love, angst (a little bit). Fluff too.

↩️Back to series masterlist

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You were staring. You knew you were staring. It couldn't be helped, not when he looked like that.

The top three buttons of Loki's shirt had come free, and your eyes greedily sought out the sliver of skin that peeked out. His hair had grown past his shoulders, and somewhere in the course of the night his bun had come loose. A few stray curls rested on the sharp curve of his collarbone. Your hands itched to move it out of the way of the gorgeous view that you were currently being treated to.

If there was any guilt bubbling up within you, it was quickly extinguished by the feeble attempt at reassuring yourself that you were only trying to make sure he wouldn't get cold. You had conveniently forgotten how to turn off the AC, of course.

As you drew closer on hesitant feet, the blanket seemed to get heavier in your hands. Loki's lips were parted just a fraction, and a soft sigh left them, lashes fluttering as he slept.

What wouldn't you give for this to be the first thing you saw every morning.

Resisting the urge to press your lips to his forehead, you tucked the blanket in around his relaxed form, letting your fingers linger for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, against his forearm. Like every other time you had ever touched him, the warmth of his skin surprised you. You could feel the cold sinking in, though. Your thumb found his wrist, and your breath stuttered.

Longing rose in your chest like a hopeful creature awakened from its slumber, and like always, you squashed it.

You couldn't rip your gaze away, however. How would he have reacted to your blatant worship of him, if he were awake? Because that's what you were doing, no? That's what you wanted to do. You wanted to worship every glorious inch of him with your eyes and trace that path with your lips. If loving him felt like this, how would it feel to be loved by him? How would it feel to have his hand in yours, his breath mingling with your own?

As if in response to your thoughts, Loki made a small sound in his sleep, and stirred. You froze, but he kept on snoring softly.

What if he has a nightmare? a small voice in your head whispered. You gulped. Maybe you should stay.

He looked a little uncomfortable in that angle. You wanted to slide in beside him and guide his head onto your shoulder.

Yes, the little voice chimed in. Maybe you should. He'll wake up sore if you don't.

Well, too bad, you were already walking out of the room, regret and want coiling in your belly, settling there in a cold, dead weight. Your hand clenched in the wake of the resentment.

Maybe if you had turned around, you would've seen a pair of lucent green eyes darkening with the same resentment that you felt as you walked out of the chilly common room.

----

Tags: @myraiswack @ohdearhiddles @whatafuckingdumbass @poetic-fiasco @your-favourite-skittles @xlehukax @kellatron55 @shiningloki @latent-thoughts @loki-yoursaviourishere @kiara-36 @toozmanykids @allegra-writes @me-ep @shinisenko @lucywrites02 @hufflautia @buckyandlokirunmylife (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

[nighttimepixels]

So... I've been seeing wonderful people on here lately making versions of their own HorrorFell Sans and well I'm desperately bi and hooked and wanna know if. there's a HorrorFell Serif....?

You are all criminals I’m supposed to be doing things

I love you all holy shit big same so

below a cut because it got long! CW for bear-trap related injuries.

It’s time to meet Dusk.

=====

They weren’t supposed to turn on the machine again.

The guys weren’t exactly ones for promises, but after the incident, after the girls had managed to prove how unsafe it was, how unstable-

-they weren’t supposed to. They weren’t supposed to, to drag anyone else into this, to mess up even more timelines, it was a standoff, but it was stable in the meantime, or it should have been-

Someday, you’d meet this Sans, and you’d personally kick his coccyx into next Tuesday, you swore, for this and for everything else-

But right now, chances were looking pretty slim of seeing it to next Tuesday yourself.

“G-guys, it’s okay, really-”

“she’s got you by the fucking throat-!”

“If you fucking hurt her- te arrancó el brazo y lo tiro al mar-!”

You inhaled sharply, tears pricking at your eyes as the hand around your middle squeezed you tighter, your back pressed to a jagged, massive set of ribs, bare but for the massive coat shielding much of them, and draped around your form. The other hand at your throat held no weapon - but it was a weapon, even without the claws that threatened to prick your skin.

But the hand of the enormous skeleton woman holding you wasn’t squeezing your throat. It hadn’t once.

Blood, meanwhile, dripped slow and hot down your leg, staining the dead leaves of the forest floor below.

You wanted to curse your luck - curse the fact that you were on a walk in the woods with the dogs when Alpha’s monitoring programs picked up the subtle fluctuation in space-time that marked that machine being turned on for even an instant. You wanted to curse the fact that you’d tripped on a dumb root, cracking your phone and, apparently, breaking the ringer so you didn’t hear the many calls that came in. You wanted to curse the fact that you’re a magnet for skeletal trouble-

-or you would, if it hadn’t also brought you too much good this past year…But when you’d stumbled across the wounded, massive skeleton now clutching you, your feet dangling more than five feet off the ground, your first thought had been concern as you only saw her back turned to you, and a bear trap big enough to catch a rhinoceros nearly snapping her leg in half-

“Blade, holy shit- are you… are you okay-?”

The massive hole in her skull had been so familiar… but a moment later, you’d realized it was wrong. As was the way her head had snapped around… two massive gold fangs implanted in a mouth overrun with nigh-feral sharp teeth, a jagged red eyelight in the wrong socket, the hole on the wrong side of her head, the scars all wrong, so wrong-

The fear and fury in her face so unfamiliar and dangerous.

And yet… you… you didn’t leave.

You were nearly an hour’s walk away from the house. You shouldn’t have gone alone in the first place, but you had the dogs, far more intelligent than any normal animal, and you’d been cooped up for weeks because of bad weather and-

-and then, slowly, murmuring, crouching low with your hands out in a deference of power, soft nothings and reassurances spilling out of your mouth… you were approaching, circling in a wide berth to her front. Her snarls and growls were so loud you nearly lost your balance in the physicality, but…

… but slowly, while you were out of reach, she began to growl quieter, pain eking out over anything, though not once had she blinked…

A new arrival, you’d known. You’d found out about the machines a long while back now, and… there was no questioning it. But her tibia and fibula were cut almost clean through in a trap you couldn’t help but wonder if was from her world, brought with her - how long had she been out here? What was running through her head?

Why were you risking yourself-

The sound of fire, the feel of your own fear when your old place had crumbled around you… the soul-breaking relief when you’d been rescued, despite the danger…

You steeled yourself, and slowly came closer.

It took several tries - she nearly lunged at you once, when your hand slipped, digging the trap teeth in on her. You apologized, and kept talking- did she even… even speak English? Gods, you had no idea. But the sound of your voice seemed to help, so you kept at it- noticing more and more scars, noticing how terrifyingly dusty the wound was becoming- when you gestured for her to hold the one side to help undo the mechanism, trying to explain, ask for help as it was too strong for you alone-

-she’d done so, her hand larger than your head. Despite the pain, her grip didn’t shake, but you heard her teeth gritting, creaking as they ground down, erratic, unsteady magic charging the air around her-

And at last you’d freed her.

The trap to the side, you’d hurried to look at her removed leg, shedding your hoodie, forgetting to move slow. You missed the flicker in her gaze, pain undeniable in every shadow of her face, the moment of confusion, of hunger, of hesitance, of her reaching towards you-

But you’d looked up then, sweater in your hands, hovering over the horrifying break, an injury you were certain would have killed her otherwise- ready to bind her up.

Her hand had frozen at the level of your throat.

Like a rabbit in the gaze of a wolf, you’d frozen.

The wind rustled the leaves overhead, afternoon sun growing long, dimmer behind gathering clouds.

Her hand slowly came closer.

You didn’t move, a fine tremble in your spine, but- you didn’t look away.

She paused again. Watching. Waiting- your heart was racing, but- you didn’t run. For a thousand reasons, you didn’t run, despite some deeper instinct beyond logic begging at you to.

And then she’d brushed a lock of hair back from your throat, catching a bead of sweat with it, and lingering over your pulse.

Oh so slowly, her pinprick eyelight dilated.

“… y..ou…”

Without warning, a shout in the distance, cutting in as if through a phone line picked up startled you both. The dogs, waiting, tense, worried just a few feet behind you, barked- and all hell had broken loose.

Serif had shortcut into the clearing, her eyelights no sooner landing on you than taking in the massive, dangerous looking skeleton with her hand at your throat. She’d sworn, magic suddenly flaring at her fingertips before, as if desperately wrenching her senses back, it vanished, and she lifted her hands, furious and hiding too much emotion but clearly attempting to look reasonable, to calm down the newcomer.

It was too late.

The sudden appearance, the split second of aggressive magic was enough. The injured skeleton woman was surging forward, enveloping you- before, as if forgotten, her leg gave out with a sickening crunch.

You both fell, and your leg slammed into the hellish, too-jagged bear trap you’d just removed from her leg. The jagged metal and sharpened bone teeth of the closed trap protruding from it cut into your leg and dragged viciously as intertia and gravity took over before she could catch herself, taking the brunt of the fall-

The smell of blood had a visceral effect on the woman holding you, even as your vision was cut off by the ground and her arms and jacket- your scream mingled with a guttural sound, a language glitching and feral- clashing with the sounds of more people arriving, hitting the ground running, swearing, your vision blurring and whiting with pain lancing from your leg straight through you and whiting out your conscious mind for a moment- vertigo as you were suddenly upright-

Now you stared at your friends, leg throbbing, hot blood staining your jeans and shoe, struggling to keep your vision clear and not panic. She was cornered - you were too, you supposed, in her arms. Her leg was… it wasn’t right. You couldn’t quite see it when you glanced down, and that was… a problem. She seemed to be propped against a tree, against a steep hill that was nearly cliff- staring down, chest heaving at Serif, Scarlet, Crimson, Sapphire, and Cinnamon. You had no idea where the others were. There was no time to spare to think about it - or how they’d found you at all-

“P-please, I think she’s just scared, I think she’s feeling my pulse, s-since- I’m hurt-”

“doesn’t mean she gets t'hold you hostage,” Cinnamon’s low voice was a drawl, but her stance was one you’d only seen once or twice. Ready, ready in a way that would set your internal alarms off if they weren’t already pealing.

“Come now, let’s… let’s just take it easy,” Sapphire’s voice was measured, even almost warm - her eyelights were steady, and she was the only one who didn’t visibly appear to be a moment’s away from a fighting stance. Still, her voice was almost too measured. You knew her too well to miss it. Nonetheless, she met your gaze, and her chest took a steady inhale, then slow exhale, ever so minutely.

You blinked, tears threatening to spill at the silent message to breathe, that she’d stay calm too, she’d try and de-escalate-

The rough, static-like inflection of the woman’s speech behind you twisted and rumbled, short, dark, aggressive-

A huff of air tickled your hair, and you felt her… her head, dip down to the back of yours. It cut through the pain, almost tingling with a wild sort of magic, but… not in a bad way.

The others looked confused in varying degrees, and Crimson’s arm out only barely kept Scarlet from acting- but there was a flicker of deeper confusion yet on Serif’s face… one of almost-recognition and angrier confusion on Cinnamon’s-

But Crimson’s sockets widened.

“ay, ni de coña-”

Several eyelights snapped to her as she swore, shaking her head as if to clear it of cobwebs-

And then… slowly, she stumbled through a handful of similar sounds.

Words.

Glitching, uneven, but also rich like radio static - if a little clumsier in her mouth-

You felt as much as heard the surprised intake of breath behind you.

And slowly, came a response.

Crimson frowned, scowled outright, sockets squinting and head cocking a bit. A few more words- a grunt, then a continuation that sounded corrected-

An angrier response from the woman holding you-

“could you please let us in on the conversation, thanks,” hissed Serif sharply at Crimson, but she was promptly waved off as Crimson haltingly tried a few more words-

And slowly, the hand at your throat drifted just a little further down.

“… n..o.”

“pendejo-” Crimson swore, making a sharp rude gesture - but not at your captor, at the sky.

“¿Qué le hizo?” Scarlet was sharp, too quick, her Spanish rough and thick with anger-

“that bastard must’ve turned it on alright- she’s…. joder, she’s like Blade but- us too, hermana. our estrelita here apparently helped her outta a trap she was dyin’ in, and when we showed up-”

“shit,” Serif swore softly, her hands lowering again, anger and stress and understanding flickering over her face.

“she’s still holdin’ her,” Cinnamon pointed out, words tight - but her posture had relaxed… slightly. “we gotta get her some first aid-”

She paused, then, quieter.

“both of ‘em…. fuck, her leg’s completely…”

“Please, let us help you- both of you-” Sapphire’s voice was earnest, firm but gentle- but you couldn’t quite focus on her. On any of them, now, not with your vision threatening to tunnel.

You were starting to shiver a little, following along but only just. The wound in your leg must be… pretty bad. You were feeling faint. Your body shifted in time with the growing shallower breaths of the woman holding you…

Crimson was swearing, attempting a word again, and again, but clearly not knowing how or what to say in that strange language-

“what even is it you’re speakin’-” Cinnamon pressed.

“shh, it’s just- it’s– old, old monster shit, most forgot except uh- certain scientist, and a few others, it’s been ages but-”

Suddenly, you were higher off the ground, your mind slipping for a moment in vertigo. The next, you realized… both her arms were supporting you, cradling you close, a modified bridal carry to accommodate the size difference and your wounded leg that-

“Oh god-”

You dry heaved, forcing yourself to look away from the open gash in your leg.  You’d never been good with great quantities of blood, but - but you’d seen white in the deep, long wound, and your head was spinning, fuck-

“…n.ow. b… oth.”

The two halting words were punctuated by a longer phrase in that radio-static language you couldn’t understand. Your eyes were closing, unable to focus any longer. Whatever was going to happen, you couldn’t fight it… at least… at least they didn’t seem like the others were going to fight, either…

“you gotta give her to us- you can’t pass through a shortcut with that-”

Your mind was fading, and you barely registered the harsher, almost booming radio-static words falling from the woman holding you possessively, protectively. The following swears tumbling from Crimson might as well have been white noise...

“Take… take care of her, first,” you mumbled, not seeing the other girl’s attention snap to you, nor the wide stare of the woman holding you. “She was… d-dust, at… at her wound… please don’t let- let her… fall…….”

And with that, your mind slipped away in pain and anemic exhaustion.

—

It wouldn’t be till much later that you found out that the girls had apparently surged into action that, and somehow, together, managed to shortcut you and your new friend back to Blade and Twist’s place.

Both of you were patched up…

But the cost of teleporting while so grievously injured cost this new arrival her lower leg. A cost she apparently knew she might pay.

You cried when you found out.

But you’d also awoken in her arms, a place she’d apparently refused to let you free of, even at Blade’s anger and Twist’s worry. Her leg was gone, yours was patched and stitched by Twist’s patent, phenomenal care. And still, you were there... warm, bundled in new blankets, with the woman’s eyelight rarely leaving you, even as Crimson and Serif explained what happened, Blade looming nearby.

She couldn’t speak English well, you found out then, too. She’d… forgotten it. What monsters were left in her world forgot it - forgot a lot, apparently, forced into a feral survival, hunted by… something.

But in the end, to start… you were able to help her choose a new nickname, at least. A beginning. A start, because… Despite their concern, well, none of the girls were going to kick this new arrival out on her own. Crimson in particular had been there too, the whole time, helping translate broken sentences and try to parse together what she knew…

Dusk, she chose as her name, after a long game of suggestions and narrowing in on sounds and concepts she seemed less opposed to. She seemed pleased… if you were reading her right.

And… she didn’t have a sister that came with her.

[secret-engima]

So I've recently discovered your ffxv aus. I haven't played the game, and it will be at least two weeks until I can play the game because I will be visiting family and away from my ps4, but I adore all of your aus I've read so far. And due to the fact that I've been reading up on them, basically one after the other, and you have all kinds of xovers happening. And I'm curious, how do you think the Galahdians from thrown to the wolves verse would react to Nox and his uncle?

Oooohhhh I hope you have a nice visit with your family and YES GOOD. TRY THE GAME IT’S GOOD.

*cracks knuckles* this is gonna be FUN (and probably long, and probably way angsty).

Short version- TOTAL HORROR.

Long version:

-they- they have no idea how to react. Here is an Ardyn who is, well, on the SURFACE he’s fine, but their Ardyn isn’t that flamboyant and his smiles aren’t that sharp unless he doesn’t feel SAFE and that means this one doesn’t feel safe around them, doesn’t RECOGNIZE THEM as family. He has no braids in his hair and his clothes are not Lazarus make and he calls himself IZUNIA rather than ULRIC or even Lucis Caelum. He stares at them with sharp eyes, his shoulders just a shade too tense to be normal and they- they KNOW Ardyn. Better than this Ardyn knows himself at this point. They can see that he’s a half-step away from drawing his armiger on them if they prove to be a threat.

-And Nox- oh NOX. They do not understand who he is at first. That he is supposed to be REGIS’S child because he’s- idk probably 15 in this mini x-over and so physically only about 8 years younger than the Regis currently staring at him with wide eyes. They don’t understand why he calls Ardyn Uncle and not Grandfather or Sage, but they can see the Arra braid in his hair that is not a marriage braid and that- that makes no sense. Adopted LCs are always given to the Ulrics???

-What do you mean you weren’t rescued as a child, are you not one of those abandoned by the Kinslayers??

-What do you mean you weren’t born in the Citadel or with royal knowledge? You’re an illegitimate? Oh .... okay so who is your father and why is Ardyn your Uncle.

-WHAT DO YOU //MEAN// YOUR FATHER IS REGIS AND HE DOESN’T KNOW YOU EXIST AND THAT YOUR MOTHER WAS ARDYN’S SISTER????????????

-There is- a LOT of rage and grief and horror as they drag the (cover) story out in bits and pieces from Nox and Ardyn even as they bundle them up in the nearest safe place and fuss like crazy over them. The Galahdians know Ardyn’s secret, even if they politely don’t tell this Ardyn that, so they come to believe an adapted version of the cover story.

-They think that Ardyn was never freed. That- that either the Vitae never managed to free him, or WORSE, judging by Nox’s answers to a few of their questions, Vitae, the first Vitae, Ardyn’s child, never survived to reach Galahd. Galahd had no magic. No one was left to Remember Ardyn. No one was left to SAVE HIM. They think that he was LEFT THERE for centuries upon centuries until NIFLHEIM found him, dragged him free and tormented him, used him. Forced some unknown name on him and humiliated him. Their Grandfather, their Sage, the heart of their history, Forgotten and stolen away, driven mad by the Kinslayer’s cruelties and Niflheim’s lies.

-They believe that Ardyn ... found Nox, an illegitimate LC child who was unknown to both Clan and Kinslayers, that even in his madness, the Sage’s Heart reached out to the boy and took him in, even if he treated him horribly at first because of his own traumas. They believe (not ... totally incorrectly) that Ardyn made up the story of Nox being his sister’s son so he’d have an excuse to keep Nox around, keep him SAFE and teach him magic. That it was Nox who tore Ardyn free of Niflheim’s web and has helped patch him together into the man they are meeting today.

-They internally seethe at Nox’s scars, his soft voice and wary flinches, because that leads to a lot of other theories on JUST WHAT his blood family was like to him before Ardyn Claimed him.

-Then Nox whispers of the refugee that took him into the Arra Clan, of a people scattered to the winds and forced to unite under the Kinslayer’s banner and service and all of Galahd WAILS at the realization that they HAD NO MAGIC WHEN NIFLHEIM CAME. THAT GALAHD IN THAT WORLD IS FALLEN because Mors pulled back the Wall and THEY HAD NO MAGIC TO RAISE THEIR OWN. 

 -Regis and Co hover in a nearby corner and Clarus has to physically hold Regis upright because his legs are jello and his heart is SCREAMING at the sight of a son who doesn’t know him, who glances at him with some sort of ... primal fear and regret and longing yet never dares come close or look at him for more than a minute. This child of HIS who wears an Arra braid but is so new to the Clan he barely knows what it means to be adopted. This boy who is covered in scars and underweight, who speaks softly and sometimes stares vacantly into the distance like he’s gotten lost inside his own head and can’t find his way back out.

-This boy who huddles into Ardyn’s side and calls him Uncle, clings to him like he is the only trusted anchor (and in another world, that is understandable, but this doesn’t look like a reaction to being in another world, this looks like HABIT and that means both Nox and Ardyn are so very, very alone.)

-They take the two to their Ardyn, because of course they do. Who better to figure out how to undo the dimensional travel (who best to know how to help these two lost souls who need family and are unaware of all they could have had but lost)?

-Nox and his Ardyn take one look at Sage Ardyn and freeze. They can feel the Scourge still lingering under his skin, weak as it is. Nox’s Ardyn recoils, something like primal terror in his gaze (don’t let it close don’t let it infect not-again-please-not-again) but Nox lunges, ripping free of his uncle’s grip to crash into the startled Sage, grabbing his hands and pulling with his magic. White starfire unspools from his soul, pushes against his skin until it turns to the color of ash and cracks form along his hands-arms-neck-face, like jagged lines of a poorly repaired piece of pottery, his magic gleaming through the cracks like he’s going to come apart under the strain.

-The Sage screams as Nox wraps his magic around what is left of the Scourge in his not-Uncle’s blood and burns it.

-Nox’s scream mingles with the Sage’s as the Scourge writhes into the air, seeking an escape, any escape, and fails. Black dissolves into nothing and Nox crumples, wheezing and shaking as his Ardyn finally snaps out of his horror and catches him before he can hit the ground. Sage Ardyn staggers, wild-eyed and in shock, but ... free. Cured. Clear. All of Galahd surges forward with a cry, worried for their Sage and outraged at the Kinslayer Child who attacked him but Sage Ardyn holds up a hand and they still.

-He stares, in terrible grief and knowing and understanding down at Nox, who isn’t entirely coherent anymore as he shakes and shivers in his Uncle’s arms, and whispers, “Chosen King of Crystal, Bringer of Dawn, Lost Child and Last of his Line.”

-”No,” snaps Nox’s uncle from where he clings to Nox, something desperate as blue eyes meet former-gold-now-blue, “No. He is Nox. Nox Izunia of the blood of Lucis Caelum. Eldest, but not only, son of Regis Lucis Caelum.” There’s something wild in Nox’s uncle’s gaze as he looks up at the Sage, like he’s trying to convey something without actually saying it in front of the assembled Clans, “He is my nephew. No more. No less.”

-And Sage Ardyn, who is suddenly purified, Sage Ardyn, who FELT all of Nox’s power and age and regrets and stubborn, fragile soul in those moments were the Scourge burned away from his veins, Sage Ardyn who saw time unspool and unwind in Nox’s soul and realized this boy is so much more than an illegitimate child (not illegitimate at all, just displaced, lost and cast out of his own fate and time by the power of his own stubbornness and a lot of magic) ... understands what his counterpart is saying.

-Don’t tell them.

-Let us stay secret. Let us stay safe.

-He bows his head in acquiescence and instructs the Clans to house them in the best lodgings they have to offer. To let Nox rest in privacy and peace with his Uncle, as thanks for what he just did. He looks Regis and then Aulea in eye, as if seeing something about them they cannot fathom, then smiles for the Clans and tells them He Is Free. Nox has finished what the Clans started.

-All the Clans celebrate for their Sage, but at the same time they Mourn for the two displaced souls they know they cannot keep. That they must return to their lonely dimension of fractured Clans and too-heavy secrets.

-Regis spends the week it takes them to return lingering nearby Nox and Ardyn, and two days in Ardyn rolls his eyes and invites the man to sit down with them already. Nox eyes this younger, earnest, unbroken Regis warily, but drinks in the time spent with him and Aulea (Nox’s mother, this woman is his MOTHER, if from another time and place).

-After they return home, Regis ... Regis spends a very long time walking the cliffs of Galahd, listening to the wind and ... thinking.

-”Your kid,” Nox had blurted right before they disappeared, his gaze snapping to Aulea and Regis with a strange sort of gleam in his eyes, “If- if you have a son- can you- name him Noctis?”

-”Not Nox?” Aulea had asked while clinging to Regis’s hand.

-Nox had smiled, too sad and fragile for someone so unbelievably strong in magic, “No,” he had answered “I don’t think Nox is going to exist in your world.” As as he faded from that reality, Regis just barely heard him finish-

-”And I hope he never has to.”

-Eventually Regis goes home, eventually he and Aulea do have a son. They name him Noctis.

-And a few years later, when Noctis is still just a child, Ramuh comes to Regis and Aulea while they watch their son sleep and tells them, soft and neutral, that Noctis will be the Chosen King.

-And they both stop breathing as they think of that moment, where the Sage named Nox King of Crystal and Bringer of Dawn. They think of a boy too old for his skin and with magic so strong it threatened to crack him open and turn him to ash and endlessly ropes of scars.

-They think of the words “And I hope he never has to.”

-And suddenly they understand.

-Regis turns to Ramuh, eyes glittering with magic and power and all the towering Rage of a father who has already seen the fate of his child, and rumbles with the power of the Storm, “No. Not my son.”

-Ramuh merely tilts his head, watching placidly as Bahamut’s chains of prophecy shudder and shake before his eyes, “The Scourge must be purified.”

-”Then we will do it. The Clans will rise for War,” snaps Aulea with static in her curls and lightning on her tongue, “The Clans will Rise and Rage and we will purify the Taint together. But Bahamut cannot have our son.”

-And Ramuh laughs softly, as the chains snap and dissolve into nothing before his Sight, and he feels Prophecy come unwound, “Then you have my Blessing to try. You and all who walk the Isles.”

(welp this got stupid long, but hope you enjoy!)

[thereluctantinquisitor]

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

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

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

Things Thought Lost (Pavellan, Post-Trespasser)

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

“Magister Pavus?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are too good to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… that was when Dorian recognisedwho it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was he doing here? How did he…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Dorian removed the mask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These were strange times indeed.

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

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

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

“But the clothing they had on was—”

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

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

“Ask you…?”

“Why I’m here, Dorian.”

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

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

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

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

“And that surprised you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“And did you…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least, not alone.  

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

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

“You came anyway,” Dorianmurmured. Varlen nodded.

“I came anyway.”

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

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

“Until today.”

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

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

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

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

“Funny. That’s probably because Iwill.”

“You remain stubborn as ever.”

“Did you expect that to change?”

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

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

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

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

“No. Not at all.”

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

“You called me amatus.”

Dorian blinked. “What? When?”

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

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

—“Did you mean it?”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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