#mantis writes

[arse-blathanna]

No promises.

[standbyyourmantis]

can I get some dorym cuddles?

Hell yes you can get some Dorym cuddles! How do you feel about pre-C3/post-Zephrah sleepy Orym and pining Dorian who is convinced that his feelings are unrequited?

I had to look through my list of favorite tropes and picked a few out, so prepare for "bridal carry," and "putting a blanket on a sleeping person," with just a dose of angst to heighten the sweet.

x

It had been a hard day. They'd left Zephrah a few days ago en route to Stilben to pick up an airship to Marquet and while Dorian was used to long days of travel in general, today they'd been waylaid by some woefully unprepared bandits. The good news was that the bandits had been prepared for a merchant party and not three experienced adventurer's. The bad news was that there had been five bandits to the three of them (plus Mister).

Orym, as always, had been out front trying to keep attention on himself and off of Dorian and Fearne while both casters kept slinging spells and tried to stay out of trouble. They had downed two of the bandits when one of the melee fighters got a good blow in on Orym and knocked him out cold. Dorian had frozen and nearly taken an arrow to the shoulder for his distraction as he tried to get a healing word off to bring Orym back. Fearne, blessedly, had just muttered okay well that's rude and then morphed into a dire wolf, chasing off the remaining three bandits. This left Dorian free to rush to Orym's side and dump whatever healing he had left into the halfling.

Fearne had returned about half an hour later and hadn't offered any explanation about where she'd been or what happened to the other bandits, and Dorian wasn't sure he wanted to know particularly. But with a quick Cure Wounds off of her, they'd all been in good enough shape to make it to the nearest town before sunset and had located a tavern they could afford and that would allow Dorian to play for tips while Fearne socialized (and picked some pockets) while Orym rested.

The halfling was still exhausted from being wounded (healing magic was an odd thing in Dorian's experience, it healed the body but did nothing to combat the rush of hormones and subsequent crash that came with your insides becoming your outsides however briefly), but he'd still curled up in a booth with a tankard of ale to 'keep an eye' on Fearne. His self-imposed watch didn't last long, though. As Dorian played throughout the night he had noticed Orym's attention split more and more between Fearne and himself, and Orym's eyes dropping heavier and heavier. It probably wasn't even ten yet when he finally looked over to see Orym lying down in the booth with his head buried in his arms.

It was sweet to see, Orym so rarely let anyone see him vulnerable that he must have been exhausted. Even though Dorian was still making decent tips, he also couldn't bear the thought of leaving Orym to nap in a taproom after everything that had happened that day, and they didn't technically need anymore money tonight. They had supplies enough for Stillben and money for the airship provided, so he let the playing peter off slowly, signalling he was finishing up for the evening until he was able to pack his flute up and return to the booth to rouse Orym.

"Orym?" Dorian whispered just louder than the ambient noise of the bar, placing his hand on Orym's shoulder gently. He didn't want to startle his friend, and Orym'd had a hard enough day.

Orym's only response was a tired sounding grumble before burying his head further into his arms. It was so painfully endearing that Dorian quickly gave up all thought of waking him. He already knew he had a particular weakness for Orym, he really shouldn't even bother trying to fight it.

There was only one solution Dorian could think of that would allow him to move Orym while also letting Orym sleep off whatever exhaustion he still felt from the rest of the day. It took some maneuvering of the table, but he was able to scoop Orym up in his arms bridal style easily enough. Even as strong as he was, Orym was quite literally half Dorian's size and if he weighed much more than 50 pounds Dorian would be surprised. He quickly caught Fearne's eye where she sat at the bar fussing over a tiefling woman's horn adornments and nodded down to the man in his arms and then towards the stairs and she nodded in acknowledgement before returning to her conversation.

Dorian was relieved that Orym had taken his armor off before joining them in the taproom. For one thing, it was filthy and soaked in Orym's blood and not at all appropriate for mixed company. But also, it made the process of getting Orym into bed so much easier if all he had to do is get the halfling on the bed and remove his boots. It took Dorian a few seconds to decide how to arrange Orym on the bed so that he wouldn't have to move him again to tuck him in. Eventually he just ended up using the last of his spells to cast Mage Hand to move the coverlet for him.

"You know, you're lucky you're so small," he muttered to the sleeping halfling as he got him settled. "I never could have done this for Dariax. He'd have just had to sleep it off downstairs."

Orym, predictably, did not respond.

After getting Orym positioned in the center of the bed and getting his boots off, Dorian pulled the blanket back over his sleeping friend.

It was so easy sometimes to forget how small Orym was, especially when he was forcing himself between Dorian and whatever enemy had threatened him.

"My little hero," Dorian said to himself because nobody else could hear him right now and he was free to indulge openly in his affection for Orym just for a little while – just a few more moments, there were no complications right now when Orym didn't know Dorian was even talking to him.

Dorian smoothed some of Orym's hair back even though it didn't really need it, enjoying the feel of soft hair under his fingers. He could tell himself he was cleaning out some of the road dust, it would be okay.

At length, Dorian stood up and dusted himself off. He had played the doting lover for long enough, and it wasn't something he should allow himself to get accustomed to. Orym had a duty and a purpose, and Dorian knew he couldn't be the one to get in the way of that. He turned towards the door, fully intending to go back downstairs and keep Fearne out of trouble or get a drink himself, but a sound from the bed stopped him in his tracks.

"C'm back t'bed." It was Orym, and he did not sound even slightly awake. Dorian turned to see the halfling where he'd rolled over towards the spot where Dorian had been and had his arm stretched over the warm spot where Dorian had been sitting.

The image of it broke Dorian's heart just a little. He – he didn't know everything. But he knew enough. He'd been to Zephrah, he'd seen Orym's home which was sized too large for a lone halfling, he'd sat in furniture that was far more comfortable for him than it was for either Fearne or Orym, he'd seen the pitying looks people gave Orym when they went out and heard the way they asked questions like how are you holding up? Dorian knew. Orym had lost someone, and there had been a few nights when he thought his friend had been on the verge of telling him and Fearne the whole story, but right now it was an open secret between the three of them with none acknowledging that the others knew.

And that was okay! They were friends – they were just friends – and Dorian's little crush meant nothing in the grander scheme of what Orym had to do. It was fine, really. But.

But what was Dorian to do when his friend in his sleeping state mistook the genasi for a different man and invited him into bed?

Of course, Dorian wasn't going to read too much into that part – they'd slept together in the very literal sense before. Either in a pile with the other Crown Keepers or snuggled around Fearne for warmth or even just waking up next to each other after a night that had turned colder than either had anticipated. Needs must, and even Dorian couldn't read too much into cuddling for survival. This was different, though. This was him and Orym in a bed by themselves. This was him making the conscious choice to climb into bed with a sleeping friend who probably just mistook Dorian for a dead man.

"Orym," Dorian whispered. "It's just me. It's Dorian."

"C'm t'bed," Orym repeated and Dorian's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't deny him this. He probably should, but if Orym had forgotten his own pain for the night…

Dorian was weak, that's all there was to it. He couldn't say no to Orym, he never had been able to. He quickly stripped off his coat and shirt, folding them loosely and tossing them onto his pack. They'd wrinkle, but he'd deal with that tomorrow. He didn't want to lose his nerve or overthink, but he also didn't want to push his boundaries with his friend. He pressed himself all the way to the edge of the bed, hoping to himself that would be enough to keep Orym happy without causing any other issues.

Orym, unfortunately, had other ideas. The halfling sought out heat like it was his job, immediately snuggling into Dorian's side and burying his face in Dorian's shoulder. Dorian was going to die, that's all there was to it. He would evaporate under a snuggly halfling and nobody would ever see him again. Not only was this emotionally awkward, it was also physically just not a comfortable position to have Orym wrapped around his right arm and honestly it couldn't be super comfortable for the halfling either (although you'd never have known from the way he was continuing to attempt to burrow into Dorian's space).

Tentatively so as not to wake his friend (just friends Dorian reminded himself), Dorian pried his arm free from Orym and wrapped it around his slight frame. Orym immediately settled once Dorian had his arm around him, his head resting on Dorian's chest now and hopefully not in any danger of being woken up by the frantic beating of Dorian's poor heart.

When he'd thought he would indulge himself in some friendly hair touching, he absolutely hadn't been prepared for it to escalate to this point. He certainly wasn't prepared to be a nighttime avatar of a dead lover. If he was extremely lucky he'd be devoured by the bed tonight and not have to face any of this in the morning.

"D'rian," Orym's sleepy voice interrupted his frantic thoughts, his name muffled by Orym's face being pressed half into Dorian's chest. "Y'r thinking too loud…go t' sleep."

Oh.

Oh.

[standbyyourmantis]

So in case you were wondering what I'm up to at 6:30 am on a Tuesday, apparently I have a Dorym modern celebrity AU arranged-ish marriage romcom in the works. Officially.

Everything was moving in slow motion around him, but it still somehow felt too fast for Orym to keep up with. The officiant was saying words to his right, but his eyes were locked helplessly on the man in front of him. Dorian was beautiful, there was no getting around it. With his pale blue skin and black-blue hair fading to white at the ends, everything about him was stunning with not a hair out of place. But Orym had known that from the posters outside the building on their way in, but what Orym found himself lost in was Dorian's eyes, his crystal blue eyes brimming with hurt and hope and some other emotions that Orym couldn't place roiling beneath that carefully crafted exterior.

He should say no. He should say no. This was insane, he'd let this go on too far already and he'd only known Dorian Storm for the last ten minutes. There was no way this was even a legal marriage, there was no reason to repeat after the cleric as he was led through the wedding vows (the same ones you said to Will, a very unhelpful little voice in his head provided). All Orym had to do was let go of Dorian's hands and walk off this stage and it would be over. He wouldn't have to have anything further to do with Dorian Storm or whatever celebrity tabloid drama was going on. And yet…Dorian was still looking at him with those ocean-glass eyes and for a split second the mask slipped and he looked like nothing so much as a fairy tale prince hoping Orym was the knight come to save him from the dragon.

And damn it all, but Orym had always had a weakness for pretty men.

Also I only watched the preview for the movie this is based on one time in like, January so if you have any tropes you'd love to see in a romcom let me know. These boys need some fluff.

[standbyyourmantis]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"I've actually never seen anyone like you before, if I'm being honest."

"An acrobat or a halfling?"

"Oh, a halfling." Dorian was blushing a little now and looking around like he thought he may have said something stupid. "It's just, I've lived in the Squall my whole life, you know? Nobody but genasi here. I've actually only ever seen peachy-tan people before a handful of times. And none of them were ever halflings."

Ah, so that explained the staring, at least. Orym was used to being the only halfling in a room – they weren't exactly common in Zephrah – but he'd never met someone who had never even seen one before. He had a sinking suspicion that this was about to get awkward.

"Well, there's lots of us out there," he replied half-heartedly. "I'm sure you'll see another someday."

Dorian was staring at him openly now, and it was all Orym could do not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

Suddenly Dorian moved his face closer, and for a second Orym thought that he was going to kiss him, before the genasi spoke.

"You have green eyes," Dorian said, sounding completely awe-struck, and Orym realized belatedly that he had no idea how much Dorian had had to drink.

"I…do…"

"I've never seen green eyes before."

[standbyyourmantis]

Hooo doggy, Laura, this chapter is halfway done!

So y’all know what that means, preview time. It’s gonna be a REAL rough chapter, kiddos. Lots of big feelings. Lots of stuff happening. But, in the meantime...

“Hey, uh, Opal?”

“Yep?”

“Why do you have my name on here as @halflingtwunk?”

“Because that’s what I have you in my phone as.”

“Why am I in your phone as Halfling Twunk?”

“It was easier to remember than your name.”

She reached out and snatched her phone back from him, leaving him confused and staring at his hand where the phone had been. “My name is only four letters long…”

“Yeah, but you have to admit it’s a good description of you.”

“What’s a twunk?”

He heard a noise from the other group and glanced over to see Cyrus with his hand pressed to his face to keep from laughing, Dariax doubled over and giggling outright, and even Dorian looking straight at the ceiling like that would keep Orym from noticing how his shoulders were shaking.

“I don’t suppose any of you want to tell me,” he asked as darkly as he could manage, which unfortunately wasn’t very darkly as their own obvious good humor was making it hard for him to care too much one way or the other. Dorian shook his head but looked like he might be crying and Dariax was laughing so hard that Orym thought he might sprain something, but Cyrus somehow managed to pull it together enough to answer.

“It’s a combination of a twink and a hunk.”

Orym felt his face immediately flush and looked over at Opal who just shrugged with a smug look on her face.

“I told you, it’s a good description.”

[standbyyourmantis]

Kiss Me and Smile For Me - Chapter 1/?

When famous singer Dorian Storm catches his fiance in the arms of another on the sofa of his dressing room minutes before they're supposed to go on stage to get married, he maybe doesn't handle it as well as he could. Orym is only at this concert to keep his friends company and it's just a coincidence he happens to be holding a sign offering to marry Dorian. The two men must then navigate their "marriage" in the public eye as well as the very public breakup Dorian just went through, a lot of emotional baggage, and - worst of all - a budding attraction that neither one was really looking for.

(Just FYI, I am taking prompts on this fic if you have anything you’d like to see happen!)

Please note, there is a trigger warning on this chapter for Dorian basically having a full blown panic attack for a solid portion of it.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1:  CALL ME IF IT DOESN’T WORK OUT 🍆💦

Orym didn’t know that he’d ever get used to the desert heat, or that he wanted to. It was an intense sort of heat that baked everything all day only to have the ground return the heat once the sun had set, leaving the air around him nearly as warm as it was during the day. The scorching intensity of the sun was nothing like home - nothing like Zephrah with its trees and rivers and abundant greenery - but then, that had been the point. He had been looking for a place to start over, and the fourth floor walk-up in the middle of the desert city was as far from his old life (both geographically and tonally) as he’d been able to find.

Really, it had been a good change. He liked the city, as much as the weather sometimes got to him (as well as the insistence of the locals that it was a dry heat, as though that made it any more pleasant to walk across a parking lot in the middle of summer), life in Marquet was an odd sort of freedom. Freedom from memories, from a life that he was moving farther away from each day. Or, more accurately, from a life that was continuing even as he was stuck in place. He had a job here, and friends - including his roommate Fearne, a kindergarten teacher who he had met after answering her ad. The faun had been a little intimidating at first; she was extremely forward and more than a little chaotic, and Orym was pretty sure that she’d stolen every plate and piece of silverware in their small kitchen from various restaurants and diners one piece at a time, but they got on well and she’d been the first thing anchoring him to this new life in this new place.

Fearne had been the one to insist he make other friends, and was also the one currently waiting for him outside the Imperial Ank’Harel Amphitheater ahead of the Dorian Storm concert she’d gotten tickets for. Originally, the three tickets were for her, her friend and coworker Imogen, and Laudna, who Orym was pretty sure was Imogen’s girlfriend, but at this point he was too afraid to ask. Laudna, though, had something come up and couldn’t make the concert, and both women had insisted Orym come along so that the ticket didn’t go to waste. He’d tried to beg off; he wasn’t actually a big fan of most pop music and Dorian Storm had a reputation for having a slightly unhinged fanbase. However, every other option of their friend group had already been ruled out - Ashton had refused even more strongly than Orym had tried, Fresh Cut Grass had to work at the hospital, and Imogen flatly refused to be in any social situation that had both Fearne and Chetney without anyone else there to distract her from the constant and frankly unsettling flirting that tended to happen.

And so, Orym was the one pressing through the crush of bodies trying to catch a glimpse of sage green hair and antlers that tended to stick out above the tops of heads. Unfortunately, between his halfling stature and the sheer volume of people trying to get into the building, unless he bumped into her accidentally, he couldn’t get enough space to actually see anything except a sea of asses. Finally, he gave the exercise up as futile, instead quickly scaling a lamppost to allow him enough of a view to finally - finally - catch sight of not only Fearne, but also Imogen’s distinctive lavender hair. Imogen was turned away from him and seemed agitated, but Fearne quickly caught sight of him and started waving broadly as he hopped down off the lamp (apologizing to the tabaxi he almost tripped in the process) and nimbly worked his way through the crowd towards his friends.

“Hey!” he exclaimed in greeting as soon as he was within earshot of the women. “How are my two favorite - oh my gods, Fearne.”

“What?” the faun said with an innocence that could be put-on or could be sincere, but the large, brightly colored CALL ME IF IT DOESN’T WORK OUT sign complete with a hand-drawn eggplant and water droplets emoji tended to point towards the former.

“Orym, tell her she can’t take that thing inside,” Imogen said to him with a world-weary sigh that told him he’d walked in at the tail end of this particular conversation.

“It’s encouraging, though,” Fearne said sweetly. “It’s good to know you have options.”

“Fearne, you can’t proposition one of the grooms.”

“Okay first of all, there’s no confirmation that it will actually be a wedding today, it may just be a publicity stunt. And who said I was only interested in one of them?”

“Wait,” Orym said as the gears in his head processed the conversation. “Wedding? Grooms?”

“It’s probably just a publicity stunt,” Fearne insisted. “But yeah, that’s why these tickets were so hard to get. There’s a theory that Dorian Storm and Jaylan Hartfury are going to get married live on stage today.”

“It’s basically been confirmed,” Imogen continued patiently, still eyeing Fearne’s sign as though she were worried it was going to grow fangs and attack her. “There was a blind item on Exandria Unlimited about a celebrity couple planning a surprise wedding at a concert in Marquet this week. There are only a handful of singers touring the country this month and not only is Dorian Storm the most famous of the bunch, he also got very publicly engaged to Jaylan Hartfury three months ago.”

“And neither one of them denied it when people asked on social media,” Fearne added. “That’s good confirmation.”

Orym made a noncommittal hum as he put together this information while Imogen and Fearne continued bickering about the sign (“maybe if you just took off the emojis?”). He only really knew anything about Dorian Storm from Fearne, but he also wasn’t much of a music person beyond the stuff they used in the classes he taught at the gym, which tended to be instrumental dance music. Jaylan Hartfury, however, was a name he did recognize. The half-elf was fairly handsome with big blue eyes and dark brown hair, and had won several awards for his performances in the sorts of art films that Will had always enjoyed and that Orym had dutifully gone to see with him. The man wasn’t a bad actor by any means, but it wasn’t any secret that he was incredibly pretentious and made the lives of his co-stars miserable with his extreme method acting on set. Orym had never been a huge fan, and what little he knew of Dorian Storm as a person, the knowledge he was apparently marrying Jaylan Hartfury at a concert didn’t give him a particularly favorable image.

Orym was brought back out of his thoughts when Fearne let out a huff before dumping the large tote bag she used as a purse onto the sidewalk and plopping down onto the ground next to the pile of keys, loose cutlery, and various art supplies.

“Thank you, Fearne.” The relief in Imogen’s voice meant she had won the argument over the sign, and Orym watched as Fearne folded her original sign in half to hide the first set of text and began writing out MARRY ME INSTEAD in her neat block letters before surrounding the words in little hearts. It still wasn’t ideal, but from the look of things she wouldn’t be the only one holding a sign in that vein, so he figured it would be alright to let it slide.

With the sign drama settled and Fearne’s possessions back in her bag, the women decided it was time to head inside. Orym made sure to stick close to his friends, not wanting to risk getting separated from them again since they had the tickets and the ability to see at eye level with most everyone here. Orym wasn’t the only halfling in attendance (there were also a smattering of gnomes and even a goblin or two), and since it was a larger venue there were ordinances requiring various accommodations on request, but the ability to get a raised seat if he wanted one didn’t make maneuvering through the crowds any easier when they were packed as densely as this one was.

“So how did you get these seats again?” he asked Imogen as they made their way to the front of the audience, and Orym realized that they were third row dead center. These were amazing seats. Orym wasn’t even a fan of this singer and was excited at their proximity to the stage. There were any number of people in the audience who would have committed a number of criminal offenses to be where he was.

“The manager’s daughter was in my class last year. She was having some issues with reading and I got her a referral for some extra testing.”

“And he gave you these tickets as a thank you?”

“Orym, I’m shocked. That would be a complete conflict of interest. He gave me the tickets after she wasn’t in my class anymore because he knew Laudna and I were fans. That’s all.”

“Speaking of Laudna, where is she?”

Laudna was Imogen’s spooky shadow, and so far all he’d been able to discern of their relationship was that they lived together. There were two bedrooms, with the one that was Laudna’s clearly being used as a craft room with a dedicated work table and piles of marionettes and embroidery projects scattered around on the comfortable looking daybed, but the other room had a master bedroom with two hairbrushes on the vanity that he’d seen the few times he’d been to gatherings at their house and someone else was using the other bathroom. Making matters worse, nobody else in their small group seemed to be sure whether the two were a couple or not. Ashton swore up and down that they’d seen Imogen in a shirt that Laudna wore later that evening, and Fearne said that they danced together while chaperoning a 5th grade dance the year before Orym moved to town, but there were also perfectly innocent explanations for all those things as well. At this point nobody felt comfortable asking because they’d all known each other so long, and while it wasn’t necessarily his business, Orym had to admit that the mystery of it intrigued him. He didn’t need to know, but damned if he didn’t want to know.

“Oh, she had to work.”

“I thought one of the benefits of being an independent artisan was making your own hours?”

“Usually it is, but there was a convention in Jrusar this weekend and well, you can’t pay the bills with fun experiences.”

There was a wistfulness to her voice that Orym mentally added to his list of evidence they were dating, but then again they were also at a concert to watch an objectively attractive man singing pop songs and gyrating. Deciding to table the issue for the time being, he nodded sympathetically and then turned towards his phone, letting the ambient noise of the people surrounding him fade into the background as he looked up information on Dorian Storm so at least he could pretend to know what was going on during this thing.

It was a pretty standard pop star bio from a cursory glance - the first big hits all surrounded the engagement to Jaylan Hartfury, but even scrolling down, it was hard to find pictures of Dorian that weren’t either with Jaylan or else an album cover. The two were photographed together constantly in coordinating outfits, even when going to the gym or picking up coffee. Dorian at least had a nice smile, but Jaylan somehow never managed more than a smirk. And now Orym was apparently going to be watching their wedding.

“Doesn’t it seem a little strange to be at the wedding of strangers?” he said before he could stop himself. “Like, we don’t even know these people, but we’re here instead of their friends and family?”

“It is a little weird,” Imogen replied. “But they’re celebrities, things are different.”

“It’s probably not even a legal wedding,” Fearne added. “These kinds of things there’s usually a pre-nup and everything. I bet they take care of all the paperwork and the legal aspect ahead of time and this is just for cameras.”

“Yeah, probably.” Orym still couldn’t get past the wave of discomfort that had hit him since finding out he was attending a wedding, but instead he turned his attention back to his phone to wait for the concert to begin.

*

“I am happy for you, Bron. You know I’d be there if I could be.”

 Dorian Storm was losing his mind. That was the only explanation for why nobody else was making any sense right now, and for why he’d decided it was a good idea to talk to his brother, of all people, ahead of the biggest moment of his life.

“Cyrus, can’t you at least try to be happy for me?” he said into his phone.

“We’re literally in Ank’Harel. It’s not that far.”

There was a deep sigh on the other end, and Dorian could hear his brother moving to another room and shutting the door before speaking again. “It’s not that simple. Mom and Dad are…”

“I know, I know.” Dorian had made his choice on whether or not to be a part of the Wyvernwind family years ago, and he didn’t regret that decision, really. He’d had the misfortune of being born into a family that he could never be happy in, and leaving had been the right choice. He’d found a family in Ank’Harel playing music in shitty bars and now he was back here to get married in front of the only people who’d ever accepted him. Still, it didn’t necessarily make his brother not being there any easier.

“You know I’d come if I could,” Cyrus said.

“Are they still pretending I’m dead?” Dorian said as lightly as he could, hoping to disguise the bitterness he felt.

“Nobody pretends you’re dead.”

“No? What’s the story, then? Studying in Emon? Married a Xhorhasian baron?”

“They…stopped telling people about you,” Cyrus said in a quiet voice. “I’ve never gone along with it,” he added quickly. “Like, if someone asks I tell them you’re a singer.”

Somehow, that actually hurt worse than the Xhorhasian baron story would have. There was a time in his life when running off to Rosohna would have been an absolute dream.

“I have to go, Cyrus. I have a concert to perform and a wedding to be in.”

“Right. Right. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you. Make sure to check the news for pictures, I’m sure they’ll be up later tonight.” Dorian set the phone down on his vanity and took a deep breath to steady himself. He could do this. When Jaylan had first broached the idea of a big surprise wedding, he’d been hesitant for exactly this reason. But the more they’d discussed it, the better the idea had seemed. After all, Ank’Harel had been there for Dorian when he first ran away. It had led him to this life that he loved. And now he was getting married for the people who actually loved and supported him, not the ones who had always tried to force him to be something he had never wanted to be. This was going to be fantastic, and he was going to have a fantastic story to tell his grandchildren someday.

The door to the dressing room swung open and Dorian had a brief moment of tension before Jaylan sauntered through the door. He was already wearing half of his wedding suit: a pair of black trousers with a high collared shirt over top. There was a long black robe and a delicate series of silver chains that Dorian knew were supposed to go over his shoulders later, but they'd clearly been left off for now.

"There's my beautiful fiance!" Jaylan exclaimed with a grin. He bounded over and pressed a kiss to the top of Dorian's head before pulling back and looking at him, putting a hand under Dorian's chin and tilting his head back to get a better look at his face. Dorian let himself be adjusted, meeting the half-elf's grey-blue eyes. "Uh-oh, something's wrong."

"It's nothing," Dorian said reflexively, before adding, "I was just talking to my brother."

Jaylan tutted a little, bending down to press a quick kiss to Dorian's lips. "I don't know why you bother with that. It always upsets you."

"I know, but he's my brother."

"And today is your wedding day." Jaylan reached with the hand not on Dorian's chin to pry the cellphone from blue fingers and set it on the other side of the vanity table. Dorian hadn't even noticed how tightly he was clutching it until it was out of his hand. "You shouldn't let people upset you like this "

Dorian turned away from the hand on his chin, glancing into the mirror to fix his face into a more relaxed expression before looking back towards Jaylan.

"Of course, you're right. This is the biggest day of my life, I should be focusing on that."

"There's my best guy," Jaylan said with an exuberant voice that could almost be comforting before spinning back across the small space and flopping down onto the small couch, reclining with one leg resting on the arm and the other still on the floor. He was most attractive like that, Dorian thought, care-free and languid like nothing else in the world could possibly be more important. It was a nice reprieve from his intensity while working. He liked it when Jaylan turned to him, grinning broadly. "You're almost there, Blue. Just another 90 minutes of performing and it'll be time. The show of a lifetime, yeah?"

"The show of a lifetime," Dorian echoed in agreement.

He turned to face himself in the mirror, one final check to make sure all was well before tucking his phone into the pocket of his jacket and getting up. He was always so full of nervous energy before going on stage, he couldn't help shaking his hands out and bouncing on the balls of his feet for a brief moment before leaning down to kiss Jaylan properly, neither one touching his hair for fear of ruining it.

And then Dorian was out the door with a wink, bounding past Dariax, his bodyguard and friend, to the backstage area as the lights began to go down.

 "Thank you, Ank'Harel!" Dorian shouted towards the end of the show. He'd done it, it was time to go get changed, and the next time he'd be out on this stage would be the wedding and then a new song he'd done for Jaylan and then it would be done. "Make sure you stay in your seats for the next number, I have a very special surprise!"

So far it had been going well. He'd done mostly his newer, more upbeat songs, but he always liked to sprinkle in a few of the slower, folkier songs he'd written when he first started singing. They were still favorites of his and he liked to reward his early fans with those little moments throughout the night, especially here where so many of them had been written.

Dorian jogged off the stage to the roaring applause, grabbing his phone out of his coat and tucking it under his chin as he scrambled through the costume change. His wedding outfit would be mostly the same as his show outfit, but with the addition of a long white robe with an asymmetric hem that fluttered to the floor in the back. The color was beautiful on his skin, and the high collar with a lace ruff had been his favorite part. The long bell sleeves were cut off the shoulder and covered his hands when he held his arms to his side but fell away when he had his hands up with a microphone. There wasn't a lot of jewelry like Jaylan had, instead it let the fabric and his skin do all the work. He looked stunning and he knew it.

"Gorgeous," the wardrobe assistant said as soon as the last buttons were done up. "He's so lucky to have you."

"We're both lucky," he demurred, but silently hoped for the best. He looked the furthest thing he ever had from the person he'd been before, from Brontë. This, the man in the looking glass in front of him, was the person he'd always dreamed of being. His whole future was ahead of him.

Looking around, Dorian didn't see Jaylan. He pulled his phone out and unlocked it, intending to text his fiance, but instead a text from his social media manager caught his attention.

Opal 💎: call me as soon as you see this!!!!!!!

The urgency gave him pause, as did the request to call her. Opal could be a little (a lot) extra, but she didn't usually send that many exclamation marks or request an urgent call. Without thinking, he opened her contact and hit the call button, wandering farther backstage looking for privacy and his fiance and not necessarily in that order.

"Have you checked the EXU blog?" Her voice was nervous and upset as soon as she answered, and that just made him more anxious.

"What? No, I've been on stage. Opal, what's going on?"

"Are you with Jaylan?"

"Not - not right now, no. Can you speed this up? I'm about to go back on stage as soon as I find him."

Dorian smiled apologetically to Dariax as he approached his dressing room, mouthing the word Opal to the dwarf in the hopes he wouldn't be too upset at being ignored. Dariax had a blank expression on his face and wouldn't meet Dorian's eye. He would have to make it up to his friend later once he dealt with everything else.

"There was a special report on their blog." Opal sounded nearly frantic now as Dorian swung the door open, revealing Jaylan still on the couch with another person on top of him. Dorian froze as Opal's voice continued. "He was seen out on the town last night getting cozy with some rando at a restaurant in Ank'Harel. They have pictures. I know it doesn't necessarily mean anything but-"

"Opal." Dorian's voice sounded distant even to his own ears, as though it was coming from somewhere outside his body - or, more likely, he's completely left his body and was now experiencing the whole scene from somewhere above and behind himself. "I'm going to have to call you back."

He ended the call without waiting for a response or even looking away from the scene in front of him. The Yuan-Ti who had been grinding in Jaylan's lap pulled back like they'd been shocked, covering their chest (oh they were also half naked, fantastic) and fishing around on the floor for a shirt.

"Oh, there you are!" Jaylan said cheerfully as though Dorian hadn't just walked in on what he'd walked in on. "This is -" he gestured to the stranger, but Dorian wasn't about to stand here and be introduced to this person who he'd just walked in on with his fiance.

"Don't!" Dorian snapped. "I don't even want to hear anything you could have to say, either of you."

"Oh come on, Blue," Jaylan said calmly, using his pet name for Dorian as though he had the right, as though none of this changed anything. "Don't overreact."

"Don't overreact? I'm sorry, how am I supposed to react to this? We are literally seconds away from getting married. Was I supposed to ask to join?"

Jaylan grimaced, looking a little bit abashed for the first time today. "This isn't how I meant for you to find out. Where's that dwarf? He was supposed to knock when you got off stage."

"So it's Dariax's fault I walked in on this." Dorian couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You are incredible. Absolutely incredible. You know what? No, I'm not going to deal with this right now. I have a show to finish. Without you."

Jaylan jumped to his feet as Dorian stormed out, following closely.

"Come on, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you about this. I knew you'd react this way. Come on, Blue. You know how this works."

"How this- how what works, Jaylan? Affairs? Weddings? What am I missing?"

"You can't be that old fashioned. This is the life you wanted, travel and celebrity - and groupies."

"First of all, you can't pretend like it's an open relationship if you're the only one who knew about it. Second, what part of this situation makes me old fashioned? Actually, no. I don't want an answer. I want you gone. I have to get through the rest of this show."

"Think about this, Dorian." Jaylan's voice was serious, now. Not threatening exactly, but there was a definite warning being given as the half-elf grabbed Dorian's upper arm. "Really think about it. Do you really want to go out there by yourself? Everyone knows what's supposed to be going on, your last album cover had you in a wedding dress, for gods' sake. The secret song you're supposed to debut is about a wedding. Right now, this is all rumor and innuendo. The second you go out there alone, it's all confirmed. And then where will you be? We both know the only reason anyone cares about you is because of me. Don't do anything stupid."

Dorian felt the blood rush to his face with anger and he was sure he was flushed a brilliant purple, but it was all he could do not to haul off and punch this man he had thought loved him as he said these terrible things as though they justified the betrayal.

"Look out there, Jaylan," he finally said with a calmness he didn't know he possessed, gesturing to the sliver of crowd just barely visible around the curtains. "See all those people? They're cheering for me. That's my name on all the signs. You may have helped boost my profile, but I made Dorian Storm and that's who they're here to see. I don't need you." Dorian jerked his arm free. "You better not be here anymore when I get off that stage."

And with that, he marched out on stage with as much determination as he could muster, closing his eyes and just basking in the love and validation as the roar of the crowd enveloped him in the fact that these people loved him, these people wanted him. He'd be alright. He had no idea what to do or say, but he would be okay as long as he had that.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, still trying to formulate a solution to this problem, but none was forthcoming. And so he did the one thing he knew he could do - he sang. He did a brief medley of a few different songs that he sometimes did at dinner parties if he wanted to show off, and they cheered. He felt himself reaching that space he loved so much where nothing else mattered except the love of the crowd. Nothing from his real life mattered, not Cyrus or his parents or stupid fucking Jaylan - or even Brontë, the life he'd given up so that he could become Dorian. There was a shrill feeling to his elation now, a desperate, self-destructive edge he'd never felt before. Of course, nothing else mattered. He had his fans. His fans loved him. This was the love that mattered, wasn't it?

"I heard you were here for a wedding," he said at last, just barely keeping the hysterical edge out of his voice through sheer will alone. The crowd roared. "Well, who am I to disappoint all of you…you wonderful, beautiful people?"

They cheered harder.

"Unfortunately, Jaylan won't be joining us this evening," that earned a disappointed sound he was quick to quell. "I know, I know. Unfortunately, we've gone our separate ways. I'm sure the tabloids will keep you all informed of any upcoming developments. But, you good people came for a wedding, didn't you?"

 "You." The voice from the stage snapped Orym out of his distraction. He'd been watching Imogen's phone as she texted a live play-by-play of the scene unfolding before them to Laudna. When his focus returned to the stage, he saw none other than Dorian Storm himself holding a hand towards the crowd, and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize the singer was speaking directly to him.

They erupted in applause again, and he glanced around the front of the crowd desperately. Looking for someone - anyone - any familiar face in this sea of strangers who adored him more than his own family did. But no luck, nobody was there to save him and so he would save himself.

*

"What's your name?" the genasi continued, smiling when Orym looked around again, still completely convinced that there was somebody else he must have meant. "Yes, you. The handsome halfling with the sign. What's your name?"

"Orym!" Imogen and Fearne shouted in unison when he found himself unable to answer.

His eyes fluttered across the crowd, panic and bile and the knowledge that he would regret this while being completely unable to stop it rising up on him. Finally, his eyes lit upon a sign in the crowd - MARRY ME INSTEAD in big colorful letters, held by a halfling man. Dorian didn't let himself think twice as he stepped across the stage and reached out a hand.

"Orym?" Dorian repeated the name, and Orym couldn't help but like the way it sounded in his melodious voice. No matter what Orym may think of the man’s music, there was no denying the genasi had an absolutely beautiful voice. “That’s a great sign you have there, Orym.”

Dorian’s voice was low and sexy now, and so clearly meant to be seductive that it took Orym more than a few seconds to realize - the sign! Fearne’s stupid, ridiculous sign that she’d asked him to hold while she got a snack and hadn’t taken back after Dorian had started again. The sign offering to marry Dorian that he was still holding. Orym felt his mouth moving up and down as he tried to think of a response without actually being able to form words - some way to tell this strange man, oh no, I’m not the one who wants to marry you, it’s my large friend here, but Orym was only able to nod mutely.

“Why don’t you come up here?” Dorian asked, and, again, words failed Orym as his friends shoved him forward and the crowd parted - dozens of strange hands pushing him up and onto the stage as Dorian held a hand out to help him up. “Well, Orym,” Dorian continued. “I saw your sign and I thought I’d make your wish come true, how’s that sound?”

The crowd roared again, and Orym knew he had to say something to make this stop.

“Uh,” he forced out as eloquently as he could manage.

“Don’t be shy,” Dorian replied, taking Orym’s hand and guiding him towards the back of the stage where a curtain was lifting to reveal an arch and an officiant. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Orym was completely stunned, helpless to do anything but follow.

Everything was moving in slow motion around him, but it still somehow felt too fast for Orym to keep up with. The officiant was saying words to his right, but his eyes were locked on the man in front of him. Dorian was beautiful, there was no getting around it; with his pale blue skin and black-blue hair fading to white at the ends, everything about him was stunning with not a hair out of place. But Orym had known that from the posters outside the building on their way in, what Orym actually found himself lost in was Dorian's eyes - his crystal blue eyes brimming with hurt and hope and some other emotions that Orym couldn't place roiling beneath that carefully crafted exterior.

He should say no. He should say no! This was insane, he'd let this go on too far already and he'd only known Dorian Storm for the last few minutes. There was no way this was even a legal marriage, there was no reason to repeat after the cleric as he was led through the wedding vows (the same ones you said to Will, a very unhelpful little voice in his head provided). All Orym had to do was let go of Dorian's hand and walk off this stage and it would be over. He wouldn't have to have anything further to do with Dorian Storm or whatever celebrity tabloid drama was going on. And yet…Dorian was still looking at him with those sea-colored eyes and for a split second the mask slipped and he looked like nothing so much as a fairy tale prince hoping Orym was the knight come to save him from the dragon.

And damn it all, but Orym had always had a weakness for pretty men and had never known how to say no to someone who needed help.

"I...I do."

[standbyyourmantis]

I Made My Bed (And Now I Must Lie) part 2!

Heyyy so y’all remember this little ficlet I got prompted for? The one where Orym is tired and cuddly and they platonically snuggle while Dorian has a mild breakdown about how much he has a crush on Orym in a completely platonic way?

Yeah so I tripped and this came out. The morning after. Enjoy!

x

Orym woke slowly the next morning feeling better rested than he had in months, if not years. He took a moment to lie there with his eyes closed taking an inventory of how he felt, not wanting to aggravate any possible injuries from yesterday. He was in a soft bed, so he’d made it upstairs in the tavern last night. There was a telltale stiffness in the places where he’d needed healing yesterday, the newly-knit flesh still unused to movement, but experience told him it was nothing a good stretch wouldn’t fix. He was tucked in comfortably, and so warm. The warmth was radiating from his right side, and it took him just a few seconds to recognize the source as Dorian.

His first impulse was to keep his eyes closed and cling tighter for just a few more minutes, but instead he forced himself to pull away. He was starting to remember more flashes of the evening before, and the way that he’d essentially demanded Dorian spend the night snuggled with him…his only defense was he’d been exhausted and possibly had lost too much blood to be able to handle the ale he’d had. Boy it was going to be an awkward morning either way though.

He’d been hoping to extricate himself quietly enough to not wake Dorian, maybe get a start on his exercises and be able to postpone having this conversation that he knew they would need to have just a little longer, but the second he started to roll away he felt Dorian shift underneath him – oh gods he was partially underneath him.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Dorian’s voice came from over his head somewhere, sounding startled and very, very much not asleep even a little bit.

“Yeah,” Orym replied, because there was no point in even denying it. He was caught. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already up,” Dorian said breezily. “Just waiting for you.”

He sat up before he risked a glance at the genasi. Dorian was an utter vision, stretched out long and lean and so beautiful in the shitty sheets of this rented bed. The sun was coming through the window just so and hitting his skin, and for a second all Orym could think about was the vast expanse of sky on a cloudless day. He quickly retreated from that thought before it could get him in more trouble. This already felt like dangerous terrain to be on, no sense in making it worse by focusing on things he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want right now.

Orym looked away, trying to break whatever spell Dorian had over him and only marginally succeeding.

Well. The only way out was through. “About last night…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Dorian’s voice was closer now, and when Orym risked a look back he saw that the other man was sitting up and leaning forward on his knees, keeping him at Orym’s eye level rather than towering over him. “We’re friends, right?” Dorian continued. “We can just be the kind of friends who sometimes spend the night cuddling when one of them has a bad injury. You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to read too much into it. You were tired, you didn’t know what you were saying.”

“I did, though,” Orym replied, looking away again before he could lose his nerve. He didn’t think he could look at Dorian if he was going to say what he needed to.

“Oh.” Dorian somehow fit so much surprise and confusion into that single syllable. “Well, even in that case, it still doesn’t need to change anything if you don’t want it to. Really, I don’t – it’s not a hardship for me to…to hold you. I never mind cuddling, and if you needed the comfort…I’m more than willing.”

“We need to talk.” At Orym’s interruption, Dorian stopped talking so fast that Orym could almost picture his mouth slamming shut even though he still couldn’t quite bring himself to look back at his friend yet.

“I – I don’t know how much you figured out from Zephrah,” Orym continued. “I’m sure I wasn’t exactly subtle but…” Nothing for it now but to just say it. “I was married. Before.”

“Before?” Dorian prompted gently when Orym didn’t immediately continue.

“Before the attack.”

“Oh.” Dorian said. “Oh Orym. I’m…I’m so sorry. So this – this mission –”

“Yeah. I’m trying to find the person who killed my husband.”

Dorian didn’t reply verbally, but Orym felt a movement in the blankets and when he looked back Dorian was still sitting there, hunched over his knees and looking at Orym with wide, sad eyes and a hand extended toward him and resting on the bed as though he wasn’t sure his touch would be appreciated in this moment. Orym reached out and took Dorian’s hand without letting himself overthink it. He didn’t want Dorian to feel rejected, because this wasn’t a rejection. Or at least not in the traditional sense, anyway.

The feel of delicate, calloused fingers threaded through his made Orym’s heart ache with the familiarity of it, and grounded him just enough to continue. “I just…you’re great. And if things were–were different, maybe–”

“Orym, Orym, stop. Please. If…this is the conversation I think we’re having, it’s okay. You don’t need to let me down easy, I’m fine. I told you, this doesn’t change anything. I didn’t think it meant you were interested or anything.” It was Dorian’s turn to look away, but Orym could still see the slight violet flush creeping down his neck.

“But what if I am? Interested? Or, I guess, what if I could be?”

That got Dorian’s attention again, and he looked back at Orym with a surprised look on his face, but with the beginnings of a smile starting to tug on the corners of his mouth. “Well, in that case, I guess I’d have to say the feeling is…mutual?”

He’d suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed somehow just made things feel more complicated. If it was a one-sided infatuation, Orym could justify pulling away. He’d only be hurting himself. If Dorian’s feelings were involved, though…Dorian didn’t deserve this.

“I’m not ready right now, is the thing.” Orym needed to explain. He needed Dorian to understand that he wasn’t being rejected, that this wasn’t about him. It was the ghost of Orym’s past and Orym’s unfinished business. Dorian needed to understand that he deserved better.

“That’s alright, I’m not in any hurry.” Dorian replied easily and Orym knew he didn’t really understand. Dorian was so sheltered, and so inexperienced with these sorts of things.

“It’s not that easy, Dorian. There’s…I do like you. But I don’t think you should pin any particular hopes on me ever being ready. At least not until this is dealt with, and I don’t want to be in the way of your happiness.”

Dorian did at least take some time to think now, he was still holding Orym’s hand in his but he’d looked away again and his attention was firmly focused somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. Orym took advantage of the opportunity to see without being seen, trying to commit everything about this moment to memory before Dorian inevitably pulled away and things returned to how they should be.

“I think you’re underestimating me,” Dorian said carefully once he did finally speak. “You’re not responsible for whether or not I’m happy. You also don’t get to decide if I think it’s worth waiting for you.” Orym opened his mouth again to speak, but Dorian raised a hand to shush him before continuing. “I’m not saying my plan is to sit around pining for you until I’m old and gray, Orym. But well…I like you. I like you enough that I think it’s a good use of my time to explore that in whatever way you’re comfortable with. And if in six months or a year or longer it doesn’t feel right anymore, then I guess I can reevaluate at that point. But for right now, can’t you trust me to make my own choice about whether or not you’re worth my time?”

Orym couldn’t help it, he tugged Dorian’s hand and the genasi gamely shifted, letting Orym pull him into a hug and wrapping his arms around Orym’s shoulders until they were cuddled up on the bed again with Orym practically in Dorian’s lap. This was big. It was more than he could have hoped for, far more than he’d ever have felt comfortable asking for, but it was undeniable how much Orym really, really wanted what Dorian was offering.

“I can’t promise anything,” he said into Dorian’s chest. “I’m sorry, I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“I never expected anything from you beyond the rest of this mission,” Dorian replied earnestly. “One job at a time, you know?”

“Yeah, something like that.” But he knew it wasn’t. He’d have stuck with Dorian for the long haul even before this. Orym wasn’t the kind of person who could jump from one thing to the next easily, it didn’t come naturally to him. And he didn’t want to leave Dorian’s side again. He’d be there until Dorian decided to leave him, or until he physically couldn’t be there anymore. Come what may.

[standbyyourmantis]

It's WIP Wednesday and I've got two wildly different Dorym kid fics on the books.

We shall start with the angsty one which is halfway done:

Orym, bless him, was distracting both of Dorian’s parents with Iris. He had the baby sitting in his lap so she could eat while he fussed with her hair. He was working the dark curls into a pair of braids that started at the top of her head and worked down to join at the back of her neck as he explained the finer points of curl care to Nephele Wyvernwind. Dorian watched his mother fussing over Iris with what felt like a stone in his stomach. She wasn’t even doing anything wrong, she was listening to Orym intently and occasionally twisting a loose curl around her finger. Iris was entirely fine with the entire situation, and even occasionally offered a piece of food from her plate to her grandmother who always accepted it graciously and offered a replacement from her own meal.

This shouldn’t bother him. He felt like an absolute asshole, but he couldn’t rip his attention away from the fingers touching his daughter’s hair so gently and affectionately and just – it was so like how she used to run her fingers through his hair as a little boy. She would comb through it until it was soft and slippery as silk every single night before working it into a braid very like the one he now put his childrens’ hair in before bed and he would play his lute for her and they would sing together. It was something she insisted on doing nightly for both boys, no matter how busy she was or how much easier it would have been to let a maid handle it. It was one of the reasons he had always worn his hair long, because she had loved it.

Those memories brought back other memories, though. Ones with sharper edges – sit up straight, Brontë. Children should be seen and not heard. Don't question, just behave. Don't cry, Brontë. You're a prince, act like one. It was still hard for him to reconcile those two sides of his mother, the woman who taught him love songs as she fixed his hair every night and the woman who insisted on a ruthless conformity and battled him on every deviation he displayed.

And, as a palate cleanser, we have this accidental baby acquisition story that I'm working on kind of for an exchange but also more of a group challenge I guess?

Anyway, here's two idiots not communicating about being in love!

Everyone had given him a look like they knew what that meant, and honestly if they did he wished that they’d let him know. He had no idea what was going on with him and Orym since he’d gotten back to the group. They’d kissed twice – once the night he got back, alone in their shared room in the tavern. Fearne had left them alone while she went to the washroom to clean up and Orym had said that he hadn’t realized how much he would miss Dorian until they’d been apart, and how he didn’t want to let him leave again and somehow in that moment everything had felt exactly right and Dorian had kissed him. It was a slow, languid kiss that seemed to last forever, except that Fearne came back far too soon and they’d pulled apart like they’d been burned.

The second kiss had been a week later, they’d been returning to another random inn in another random town, pockets flush with cash and giddy with adrenaline and Orym had grabbed his hand and held him to the back of the group before pulling him into an alley, and before Dorian could even ask what he was doing Orym had pulled him down to sit on a crate and was kissing him senseless. This time it was different, Orym had his hands on either side of Dorian’s neck and his thumbs caressing his jaw and it felt desperate. The first kiss had been soft and longing, this one was needy, like Orym had to kiss Dorian right that very moment. Both kisses were perfect, and Dorian felt like he was drowning in Orym. By the time they broke apart, he was dazed and alive in a way he didn’t remember feeling before. Orym was flushed pink, and Dorian was sure he was violet and they giggled at nothing as they hurried to catch back up with their friends.