#and sure he’s surly and rude and unlikeable sometimes

[theoakleafpancake]

05. Daring

“How much?” he asked Tom abruptly.

“One silver coin to you, good sir,” said Tom.

Lief’s eyes widened. Tom had told them that the price of the rope was three silver coins. He opened his mouth to protest, then felt Barda’s warning hand on his wrist. He glanced up and saw that his companion’s eyes were fixed on the counter, near to where the stranger’s hands were resting. There was a mark there. The stranger had drawn it in the dust.

[gardenergulfie]

Emptober Day 4: Ribbon

Rating: G

Word Count: 2539

Relationships: Jimmy | Solidarity/Scott | Smajor1995 | Dangthatsalongname

Characters: Scott | Smajor1995 | Dangthatsalongname, Jimmy | Solidarity

Tags:Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Red String of Fate, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Empires SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Flower Husbands, Emptober, Seablings, 

Everything was normal with it until the day he met the other rulers. It was a political meeting of nations, the first time all of them would all be together in years. Rivendell was hosting it and it would be Jimmy’s first time out of the kingdom. Jimmy and Lizzie were representing the Ocean Empire as heirs but they were allowed to meet and greet with whoever they wanted. Lizzie quickly ran off, introducing herself to the Mezalean prince and leaving Jimmy to flounder alone. He gripped the ribbon between his fingers nervously but took a deep breath and approached the first person he could see. That person was a winged elf with blue hair and a very aloof expression.

Emptober Day 4: Ribbon

--

AO3 Link

Fic below the cut

Jimmy was a pretty normal guy. I mean he was the leader of an empire but compared to the other leaders and even his own citizens he was normal, maybe even average. Just a pretty basic dude. But Jimmy had something, a part of him, that was very not normal. It was a ribbon tied around his left wrist. It was green and blue with a design of red flowers that Jimmy had never seen before. The ribbon had one end constantly trailing out of sight. It had been there for as long as he could remember and strangely enough, seemingly no-one else could see it.

When Jimmy was little he tried out some tests with the ribbon. He found out that he couldn’t tangle it, he couldn’t trip people with it, he couldn’t hang things on it, it didn’t interact with water like most fabrics did, it was just intangible to anyone or anything but Jimmy. He’d told his sister Lizzie about it but she didn’t have one and she couldn’t see or feel it. He’d even gone to the local library to do research on it which did make the bookkeeper give him a strange look, he’d never been one for academics before but he just needed to know. He found nothing but some sappy love stories about people with invisible red strings of fate that connected them to their one true love. Jimmy didn’t really believe these stories, besides he had a ribbon not a string.

Once or twice in his life Jimmy had felt a tug on the ribbon. It felt like a person on the other end of it had pulled on it. Was there someone also connected to him? Were those stories about strings of fate true? Jimmy followed the ribbon for a long time, only stopping when he realized that he was at the edge of the kingdom. If there was a person on the other end, they weren’t from his home empire.

For a while that was it. Nothing new could be found out about the ribbon and so Jimmy resigned himself to it just being a mystery forever. On the plus side, he didn’t really mind it that much. It didn’t hurt him or get stuck on anything which was nice and it was a nice texture. Sometimes when he was anxious or just restless he would twist it between his fingers and fidget with it. He got some strange looks, fidgeting with nothing, but it wasn’t that weird so no-one really questioned him.

Everything was normal with it until the day he met the other rulers. It was a political meeting of nations, the first time all of them would all be together in years. Rivendell was hosting it and it would be Jimmy’s first time out of the kingdom. Jimmy and Lizzie were representing the Ocean Empire as heirs but they were allowed to meet and greet with whoever they wanted. Lizzie quickly ran off, introducing herself to the Mezalean prince and leaving Jimmy to flounder alone. He gripped the ribbon between his fingers nervously but took a deep breath and approached the first person he could see. That person was a winged elf with blue hair and a very aloof expression.

“Hello! I’m Jimmy Solidarity of the Ocean Empire!” He said to the elf, his voice coming out louder than he intended from nerves. He winced as the elf turned to him with a mildly peeved expression.

“Scott Smajor, heir of Rivendell.” The elf said coldly. He assessed Jimmy lazily but his eyes stopped on Jimmy’s left hand, the one holding the ribbon. His cold mask dropped and Jimmy could see an expression of shock and mild intrigue before it went back up. “I’ve never spoken to a citizen of the ocean empire. Are you all this small? It's kinda cute” Jimmy bristled a bit at the insult? Flirt? He couldn’t tell but he knew enough to be offended.

“Not all of us can be as tall as elves. I am quite a normal height! And I’m not cute.” Jimmy snapped back. Scott looked briefly surprised at his retort but then smirked.

“Not cute you say? That adorable pout on your face says otherwise.” Scott says, lifting his hand to gesture at Jimmy’s expression. A hand that had a blue green and red flower patterned ribbon tied around it. The same ribbon that existed around Jimmy’s hand. Jimmy’s eyes widened and he looked at his own ribbon. Sure enough, they were connected. So there was a person on the other end of it and Jimmy had found them. But Scott? Really? This ribbon better not be one of those soul things, he does not want to be bonded to that rude elf.

Jimmy realized that he should probably respond to Scott. He’s been standing silently for about a minute now and Scott was surly waiting for him to say something.

“I wasn’t pouting! I was upset at being called cute. Not everyone likes random strangers calling them cute, you know.” Jimmy says back. Scott looks thoughtful.

“I don’t know. If a pretty boy like you walked up to me and called me cute, I don’t think I’d be complaining.” The elf says back. Jimmy sputters as he tries to think of a response. He really wasn’t someone who got flirted with often, even as a joke, and it was very disarming.

“Well I’m not you so I care.” He says back with his face bright red. He knew it wasn’t the best comeback and from Scott’s smug expression he could tell it hadn’t hit the mark he was aiming for.

“Right sure.” Scott says with an eye roll. “This conversation’s being nowhere and I already won it so why don’t we talk about something else. I could take you on a tour? I don’t think you fishfolk get the chance to see elven architecture often.” Jimmy once again bristled at Scott’s mild insult but agreed to the tour. Scott led Jimmy away from the front hall and outside into Rivendell proper. Jimmy wouldn’t admit it but Scott was a pretty good tour guide, he knew a lot about the kingdom’s history and culture and was good at talking about it, even if he still flirted and insulted Jimmy quite often. Scott showed Jimmy the sheep pens, the owl roost, and apiary, all places that Jimmy had only seen glimpses of during the trip here.

In the apiary Jimmy saw something. A red flower, identical to the ones on his ribbon. He called Scott over, asking what kind of flower that was. Scott glanced over and when he saw the red flower Jimmy was talking about he briefly touched the ribbon tied to his own hand before answering.

“Its a poppy. They’re a common flower and grow in most places. You haven’t seen one before?” The elf asked. Jimmy shook his head.

“I don’t think they grow in the swamps. I would have remembered seeing a flower this red before.” Jimmy gently touched a petal of the flower. It was beautiful and it made Jimmy feel…. weirdly bittersweet? It was just a flower. Why did Jimmy feel like crying then? He blinked away the tears that were forming and backed away from the flower. Scott was giving him an odd searching look.

“It's my favorite kind of flower.” Scott said at last. “I always make sure there’s at least one in the apiary at all times.” Jimmy was surprised at this personal info that Scott was just telling him. Scott hadn’t talked much about himself, mostly speaking about the elves and their great kingdom. Him just dropping this strange piece of personal information seems out of pace and it made Jimmy wonder why he did it. The elf was still looking at him, waiting for Jimmy to say something in return.

“It really is lovely.” Jimmy responded. “Does it have any special meanings?” Jimmy had heard of flowers having special meaning attached to them though he hadn’t learned much about them. Lizzie had but not him.

“Sleep, peace, and death are what the poppy represents.” Scott says, unconsciously tugging on the ribbon. Jimmy felt that tug, just more proof that they were connected. Sleep, peace, and death were strange meanings for the flowers on his ribbon. Maybe the type of flower didn’t mean anything but it's a magic ribbon so that was unlikely. Jimmy was hoping that his flowers meant peace or maybe sleep, death was something he’d really not want to be tied with.

Scott had been looking more and more nervous the more Jimmy thought. The elf was trying to hide it but the fluttering of his wings and shuffling of his feet gave him away. Jimmy was about to ask him about the problem when a loud gong rang across the city.

“That's the feast bell. They’re about to start dinner.” Scott says, moving towards the door to the apiary. “We need to go quickly so we’re not late.” Jimmy let the topic of Scott’s anxiety around him drop and the two rushed towards the main hall. They were separated in the crowd when they got there, Jimmy being reunited with Lizzie who asked him where he was and introduced him to her new friend Joel. Jimmy didn’t see Scott for the rest of the night, only briefly catching a glimpse of him when it was time for him to leave.

Jimmy met Scott quite a few times over the course of many years, the two becoming rulers of their own nations, Scott in Rivendell and Jimmy in the newly formed Cod Empire. They maintained a similar relationship as they had when they were young, Scott teasing and flirting with Jimmy and Jimmy getting flustered and firing back with his own bad insults. Neither of them brought up the topic of the ribbon though Jimmy was pretty sure that Scott knew at this point. The many glances at Jimmy’s left wrist was a pretty big clue to that.

Years past, Jimmy and Scott were still leading their empires and occasionally bickering with each other. The demon plagued them for a bit and in that time they became allies in a very strange way, Scott taking Jimmy on a date. The many poppies around the date place was a nice reference to the ribbon and a knowing look from Jimmy let Scott know he knew what was up. It took a couple more suggested dates for Jimmy to realize that the date wasn’t one of Scott’s normal flirts but that Scott was actually interested in him. The two took it slow, going on quite a few more dates before they were ready to speak of the ribbon out-loud.

Jimmy remembered it as a chilly evening, the two of them drinking warm tea inside of Jimmy’s house. Scott had made the excuse of it being too cold back home and that the swamp was just much warmer but Jimmy knew the elf at this point to know that Scott wanted to spend time with him. They had done some baking following a simple recipe that somehow they still managed to mess up and then salvage at the last minute. Now with a mug of tea in hand and slightly burnt cookies on a plate in front of him, Jimmy was feeling brave. He tugged on the ribbon once then twice when Scott didn’t look over from his cup of tea. The second tug caught the elf’s attention and he looked down at the ribbon resting beside them both.

“I think at this point we both know about the existence of this,” Jimmy waved his own end of the ribbon, “and the fact that it connects them. I don’t know about you but we’ve been dating for a bit. We might as well talk about it.” Scott blinked in surprise at the question coming from seemingly nowhere but nodded at set down his drink.

“I was wondering when one of us was going to be brave enough to bring up the soul ribbon.” Scott said. “I’d have thought you would have blurted the question out way before now.” Scott teased with a small smirk. Jimmy let the insult flirt fly over his head, mostly focused on the words soul ribbon.

“Wait, the soul ribbon is like a string of fate? The stuff from those love stories?” Jimmy asked. Scott looked confused at the question.

“Wait, you mean you don’t know about soul ribbons? They’re real and way more than just stories. We’re kind of living proof of that.” Scott said. Jimmy leaned back in his chair a bit more.

“The only information I found about anything similar to the ribbon was stories about red strings of fate that connect people destined to be together. They were just fiction I thought but you’re saying that it’s really real. We’re soulmates?” Jimmy asks.

“Soul ribbons are a bit more complicated than just the idea of fated couples. They’re broken promises from a past life. When two people promise to stay together but something happens where they promise is broken, the universe will step in and give them another chance. Hence, the soul ribbon.” Scott explains. “The pattern of the ribbon normally has some kind of meaning relating to the past life. Soul ribbons can’t really be studied but there have been enough cases that people are now pretty sure of their meaning.”

“So in another life, we made a promise to each other but it got broken? And poppies were important to us?” Jimmy questioned. “Well that explains why I feel so happy and sad at the same time when I see a poppy. Past life emotions, huh.” Scott reached out and took a cookie with one hand and Jimmy's own hand with another.

“I understand if this is a lot to take in.” Scott bit his lip, looking anxious. “Again, the soul ribbon doesn’t mean that we have to be together. It’s just the universe giving us a second chance. So if this is too much for you we don’t have to keep dating-“

“What? Scott no. I don’t want to stop dating. It’s strange, yeah, but I mean I already knew we were connected. This doesn’t have to change anything for us! I’m happy to know how we’re connected, this solves a mystery I’ve always been wondering about. I mean, better lovers in a past life than fated enemies in this one.” Jimmy said passionately, laughing a bit at his own joke at the end. Scott’s face brightened up and he smiled back at Jimmy.

“Was that one of your theories? Fated enemies?” Scott chuckled as he took a bite of his cookie. Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck bashfully with his free hand.

“I mean we were always bickering. It wasn’t too strange of an idea.” Jimmy defended himself.

The two of them continued to talk for quite a few more hours before they eventually fell asleep together, bundled up under a quilt. Their hands were intertwined, the two ends of the ribbons brushing against each other. The universe looked down at these second chance souls and felt pride. They really had found each other again.

[dottiechan]

Tempest (Pt. 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5  

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 2177

Warnings: mentions of death, smoking

Summary: Ava’s handler has information that will turn her lengthy mission upside down - along with her heart.

Lady Ashbury’s parlour, London, 1898

“You’re ridiculously torpid this afternoon, Ava.”

The hostess’ words ring clear in her ear and she almost flinches - not like the others can hear them. Nate has taken it upon himself to entertain Lady Ashbury’s guests when Ava turned even more sullen and laconic than she usually would in a setting such as this. Afternoon tea wasn’t exactly her scene after all. Nor was being parted from the private detective in such a hurried, unplanned manner as the invitation that simply could not be refused was thrust upon her this morning by a note from Lady Ashbury. Letters such as that hold no importance to her at all normally. She doesn’t socialise. She doesn’t attend parties, or put on a show for the sake of being thought of as ‘pleasant,’ whatever that is supposed to mean these days.

But it would have been impossible to ignore her handler’s request.

“You said it was urgent, Lady Ashbury.” Ava folds her arms almost petulantly as she gazes out the window, refusing to look at the older vampire clad in a divine tea gown of showy green silk and soft cotton frills.

“Had I known this lengthy assignment would make you so surly, I would have invited you to my gatherings more often.” The sentence passes from the socialite’s parted red lips, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward in a way Ava can’t help but feel secretly mocked. “Oh, don’t frown like that! Or else we will all die of your ennui. I have great news, great news indeed! But I see no reason why we shouldn’t have an equally pleasant afternoon to ourselves before we talk business.”

“Half of your guests are not even of the Agency,” murmurs Ava, her disapproving glance sweeping over the almost gaudily overdecorated room. Eventually, her eyes settle on Nate serving tea cakes to some of the ladies, all refined charm and long fingers and even longer smiles, and a pang of guilt runs through her when she realises that her old friend is actually enjoying himself, thriving and basking in the plenitude of attention he is showered with. She’s been so absorbed in her love for the detective that she nearly haven’t had enough time for him as of late.

“All previously settled engagements, of course. I’m sure you understand how rude it would have been of me to entreat them not to come,” Ashbury lies fluidly, yet her brown eyes glint with a mocking light that betrays her immediately and on purpose. She delights in the tensing of the muscles in Ava’s jaw.

“Of course.”

“Now don’t be so uncouth, or else I will be the talk of every party and club for the coming weeks about the questionable company I keep,” Catherine Ashbury shakes her head stubbornly, dark locks bouncing defiantly as she links their arms and tugs Ava away from the window. They walk down the long parlour slowly, close enough to the guests that they feel like they’re part of the occasion, and yet far away for their conversation to remain private.

“You’re already the talk of London, Lady Ashbury,” Ava retaliates, almost suavely wrapping her jest in a cloak of concern. “Thirty years you have been here, and thirty years you haven’t aged a day.”

“Some of us are just lucky in that regard, aren’t we?” the hostess grins at Ava. “Unlike these poor ladies here... Or even your private detective. They’re young now, but they’ll whither away soon like roses in the winter. Such a waste. Just like this whole operation has been, if you pardon my frankness. I understand her protection was part of the deal the Agency made with the Police Commissioner, but such a waste of resources this endeavour has been! Our top agents, wasted on the protection of one human. I’ve always appreciated your practical thinking, so I know you must feel the same way as I do. And to be stuck in it for two whole years...! Well, I’m sure you will be relieved to learn the rumours I’ve been hearing lately.”

Ava awakens from her listless silence when Catherine Ashbury ceases to prate about the question of mortality and baits her into enquiring more about the mysterious little sentence she dropped at the end of her speech. She schools her features into an emotionless mask even as her heart begins to fill with uncertainty and fear, painfully aware of Ashbury’s almost predatory gaze fixed on her at all times. “Do they have to do anything with our mission?”

“Would you be intrigued if I said yes?” Catherine asks, red lips curving into a satisfied smile when she notices her quickening pulse. “Alright then. Mind you, these are only rumours, and you didn’t hear them from me... But it is said that the Agency wants to form permanent working units - much like your partnership with Nathaniel, only in teams of four and with greater autonomy than what is usually granted to field agents. I hear the top squad has already been assembled - and utilised. Here, in London. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“What could possibly be their objective here?” Ava frowns as they walk slowly, Ashbury leading the way to the small balcony facing a lush park of green fenced in by equally posh buildings as the one they’re in right now. “I haven’t been alerted of any major supernatural activity here, save for the rouge dark elf, of course.”

“Ah, there you go, spoiling the surprise,” Catherine sighs, finally giving up her maddening secrecy as she takes a deep breath, the crisp air chilling her lungs in the most effervescent way. Or is it the anticipation radiating off of her agent in waves as great as ocean tides? It is an exhilarating game, reading others, playing with words and watching the body betray the mind as it answers all questions so truthfully. She is only the temporary handler of the two agents, and has been that for two years straight now, but a sudden recognition manifests in her heart - as difficult and disagreeable and perfectly unpleasant Ava can be sometimes (the very opposite of her companion) she will miss her. She thinks her a remarkable entity, a true novelty among the cheap copies upon copies of women who thoughtlessly sacrifice their truest parts on the altar of hypocrisy and vanity, until no vestige remains of their original self. To know Ava is to face a lot of uncomfortable but all the more truthful feelings - one can decide to despise Ava for it, but the wise learn to look within.

Though Lady Ashbury may not look it, she is old. Older than Ava, and certainly older than youthful, handsome Nathaniel. And she feels old too, the debauchery of her long centuries and the dishonest little games that made up her life ageing her soul prematurely. But when Ava speaks...! When Ava speaks, her throat becomes the well, and her words truth, and she shames mankind in the most delicious way. Like that splendid painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme, La Vérité sortant du puits armée de son martinet pour châtier l’humanité. Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind. A painting she wishes she could procure for herself.

And Ava. A woman Catherine wishes she met when she was still herself.

But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The demise of the rogue dark elf is only part of the rumours circulating in the Agency about Ava’s involvement during her latest assignment. Or about Ava herself, and her career, for that matter.

“Speak plainly, Catherine,” Ava almost pleads, her diplomatic facade slipping up to reveal a shade of fear in the green of her eyes. Ashbury wishes nothing but to descend upon Ava’s connection to the private detective like a vulture until she realises the rumours have more truth to them than even those who maliciously spread it could imagine. She hasn’t a shred of doubt about Du Mortain’s feelings for the human woman now, her initial doubt obliterated by every sign in Ava’s body language as they stand so close to each other on the small balcony overlooking the beautiful Cornwall Gardens. Ava is a clever woman, capable on jobs, willing to take on risks no one else would dare. And more importantly, she is aware of her strengths too - and thus her self-aware nature marks her as superior to all the other humble little agents. She must know what Catherine is about to tell her - with the task forces forming, and the first such group striking in a place none other than London, she must know that it is only a matter of time before the rogue is dealt with. Before she’d be given an assignment and a position befitting someone of her talents.

And here she stands, this brilliant woman in all her glory, terrified of a promotion that would have put a smile on her stern face two years ago.

“As I said, you didn’t hear this from me,” Lady Ashbury resigns, a little sullen at being robbed of her smug pleasure all of a sudden. “But I know for a fact that your current assignment is drawing to a swift conclusion as we speak. And rumour has it, you are destined for greater things once it is over.”

“Greater things,” Ava echoes, her whole being feeling hollow. Around the detective, she forgot about the world, to be honest. And it seems like she is about to pay the price for her two years of blissful ignorance. She always knew the mission would end, and yet in a strange way she didn’t really believe it. It’s like how people know they are mortal, and yet feel so much entitlement to life that when death comes for them, they have the audacity to appear shocked.

Ava has no illusions. This is a goodbye, not an opportunity. Nate may think that bringing in the private detective is a reasonable step, but Ava will do everything in her power to prevent her from learning who she is, what they are, what the last two years have been about. They were never right for each other. She was never right. And if she leaves now, maybe she can draw that conclusion too.

“My dear, everything you’ve done up to this point is in the past now. And it is best to leave a dead thing in the ground.” Catherine’s plummy honeyed words have an admonitory yet sad edge to them. It is a warning about the detective, and what clinging to her could mean to her career, with an undertone of genuine empathy uncharacteristic to Lady Ashbury. She inspects the woman to her right, a dark speck against the grey sky, and feels honest to god sympathy - and emotion she hasn’t felt in decades. Maybe it is good she will no longer be her handler, Ashbury thinks as she lights a cigarette. She felt too many real things ever since Ava came into her perfectly splendid and dull life, tearing apart the walls of hedonism and debauchery she’s built around herself. But that is a goodbye that can wait.

“Congratulations, Commanding Agent Du Mortain.”

Catherine watches Ava from the balcony still as she purposefully cuts across the Cornwall Gardens, stomping the prized lawn of the old Mr Thomas Broadwood Junior in the process as that sweet Nathaniel treads on her heels ever so loyally. They must be headed for Cromwell Road which will no doubt have available hansoms for them to hail. Not that they need them, but if they are going to Whitechapel, which she is certain of, they need to travel the old fashioned way for appearance’s sake.

The tea gown is too flimsy for her to stay outside for much longer, so she heads inside, cheer and conversation and the wonderfully lukewarm sensation that only pointless small talk can elicit wrapping her in a blanket of comfort instantly. And Lady Ashbury is finally home.

On the other side of London, a woman is losing the only home she’s ever had in centuries. How many lives can she save if she goes along with the Agency’s plans for her? Surely the detective isn’t worth all that. (She is. Her rationale may deny it, but she knows she is worth all that and more to her. And she ignores it anyway.)

Ava will go on loving her in every following decade, in every language she knows, with every breath she takes. She marries duty, and allows death to make a martyr of her lover left behind. Turn her into her very own memento mori.

And in the end, the agent isn’t completely mistaken - something will indeed claim the private detective’s very soul. But it will not be as serene as eternal sleep, as Ava keeps believing. No, it is not death that claims the detective after all.

Even though sometimes even she wishes it were that simple. That peaceful. That freeing.

But there is no rest for the wicked.

[crystalsexarch]

Twenty-one: Feckless - E

"Stay pretty, Exarch. No messes 'til you're two for one."

-

Like, VERY explicit. Set before ShB, the Exarch goes into season and calls upon a pair of soldiers to help him muscle through.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

The Exarch cannot trust Captain Lyna with every task befitting a skilled member of the guard. To lead his people into combat, to muster up morale, to keep his secrets, certainly. But there are some secrets he tries to spare her the burden of keeping.

She is discerning and subtle, the Exarch’s charge. If she discovers the truth of what sequesters him in his Tower for a fortnight—and what calls away two of her most capable soldiers—she keeps it to herself. And for that he is thankful.

For decades, the Exarch did not go into season. He was blissfully deprived of that supernatural warmth in his belly, the insatiable pressure at his groin. He assumed it was the Tower’s influence stepping in, putting biology in stasis. What need did the structure have for a breeding steward? By its power, G’raha’s life would be extended far past the point of needing an heir. Perhaps it came down to resource management and mathematics: surely it made more sense to suppress that feverish, time-consuming condition than it would to let it play out and risk the Exarch’s faculties for half a moon.

He isn’t sure why the Tower reassessed its calculations. Three summers before the Exarch would first attempt to summon the Warrior of Light, he awakens with a coat of sweat upon all but the crystal parts of his body and a sticky mess between his legs. There is no daydreaming nor doubt. He knows his reprieve has, for whatever reason, come to an end.

After staggering to the washroom, he wins a quick orgasm with perhaps a minute of stroking, then cleans up. That release gives him enough presence of mind to alert those who are likely to seek him out in coming days. He declines to disclose the specific nature of his ailment. He will handle this condition on his own, like he did as a rowdy scholar, jerking off between lectures and riding a toy when jerking off just wasn’t enough.

Jerking off, the Exarch finds, isn’t enough now either. He finds nothing in the Tower that can save him from lusting after the warmth of a hard cock. Other Seeker men might fantasize about breeding and filling as many holes as they can, planting as much seed as possible, but G'raha? The annual call usually tells him to spread his legs, oil his hole, and be bred.

He spends those miserable two weeks alone, journaling between arduous sessions of self-pleasure. If this condition springs up again—and he has a feeling it will—he will need to gracefully recruit someone to fuck him in his time of need.

13 days after the Exarch's ordeal began, his final orgasm comes following a full bell of fingering his ass in an empty bathtub. For the first time in nearly two weeks, he feels a lightness, a relief. He has barely enough energy to turn the faucet. The cool water rises around his hot and aching body, comforting as a spring breeze. He swipes the cum from his belly and decides that when the tub is full, he will settle in for a long nap. Biology is done calling him for now.

//

Biology does call again. By this time, the Exarch has made careful preparations, most notably the selection of two trustworthy volunteers. Messengers are sent, hints are taken, and two capable soldiers arrive at the Dossal Gate on day eight of the Exarch’s indisposition. He’s entering week two, when it’s harder than ever to get off and—according to the ache in his balls—twice as necessary to do so.

The first helper is a veteran mystel soldier with rough hands and a thick beard. He’s content to come half a dozen times in a row, when given the right incentive. The second is a drahn, surly, with one of the guard’s most impressive combat records. He doesn’t talk much, but he blushes easily. Sometimes he can hold back his release for the better part of a bell. G’raha would’ve approached these two specifically, even if their modes of intimacy were less complementary. But variety certainly doesn’t hurt, either.

Sometimes, the soldiers tend to the Exarch together. Sometimes they work alone. Neither stays overnight. The mystel prefers the Exarch with his ass in the air, or his torso bent over something sturdy. G’raha will claw at the desk or the pillow or whatever’s in front of him, while the mystel ruts inside, biting his lip and gripping G’raha by the tail. When the mystel comes, he gives just enough pause for G’raha to feel the warmth dripping out of him, just enough to savor the bitter spill running down his thigh before getting back to business. Each round begins with a rough slap to the Exarch’s ass—and ends with a full load inside.

The drahn likes G’raha on his back. He likes to see G’raha’s face. He likes to watch G’raha’s already stretched hole keep stretching to accommodate more than it looks like it should be able to take. G’raha always takes it, of course, usually coming in the process with a little whimper. Unlike the mystel, the drahn likes to bring additional equipment. The Exarch’s favorite is a soft toy he can oil up and slot onto his dick. He soon becomes spoiled on jerking himself with the borrowed device while being fucked in turn. Is there a more complete pleasure? Sometimes, he asks to keep whatever the drahn brings overnight, so he can put out a few more fires before the next exhausting session.

During the peak of each hormonal period, the Exarch averages perhaps 12 orgasms per day. Sometimes fewer, sometimes more. In summary, he aims to spend three days with his dutiful soldiers and take care of himself on the others. The trio tries to make the most of their time together. Usually the mystel is the one who comes up with new ideas.

For example, the mystel is the first to suggest the Exarch try taking two cocks at once.

The Exarch is laid back upon the drahn, feverish back to formidable chest. He feels pitiful, feckless, pathetic having someone hoist his wobbly legs apart on his behalf—he feels all those things plus excited. While the drahn holds him by the hip, the mystel tries to put their parts together. He's got one hand on his own dick and the other guiding the drahn's. Might as well get the hard part out of the way first.

When finally the Exarch's hole accepts the soldier's swollen tip, the drahn moans and jerks upward, pushing himself about halfway in. G'raha hisses in pleasure, and the mystel laughs. "Try to hold it in, Exarch," he says. "You've got to make room for one more, remember."

"Yes," the Exarch says. Spit drips from his lip and over the line of his jaw. "Please. Have faith...I'm ready."

"Ha! You've got to get the first one all the way in, before ye get mine."

There's a good deal of shuffling and heavy breathing. The Exarch has to arch completely to accept the bulk of the drahn's cock as requested. He's on the verge of bursting when the mystel's oiled finger starts circling his rim, testing the muscle. Can it really stretch more? The Exarch holds his breath and devotes all of his attention to the intoxicating question.

"Stay pretty, Exarch," the mystel says, voice low. "No messes 'til you're two for one."

The Exarch could whine out a premature apology or focus on living up to expectations. "Right. Yes. Don't leave me waiting…"

The mystel mutters something. For all his grump, his eyes are like saucers. He nudges his index finger in, and his middle follows close behind. He has faith now, faith and desire. Patience fades quickly with a begging man in the mix. When the mystel is ready to answer the Exarch, when he thinks the Exarch is ready—he sets his legs over the drahn’s and fully hilts his dick in one rude thrust, savoring the impossible squeeze of the Exarch, already aching with the drahn’s girth.

The mystel takes enough time to curse once before he starts fucking. By then, the Exarch’s abdomen is wet with his own delayed climax. He finds new colors in the overwhelming bliss that follows. Pleasure was never so intense, never so hard-fought when he was younger. Each season, his body learns to demand more, and now it’s going to develop a taste for the friction of two cocks rubbing against each other within him.

Of the two soldiers, the mystel comes first and keeps going. He’s nearly tuckered out after a third orgasm. Thankfully, the drahn seems ready to take initiative from the bottom, using his great thighs to push himself in and out until his release comes with an echoing groan. The Tower’s ambient blue light flickers to a low glow in the aftermath and all is silent, spare the wet sounds of the Exarch’s latest sloppy release.

The drahn and the mystel exchange glances. “Exarch?” the latter says, easing halfway out.

“Ah!” The lights buzz back to full brightness at the Exarch’s gasp. “F...forgive me,” he says, letting his crystal arm drop to his forehead. “It seems the both of us were overwhelmed. Both myself and the Tower.”

The mystel scratches the back of his neck. “Imagine that.”

“Are you all right?” The drahn’s voice is a careful whisper.

“Of course.” The Exarch rubs the side of his head against the soldier’s chest. “And I’m grateful.”

The Exarch wagers he will be indisposed for a few more days from that point. He isn’t sure whether the Captain of the Guard would have noticed a mysterious phenomenon afflicting the Tower’s appearance from the outside, but if she did—perhaps she’ll have forgotten by the time he reemerges.

[worldwidebt7]

Hell(L)ing || 02

§ — Pairing: Chimera!Taehyung x Empath!Reader (with mentions of Reader x Other Members)

§ — Genre: SciFi AU, fluff, angst, smut, horror

§ — Wordcount: 3,161

§ — Rating: M

§ — Warnings: My attempt at writing something creepy...? So, I’ll be both sorry and glad if it does scare you a little hahaha

§ — A/N: Chapter 2! Yay! I’m surprised to actually be tagging people for this! I’ve never had anyone want to be tagged in my written stories before... It makes me so happy! Writing and drawing are BOTH great creative passions for me, which is why comics are what I lean towards on most days, but sometimes I want to swiftly move through a story, and drawing takes too much time... I know you guys are here for my art, but I hope you’ll enjoy my writing as well! Again, this was originally for @bang-tan-bitches​ ‘Monster Mash Challenge’, which I really wish I had entered, but there was so much good writing that you should definitely check out!

 Summary: You moved out into the wilderness to live a calm, peaceful life. Your abilities made it impossible to live in crowded places, so even if you wanted to you couldn’t return. But when something happens outside the realm of even your normalcy, you start to think that maybe having everyone else’s emotions bearing down on you isn’t such a bad alternative to being trapped with your own.

You spent the remainder of the afternoon pacing around your kitchen, sending glances at the business card on your counter top, and considering calling Seokjin. ‘Genetic Anthropologist’ is what it said on the card; clearly his job title, but you had no idea what it entailed. You could define the words separately, but together it created a delineation that you couldn’t even fathom. His strange career aside, you couldn’t help but be troubled about the boy you saw earlier.

He had been in the area you were fairly certain was now Seokjin’s property, and the fact that the purple-haired man hadn’t mentioned any relatives or roommates concerned you. It was a biting feeling, rather, that you couldn’t shake off. You were rational— you considered it was a friend or family visiting, but there was something so… off about the boy that you feel like you should check on your new neighbor to make sure he was fine. Or at the very least warn him that there was someone lurking near his home.

Deciding that you wouldn’t be able to calm your nerves otherwise, you pulled your phone from your pocket and dialed his number, making a mental note to save it in your contacts afterwards. It rang; once, twice, three times— and continued to ring. For a moment, you mildly panicked; what if something had happened to him? Sucking in a breath, you pulled the phone away to hang up and try again, when you heard a man’s voice come through your phone.

“Hello?” In an instant, you smashed the phone back against your ear in alacrity.

“S-Seokjin? Kim Seokjin?” You replied, your heart racing. You weren’t sure why you were asking if it was really him, but you wouldn’t put it past yourself to type in the wrong number when you were hastily attempting to contact him.

“…Yes…?” His answer was drawn out, a defensive tone slipping through his words. You let out a breath of relief, placing a hand on your chest as your pulse began to stabilize. You hear him clear his throat. “Uh, who is this…?”

“Oh! Right! Sorry, this is Y/N, your neighbor?” Embarrasses, you laugh at yourself. How was he supposed to know that you were calling? And of course you hadn’t say anything— you were more concerned about making sure he was still among the living.

“Oh! Y/N!” His pitch changed drastically at the mention of your name, and you couldn’t help the little smile and shallow eye-roll produced by this. One conversation with this man and you were already reacting to him as if he were a friend. This, while nice, was also alarming considering the deception that dripped off of his emotions when you had contact with him. “How can I be of service?” You could practically hear the purr in his voice, though the question brought you back to why you originally called.

“Oh, um…” Releasing an exhale through your nose, you pondered at your wording for a moment before continuing. “I, uh… I actually wanted to let you know that I saw someone near your house earlier…” Seokjin was silent, not that there was really much to respond to, but he was so still that you couldn’t even hear his breath.

“…Oh?” His voice broke through the thick quiet, and you swallowed, the defensive quality to his tone returning tenfold and turning his usually cheery voice completely stony.

“Y-yeah.” You stuttered, suddenly feeling pressure building in the conversation. “A boy… w-with black hair… He was down by the lake earlier today….” The palm of your hand rubbed nervously on your sweatpants as you flexed and unflexed your fingers. Normally, you didn’t get much through a phone call, voices were rarely an accurate representation of one’s true thoughts, but the weight of his aura was so severe that you felt a chill throughout your body.

“Oh! Yes, that’s my roommate!” His suddenly chipper voice made your head spin. “He won’t be around much, but don’t mind him if you do see him!” He let out a laugh, which didn’t sound particularly genuine. Your brows furrowed, trying to connect all of the doubts flying around in your mind.

“Ah, I see…” You chewed on your bottom lip. As unable as you were to read the situation, you knew something was up— there were truths, half-truths, and lies being told here, of that you were sure, but you couldn’t decide what pieces of information were which. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have bothered you if I had known.” You forced your voice to sound light, not wanting to come across rude or give away your reservations about the information being given to you.

“It’s no problem, I must have forgotten to mention him before,” And so he was back to, what you assumed, was his usual self. Alarmingly, you felt yourself relax. “Besides, I’ll always take any excuse to talk to you.” You snort, and a very different sounding laugh echoed through the phone— much like a windshield wiper. That, you could tell, was his true laugh, and what an infectious sound it was. Against your better judgment, you laughed as well.

“Are all conversations with you going to be like this?” You asked, attempting to recollect yourself. It terrified you how easily this man made you relax within his denigrations, and you now realized you would have to build a wall between you and Kim Seokjin.

“What are you talking about, I’m a delight!” He let out an indignant gasp— sarcastic, for the most part, but you had a feeling a very small part of him was actually offended. “Such a delight, in fact, that you should invite me over for a dinner date!” This time, you sputtered, a light blush rising to your cheeks. So much for that wall.

“W-we’ll see!” You manage to squeak out, causing another boisterous laugh to come from the other side of the phone.

“I’ll hold you to that Y/N!” And you could practically hear the wink he surly executed at your expense. You sigh and promise to invite him over once your pantry is stocked once more in a week. He hums, “You’d better! Remember, I have your number now, I can call you until you cave!” Another laugh and you assured him that you’d be contacting him again soon. With that, the two of you bid farewells and hung up.

Another heavy sigh left your lips as you placed your phone down on your counter. You were eerily calm after the whirlwind of emotions and doubt you had just over a simple phone call with Seokjin, and you could honestly say you were scared. He knew how to completely tear down your defenses and make you comfortable with him. The scarier part? You wanted to be at ease with him. Looking at your phone once more with a worried glance, you stepped around the peninsula of your counter to begin cooking dinner.

The following evening, your television played some mind-numbing show which you had little investment in, but for you it was a welcomed distraction from your thoughts. You hadn’t been able to work on your book at all— to your great chagrin. Namjoon would be visiting you in less than two days and you still only had four-fifths of a book prepared. You’d give it another go tomorrow, but you were starting to think that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to just ask Namjoon for help. He was an excellent writer and would surly be able to give you some insight into why you were struggling.

You sighed, feeling a bit light-headed from what you assumed was stress. It wasn’t unlike you to become ill from over-exertion, especially with your abilities; it took a lot of energy and mental stamina to hone in and stay connected to others’ feelings the way you did. You had long tried to control it— you wanted to shut the essentially open door you had linking you to other people, but all attempts proved futile. It was draining, and though you did your best to stay away from other people, you still couldn’t help the exhaustion you felt after interacting with those few you did see. A sharp pain on the back of your neck had you groaning and moving a hand to rub the afflicted area. Man, you were tired…

Your phone lit up with an unimportant notification which allowed you to see that it had become quite late; much later than you were usually found awake. Deciding that the nameless show playing on the TV was far less important than sleep, you reached for the remote and pressed the power button, effectively turning off the senseless chattering of the shallow character. You shifted in your seat on the couch, only to immediately freeze in terror.

On your blackened television screen, there was a reflection of everything in front of it, and, in turn, everything behind you. There was the outline of your furniture, and you sitting upon it, but it was none of these things that caused your entire body to break out in a cold sweat. No, it was the secondary figure, the larger figure, the figure standing deathly still behind you.

Your breathing became erratic and your hands shook with how tightly they were gripping the seat cushions of your couch. You could only hope that the figure was separated from you by the thick glass of your window wall and not currently in your living room as your mind reeled trying to remember whether or not you had locked the doors to your house.

How had you not felt him coming? Even now, aware of his presence, you could hardly feel a thing. Just detached curiosity and… hunger… for what, you couldn’t tell. You’d never experienced anything like this, and every bit of your intuition was screaming that he was dangerous.

Your heart beat painfully against your sternum as you realized you had a choice— run, hide, or fight. Running could be eliminated; you had no where to run to, even with your car parked out front, and who knows if you’d even make it there before him. Fighting was out of the question as you had noodle arms and zero self defense knowledge, making you practically useless in any confrontational situation. This left you with one option:

Hide.

You took a couple of unsteady breaths to urge yourself to move, move, just move! Hand shooting out to grab your phone which rested on the coffee table in front of you, you sprung to your feet and immediately took off towards your stairs. Climbing them as quickly as your feet would carry you, your eyes flicked over to the figure hovering outside your house and you regretted the action immediately.

Those eyes. You’d only seen something similar in cats or dogs or birds when light reflected off of them— they were glowing in the dark, the only feature defined in a human figure shrouded in shadow. Not human, you mind screamed at you. Not human, not human. It wasn’t human. You knew, instinctively, it was something else.

The figure didn’t move an inch as you frantically scuttled up the stairs and you tore your gaze away, focusing solely on reaching the safety of your room and immediately throwing yourself into your closet and slamming the door. The only sound in the space was your choked, heavy breathing, but all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. You looked at your phone, clutched pathetically in your shaking hands. You had to call someone, anyone. Your friends? No, they wouldn’t get here in time. The police would be the same story, as you were at least a thirty-five-minute drive from town, and even further from the city where your friends lived. A small glimmer of hope registered in your hazed mind as you scrolled through your contacts. Hitting the name immediately, you pressed the phone to your ear and sniffled. You could only hope he would answer, it was so early in the morning so there was no guarantee, but if you still knew him like you once had—

“Hello?” a groggy, sleep-deprived voice floated through the speaker like music to your ears and you let out a choked cry. “…Y/N?” He asked, slightly more alert at your desperate sob.

“…Yoongi…?”

Min Yoongi was the only man in your life that you had allowed yourself to form a relationship with. You had met him as a freshman in college— he had been a resident assistant at your dorm and had taken it upon himself to show you (and a small group of other students, mind you) around the immediate area. You had noticed that his emotions were almost always calm and focused on whatever he was working on, and that made it easy to be physical with, as this was still at the point where your gift was sparked by touch. So, you went out of your way to get to know him.

Over time, your persistence won him over and he tentatively asked you out on a date that started a lovely three-year relationship. Well, rather, the first two-and-a-half years were lovely; the last six months were, as you remember, rather sobering.

He was a year older than you, and, in turn, graduated a year ahead of you despite his double-major (the man was a workaholic, honestly). At first, the two of you did your best to see each other— you skipped out on regular college weekend get-togethers to meet him or spend a few days at his apartment. Besides the distance, you didn’t think much else had changed between you, until he stopped touching you. Quite literally, in fact. If you would try to initiate hand holding, he’d quickly stuff his hands into his pockets. If you tried to kiss him, he’d dodge with a cough or a sneeze. One of the few times you had managed to graze your skin against his, you finally realized:

He cared about you, but he didn’t love you anymore.

It was the first time you had experienced the dissolution of such powerful emotions, and you realized that this would be your life. You would always have to experience your significant other and how they felt about you; you would always have to suffer through them falling out of love with you. Yoongi knew this— he was one of the only people you had spoken to about your abilities at the time, not wanting to ruin a normal university experience with rumors and students coming up to you and asking you for readings. But he knew that you’d be able to tell the difference in his feelings towards you, and tried to hide it.

When you finally asked him to sit down with you to discuss the change, he allowed you to take his hand to get a sense of the totality of the expiry of his love. However, you could also feel his immense sorrow, his guilt over hurting you. He really, truly still cared about you; just not how you wished he did.

Through tears, you let him go with a smile, telling him that you understood— because you did. You knew better than anyone the shift and tides of emotions, but you also knew that he would always care for you; the time spent together had not wasted away into the atmosphere. You remained friends over the years, but rarely ever contacted each other as the two of you had simply grown apart in your growing lives separate from one another.

But tonight, in your panic and fear, his number was the one you pressed. It was logical, of course— you had learned about the lake front homes from him after all, as he lived near-by cabin enjoying peace and quiet in his own solitude. So, in calling him, you knew that he would have the best chance to reach you in a swift manner. You couldn’t, however, say that there wasn’t some emotional aspect to the phone call. He was familiar, and the familiarity was a comfort to you. Just hearing his voice over the phone telling you he would be at your house in ten minutes or less had calmed your nerves significantly.

And so, the two of you stood in the middle of your living room in the early hours of the morning with every sing light in your house turned on. Having him there, standing in front of you in grey plaid pajama bottoms, a white tee, and a pair of PUMA slides, you picked up on the friendly affection he held for you, as well as slight irritation most likely caused by being out at this hour. You had told him everything; the figure, it’s eyes, the fact that you could barely get a read on him, the feeling of non-human you perceived.

“Not human?” Yoongi asked, clearly skeptic about the entire ordeal and if it hadn’t been for your sheer terror in response to it all, you were sure he would have just left immediately. You pouted, knowing how crazy it sounded, but also unable to simply brush aside your instincts.

“Yes, Yoongi, it didn’t feel human.” You were almost offended that he didn’t believe you— what would you gain from lying about this? Except for the obvious fact that your ex-boyfriend, who you found great difficulty moving on from for quite some time after your breakup, was now standing in your house at two-thirty in the morning. Still, as much as you had loved him, you were not interested in rekindling a relationship with a man who clearly was not in love with you anymore.

“Crazy glowing eyes aside, what makes you say that?” He inquired, plopping himself down on your couch, lazily man-spreading as if he’s a frequent visitor to your dwelling. You would have smiled, if it weren’t for the doubt he held in regard to your confession.

“I told you,” you huffed, running your still shaking fingers through your hair. “I couldn’t read him. Not like everyone else. I didn’t even feel him coming!” You tossed your hand in the direction where the figure appeared. Yoongi sighed,

“Maybe your powers are getting weaker?” He suggested, to which you shook your head.

“No, I had no problem detecting you when you arrived, and I can read your emotions as well as ever.” If only your abilities were fading, your life would be so much simpler and you would love nothing more than to move back to the city where your close friends resided. “Exhaustion, irritation, doubt, concern, fondness…” You rattled off all the emotions rolling off of him in waves, though they were still as mellow and manageable as they always were. He dropped his head to rest on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

“Years of knowing you and I’m still not used to that…” Your heart sank a bit at this even though you knew the comment was not meant to be malicious, your senses telling you he meant it in a teasing way. But it still reminded you that you were not normal. After a moment he pulled himself forward to rest his forearms on his knees and ruffled his bleach-blonde hair. “Alright. I can see you’re seriously freaked out by this…” He looked over at you, his sharp eyes almost trying to read you like you were able to read him. “…I’ll sleep on the couch tonight if that’ll make you feel better.” You released an alleviated sigh before bouncing over to him and wrapping him up in a chaste hug.

“Thank you, Yoongi…” He didn’t exactly return the hug, only reaching up and patting your back reassuringly, but you felt the small spike of comfort and serenity at the friendly action, and that was enough to tell you that your gesture was appreciated.

Afterwards, you gathered spare blankets and a pillow from your linen closet for Yoongi to use for the evening. You had tried to offer him other amenities, such as water or tea, but he politely turned you down, clearly wanting nothing more than to sleep. Thanking him once more, you retired to your own room, leaving your door open and turning the light on your bedside table on to illuminate the darkness. You kept your back towards the window in your room, not wanting to subject yourself to the self-inflicted fear you would surly create from the moving shadows of the trees just outside. You were on the second floor, surly safe from the beings that lurk below and now, with the thought of Yoongi snoozing on our couch, you allowed yourself to slip off into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

TAGS:

@coolavidreader​  @beesthoughtsblog​  @breadcaaat​  

[shamelesslypoetic]

The Sugar Mentality

Summary: Virgil doesn’t like sweets. Patton will simply not stand for it. Shenanigans ensue as Roman and Logan make bedroom eyes at each other in the background. 

Wordcount: 3.5k

Pairings: Moxiety, background Logince

Warnings: A light make out at the end (but don’t take my word for what ‘light’ means) and cavity inducing fluff.

Read on ao3

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

Mm. Bliss.

Laying on the sun-warmed couch feeling all dreamy and smiley and happy, Patton settled fully beside his very own personal cuddle partner. Except Virgil was much more than that; Virgil was his boyfriend. Through relentless waves of emotions, countless brief glances and a thousand smiles exchanged across the rooms, it was finally true. 

Patton marveled at the word ‘boyfriend’, letting it roll pleasantly around in his head. He was enjoying a cup of hot chocolate laden with marshmallows, reveling in Virgil’s warmth, taking in the fruity shampoo he used to wake himself up in the mornings, and another smoky smell Patton couldn’t quite place. He took a sip of his drink as Virgil went on with a ramble about My Chemical Romance’s music that Patton had long since lost track of, absorbed by Virgil’s eyes, his bangs, his fingers, his everything. Just, him, in all his glory. 

Virgil, without missing a bit, twirled an imaginary mustache and Patton licked the cream away from his own upper lip. 

To mask that he hadn’t been paying undivided attention to his shadowy but angelic songbird, Patton pressed the rim of his mug to Virgil’s mouth, offering him some of the chocolatey goodness.

“No thanks,” Virgil’s nose scrunched up—more often than not an adorable expression that Patton held as dear as any of Virgil’s faces. But this time he leaned his head back slightly too. “I don’t like marshmallows.”

A blanket of silence draped across them as Patton’s heart sank to his stomach in shock.

Virgil, ever fine-tuned to the signs of distress, asked, “Pat? Are you—?”  

“But, but how can you not like marshmallows?” 

Patton gave his boyfriend a doe-eyed, incredulous stare as he propped himself up on his elbows, practically sprawled across the anxious side’s lank form. They were flush from chest to knee. 

Virgil’s face relaxed into a fond smile, moving the hair out of Patton’s face with just three of his fingers, feather light as he brushed the stray strands back from the slope of Patton’s freckled forehead. Tentative, despite the fact they’d just been cuddling on the couch with cat videos on Virgil’s phone. Patton wondered how Virgil could be so open, full of affection, and adoration in certain situations, yet so hesitant and closed off in others. 

A clear example of the anxious side’s shyness presented itself in the way Virgil barely let himself touch Patton’s skin as he spoke, “I don’t know, Pat, I just never found them particularly tasty.” His eyes averted away as he fiddled with his fingers. Patton took his hand and gently traced his fingertips along Virgil’s knuckles, urging him to breathe out the tension. “They’re too sweet, sugary enough to turn bitter. And their texture’s kinda all wrong.”

“Does that mean you’ve never tried them?”

“No, I have!” Virgil chuckled. “I just wasn’t keen.”

“Wh-What about other sweets?” Patton tried desperately, grabbing Virgil’s hand with a pleading look. “Chocolate! Cotton candy! Cookies!”

“I’m sorry, babe.” He didn’t sound very sorry, and the glint in his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together would not distract Patton from his question. “I can only handle so much sugar in my life with you here. You’re an overwhelming sweetness I’m far more willing to bear though.”

The little sparks fizzling in Patton’s stomach as Virgil leaned in for a kiss certainly distracted him. Their noses brushed first and then Virgil’s teasing smile dropped. He let out a short breath that warmed Patton from his lips to his shoulders and spread down his back in twinkling tingles. The contact was slow and sweet, Virgil’s lips like melted chocolate sliding against Patton’s mouth. 

Virgil shifted slightly, lacing his fingers with Patton’s and bringing his other hand to cup the side of his face. A slab of vanilla sunlight shined across Patton’s eyes and he opened them through a haze of delight to meet the warm caramel brown of Virgil’s. Then and there, he decided Virgil would grow to like sweets at any cost. Patton would make cakes and cookies and doughnuts and bring out all of his best cookbooks. Immediately. 

Virgil let out a deep throaty noise, not unlike a purr, followed by a low whine as Patton drew back. 

After he found a way off this couch then. Out of Virgil’s arms, out of his mind that screamed it didn’t want to have to move its body, out of this gumdrop sweet adoration. 

Giving tender touches to show all his clumsy words couldn’t do justice, Patton completely fell into strong, grounded eyes and Virgil’s kisses and Virgil’s voice and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.

A few hours later, once Virgil had had his fill of snuggles (for the time being), found Patton in the sunlit kitchen wearing his favorite polka patterned apron. His eyes roved over the counter with an indecisive frown. The flour, eggs, butter and sugar rudely neglected to transform into delicious cookies that would fill the mindscape with a warm aroma sure to lure Virgil out of his room. Patton forgave them, shifting his gaze to his cookbook and skimming the words.

“Patton,” Logan’s voice jolted the moral side awake, hands safely clasped around the heavy book to keep it from falling. “Would you be so kind as to remind me why Roman and I are here?”

What he meant to say was, Patton belatedly realized: My room’s door was locked and we were making out, how dare you interrupt us for such silly displays!

“To help me bake these cookies, of course!” Patton explained as he took the book from Logan. The moral side’s arms stooped under the weight, wiggling like overcooked noodles as he hefted it onto the counter with a puff of flour. “Hey, Lo, do you think milk chocolate would be better for this recipe?”

“You’ve never asked before, Padre,” said a still flushed Roman. His mouth had a ‘just punched’ look like he’d unevenly smeared lipstick across his face and since Roman’s make up applying skills were top notch, Patton couldn’t help but be a teeny tiny bit embarrassed as their gazes met. “What gives?”

“These have to be perfect,” Patton explained, hot to the tips of his ears. “They’re for Virgil!”

Roman’s tune changed into a passionate flurry immediately, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, I see, an endeavor of the heart!”

“I thought,” Logan interrupted, tone reserved. God, he could be scary sometimes, “you said on May 24th, seven weeks, four hours and thirty two minutes ago that any food will automatically be good if done with love and care.” There was an expectant pause. “And a dash of sugar,” Logan relented.

Patton turned to Roman for assistance, who’s lidded eyes took a moment before opening long enough to scold Logan instead of continuing to admire the logical side. “My love! These aren’t just any old cookies! Our Padre has asked for assistance in his quest to woo Surly Temple! We must deliver!”

“Well, if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s assistance,” said Logan.

“A little vague, my dearest nerd.”

“Feel free to take the words out of my mouth and twist them on your tongue any time, my halfwit.”

Patton cleared his throat. Logan staggered back as gracefully as one could, having unknowingly taken a few steps towards Roman. He blushed as he adjusted his neck tie. 

Roman grinned proudly before sashaying towards Patton, hands eagerly clasping together. “Let the baking commence!”

A disaster, Logan called it; a marvelous attempt at baking done in the fashion only a true prince could achieve, Roman retorted. However much Patton wanted to encourage Roman though, the first batch of cookies came out lumps of coal that Roman slathered with icing and cream to mask the...overwhelmingly wonderful taste.

“Perhaps it was a bad idea letting Roman be in charge of taking the tray out.”

Patton went about doing chores and Logan needed to answer Thomas’ call. Who else could Patton have asked?

Fixing his gaze on Roman, Logan continued, “Especially since he doesn’t have much finesse when handling heat.”

Patton couldn’t help but notice the hint at an inside joke even as Logan’s wryness only invited a ghost of a smile to his features.

“I do, thank you very much!” Roman managed to say through his offended princey noises. Which were louder than usual…for some reason? “I only burned them because I’m hot as heck.”

Logan shook his head. Patton’s next words withered on his lips as Virgil came rushing down the stairs. ��Guys! I smelled smoke! What’s happening?” 

Catching sight of the tray, he stopped short and stared. His shoulders dropped from their tense line, fists eased open as his face became lax, then confused.

No, Logan had been right. It was a very bad idea leaving it up to Roman.

“Finding Emo! Huzzah!” Roman said. Why did he look so happy? “These fiends have put down my stupendous work. Would you mind taking a bite and disproving their drivel?”

Virgil gave Roman an unimpressed look. Thank goodness. 

“Sure, whatever.”

Wait, what was that? Why was Virgil reaching for the white-painted black bricks?

Patton tried to say something as Virgil popped a ‘cookie’ into his mouth but found he couldn’t. He waited for Virgil to spit it out, to grimace, to scrunch his nose up, or to do anything. Instead, Virgil inhaled sharply, swallowing. 

His eyes didn’t waver as he brushed off crumbs from his lips.

“Mm,” Virgil hummed. “These are actually really good, Princey. You makin’ more?”

For a moment, they all thought his usual sarcasm took over in such crucially called-for situations, but then he reached for another one and they all looked on in horror. Even Roman.

Virgil’s chewing sent a crunch-crunch like gravel rumbling through the kitchen. His eyes slid between their faces as he swallowed. “What?”

Instead of luring Virgil out with the aroma of cookies as planned, Patton had to go get the anxious side and resist the invitation for cuddles Virgil made. Red faced and mildly tired from kneading the dough, he longed for the embrace more than ever, but as his situation deemed it necessary, he ushered Virgil down the stairs, placing him in front of the dining table. A fresh batch full of chocolate chips with golden honey glaze waited for him.

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, eyeing the tray uncertainly. “These look really nice. Just kinda...too sugary?”

Roman snorted, reaching for one after the long wait where Patton had to repeatedly swat his hands away from the raw dough. “Just try it, Gerard Gay.”

Under their expectant gazes, Virgil ambled towards the sweets, almost sheepish as he took a bite. He winced, though it was evident he’d tried not to.  

“These are…lovely, Pat,” Virgil said, smiling a smile absent from his eyes. “But I think the chocolate is a bit much so I’ll pass, thanks.”

Patton slumped, a tiny niggle of disappointment zinging through him. He quickly shoved it down. He wouldn’t give up. He hadn’t even started yet. No tree falls from the first blow, after all. Even if Morality didn’t favour cutting down trees in the first place.

Logan looked up from his book, wide-eyed as Roman spluttered, “But, how can you not like chocolate?”

From then on it was a series of trials and errors, ending mostly in the same way the first event had.

The following endeavour was Project Cotton Candy. Patton wanted to give Virgil the full carnival experience complete with the delicate spun sugar melting on your tongue as soon as it entered your mouth. He had Roman arrange a date in the mindscape in exchange for two coconut cream pies. 

And by the sweet pasta, he’d delivered. 

The creative side perfected the weather into a cloudy, airy atmosphere that sent a soft breeze into Virgil’s hair. As Patton took him from one ride to another, the Ferris wheel lights reflected rainbows in Virgil’s eyes and Patton found neither of them could stop smiling. Until.

“Pat, this date to the mind carnival is amazing, really,” Virgil said, squeezing Patton’s unoccupied hand. “I couldn’t be having more fun.” He glanced down at the cone of cotton candy in Patton’s other hand. “But, I don’t want the cotton candy. Can we go on the dark train again?”

The next morning, Patton managed to rouse himself out of bed and be rid of yesterday’s roller coaster nausea before Virgil could wake up. A cake with chocolate icing, blueberries and all sorts of decorations stood proudly in the kitchen not two hours later with Roman’s swirly ‘Happy Birthday, Virgil!’ written in icing on the top. In stunning script, Roman repeatedly pointed out.

“Pat, my birthday’s in December.”

That was right. Just a tiny oversight on the creative and moral sides’ parts. 

But at least Virgil took a slice and didn’t grimace like a lemon had been shoved down his throat.

“Pat, I’m sorry,” Virgil said to the weekend’s macaroons, eyes on them instead of Patton’s sugar-dusted face. “I’m allergic to coconuts.”

“Pat!” Virgil said on one morning’s breakfast table. “I don’t want the waffles, honestly!” He dumped his round, perfectly golden circles onto Roman’s plate. “Let Roman have them.”

For the most part, Patton didn’t mind. The food, never wasted, was happily gobbled up by anyone close enough. Patton loved making the sweets anyway but the question of how Virgil could stand for this sort of happiness to be left unshared still baffled him. 

Patton sank into the couch, tummy hurting from all the waffles he’d eaten to compensate for the stupidly hollow feeling in his stomach. The toasted, buttery circles didn’t taste like they usually did, as if a plate of water had been dumped over the top and dried by the time Patton took a bite.

After a while, Virgil had caught on to his game. Patton had seen suspicions dance in that pretty head of his but only smiled over his food all the while. Patton was no quitter after all. He would keep persevering like Roman on his quests, like Logan nearing his deadlines, like someone trying to make his boyfriend happier.

Virgil wandered into the living room as if breaching past unregulated territory, voice scratchy and barely audible. “Pat? Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not, kiddo!” It was, even in Patton’s opinion, unseemly that he called Virgil ‘kiddo’ when they’d made out for a lengthy period of time not a day before and he shook his head, going on, “I just thought—”

“Oh, thank Brendon Urie!” Virgil cut him off with a relieved sigh. “Every time you came up with another one I thought you were gonna give up on me altogether.”

“What?” Patton propped himself up, the words flicking him on the raw. “Virgil, sweetheart, of course not. I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.” A subtle difference in the lilt of Virgil’s voice, even as he lowered it on those magical three words, told Patton he meant it that way. His tone shifted into one of worry immediately after, fingers knotting with reckless abandon. “But you’ve been working so hard on ‘em I felt kinda a lot bad.”

“It’s nothing a few cuddles can’t fix,” Patton soothed, patting the space next to him on the couch.

“Look at you, so cute…” Virgil muttered, almost absently. “Now how can I say no to this?”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY NO TO THIS!” Roman trilled across the living room, bustling overhead and riffing like a stupidly talented moron. “OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO HELPLESS, AND HIS BODY’S SAYING HELL YES!”

“Shut up, Princey!” Virgil growled, staring daggers from where he stood. 

Roman’s voice continued in the same tone he’d sang Hamilton in, fading slightly as he made his way to Logan’s room. “To not like sweets! Virgil, you must have forgotten the Earth’s oldest language! The one of skin on skin and wind in trees! Oh, how my heart mourns for your self-inflicted misery!”

Virgil’s jaw clenched and his brows bumped but the scowl softened. Or was that just Patton, unable to see Virgil for anything other than the one he loved and treasured, never feared?

“Shut up or I’m coming over there and pounding you into the ground!”

Roman cooed back, voice distant, “I appreciate the offer but I have a boyfriend.”

A decisive click as Logan’s door room opened and shut guided Virgil down onto the couch’s pillows with a grunt. His face was blushed a deep red, nose flaring slightly from that little argument, lips parted as his breaths came in a hitched in-out in-out. 

“I’ll be right back,” Patton whispered as he pressed a quick kiss to Virgil’s forehead, finding something in Virgil’s high cheekbones and his violet-veiled eyes.

What Roman had said about skin was only vaguely related to the cogs working in Patton’s head, but he was pretty sure this was a brilliant idea. A very non-Patton idea, too. It led him to his stash of spare marshmallows and what remained of the Nutella jar in the pantry. With such ingredients in the mix, this could only be described as sweet.

After lightly garnishing a few marshmallows with some chocolate, Patton appeared in front of Virgil. “Close your eyes!”

Patton’s urgency forced Virgil into a sitting position, weary eyes wandering until they settled on his boyfriend’s hidden hands. “What do you have behind your back?”

“Viiirrge!” Patton whined, not giving himself a chance to start feeling ridiculous. “Close! Your! Eyes!”

Virgil huffed out a confused laugh, but obliged. “Fine, fine.”

“No peeking!” Patton sat back down on the couch. He had no idea what he was doing. “Open your mouth for me.” He draped a thigh across Virgil’s lap in a too casual to be natural move. 

“Babe, is there a point to this or…?”

Patton’s face heated up even more, Logan would say he’d caught glandular fever. His voice broke with rising desperation. “Just do it, please!”

Patton set the chocolate covered marshmallow into his mouth and bent, closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out and ignored his heart trying to break through his ribcage. 

Virgil’s voice came out garbled, “P-Patton, what’re—!”

Too shakily to be gentle, Patton reeled forward, colliding with Virgil in a messy, wet meshing of lips. His rapid breathing steadied as Virgil’s hands found their way to his hips and gripped there. Virgil tensed for the first few moments, bony shoulder digging into Patton’s but he didn’t lean back and sure enough, relaxed, his heart a steady thump-thump reverberating in Patton’s chest.

Patton’s every cell scorched as he pushed his tongue into Virgil’s mouth, the taste of his mint toothpaste and the chocolate and marshmallow overwhelming. This wasn’t quite what he pictured and most of their previous kisses, as they’d decided to take things slow, were soft, hesitant. But this was different. Patton’s body had been locked in a trance ever since the idea lodged itself into his cobbled brain. Even after, the only anchors stopping him from floating in mid-air were Virgil’s lips, Virgil’s hands gliding across his back, Virgil’s hair in his hands like mounds of silk and shuddering breaths and half-giggles, half a delicious sound an entirely different sweetness from the one melting on both their tongues. 

Patton didn’t know the days that had passed or the soreness in hours spent preparing sweets. He didn’t know the birds were twittering outside or that the microwave was beeping far off. He only knew the taste of caramel, milky white where the tips of his fingers roamed. He only knew the cold burn of mint in his lungs and faint traces of chocolate and marshmallow. There was only this, only his body being coaxed onto Virgil’s lap, only the back of his head supported by Virgil’s fingers. Their eyes opened slowly, lips unwilling to part as quivering smiles met in the internim. The two sides stared for a moment, caramel brown into blueberry blue, caught. Patton looked away first, hiding his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck and at long last tasting its curve like his own personal lollipop.

Virgil’s hand slipped under Patton’s shirt to his lower back, the touch itself feather light, the press of it heated, eager. “Maybe marshmallows aren’t so bad after all,” Virgil rasped, raising Patton’s face to his level. Patton grinned at him, all smiley and dreamy and happy again, drawing ever so slightly closer. “Can you—?”

Patton didn’t wait long enough to let the anxious side finish his sentence but when he grabbed another marshmallow off the plate Virgil didn’t hesitate to meet him.

“Yes,” Virgil’s lips said against him. “Yes, yes, yes…” Again and again, turning from a whisper to a rasp to something less a word then just one syllable holding for a second and then fading into the air. 

Patton smiled, melting into a relaxed puddle of giggling joy. He’d gotten his wish. It was giddy, the thought. He couldn’t tell how long it had taken in this addled state of mind but as he leaned in again, it was all he could think of. 

The kisses that followed attempted at a proper lock but, interrupted by gentle smiles and bubbling laughter from both sides, only ended in the occasional peck. Patton, through a thudding heart and shaking fingers, couldn’t remember ever being happier. 

Victory is sweet.

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

A/N: Huge thank you to @ace-corvid for beta reading this, they're a life saver and their edits were very very much appreciated! Also thank you to my qpp and treasure @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies for her continued support. Love ya, my Ruby!

I hope the words are treating you all well. Stay safe! <3

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @ace-corvid @ymmm-someone @seouqi  @shitpost-sides @theraymondgem

[customrook]

I love your questionnaires... would you consider making a version for companion OCs? I have a few and fleshing them out is. hm. hard

Thank you very much! I’m glad you enjoyed my questionnaires. Unfortunately, I wrote them when I was deep into DA hyperfocus, and I don’t know when/if I’ll ever be that interested again to write new ones or finish the ones I started and abandoned

However, there is already a DA companion meme out there! I believe this is the source for it, so you can use that to help flesh out your ocs! There are little links that lead to other parts of the inquisitor companion meme in the original post as well.

I have a slightly more detailed version in my notes that I used for my inquisitor and warden (which I never finished and posted lol) so I’m adding that under the cut if the extra questions are any helpful. I’m keeping my answers in because some of the questions are little vague, so hopefully the answers help with how I intended them to be answered. Feel free to delete them to use for yourself, or use the shorter original one in the link!

Inquisitor’s Name: Phaedre Lavellan

Alternate Name?: Phaedre Athevera

Race, Class, & Specialization: Elven mage, specialized Rift Mage

Varric’s Nickname for them: Dewdrop

Default Tarot Card: Reverse Judgment (Self-doubt, refusal of self-examination)

How they are recruited:

After being snubbed by the templars at Val Royeaux, a cutscene with Josephine is available where she can speak of gaining more allies, specifically with non-human species (since the Chantry/humans are pretty much non-communicative). She’ll mention that a Dalish clan near the Emerald Graves has offered to meet with Inquisition forces and discuss possible benefits of an alliance. If the Inquisitor is Dalish, they will have the option of learning they are the Athevera clan, one of the largest Dalish clans in Fereldan/Orlais, and one of relative renown—their Keeper tends to lead the Arlathvhen,and mainly decides where the next one will be held.

Show interest in this option and the war table operation to unlock a special area will appear. It will take 2 power to complete with Connections. Fast travel there, and you will be immediately ambushed by local human soldiers—while the Dalish waited for the meeting, it seems the humans decided to drive them off, killing some in the process. Phaedre is the only one still alive, and the Inquisitor helps kill/drive off the human forces.

Afterwards, a cutscene will ensue with Phaedre introducing herself. She was part of the welcome group that was to escort the Inquisitor to the clan’s location to discuss alliance terms, but now that the humans have acted up it is very likely the clan has packed up and moved. Phaedre thanks the Inquisitor for helping her and with varying levels of enthusiasm will offer her services to the Inquisition, both as a mage and as a connection to the largest Dalish clan in Orlais (she will wholeheartedly help if the Inquisitor is Dalish, be neutral if the Inquisitor is dwarven, and be reluctant if the Inquisitor is human/Qunari, though this may be nullified if the Inquisitor is a mage—this enthusiasm level will determine her starting approval rate). If the Inquisitor agrees, Phaedre will join as a companion.

Where they are in Haven:

In Josephine’s office, next to Minaeve. If the Inquisitor waits, idle banter will sometimes appear where Phaedre speaks to Minaeve, either asking her about Minaeve’s research or arguing with her about the Dalish.

Where they are in Skyhold:

In the secret library beneath the war room, near the kitchens.

Things they Generally Approve of:

Asking for her input on anything will generally yield approval, as well as asking about Dalish history and/or magic. Showing support for mage freedom will garner great approval, as well as choices that help the helpless, even if (or especially if) it means the Inquisitor must give up something (ie charity, or taking on quests that do not have to be done). Being lenient in judgments and showing interest in learning new things/history will also gain her approval (ie, accepting quests that involve magic/rune gathering, reading certain codexes, etc.).

Things they Generally Disapprove of:

Supporting Templars/the Circle in any way, expressing hatred/fear of magic or mages, being harsh in judgment or refusing to help civilians/be rude to them (she will disapprove if you walk away from conversations with civilians, so watch out for that), asking for her opinion on the matter and then ignoring her advice, expressing disinterest in her stories and history, expressing distaste of elven culture.

***Depending on race, Phaedre will automatically be at a certain approval level (similar to how Dorian’s approval is automatically changed depending on if you sided with mages or Templars). She automatically Greatly Approves if you are an elf, Approves if you are a Dwarf, Slightly Disapproves if you are Qunari, and Greatly Disapproves if you are a human. She will also Approve if you are a mage (so add that on to whatever approval and disapproval already gained). It’s pretty easy to build a good relationship with her as long as you’re pro-mage, though, so it’s not too much of a detriment.

Mages, Templars, Other?:

Super pro-mage. She’s very sympathetic to the cause, and believes that while there definitely needs to be a checks and balance system it’s basically a system of oppression and abuse under Templars/Chantry. She actively fears Templars and will avoid them in the beginning, which she can reveal through conversation to be because she once witnessed a Templar group brutalize their mage charges as a child. She believes magic is a gift, not a curse, and the way the Chantry teaches mages to view their magic and themselves is despicable.

Friends in the Inquisition:

Solas: Phaedre takes on a bit of a mentor-mentee relationship with Solas, and their banter generally consists of her peppering him with questions about the Fade and of his journeys there. Later on, she will express interest in learning how to walk in the Fade as he does, so she can learn more about her lost history. However, several banters will appear where Solas derides the Dalish, and depending on whether or not her personal quest was completed, Phaedre will either uncomfortably change the subject or argue with Solas on the point.

Sera: Phaedre and Sera are BEST FRIENDS due to Phaedre’s initial reluctance to make herself seem contrary, and their similar ages. Their banter will consist of references to pranks they’ve pulled, inside jokes, gushing over girls (mainly Cassandra) and general goofing off—if neither Sera nor Phaedre are romanced, it will be referenced that they may have slept together (if the Inquisitor’s friendship level gets beyond a certain point, they can ask about the encounter either at Haven or at Skyhold). However, after IHW/CotJ, banter will appear where Sera derides the Dalish, and (again, depending on status of personal quest) Phaedre will become uncomfortable/angry. This will spread over several banters (Phaedre will inevitably become angry and argue, regardless of personal quest), to the point where other companions will remark upon their “spat.” Eventually Phaedre will apologize and say that even if Sera doesn’t consider herself an elf Phaedre will always see her as a friend, but any romantic entanglement ends.

After this fight (or, alternatively, sometime after either Here Lies the Abyss or Wicked Eyes, whichever is completed first), Sera will start to comment on a hidden crush Phaedre has on a member of the Inquisition. Depending on the Inquisitor’s actions, the identity of the object of Phaedre’s admiration will vary:

if the Inquisitor has flirted with Phaedre and either hard-locked or soft-locked into a romance, the “crush” will be the Inquisitor (which Phaedre will outright confirm to Sera once her personal quest is completed; otherwise, she will be close-lipped about it, saying she doesn’t know if “the interested party” is willing to advertise the flirting—the Inquisitor can make a comment during this banter)

if the Inquisitor has not romanced Phaedre and has not romanced Cullen, it will be Cullen (which Phaedre will be close-lipped and surly about, saying that she’s not sure “the other party is interested” and “even if they are interested, I’m not sure I want them to be interested”). Later, after both her and Cullen’s personal quests are completed, Sera will accuse Phaedre of having kissed Cullen, revealing him as the object of her affection

if the Inquisitor has romanced Cullen, the object of affection will turn out to be Cassandra (which Phaedre will not reveal, saying she knows “the other party is not interested”). Later banter with Sera and Cassandra will have Cassandra letting Phaedre down gently.

Varric: Varric outright compares Phaedre to Merrill (you’re like another Dalish I knew, but with less blood magic), and treats her in a similar manner—calling her “Dewdrop,” he often expresses worry over her battles and constantly invites her to play games of Wicked Grace to “get her out of those dusty tomes.” Unlike Merrill, Phaedre happily accepts the fatherly concern, allowing herself to be drawn out when asked to appease Varric. After her personal quest, she will thank Varric for looking out for her, but asks him to let her take a few steps on her own.

Cassandra: Early banter with Cassandra will reveal a puppy-crush on her, which may or may not blossom into full-blown infatuation. Cassandra will ask about Phaedre’s life as part of the Dalish, which will reveal more about Phaedre’s life not otherwise accessible; Phaedre will also compliment Cassandra’s ability as a warrior and her opinions on change (she very much approves that Cassandra is willing to see the innate corruption within the Templars and her willingness to admit that she’s wrong/change things). If Cassandra is chosen for Divine, Phaedre will offer to help Cassandra; Cassandra will then point out that Phaedre isn’t Andrastian, to which Phaedre will say “you don’t need to believe in the power to believe in good people.” Depending on the Inquisitor’s choices, post-game dialogue may reveal that Cassandra has taken her up on her offer and she will be leaving the Inquisition with Cassandra.

Several banters will also include arguments surrounding the Chantry and its purpose, as well as Templars.

Cole: She and Cole get along great. She constantly tries to decipher what Cole (and sometimes Solas) are saying, and other banter will reveal that she actively tries to help Cole with his “helping” people, which Cole appreciates.

She will, however, get rather uncomfortable when Cole tries to help her, though she’s pretty much used to people trying to help and protect her and therefore her reaction is very mild compared to others’.

Dorian: Phaedre and Dorian both get along well, though initially Phaedre is hostile to the “Vint.” She will often make references to Tevinter habit of slavery, and most of the early banter is her arguing with him about his stance on it (Solas, if in the party, will often have extra dialogue). Later banter will allude to the fact that Dorian was properly convinced about slavery, and the banter becomes much more friendly and lighthearted (if Sera is also in the party, she will contribute, alluding to the idea that Phaedre spends a lot of time with them and Varric).

Companions she doesn’t get along with:

Vivienne: While they don’t necessarily fight, Phaedre clearly acts uncomfortable around Vivienne, and Vivienne treats Phaedre like a child that is to be ignored or derided. After her personal quest, Phaedre will actively stand up to Vivienne and argue for mage rights, and during a particular cutscene they can be found discussing the issue on Vivienne’s balcony, where Vivienne will tell her that even if they never agree, Vivienne will always respect her articulate way of debating the matter.

If Vivienne is made Divine, Phaedre will express disapproval.

Iron Bull: Phaedre’s interactions with Iron Bull reveal she is rather intimidated by him and his bloodlust, and strongly disagrees with the importance of the Qun. Iron Bull, for his part, treats her like a little girl who can occasionally make things explode.

Later on, if Bull saves the Chargers they will become closer, as banter will reveal she has started to spend time with the Chargers and learned a few new tricks from Dalish, spending more time with Iron Bull as a result.

If Bull does not save the chargers and Phaedre’s personal quest is completed, Phaedre will actively tear down Iron Bull for his decision, and calls him despicable.

Blackwall: While she is always respectful of Blackwall, they are distant with each other. Their banter typically involves him giving her advice on how to better fight—she more or less treats him like an elder, but not one she is especially close to, though she does express admiration for his noble goals and purpose, and if asked on her opinion of him she will speak praise BEFORE it is revealed who he is. Blackwall, for his part, admires Phaedre’s dedication and kindhearted nature, and takes on a benevolent-uncle kind of relationship with her.

After he is revealed as Thom Rainier, she will say that she doesn’t know who he is anymore, and she cannot trust him to be a different person than he was before. Later he will say that he will show her he is different by earning back his honor as Rainier, to which Phaedre replies with a neutral “We’ll see about it, then.”

MISSIONS

Small side mission:

After moving to Skyhold and approval is around 35+, Phaedre will comment that there are various tomes missing from the Hidden Library that she cannot find anywhere. She and Solas have together looked (in the Fade) for the various possible locations of the tomes and asks the Inquisitor to keep an eye out for them. If she is present when one is discovered, she Approves; if all are discovered, she Greatly Approves at its completion.

·     War Table Missions:

There will be various war-table missions concerning Phaedre’s connections with various Dalish clans. Depending on who is used to complete them (generally anything but Forces), Phaedre will gain approval.

Companion quest:

After HLtA, a cutscene will occur the next time the Inquisitor tries to speak with Phaedre. Josephine will ask after Clan Athevera—though the war table missions involve connecting with various Dalish clans, none of them are her own, and Josephine wonders at their safety. Phaedre will be dodgy and walk away, and Josephine will go to the Inquisitor and express distress. If you ask Phaedre about it, she will say the clan is fine and not to bother them, but it will unlock the war table operation “Find Clan Athevera” regardless. Only Josephine can complete it, and doing so means gaining a letter asking to meet the Inquisitor, with Phaedre, to properly discuss an alliance—the entire letter is worded all shady and shit. When traveling there, Phaedre is a locked companion.

When they arrive, the Keeper of the clan is there to welcome you. She expresses happiness that Phaedre is safe and unharmed, and talks to Phaedre like she is a young child. She will tell the Inquisitor that Phaedre should not have been waiting to meet the Inquisitor with the hunter group, as it is too dangerous for her to leave the safety of the clan—she was never given permission to join the Inquisition, and as such was never working on behalf of the clan. Phaedre will attempt to interject at various points, and will be shot down by the Keeper. She then asks the Inquisitor to let Phaedre return home where she can be “safe and taken care of properly,” away from the dangers of the Inquisition. In return, they will send a new representative to deal with the Inquisition, and the true force of the clan will be utilized in the alliance.

Option 1: Tell Phaedre to return “home.” Phaedre will go back to the Keeper without complaint, and while very quiet seems to part with little ill will. New war table operations will appear, and a Dalish agent will be added for Josephine.

Sera and Solas Greatly Disapprove; Varric and Cassandra Disapprove; Cole Slightly Disapproves/Approves (depending on dialogue choices made); Vivienne Approves

Option 2: The Inquisitor insists Phaedre stay with the Inquisition, saying that Phaedre has been an invaluable asset. The Keeper will get angry and says that Phaedre is still too young and too inexperienced to make it on her own. The Inquisitor can either encourage Phaedre to talk the Keeper down or further the break by egging her on; either way, there is no alliance, and any unfinished War Table operations involving securing Dalish clan alliances will disappear.

Phaedre Approves, Sera Greatly Approves, Varric Approves, Cole Approves

Option 3: The Inquisitor insists that it’s Phaedre’s choice to make, not theirs. Phaedre tells the Keeper that while she loves them all and understands they are trying to protect her, she needs to make her own path now, and her past has begun to choke her. She respectfully asks to leave the clan to join the Inquisition permanently. With great reluctance, the Keeper will agree after seeing how Phaedre has grown, but will refuse to cut Phaedre off from the clan, telling her she is always able to return home if she needs to. New war table missions specifically concerning Clan Athevera appear, and Phaedre remains a companion.

Phaedre Greatly Approves, Sera Greatly Approves, Solas Approves, Varric Approves, Cole Approves

If the Inquisitor picks Options 2 or 3, a following scene back at Skyhold will ensue. Dialogue will slightly vary depending on if the Inquisitor defended Phaedre themselves or if they let Phaedre choose, but the main portion is the same. Phaedre defends the Keeper’s actions, saying that the clan is just looking out for what’s best for her. She tells the Inquisitor about the death of the clan’s old First—her best friend and future Bonded—and how his death essentially destroyed her for a long time, making her unable to really care for herself or make decisions. She states that joining the Inquisition was the first time in years she truly made a decision for herself, and it’s one that made her remember why she needs to stand up for what’s important. She decides it’s time for her to put aside her past and remember what’s truly vital about living. If the Inquisitor has flirted with Phaedre in the past and picks the romance option here (and approval is high enough), Phaedre will say that staying with the Inquisition was the best choice to make because it meant meeting them. A kiss scene will occur and the Inquisitor will be hard-locked into a relationship. Romance dialogue options will now be available.

Romance-specific quest:

After a romance is initiated, the Inquisitor can ask more about the clan’s old First, Ghandriel. They will learn the circumstances surrounding his death—he died protecting Phaedre from rogue mages escaping the Circle—and Phaedre will lament that because of the clan’s need to flee, she never retrieved the body or laid it to rest. This will unlock a war table operation to scout the area where Ghandriel died to find his remains—the mission is unsuccessful, but they do find the place where Ghandriel likely died. The Inquisitor can then take Phaedre to the clearing, where she will confirm it is where she watched Ghandriel fall. The Inquisitor will tell her that she can finally put Ghandriel’s soul to rest here, and they will help her create a small pyre to burn. A cutscene will occur where the Inquisitor witnesses Phaedre sing In Uthenerato small shrine that she built before lighting it on fire. Back at Skyhold, Phaedre will express a wish to have properly burned the remains, but feels that Ghandriel’s spirit may finally be at rest now—at least, she now feels more at peace with it.

Tarot card change

Option 1: (If Phaedre returns to her clan) Phaedre’s tarot card changes to a darkened Reverse Tower.

Option 2: (Friendship card) Changes to the upright Star

Option 3 (Romance): Changes to upright Sun or upright World

ROMANCE

Romanceable?:

Yes, by any gender and any race. However, she will be easier to romance as an elf, a female, and/or a mage, as flirt options will gain more approval if you are a certain gender/race and there are extra dialogue options that will gain approval for certain races/classes.

Sexual/Racial Preference:

Phaedre is bisexual, with a stronger preference for women. She is highly wary of humans and prefers to date within her own species, but is amenable to advances from any race.

Nickname for PC:

“Arla,” meaning home.When asked what that means (or why ‘home’, if Dalish), she will respond that home is wherever her heart is.

Dialogue:

Being asked for a kiss:

“Really? Well, I was just in the middle of this book…I’m just kidding, come here.”

Halamshiral Dialogue:

“Wow, there are so many people! Look at all these masks—have you talked to anyone yet? I’ve been talking to the elves, but they don’t like talking to me for some reason.”

Being asked to dance during the mission:

“Oh, dancing! I don’t actually know how to dance. You might get your toes stepped on, is that all right? Oh, but maybe later, too. There’s another elf over there and he’s giving me a look, I think he wants to talk to me.”

Asking to dance post-mission:“-giggles- Well, remember to watch out for your toes.”

Party Reactions:

Who is concerned about their relationship?

Vivienne expresses disapproval at starting up with a Dalish apostate, even if the Inquisitor is Dalish.

Varric will worry about Phaedre’s feelings, and tells the Inquisitor not to hurt her.

Sera threatens the Inquisitor to keep Phaedre happy or else.

Who supports the relationship?

Solas will offer congratulations to Phaedre about the relationship regardless of the gender/race of the Inquisitor, saying that a strong partnership will only help her, and that he’s noticed she’s been happier.

Blackwall will offer congratulations as well, but depending on whether or not his personal quest is completed, Phaedre will either respond positively or negatively.

Cassandra will make a comment on it, saying she’s happy to see Phaedre happy. Cassandra will allude to the fact that she knew about Phaedre’s infatuation, and is glad to see her with someone who can return her affections.

Sera will be sour about Phaedre not telling her immediately, but will later be enthusiastic, talking to Phaedre about possible pranks to pull on the Inquisitor.

Who had a bet running on it?

Sera and Dorian will have been trying to find out who Phaedre’s “crush” is, and will have willingly or unwillingly dragged various people and companions into the speculation. Regardless of who Phaedre actually holds affection for, Dorian will always choose wrong and Sera will always choose right.

Breaking Up:

If PC Breaks it off:

If NPC breaks it off (and why):

Love Confession:

End game dialogue:

BANTER

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts:

“She waits for the sunlight, strength to stand on her own, a solitary sapling with hearts carved in the bark, still bleeding, still sore.”

“Sick of trying for her, sick of dying for her, she walks away instead of wagering lives.”

(After personal quest is completed) “Home stays in her heart, roots no longer planted in the ground but in the soul. The bark still bleeds, but the pain has faded.”

(If in Romance): “She tires of trembling, but standing beside you gives her the strength protect herself.”  

(After romance quest) “The breaks in the bark fade, not gone, but no longer bleeding. The hearts smooth out into scars.”

Comment(s) on Mages:

“Oh…well…yes, I think that mages deserve to be free. It just…it’s right, you know? It’s the right thing.”

“I’ve seen what happens when you trap and keep a wild animal still for too long—they try to hurt themselves, trying to get out. People are no different, and mages have been struggling for centuries to leave their cages.”

“Why is everyone so angry that mages just want to be treated like people and not weapons?”

“All power is dangerous, and all power corrupts. But you don’t see anyone locking away the swordsman because of how well he swings, or the ruler because she bends a country to her will. Teach a mage how to control themselves, not how to be controlled.”

“Stop speaking that Chantry nonsense. Magic is a force of nature like anything else, not something to be put in a box. Does the Chantry also claim that the monsoon rains are meant to serve man? What about thunderstorms, or the snow, or the sun?”

Comment(s) on Templars:

“I mean…I’m sure there are nice ones. There are nice everythings. But…well, I was taught to hide whenever I saw the flaming sword insignia. That’s all.”

“It’s amazing how people will deride mages for being so easily corrupted when the people we expect to protect them from us are already rotten to the core.”

(If CotJ is completed) “Mages are dangerous because they can be taken over by demons—but who was being led by a demon this entire time?”

“’It’s not that simple?’ No, I suppose the consistent brutalization of the fellow being isn’t that simple.”

“It’s funny, but somehow the Dalish managed to deal with magic without Templars for centuries now.”

“Don’t tell me the system is needed. Don’t tell me it’s good. For every good Templar, there’s a bad Templar giving bad orders. The entire Order is designed to terrorize mages.”

When looking for something:

“I’m feeling a thing. Maybe we should look a little closer?”

When finding a campsite:

“Oh good, my feet were just getting tired.”

When the Inquisitor Falls:

(If romanced) “Arla! Stay with me, I’m coming!”

“No, not again—I won’t let it happen this time!”

“Inquisitor!”

When they are low on Health:

“Where are the healing potions again?”

“This is harder than I thought!”

When they see a Dragon:

“Oh, look at that majestic beast—no, no, looking at it this far away is good enough, thank you though.”

When doing their small side quest:

“This is close to where Solas and I think a tome is!”

Default saying: (when you want to talk to them in Skyhold, how do they respond?)

Default: “Hello again.”

Low approval:  “Oh…it’s you. Um. Did you need something?”

High approval:“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Here for another story again, huh?”

Romance:“Arla.”

“Oh, there you are. I was just wondering if I would have to go searching.”

Travel Banter with Canon Companions of your choice:

Varric

Vivienne

Solas

P: “Solas…”S: “Again? Here?”P: “This is really boring. Please?”S: -sighs- “What would you like to hear?”P: “Tell another story about that one faith spirit. The one that was always near those temple-things?”

Cassandra

Sera

Blackwall

Iron Bull

Dorian

Cole

Location Banter:

The Hinterlands:

The Fallow Mire:

The Storm Coast:

Exalted Plains:

Emerald Graves:

Crestwood:

Emprise du Lion:

Fade:

Forbidden Oasis:

Hissing Wastes:

The Western Approach:

Leaving the Inquisition: (what do they say or do if the approval is low enough for them to leave?)

OPINIONS

The Fade

How they react: They’re pretty excited. Actually walking in the Fade can lead to new and interesting information about magic.

Their Tombstone: Abandonment

What the Fears look like: They all tend to look like Ghandriel’s corpse, following her and whispering about protecting her.

What the Nightmare says:

Their reflection about the Fade:

Hawke or Warden: Phaedre is upset that anyone is left behind, but will Disapprove if Hawke is left—she got to know Hawke while they stayed at Skyhold and apparently looks up to them. Beyond that, she likes Hawke because Hawke is Varric’s friend.

As for a Warden, she will show varying levels of distress at their sacrifice; for Alistair, she will be very distraught, especially if Alistair is in a relationship with the Warden (she’s a romantic at heart—even more so if the warden is Mahariel). She will be sympathetic to Stroud, but she won’t show that much distress over Loghain’s departure, as she never really trusts him.

The Wardens

Their feelings: Her clan fought with the Dalish forces against the Blight, and while Phaedre herself was too young to fight she personally knew people who had to go up against Darkspawn (one of whom is revealed to be Ghandriel). As such, she has a healthy fear of Blights and believes Wardens to be necessary; it is one of her points of argument against Solas. The idea that Wardens can’t actually stop Blights once Archdemons are dead makes her very, very scared.

Exile or Allies?: Allies, though she expresses fear about the chance of the Wardens being corrupted again. She will not disapprove heavily if they are exiled, though she will express fear of the organization disappearing.

The Ball

How they feel:  Excited!!! There’s so much food!! So many pretty sights!!! A secret library!!! People always like talking to her, though the elves don’t seem very happy here, and that makes a her a bit upset—she will tell the Inquisitor afterwards that she helped them deliver certain messages while hanging about.

Where they linger: Near Cullen in the main ballroom. When asked, she says that she thinks it’s funny that Cullen is so uncomfortable, but ambient dialogue will show her intervening when Cullen gets too overwhelmed with people.

Are they good at the Game?: To the surprise of literally everyone in existence, Phaedre more or less accidentally masters the game. Her nature is so guileless it comes off as dissembling, and everyone more or less takes her polite, passive remarks as hints that she knows what they’re thinking. There is a chance to gain Court Approval during the mission by talking to Phaedre while she’s conversing with a noble—the noble will then make a comment about the Inquisition not being made up “completely of rustics” after all. (+5 Approval. It will only occur after returning to the ballroom after meeting Morrigan. It cannot be accessed after you leave the ballroom.)

What people say about them:

“The elf, the little one. What is that knife-ear playing at? I don’t even know what she’s thinking.”

“Oh she’s so very polite, for a knife-ear. She’s even nice to her own kind—how quaint.”

“I spoke to her for ten minutes and know nothing about her! She never seemed to say anything true—what is her game?”

Gaspard, Briala, or Celene?: For obvious reasons, Phaedre supports Briala and will Greatly Approve if you put her in charge. However, she will show a romantic streak and Approve if you reconcile Celene and Briala. She will Disapprove if Celene or Gaspard rule alone, believing them to be a threat to elves and the country at large. She will have no opinion of them working together, except that she doubts it will last too long.

Temple of Mythal

Rituals or Hole?: RITUALS. She will Greatly Disapprove if you bypass them.

Agree with the Elves’ bargain?: Agree. She will also have extra dialogue about learning Dalish history and culture if she’s brought to meet Abelas. She’s hurt by his dismissal, but will continually insist on helping the Temple elves as they go through.

Morrigan or Inquisitor for the Well?: As she’s a mage, she can be asked to drink from the Well herself. She’ll say she can’t say she’s not tempted, being an elf and all, but says that she isn’t really equipped to handle that kind of power, and will decline.

As she seems to heavily dislike Morrigan and her remarks about elven culture, Phaedre will Greatly Disapprove if she drinks from the well. She will Approve if you drink, though she will warn you that the effects of such knowledge may be detrimental.

Comments on Canon Romance (little remarks on the inquisitor getting lucky)

Cassandra:

Dorian: “Dorian seems much happier now. I wonder why? I’m joking, I know why.”

Sera: -pleasant voice- “Hurt her at all, and after she’s done with you you’ll have to deal with me.”

Iron Bull:“I didn’t realize you were into that. If you need some extra…um, rope or anything, I can find you some that doesn’t chafe.”

Josephine: “I see her smile all the time now—you two are so cute together.”

Cullen: “The Templar? Well, he’s a good one, at least. Or better than most. Stay safe though, okay?”

Blackwall:“Uh. Okay. Well, as long as you’re happy!”

After Rainier:“If you can trust him after…well, it’s not any of my business.”

Solas: “But…isn’t he old? I mean, okay, but I’m just saying. He’s a little old.”

[timeisacephalopod]

Valhalla

I was watching Tammy, that Melissa McCarthy movie, and the scene with the jet ski was so amusing I decided to use it as a prompt. This is Thor/ Tony because @ash339273-blog has sent me enough thunderiron prompts to interest me in the pairing a little more lol.

Tony shows up at Thor’s with a grin and a jet ski attached to the back of a sports car that really shouldn’t be subjected to towing a crime around. “Hey honey. I um- can you blow that up? I figured you like setting stuff on fire, Loki likes blowing things up, could be a brother bonding activity and if it happens to cover some crimes I committed, well, I mean everyone wins,” he says, gesturing to the jet ski. 

Thor frowns, “how can you commit a crime on a jet ski?” he asks, squinting at it.

“Its best you don’t know what happened. Plausible deniability. So can you blow it up or no?” he asks.

Thor, because he’s an excellent boyfriend that Tony really doesn’t deserve, smiles. “Sure. Maybe Loki will stop lighting other people’s property on fire if we give him permission to light yours on fire,” he says.

Yeah, that jet ski isn’t Tony’s but Tony doesn’t tell him that in favor of getting rid of the evidence. Thor is too trusting, he decides, but also he’s going to take advantage of that shit. Thor moves aside to let him in and he goes, smiling when Thor closes the door behind him and settles his hand on the small of Tony’s back, leading him to the back yard where his friends are all currently sitting. Loki is there too looking surly with alcohol Tony is sure he isn’t supposed to have but Thor probably let him have it anyways so he can actually monitor how much Loki has drank.

“Tony is here,” he says as they walk out and Tony gives Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Steve a halfhearted wave. He full well knows none of them really like him much but he’s got his own friends so what’s that matter? All two and a half of them are great. Granted after this week Rhodey might just cut his losses but Tony is sure he’ll come back. He always does. “And Loki, he has a jet ski for you to blow up,” Thor adds, grinning at his brother.

Loki glares at him suspiciously, “what did you do with it?” he asks, probably thinking up some good questions but Thor glares at him.

“Nothing, don’t be rude,” he says. Tony laughs a little, leaning into Thor’s side as he wraps his arm around Thor’s waist. 

Clint frowns, “did I just hear that there’s a jet ski to blow up?” he asks. Thor nods and Loki considers things for a moment before shrugging and accepting the offering. It might, Tony thinks, make him less likely to be a prick to Tony later. Apparently Loki has managed to scare off all of Thor’s exes except Val, who just punched Loki and he never bothered her again. Tony can’t say he blames him for that- he’s seen Val throw a punch and he wouldn’t want to be on the other end of one.

*

Thor looks like a dude bro, Tony had been forced to admit it after Pepper had given him looks, but he’s so not one. So the guy liked his backwards hats and ‘suns out guns out’ shirts- first of all he looks hot in both so Tony doesn’t see the crime. Second, that’s not who Thor is as a person and it shows as he drunkly tells some woman wearing a Wonder Woman pin that he loves Diana Prince and always wanted to be an Amazon as a kid but had been disappointed to find out they’re all women. But also go women.

Its actually how they met- at the advanced screening of Wonder Woman that Tony dragged Pepper to because he had to bring someone to this history moment and Rhodey refuses to watch super hero movies. So Pepper it was and then there was Thor talking to someone about Wonder Woman comics and Tony had jumped in with alternate time lines and twenty minutes and a long discussion of Diana Prince obviously being bisexual later Tony had been practically in love and Pepper discovered that his interest in the movie was not just a passing one. Not that he told anyone about his love of Wonder Woman thanks to Howard, but Thor isn’t much shy about it. 

Rhodey still hadn’t approved when they met but Pepper figured if anyone could manage to get Tony to argue for twenty minutes on which comic outfit was the best in the middle of a theater when his interest in the character was something he had been somewhat embarrassed by (thanks for that Howard) then he’s probably ok. Rhodey had eventually been won over when Thor told Tony that his liking pineapple on pizza was a sin against every god in every religion and offensive to his fellow atheists.

He probably would not approve of Tony’s crime committing ways and Thor helping him cover it up but hey, you can’t approve of everything. Plus Tony totally approves of these things so. “Tony,” Thor calls to him, throwing himself in the seat beside him and reaching out immediately. Tony smiles and links his fingers with Thor’s, smiling wider when Thor looks so happy he might just burst from it. He’s so unbelievably sweet and honestly it makes this relationship so much easier. “You ready to burn that jet ski? Loki has been eyeing it for hours,” he says and Tony snorts.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. Lets go,” he says, standing and gently tugging a complaining Thor out of his seat. Its not Tony’s fault Thor sat down and was not forced to move- he was the one that sat.

Thor gets up anyways though, dropping Tony’s hand in favor of wrapping an arm around him and all but crushing Tony into his side while he drags him off to the jet ski. Loki grins at it before he turns to Thor, “its ready to burn,” he says, holding up a lit torch.

“Great,” Thor says, “light it on fire and direct it away from us.”

Loki rolls his eyes, “obviously, Thor,” he mumbles before sticking his foot on the platform the jet ski is on and shoving it forward.

“To Valhalla!” Thor yells as Loki throws the torch at it. It goes up in flames immediately and everyone who heard Thor yell yells the phrase back and Tony snorts, shaking his head. And he thought ridding himself of the evidence of his crimes would be boring. Trust Thor to make it fun.

*

When the cops show up at Thor’s door the next morning inquiring about the burning jet ski Thor leans against the door. “Oh you’re one house off- you’re looking for Hammer. Justin Hammer,” he says, gesturing across the yard. You can’t see Hammer’s house through the trees but the cops nod sympathetically, giving him a brief apology before just leaving. 

Tony stares in shock because what? “How’d you do that?” he asks.

Thor smiles, “well, the cops are always around looking for Loki and unlike both you and him I don’t spend my time tormenting the police by calling them pigs and asking if they’ve eaten so many donuts their eyes are now glazed too. Instead I’m a nice kid with some rambunctious people in my life so when they come around for more serious crimes or burning jet skis they automatically think I’m telling the truth and they go away. You’re welcome, Loki,” Thor tells him. Loki glares at the wall behind Thor’s head and Tony gets the feeling that he’s referred to something specific but he has no idea what.

Mostly because he’s distracted by his evil genius boyfriend who just swindled the cops into arresting his most hated nemesis simply by being nice to cops who hate Loki. “This is why I love you Thor. Sometimes you seem like a meat head, but then you go and manipulate cops into arresting someone I hate. Seriously, I lucked out with you,” Tony says, grinning fondly.

“Thanks for the help, brother,” Loki mumbles under his breath, clearly irritated even if he’s grateful.

[obsidianarchives]

To All The Wizards: The Return

The rest of the break was spent quietly. Dean managed to continue sending Hermione a sketch every day, mostly just quick single cartoons. She imagined him to be busy enjoying his family, going out to the cinema, or staying in for game nights. The thought of them all going about their normal Muggle life made her smile. Sometimes she would send him a quick note back but generally Edison, the owl Dean had bought his family, didn’t wait.

The New Year brought torrents of freezing rain. Hermione mostly stayed in, reading and writing the occasional letter to Harry. She had gotten out once to go shopping with her mum for a few necessities – new undergarments, hair-care products, and Mrs. Granger had tried to tempt Hermione into buying more make-up.

That she could tell, the wizarding world was unchanged. No great upheavals had occurred. The Prophet was all she had to rely on, and seemed to her to be back to its general agenda. Despite enjoying her relaxing quiet time with her family and Crookshanks, she was getting antsy to be back amongst wizards, magic, and news.

On the day of her return to Hogwarts, the sun peeked bright as ever through her curtains. As Hermione did some final checks around her room before levitating her trunk down the stairs, Crookshanks in tow, she felt almost giddy. Of course, excitement wasn’t an unusual emotion for her upon her return to Hogwarts. But as she and her parents sped down the M40, thoughts of Hogwarts, meals in the Great Hall, Harry, and even Ron, made her feel that she couldn’t cross over to Platform 9 ¾ soon enough. Thoughts even of Dean seemed to give her stomach a flutter.

“Where did the time go?” her mother asked wistfully as they helped her unload her trunk and Crookshanks’ carrier from the car onto a cart.

“I am sorry we couldn’t spend more time with you dear. It feels like we never see our only daughter.” As he said this with a crack in his voice, her dad pulled her into a firm hug, perhaps to hide the mist in his eyes.

“Mum, Dad,” she said a little exasperatedly, pushing her father away, “Summer break will be here before you know it.”

Her mother gave her a doubtful look. Uncomfortably, Hermione shifted back and forth on her feet, the unacknowledged truth hanging between them. They both knew she would likely be home for a few weeks at most, before a letter would come from The Burrow inviting her to the Weasleys’, back into the wizarding world, for the rest of the summer — that is if she even came home at all.

As her mother pulled her into a tight hug she whispered into her ear, “If you need anything make sure to write. Encouragement for exams, more money, boy advice, you name it.” Her voice came out strained in a way that made Hermione suspect she was biting back tears.

They pulled away and Hermione gave her mother a comforting smile. Instead of feeling exasperated at her mother’s one last attempt to glean a little information of her truthfully non-existent love life, she was touched. What a relief it would be to just break down and tell her mum everything, from the embarrassing and confusing mess with Ron, to the situation she had gotten herself and Dean into. They’d cry, her mother would laugh at her daughter, relieved that they have a “normal” teenage daughter after all.

She wasn’t a “normal” teenager, though. Everyone had hiccups in their routine life, social and otherwise, but it didn’t mean it had to define her. Besides, she didn’t need to cry to her mother. She was feeling surer of herself since Christmas break than she had all of the previous semester. In fact, she had only thought of Ron a few times over the last week.

“Well, I’d better be off then so you don’t miss tea with Ms. Stewart.”’

They gave her quick nods, her mother choosing to look somewhere distant over Hermione’s shoulder, leaving Hermione to suspect that she was still holding back tears.

Appearing on the other side of the wall to Platform 9 ¾, Hermione was unsurprised to find that it wasn’t very crowded. Groups of wizarding parents, who stuck out with their poor attempts at Muggle fashions, stood with their children going over final checks, ensuring they hadn’t forgotten anything. Being early was generally fine with her, but she now regretted it.

Dean and Seamus were nowhere to be found. It wasn’t that she was excited to sit with them per se, she just felt more ready to get on with their mission. Arriving early meant she was faced with the dilemma of either waiting outside the train for them or regularly poking her head out into the corridor so that they could find her.

Was that too eager? Maybe they wouldn’t even look for her at all. They were best friends, and it wasn’t like they were actually her friends. They would probably just find their own compartment to themselves, as friends do. It was probably best to leave them to it, and if they ran into her, great!

Levitating her trunk onto the train she contented herself with finding a quiet compartment towards the back of the train. She settled her trunk in the corner and set down Crookshanks, letting him out of his carrier. It was almost as if he could sense the magic in the air, he was completely back to himself. Still, she was hoping his surly countenance might keep anyone else from joining her.

Busying herself with the extra knitting she’d brought along to pass the time, she let her mind wander. The train got progressively noisier as more students started to pile in. Crookshanks lay on the opposite bench, pawing at a ball of yarn that he had managed to claim from her bag. A part of her lamented not having found Dean and Seamus, but with the train set to depart in a few moments it looked like she might have a compartment to herself after all.

Then, as if sensing her satisfaction, the compartment door slid open. Luna stood there smiling as serenely as ever, her wavy blonde hair pulled into pigtails. She was wearing her signature radish shaped earrings and a violently orange baggy jumper. A pale pink skirt peeked out from beneath, leaving Hermione to wonder if she had been attempting to dress as a Muggle or if this was something she actually kept in her closet.

“Hello Hermione!” she said brightly.

Not responding, Hermione turned to Crookshanks expectantly, waiting for him to hiss or at least stare at their new visitor uncomfortably until she left. Rather than do any of this, he instead hopped down from the bench and began meowing at her. He was practically inviting her in, the traitor!

Sighing, she accepted her new compartment companion and said as politely as she could manage, “Hello Luna.” Grumpily, Hermione turned to stare out the window, knitting abandoned in her lap. Now she really regretted not finding Dean and Seamus. She and Luna said nothing to each other as the train jolted forward.

Hermione resumed her knitting, trying her best to focus, nodding as Luna chatted to her about going with her father to Wales for an interview. She had hoped there was a recent edition of the Quibbler that Luna might pass the time with, so they wouldn’t have to chat. Luna was kind and actually a talented dueler, but her outlandish theories and conversations drove Hermione mad. When possible, she did her best not to find herself alone in conversation with her.

“Did you eat your dirigible plums for the New Year?”

Internalizing a groan, Hermione looked up. Her traitor cat was curled up next to Luna, letting her pet him lightly along his back. Stifling an eye roll she said, “Erm, no. My parents are Muggle. They were out at a benefit so I didn’t really do anything for New Year’s Eve.”

“It’s a shame you had to miss out. As they say, ‘Dirigible plums in a stew will help you see the world anew!’”

It was a strain to keep her face neutral. Ron often complained about her judgmental “know-it-all” look. Not wanting to be rude, she managed to give her a polite smile before turning to Crookshanks and fixing him with a cold stare as he snoozed next to Luna. They weren’t often at odds over an opinion of a person.

The trip drug on for longer than Hermione thought possible. Trying to listen to Luna’s stories and inquiries politely and passively was too great a challenge for her. She had gotten up to feign a prefect patrol three times. Luna had wanted to go over, in detail, newfound evidence that had come out proving that Minister Scrimgeour was a vampire. Upon arrival to Hogsmeade station, Hermione nearly ran off the train.

With a huff, she hopped down onto the platform. She shouldered her bag and took a peek at Crookshanks in his carrier. He seemed downright pleased with his new friend and to be back at Hogwarts.

“Traitor,” she murmured to him.

Eager to put distance between her and Luna, she made her way to the station exit. Her fingers, which were clasped around Crookshanks’ carrier, were quickly growing numb. Large banks of snow had been magically piled up to the side. As she exited the station, she found the snow banks were nearly up to her hips. She paused to put her gloves on. Setting Crookshanks’ carrier down, she looked up to the cloudy sky, hoping there wasn’t more snow in the forecast.

A pair of arms suddenly enveloped her from behind. She let out a yelp of surprise.

“How did you fair, surviving a whole week without me?”

She laughed and whipped around. “Dean!” His arms were still around her as she stared up at him. Her grin widened even further upon realizing that she wasn’t nervous in the slightest, unlike she might have been last term. “I could be asking you the same thing, you know.”

It was his turn to laugh. The fog of his breath caught in the air between them. He finally pulled her into a hug, the now familiar smell of bergamot surrounding her. He whispered into her ear, “I hope it was a good break, because we have a lot of work to do now that we’re back.”

When she pulled away she gave him a curt nod with a faux grim expression on her face to convey her understanding of the incredible gravity of the situation. This too, made him laugh.

“Alright, you jammy git. We get it, you have a girlfriend and you missed her.” Seamus pushed his way between them, looking annoyed at Dean. He turned to Hermione, “How are ye? Didn’t see you on the train. This one assumed you’d be busy with your prefect duties. Can you believe he doesn’t see me for two weeks and I barely get a ‘Hullo!’ but he sees you after one and acts as if he’s won the House Cup! Unbelievable.”

Not listening to Dean’s protests, Seamus picked up Crookshanks’ carrier and offered his arm to Hermione. Laughing, she took it and they walked together, leaving Dean behind, discussing their Christmases and their town’s respective lousy weather.

Hogwarts appeared ahead as they passed between the two winged boar statues guarding the entrance to the grounds. The sky was still grey, but even without the sun to reflect off of the paned windows, the castle seemed to wink down at them in the distance, welcoming them back. Hermione took a deep breath and smiled. She could feel her whole body relax, stress she hadn’t realized she had been carrying rolling off of her.

Dean was doing his best to engage Seamus in an enthusiastic explanation of a new television programme he’d seen over the holiday break, trying to get back into his friend’s good graces. Seamus mainly kept his attention ahead, sometimes responding to her rather than Dean. She could tell he was going to string Dean along a little while longer for not properly prioritizing his best friend.

To their left, the chimney to Hagrid’s hut billowed smoke. Hermione felt a bit guilty. She hadn’t managed to find time to say hello to her friend before leaving for the holidays. It was late in the afternoon and Harry and Ron wouldn’t be back till the early evening. She could visit him now.

Her mind made up, she piped up suddenly, “I’m going to Hagrid’s.” Dean and Seamus looked confused but she offered no further explanation. Most of the students, even their fellow Gryffindors who liked Hagrid, didn’t understand why she, Harry, and Ron liked him so well. “Will you take Crookshanks up to the common room for me?”

Bemused, they nodded. Without another word to them, she bounded off in the direction of Hagrid’s hut, eager to get out of the cold.

The gruff voice that came from behind the door after she had knocked told her he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

“Just a mo’.”

She could hear the scraping of a chair and Fang moving excitedly behind the door. A bleary eyed Hagrid swung open the door. His wooly hair was a little matted to one side.

“Oh I’m sorry Hagrid. Were you sleeping?”

“Blimey Hermione! Thought yeh were Professor Dumbledore. Ah, is nuthin’. Just sat down fer a kip. Had ter get up early this mornin’ ter clear the paths fer you lot.” He indicated to the path to the gates, in which the Hogwarts Express passengers were still ambling up. “Come in, come in!”

He quickly ushered her into his one-room hut. There was a large fire burning in the hearth, warming the whole hut. Hermione pulled off her knitted cap and gloves, taking a seat at the table. She had to hop up in order to sit and her legs dangled down, feet not touching the ground, like they always had since first year.

“Tea?”

She nodded as he set a kettle over the fire. Fang padded his way toward her and set his head on her lap. His head was thick and heavy, taking up most of her lap. She laughed and patted his head.

“Did yeh have a good holiday?” he asked as he began washing out a couple of bucket-sized mugs.

Hermione could hear the accusation in his voice. She quickly apologized for not paying him a visit leading up to the holidays. Harry and Ron were always rather inconsistent with visiting Hagrid, but she tried to make her way down as often as she could. This whole situation with Dean and Ron had taken up so much of her time in December.

Hagrid forgave her. The tea was very bitter but, happy to be absolved of her guilt, she drank it happily.

They discussed the weather and their holidays. Hagrid and Professor Trelawney had apparently had a bit too much to drink over Christmas dinner and had quite loudly serenaded the Great Hall with their own particular stylings of Christmas carols. That was until Professor Flitwick had cast Silencio, which had been met with great cheer from everyone else trying to enjoy the festivities.

The conversation lapsed into silence. Hermione eyed the copy of the Daily Prophet laying under a few other papers on the table.

“The Daily Prophet proved to be useless again over the holidays,” she said with a sigh. “It seems to me like they were suppressing news. There were all sorts of disappearances on the Muggle news.”

“Can’ teach an ol’ dog new tricks. Times’re dark, an’ the Minister’s workin’ hard ter get people back on the Ministry’s side. Couldn’ have people frightened over the Christmas holidays, I s’pose.”

Hermione scoffed. “Yes. Meanwhile, they keep sending out these leaflets,” she held up a leaflet about home protection from the issue on the table, “and being a Muggle-born, I’m left to try and put up protective enchantments on my house by myself. I’m barely of age!”

“Come ter think of it, I think the Order might’ve mentioned something about getting protections in place for your family, ev’rythin’ considered. They’re a bit stretched at the mo’.”

She nodded in understanding. Of course, putting enchantments on a house in Muggle Reading that weren’t certain to be necessary wouldn’t be at the top of the Order’s priority list. But, she knew this was going to be a concern eventually as Harry’s best friend, even if they hadn’t yet considered the full implications of that fact.

Pulling her out of this deep reverie, Hagrid said, “Heard yeh’ve been seein’ tha’ Dean fellow. Good kid from the looks o’ ‘im.”

She sloshed a bit of tea onto her front as she moved to take a drink. “Ah yes,” she said, spluttering as she coughed. “You heard about that. It’s a bit embarrassing really. I didn’t expect it to garner so much attention.”

“O’ course ev’ryone is interested. They were las’ time, mind.”

“Everyone was interested in that salacious fake story Rita slapped onto paper because Harry and Viktor were both famous. And besides, that was years ago.”

“After the incident at the Ministry yer a spot famous yerself. Ev’ryone knows Hermione Jean Granger now.”

If the subject of Dean had made her blush, now her face was burning. She turned her attention to Fang, who had dropped a large slimy bit of rope in her lap, intent on being played with. As she feigned trying to tug it away from his mouth she replied indignantly, “That was just because of some creative reporting on the Prophet’s part. I was unconscious for most of it.”

Thinking about the Ministry made her uncomfortable. Partly because most students at Hogwarts had the complete wrong idea or just wanted information about Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Mainly though, she felt this sort of vague sense of fear when she thought about it. The events themselves were very hazy to her. Escaping the Prophecy Room was the last thing she remembered clearly. After that, it was just a veil and fear.

“Not ter the people who don’ know yeh. The Prophet, fer better or worse, is still most folk’s standard fer news. Yer becomin’ famous in yer own right.”

—

It was approaching dusk by the time she left Hagrid’s. She kept pondering the idea of becoming “famous in her own right.” What did that mean? It was true that amongst the Daily Prophet’s extensive coverage of the incident at the Ministry (most of which was grossly exaggerated or misrepresented) they had written up a couple of small profiles on her and the others to accompany their think pieces and reports on the matter. “Hermione Jean Granger – Bravery, Brains, and Beauty” in particular had been irksome. It relied on information from a source close to Hermione, whom she suspected was none other than Rita Skeeter.

The unsubstantiated speculation from a newspaper about her role among a dozen others hardly constituted “fame” though. It barely constituted any marked interest from anyone at the school who knew her. She hugged her coat closer to her. It had started to snow again.             

Although she had attempted to eat a few of the rock cakes Hagrid had offered her, she decided upon reaching the entrance hall to head to dinner. Harry and Ron should be back soon, and she could meet up with Dean and Seamus. Seamus had requested that she look over his Transfiguration essay, which was due Tuesday.

The Great Hall was full of students chatting merrily over potato soup, fish and chips, and other delicious smelling dishes, catching up after winter break. She quickly spotted Dean and Seamus, the latter enthusiastically waving to her to join them. She waved and began to head towards the Gryffindor table, when she ran headlong into none other than Professor Dumbledore. She let out an exclamation of surprise, followed by her immediate apology. He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon spectacles.  

“Ah, Miss Granger. What a happy accident.”

“Good evening, Professor,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she had just crashed into him in front of the entire Great Hall. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dean and Seamus craning their necks to see what was going on.

“Would you please pass this note to Harry?” He handed her a small roll of parchment. As he did so, she caught sight of his other withered hand peeking out from the arm of his royal purple traveling cloak. This was the first time she had seen it up close, and it looked far more grisly an injury than Harry had described. “I believe he’s just arrived but I have some business in the village I must attend to.”

He conspicuously tucked his withered hand behind his back, and she brought her wide eyes to look at him. She stammered, “Erm, certainly Professor!” He didn’t show any other signs of being perturbed by her tactless gaze. She dropped her eyes to the floor, looking instead at the gold tipped riding boots peeking out beneath the hem of his cloak.

“Excellent! I do beg your pardon, but I must be off.”

With what she could have sworn was a wink and a swish of his cloak he was gone. It took a moment before what he had said sunk in. Her friends were back. Looking over to Dean and Seamus, who were looking at her curiously, she mouthed, “Sorry,” and turned on her heel, out of the Great Hall.

In her excitement, she nearly ran into Harry and Ron upon entering the portrait hole.

“Harry!” She said slightly breathless. “Where’s Ginny?” she asked looking around, having expected to see the three of them.

“She said she wanted to meet up with her friends in the Great Hall first,” said Ron.

“Well I got back a few hours ago. Just got back from visiting Hagrid. Professor Dumbledore wanted me to give you this.” She handed Harry the note and then looked at Ron. There was no blush creeping across her cheeks like there might generally have been. However, it wasn’t lost on her that this was the first time he had directly addressed her on purpose in months.

Before anything else could be said, a high pitched voice called from across the common room, “Won-Won!”

Ron grimaced. It was more than his usual grimace. His shoulders dropped and his face darkened. Hermione tore her gaze from him and back to Harry as Lavender ran to him, attacking him with a hug and dragging him away without a word to her or Harry. Right. They’re still together. Nothing’s changed. He hasn’t apologized, she reminded herself.

“Come on!” Harry said, sparing their friend no further thought. “I have loads to tell you.”

They had settled at a quiet table in the corner of the common room, thankfully far from Lavender and Ron, who had immediately attached themselves at the mouth. While she did feel more fortified against the visual onslaught of Lavender and Ron than she usually might have, she still didn’t fancy enduring it if she didn’t have to.

“Is that the news that was so important you had to tell me?” Hermione asked, exasperated, after spending the last half hour debating whether or not Professor Snape, a known Order member, was helping Draco Malfoy with some dark plan for Voldemort.

“Yes,” he said defensively, irritated by her apparent lack of enthusiasm in the mystery. “Well that and I was propositioned by the Minister.”

“I’m sorry?” she said incredulously.

“Yeah. We got into a bit of a row.”

As he explained the details of the argument, she couldn’t help but feel irritated at his lack of concern over this, an actually important matter.

“You can’t just get into rows with the Minister of Magic!” she said swatting at him with each syllable.

He blocked each swat with the cushion from the chair. “What else am I supposed to do, go along with it? ‘Sure thing, Minister. I believe it was the Ministry’s stance that I must not tell lies, but sure I’ll be your poster boy!’”

“Of course not. But I think you could be a little more careful. What if the Prophet had picked it up?”

“What, instead of running their crack-pot theories about me being the Chosen One? I think I’m–” He trailed off, his eyes suddenly catching sight of something towards the portrait hole. Turning to follow his gaze, she saw Ginny, returning from dinner. Harry’s eyes followed her all the way up the girl’s dormitory steps before he cleared his throat, continuing as if there had been no distraction. “Anyway. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t really a surprise, they’re panicked. And they should be!”

She nodded, not wanting to press further and also choosing not to comment on the red-head demanding so much of his attention mid-conversation. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she coughed, feigning ignorance. Without warning, Harry snatched her wrist and brought it up to his eyes for inspection. Realizing what he had noticed, she snatched it back, heat creeping back up her skin. It was too late, his eyebrows were raised behind his glasses and he had a smirk on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said airily, grabbing a random book off the side-table next to her seat. She feigned a sudden intense interest in Wizards Chess: Wins and Woes.

“I was just appreciating your­ nice gift.” His grin was almost devilish. He was so irksome sometimes. “Are you sure you two only just started dating?”

“It’s just a bracelet. Viktor got me a bracelet for my birthday last year.”

“I’ve never seen you wear that bracelet, plus I don’t imagine he knows anything about gold that doesn’t have wings attached to it.”

She glared at him. “Well then what did you get Ginny for Christmas?”

He spluttered, his face quickly turning as red as a Quaffle. “Erm, we don’t generally exchange gifts.” He looked down sheepishly, after surreptitiously glancing to the top of the girl’s dormitory staircase.

She sighed. It wasn’t as fun to tease him about Ginny as it was before. Now that Dean’s plan appeared to be working — or at least it had been before break — she wasn’t sure who Ginny had feelings for, and it made her feel guilty.

As if summoned by the thought, Dean entered the common room with Seamus. Dean was wearing a forest green jumper and had his hands tucked into his pockets. She wondered how many girls attention he had caught today, suspecting it had been a lot.

The two looked around mid-conversation, searching for a spot of their own. She smiled, feeling the solidarity, when she saw Dean notice Lavender, now in Ron’s lap, and grimace. He must have felt her gaze, because he looked over to her in that moment. For a split second he looked like he might come over, but glancing at Harry, seemed to think better of it. Instead he rolled his eyes and inclined his head at the bunch of limbs and movement that was Ron and Lavender in their armchair, as if to say “can you believe him?” She laughed.

Dean and Seamus eventually found their own spot with a couple of younger boys she knew to be Seamus’ friends. As the evening passed, Harry and Hermione finished catching up about Christmas, and the Weasleys. They had a grand time disparaging Percy for a while before Harry excused himself to go finish his Transfiguration essay (which Hermione knew to mean he was going to start his essay).

It was getting late, but Hermione didn’t feel tired. She made eye-contact with Dean who smiled at her before turning his attention back to Seamus and his friends. A thought occurred to her. The common room was still relatively full. This was her chance to make her move and play her part. Her newfound confidence surged through her and she smiled.

Not taking her eyes off of Dean, as he continued to listen attentively to Ciaran, a 5th year friend of Seamus’, she got up and walked deliberately across the common room. The three other boys didn’t look up when she dropped her bag at the foot of the couch. Dean looked up and motioned for her to sit next to him.

A little self-conscious, she looked over her shoulder. At that moment, Ginny was descending from the girl’s dormitory with some parchment and a quill, likely to send Mrs. Weasley a letter as she usually did once she returned to school. Ginny’s blue eyes met hers, and narrowed. A surge of boldness filled Hermione.

With a cheery grin, acting as naturally as she could, Hermione plopped down into Dean’s lap. She felt satisfied when he jumped in surprise. She looked into his slightly widened eyes and smiled innocently. His eyes looked at her questioningly. But she was sure. Accepting her move, he smirked at her, placing his left hand in her knee and resting his right behind her in the arm chair.

The group of boys didn’t notice anything amiss. Seamus rolled his eyes slightly at them before turning his attention to the others.

“What did your mum say when she’d found out where you’d been?” asked Sean, a 4th year boy she didn’t know particularly well.

“That if I ever snuck out to a Muggle pub again, she’d turn me into a sheep and sell me to Mr. Doyle, the farmer down the road,” Ciaran said with a mischievous smile. “If you lads are ever in the village, I’ll take you there myself. Best chips in all of Ireland.”

At the thought of hot, greasy chips, Hermione’s stomach gurgled. Dean turned his attention to her, eyebrow raised. Slyly, he poked her stomach. She pushed his hand away.

“Stop that,” she said.

He gave her side another poke, earning him a squeak from her. “Why didn’t you eat dinner?”

“I ate at Hagrid’s,” she said matter-of-factly. Another gurgle emitted from her stomach in protest. A few choked down bites of rock cakes did not constitute a meal. “And Dumbledore asked me to do something for him.” That mostly was true. He didn’t need to know how excited she had been to see two of her only friends, one of which she wasn’t even really talking to.

Dean looked at her suspiciously, before finally deciding to accept her explanation, but not before poking her one more time for good measure. The boys broke out into peels of laughter, pulling them back into the conversation.

“What’s brought this on, then?” Dean’s voice came in a surreptitious whisper, as the boys began setting up for a game of gobstones.

“Can’t a girlfriend sit with her boyfriend?” As she said this, she even batted her eyes for good measure.

“The thing is, ‘with’ and ‘on’ are two different things.” He looked at her with eyes that might have reduced other girls into a giggling heaps and tucked a curl behind her ear. Not her, though. This was a game, and now that she was playing properly, she was winning.

“True. But it looks like it’s working for them.”

In the corner, unmoved from their armchair, Lavender now poked and prodded at Ron, whose jaw was clenched as he stared off into space. Dean snorted. Then they both looked at Ginny, who was at a table by the windows, scribbling furiously on her parchment. Her neck was red, her temper’s first sign of warning.

Looking back at Hermione, he smiled brightly. “Looks like it’s working for us, too.”

—

The next day there was a buzz of excitement in the common room. Hermione stood in front of the notice board, reading the new notice thoughtfully.

“APPARITION LESSONS - If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve week course of Apparition Lessons. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons”

Hesitantly, she signed her name below Parvati’s. She had 12 Galleons to spare, but was apprehensive in learning. She had read that Apparition was quite unpleasant. Not to mention, it was a large responsibility. This was partly why she hadn’t learned to drive in the Muggle world.

Sighing, she backed away from the notice board.

“Good morning!” she said cheerily to Harry as he and Ron walked up to read the notice. She had no intention of speaking to Ron directly until he apologized, but had decided she could be civil while he was around.

Before they could respond, a pair of hands came to cover Ron’s eyes. “Guess who, Won-Won?”

Unable to keep a straight face, and barely able to repress the snort that threatened to crawl out of her mouth, she stalked off. It wasn’t fair to Lavender how laughable she found their relationship. She knew her roommate deserved better, but at the same time felt Ron brought all of this onto himself.

“I really wish she didn’t have to be around all the time,” Harry said, after catching up with her as she exited the portrait hole.

Ron, to both of their surprise, caught up with them before she could say that it wasn’t Lavender’s fault she liked Ron so much. Ron’s ears were bright red and his lips were pursed with frustration. To her relief, she spotted Dean up ahead. Not wanting to hear Ron berate Lavender when it was him being idiotic, she sped forward, leaving them behind.

“So – Apparition,” she said once she caught up with Dean.

“I’m excited, you?” he said, taking her book bag from her. She had forgotten that he had taken to carrying it for her.

“Erm, nervous. I’m probably going to pick up a book on the theory later tonight from the library.”

He laughed shaking his head. As he did, he caught sight of Ron and Harry behind them. His eyebrows shot up as he looked back at her. “Ron not walking with Lavender?”

Casually she replied, “I don’t know. Their relationship issues aren’t my business.”

“Looks like he wants to be friends with you again, if you ask me.”

“We are friends,” she reminded him. “He’s just a prat. He can apologize and be nicer to Lavender if he wants things to go back to normal.”

If Dean was surprised before, this surprised him even more. “Apologize to Lavender?”

“Yes. It’s not her fault she has feelings for him. She isn’t doing anything wrong. It’s Ron who’s using her.”

“Ah, to be used in romance. I wouldn’t know what that feels like,” he said with a straight face. She smacked his arm.

“Yes, because you’re the only one being used,” she said under her breath.

“You started it,” he said, looking down at her and giving her a playful nudge, dimples cutting into his cheeks.

She shook her head and laughed. A portrait of two old warlocks were shouting at each other, deep in a debate regarding the import of foreign magical creatures. Their voices carried and reverberated off the walls.

“That reminds me, I forgot to tell you last night, I spoke with Ginny,” Dean said suddenly in an undertone.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She actually said hello to me at dinner. We chatted for a few moments, and she asked me and Seamus how our holidays were. So I told her about you coming over for dinner and meeting my family. You should have seen the look on her face! You would have thought she’d been hit by a Bludger.”

Hermione thought about this for a moment. Was it good or bad? Either Ginny was still interested in Dean and was trying to maintain some sort of familiarity, or she didn’t have feelings for him at all and could now easily make small-talk with him.

Taking Hermione’s silence as an invitation to continue he said, “She was upset. She tried to hide it, but I could tell. Her neck started turning red, which always happens when she’s angry. All she said was, ‘That’s nice’!” He looked at her excitedly, waiting to see her reaction.

This was news. First Ron being put out with Lavender and trying to insert himself back into their friend group, and now this. This insane plan was working, it was actually working! “I can’t believe it,” she said.

“It’s not like I didn’t want her to meet my family. She lived too far and never seemed keen on me meeting the rest of hers.” He slung his arm around her, looking very pleased with himself. “We’re doing it Granger.”

Part of her knew she shouldn’t be proud of their deception, but another, much louder part of herself was thrilled. Thinking about how she had spent last night, curled up in Dean’s lap as she chatted with Seamus and his friends, she smiled. She was apparently much more capable than she thought.

Who knows, maybe by the end of it, I’ll finally be over Ron like I hoped I’d be, she thought wistfully as they walked out onto the grounds towards the greenhouses.

To Be Continued…