#unless it was a vindictive thing like the coins

[raayllum]

the thing about pip is 1) we know TDP crew works on seasons simultaneously, so it’s not like they were knee-deep into planning S3 and realizing they needed to back track but couldn’t at all and 2) it’s absolutely not a theory they can just come outright and confirm, so of course they have to deny/beat around the bush for it, and 3) pip gets out late late S2. like well after we’ve had all the scenes of the boys mourning harrow and dealing with that fallout, deciding to have ez come home to be king. that’s already set in stone. the book one novelization that has viren’s dark magic eyes coming out of harrow’s room is even further into the process than that, well into development for S4. why not omit the clearest hint of something happening if they truly didn’t want to do something with it?

and on that note, 4) if they really weren’t planning on doing anything with pip past that point... why have him fly away at all? why not have ezran “he can talk to animals” and is sleeping in harrow’s room the next season come home and have a scene with pip and it’s clear that everything is ordinary. it wouldn’t have taken that much more time and that’s how to effectively squash the theory in canon show anyway. but no, literally the only reason to have pip fly away from katolis in his one scene in S2 and in the S2 finale is so that he can’t have a scene with ezran. 

do i think harrow is in pip? i don’t know. that’s certainly the implication and would have great on the nose ironic symbolism to boot. harrow being in pip also wouldn’t mean ezran wouldn’t still be king (as there’s likely not a way to reverse that), just that bird-dad (if harrow’s consciousness is even still there) is a counsellor option. but i think whatever happened with pip or what he witnessed happen between viren & harrow will be important and hasn’t been dropped as a plot line. it just might be beyond what we’ve guessed thus far

[alyjojo]

January ❄️ 2022 Monthly - Libra

Whole of your energy: The Hanged Man

You’re held in a paused state, trying to gain a new perspective in some matter, not by going within but by observing that which is around you. You could be dealing with some kind of emotional manipulation regarding a child or a financial opportunity that pulls the rug out from under your feet, either forcing you to move on or literally move, where you live. These things may have already happened, putting you in this paused moment, unsure of where to go or what to do regarding any of it.

What’s going on in January:

King of Cups rev:

The normally emotionally mature King has turned manipulative, emotionally controlling, vindictive and vengeful, everything he does has some stupid “point” he’s trying to get across, likely to someone that doesn’t care. His actions are used as vengeance and vindication, aimed overall as being some form of “punishment”. Whew Lord I can’t stand people like this it’s like my #1 gtfo I’m just...I’m with ya. Unless it’s you. Then grow up, that’s the advice 😆🤦‍♀️

It’s clarified by King of Pentacles, again we have two Kings, who else had this...Sco? Could be dealing with a Scorpio, or this is someone with financial stability, in practical control of their career & finances, very hardworking, disciplined & dedicated to their career, and down to earth in their decisions. Either he or you is acting very immaturely or manipulative here, 5 Swords shows a conflict of “intellectual superiority”, nasty words spoken in anger, a desire to win no matter how it hurts the other person. The after effect here is not knowing whether to continue planting seeds here, or give up altogether, in and out energy with no commitment and feeling like the whole thing is a failure. 6 Pentacles at the bottom show this can be regarding gifts, giving or receiving, or a general air of reciprocity, which seems to be missing and causing this argument.

Next we have Page of Coins. Could be a child. Could be a financial opportunity you’re starting excitedly, laying the groundwork on which to continue towards 10 Pentacles, or ultimate stability, a happy home & family. You seemed to have realized that you’ve been very defensive & combative, argumentative and competitive in a situation where love & emotions are required instead, with Queen of Cups at the bottom. You’re desiring a new start, this Queen could show with whom you want to start over with. In this case, the Page can represent an apology, though I don’t know how genuine of an apology it will be with that King rev directly attached, Hanged Man at the head shows you wanting to do this but not actually doing so, and next we have The Tower.

The Tower:

This row had all sorts of cards flying out. The Tower is a building crashing down to dust, something you’ve known prior is completely cleared away in order to build something more in line with your path, something authentic to you. It can be a shock and it’s often painful. It seems this Tower is due to another child possibly, or a loving message or opportunity to celebrate with friends. An occasion like baby showers, weddings, graduations, etc., something about this situation has you chained and unable to take a leap of faith into your new beginning. In some case, flirty messages might have been found, The Moon at the bottom shows that whatever wasn’t clear to you now is. Someone was very hurt by this situation and had no issues letting you know about this. Perhaps someone ended a toxic situation involving you and opened up about this to their friends, or some other person, either way it was a shock to you, the fog is cleared and you’re paused in motion trying to figure out what to do.

6 Swords:

Moving away from a painful situation into calmer waters, taking your family and all of the lessons you’ve learned along with you. The man in this card is holding up a red flag, showing that you’re keeping this situation as a lesson learned, and you’ll recognize it if it ever happens again in the future. This is clarified by The Empress, a mother or mother figure, blocking communication here and moving on with the 6 Swords repeating itself to clarify. Queen of Wands at the bottom, this is a fiery passionate woman that’s taking charge of her situation, and either leaving a situation she feels no growth is possible in, or some kind of mother figure, or she is one. You could be either party, the one leaving or the one being left, either way you’re stuck in this Hanged Man energy, unsure of what comes next.

Again... I can’t just leave it like that, “What should Libra do in this matter?” - 4 Pentacles & Page of Swords, hold back communication and stay in this paused state for awhile, it may serve you well later on, that’s all they’re giving me.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Aquarius, Taurus, Cancer, Leo & Capricorn, but really they’re all here with court cards.

Oracles: ✨

Vengeance can only hurt you. Let the universe and God deal with this situation.

Money doesn’t make you happy. It is the good you do with it that brings you joy.

We enter into January as:

Penelope and Pickle 🥒:

“Grief...is honoring a love lost.”

Grief is a natural part of life. We must always remember to love those around us as fully as we can in the moments we have them. Grief is only love, with no place to go. This may be calling you to understand your own or someone else’s grief. Loss is personal, it comes out different in each individual. Love always comes with the risk of loss, but is important to remember that we valued a friend. Penelope & Pickle knew the value in their relationship, and it’s sad they lost each other, but the fact this love ever existed is what helps us find the strength to love again. All cycles must be completed to start over. If you choose to honor your pain, and allow all of the mourning to come, it will be life changing.

What is to be learned in January:

Lilac Key 🔑:

“The last thing out of Pandora’s Box was hope.”

Change is coming. It is imminent and cannot be avoided. The desire to run is tempting, however, this challenge is necessary. This change is a death to an old way of thinking, feeling, and believing. It could be a relationship or some situation that ends bitterly. A re-birth in yourself is necessary. This is a change in consciousness that will lead to balance & harmony in all aspects of your life. Cleaning up the past can be a painful process, but it’s one that leads to hope & renewal in the end. Once you use this key to unlock your consciousness, you cannot go back in the same way you came, you’re forever changed, awake, and moving towards a place where you don’t need any keys, because there are no locks.

Lilac may be a lucky color 💜

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke smut & feels: Home

A tale of how Samson ends up at Roman Hawke’s Hightown mansion for the first time. Mildly angsty feels, as much “fluff” as these two ever get, and smut. Recommended listening: the eponymous song by Depeche Mode. 

For beloved soulmate @schoute! ~9800 words; read on AO3 instead.

***********************

The thug took an aggressive step closer to Samson. “Come on, you sack of shite,” he sneered. “What’s wrong, too much of a ponce to throw a punch?” 

The thug’s two buddies jeered and snickered. Samson tucked his hands in his pockets and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. “Listen, fellas, I’m a waste of your time. Ain’t got a single coin to my name. I’m just trying to make a living on my corner here.” 

The thug stepped even closer. “I didn’t say you could talk back.” He glanced at his beefy buddies. “Did you ‘ear me say he could talk back?”

“I didn’t,” one crony said.

“I didn’t neither,” the other said. 

A real brain trust we have here, Samson thought sourly. He wrestled his expression into a pitiful hangdog sort of look. “I wasn’t bothering no one. I swear I won’t bother you if you just let me on my merry way.” 

“Shut your fuckin’ hole,” the main thug snarled. “Unless you’re looking to die today?” 

Samson didn’t reply. After a few seconds of awkward silence, the thug curled his lip. “What, now you decide to go all quiet?” 

Samson still didn’t reply, and the thug scowled. “The fuck’s wrong with you, eh?” 

Samson gritted his teeth, then bowed his head slightly in a would-be-polite gesture. “You said to shut my hole. Just trying to accommodate.”

He should have known better than to speak. The main thug pulled a dirty switchblade from his pocket. “We got a smart one ‘ere, boys. What say we teach him a lesson?”

Samson sighed. “Come on, there’s no need–”

The thug suddenly swiped at his face with the blade. Samson instinctively lifted his left arm to deflect the blow, and a red-hot stripe of pain lashed across his forearm.

You don’t have gauntlets anymore, idiot, he told himself angrily. He ignored the pain in his arm and held up his hands in surrender while backing away — backing his way toward an alley that twisted into a narrow passage that these burly thugs wouldn’t be able to follow him down. “Please,” he begged. “I’m not lookin’ for a fight here.”

The thug ignored him. “Grab him,” he said to his cronies.

The cronies stepped toward him. He backed away and prepared himself to run–

“Back the fuck off. Now.”

The harsh command came from Samson’s left, and he wilted. A second later, Roman Hawke was standing in front of him with her arms folded.

She narrowed her eyes at the three huge thugs. “I said back it up. Right now.”

Samson sighed, then edged closer to her. “Bird–”

The main thug laughed nastily. “What’s this, then? The beggar’s got himself a whore?”

Roman swelled to her full height. “What the fuck did you just call me?” she barked.

Here we go, Samson thought tiredly. The main thug guffawed, then turned to his buddies. “Listen to this… hey, what’s wrong with you?”

The thug’s two friends were holding back and looking apprehensive. “That’s Hawke,” one of them said. 

The main thug frowned. “Eh?”

“It’s Hawke,” his other friend hissed. “You know, Hawke. The one who blew up the deep roads and took down a bunch of golems with Varric Tethras a couple months back.” He gave Roman a scared look. “I hear she’s an abomination.”

“I heard she’s a demon,” the other one said tremulously. He looked like he was ready to piss himself, and Samson had to work hard not to laugh.

The main thug scoffed, then turned back to Roman and Samson. “This scrawny–”

Roman suddenly brought her elbow up and around in a sharp swing, and her elbow collided with the thug’s face with a solid thunk. The thug yelped and stumbled to the ground, and Roman grabbed a fistful of his hair. “I said back the fuck off, or I’ll fucking kill you,” she snarled. “Is that clear enough for you?”

The thug whimpered and clutched his cheek, and Samson watched with a weary sort of amusement as the other two men bolted. Roman roughly shook the thug’s head. “Answer me. Is that fucking clear?”

“It’s clear, it’s clear!” the thug bleated. “Andraste’s tit, you’re hurting me!”

“Good,” Roman said vindictively. She released his hair, then kicked him in the hip for good measure. “Now fuck off before I change my mind about letting your sorry ass live.”

The thug stumbled to his feet and ran away. Samson folded his arms and gave Roman a sarcastic little smile. “My knight in shining armour,” he drawled.

She ignored him and eyed his left forearm. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.”

He followed her gaze. Sure enough, his arm was a mess; there was a four-inch-long jagged cut running from below his wrist toward his elbow, and it was steadily weeping blood that was soaking into the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt.

He sighed. He only had two other clean shirts to his name aside from this one. “Maker’s bloody balls,” he muttered, and he pushed his sleeve up higher on his arm. 

Roman untied the red scarf from around her wrist and held it out to him. He hesitated, then took the scarf and gingerly started wiping the blood on his arm. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Bird,” he said quietly.

“Clearly you do,” she retorted. “Why the fuck didn’t you fight back when he pulled a knife on you?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of playing dead?” Samson said, only half-jokingly. “If you don’t fight back, they lose interest.”

Roman scowled at him. “Pulling a knife on you isn’t losing interest, you fucking dumbass.”

He shrugged. “Ah, I guess you’re right. Must be losing my touch.” He gave her a wry smirk, then studied his semi-clean arm.

Blood was still oozing from the wound. Samson sighed and pressed Roman’s scarf to the cut, then glanced at her. 

She was still frowning at him. He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“You need to get that treated,” she said.

He shrugged. “It’ll stop bleeding on its own.”

“It’s too deep and long to stop,” she retorted. 

A dirty comment rose to his mind, but he didn’t dare to say it, especially as Roman was still talking. “You keep moving your arm, that wound’ll keep opening back up again. You need stitches.”

He clicked his tongue. “Bird–”

She cut him off. “You want it to get infected and for your arm to get gangrene and fall off? Fine. Be my guest.” 

He frowned at her, then exhaled loudly and lifted his eyes to the sky. “Fine. Fine, I’ll get it bloody well stitched up, all right?” 

She shrugged, and they started walking – both in different directions. 

Samson paused, and Roman shot him a quizzical look. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Anders’ clinic,” he said blankly. He frowned at her. “Where were you going?”

“To my house,” she said, to his surprise. “I was going to…” She paused and hunched her shoulders. “I can stitch a wound,” she muttered.

He raised his eyebrows. Wait, did that mean… was Roman was inviting him to her house? That was the last thing he’d expected. But why was she offering to stitch him up if she could just pawn him off on Anders? 

He ought to say no. He ought to just go to Anders’ clinic in Darktown like he usually would. He often told Roman he wasn’t proud enough to say no to charity, but for some reason as the years had gone on, he’d started to wish he didn’t need to rely on Roman’s pity to survive. 

An invitation to her house, though… What must her house be like? Samson knew she’d never wanted to live in the Amell’s Hightown mansion; she hated Hightown. How had the rough-and-ready Roman Hawke decorated the big fancy house she didn’t even want? 

“You know what, forget it,” Roman said suddenly. 

Samson looked at her. Her shoulders were hunched up almost to her ears, and her cheeks were turning pink. She glared at him. “Forget I said anything. Go to Anders, see if I care. I was just–”

“No,” he blurted. “I — er. If you, um. If you want to stitch me up, I’d be much obliged.” 

“I don’t want to,” she snapped. “I was just offering. Do what you want, I don’t care.”

He scowled at her. She was so surly and so fucking confusing. He really would be better off going to Anders’ clinic on his own. It would be much less of a headache.

Curiosity about her house finally got the better of him, however. “Bird, I’d be thankful if you stitched me up, all right?”

She gave him a hard stare, then finally relaxed her shoulders and jerked her head in the direction of Hightown. “Come on, then.”

They made their way through Lowtown in a rather dour silence. As they were walking through the Hightown market, Roman finally spoke. “Seriously though, why didn’t you just fight back?”

He gave her a chiding look. “You saw my odds, right? Three against one ain’t something to sneeze at.”

“You still should have fought back,” she insisted. “I know you’re trained in combat. You could have done some real damage if you wanted to.”

“I didn’t want to,” he said doggedly. “I told you, I was hoping he’d lose interest. Berks like that want to make themselves feel big by beatin’ up someone smaller. The more beaten you look, the faster they lose interest.” He shrugged and peeked at the wound again, then pursed his lips; it was still bleeding. 

He pressed her scarf to the wound once more. “Sometimes being invisible is better than being strong. Not that you’d know anything about being invisible,” he muttered.

She shot him a sharp look. “What do you mean with that crack?”

“You’re a bloody wildcat who doesn’t know how to stay out of a fight, that’s what,” he said bluntly.

“Well, you suck at being invisible if you’re getting stabbed,” she retorted.

“Are you going to break my balls all the way to your fancy house?” he complained. “If that’s the case, I’d rather my arm get the rot, thanks very much.”

Roman glared at him, then said nothing more for the rest of the walk. It was awkward enough that Samson half considered turning around and not coming the rest of the way with her, but his wound was still bleeding freely, so he suffered the unpleasant silence until they reached her house. 

She unlocked the door and shoved it open, then started pulling off her boots. “Lock it behind you,” she said gruffly. 

Samson closed and locked the door. A moment later, Roman’s mabari came barrelling through the foyer toward them.

Monty barked happily, and Roman smiled faintly as she rubbed his jowls. “There’s the good boy,” she crooned. She rubbed the mabari’s ears while he wagged his tail, and Samson studied Roman’s rare smile from the corner of his eye. 

Monty licked Roman’s cheek before looking up at Samson, and Samson stood there awkwardly as the mabari approached him. He’d met Monty several times before, but it never paid to take a mabari’s acceptance for granted. 

He cautiously held out his hand. “Dog,” he greeted. 

Monty sniffed his fingers, then licked his hand and trotted away, and Samson released his breath. 

“Come on,” Roman said, and she padded silently into the house. 

Samson looked around with unabashed interest as he followed her. The Amell mansion looked… nothing like Roman, in fact. The walls were done in a delicate pink-and-gold wallpaper, and the furniture was clearly expensive but pretty standard for a noble’s house. Most of the floors were carpeted, and Samson awkwardly studied the trail of dirt that his filthy shoes had left behind. There were a few paintings on the walls, but they were boring pastoral scenes. There was a writing desk in the corner that was covered in a mess of letters that Samson suspected was Roman’s workspace, but aside from that, he wouldn’t have guessed that Roman lived here. 

“Not what I’d have expected from a dog lord,” he remarked.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “My mother’s family are Kirkwall nobles, not Fereldans.”

“Ah, right.” He studied the elaborate chandelier that hung over the main room, then looked her in the eye. “This place doesn’t look like you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What the fuck were you expecting? Half-melted candles and bowls of blood in every corner?”

He smirked at her sarcastic tone. “Yeah, that’s right. Maybe some ritual circles painted on the floor. But I guess that would make a mess of your nice carpet ‘ere.”

She snorted, and Samson raised his eyebrows in surprise. Had he actually managed to make her laugh? Unfortunately, he couldn’t check; she’d turned away and was disappearing into the kitchen.

He followed her. She was arranging some items on the kitchen island, a towel and a needle and thread, and Samson leaned casually against the island as she filled a porcelain bowl with hot water.

Monty sat beside him and leaned against his leg. Samson warily looked at the mabari for a second before gingerly patting his furry head. “I thought there’d be servants,” he said to Roman. “Big house like this? Must be a lot for your mum to manage on her own.”

Roman scoffed. “She doesn’t–” She broke off suddenly, and Samson raised his eyebrows. 

When she spoke again, her tone was gruff. “We do have a couple of servants. But they’re probably at the market. They sell enchanted items on the side.” 

Enchanted items? He raised his eyebrows. “You’re talking about the dwarves, right? Bodahn and the simple one? They work for you?”

Roman shot him a hard look. “Sandal’s not simple. He’s just… he doesn’t talk much.”

Samson held up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

She didn’t reply. She placed the bowl of hot soapy water on the counter, then gestured for him to come closer. “Give me the scarf.” 

He sidled up beside her and handed her the scarf, and she immediately tossed it in the fire in the kitchen hearth. 

Samson raised his eyebrows. “You burn those?”

She looked up from the bowl of soapy water, which she was dipping a washcloth into. “Huh?”

He jerked his chin at the fire. “The scarves. You burn them? I thought you just washed ‘em after mopping yourself up.” 

She shook her head and wrung out the washcloth. “Too risky. Leaving any blood lying around is like asking some fucked-up asshole to use it against you.” She roughly took his arm and started wiping it clean.

He flinched, and Roman paused. “Hold still,” she muttered, and she wiped the wound more gently. 

He watched her face for a moment before speaking. “You’re telling me that you, the blood mage, are worried about other people using blood magic against you?”

She shot him a venomous look. “Mages aren’t the only ones who use blood for shitty reasons. Don’t think I don’t know all about Templars and the way they use those fucking phylacteries.”

Samson raised an eyebrow. “It was mages who came up with the phylacteries.”

“You think they came up with that by choice?” Roman snapped. “There’s no fucking way they came up with that idea of their own free will. It’s the Templars and the Chantry who use the phylacteries. Those fucking things are just as much of a leash for the mages as lyrium is for the fucking Templars.” She went back to wiping his arm.

He sighed and leaned against the island. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off.

She paused in her ministrations. “What, no clever fucking comeback?”

He shot her a weary look. “I’m tired, Bird. I’m not in the mood for a comeback.”

She pursed her plump lips, then went back to cleaning his arm. When his arm was free of blood, she dropped the washcloth in the bowl of water and looked at him. “You agree with me, don’t you? You think phylacteries are fucked up, too.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think. It doesn’t change anything.” He studied the smarting wound on his arm. Maker’s balls, it was still bleeding slightly. It was a good thing Roman had insisted that he get it stitched up.

She didn’t reply. Samson finally looked up and met her gaze, and his heart did a funny little twist behind his ribs. The way she was eyeing him was… she looked less pissed than usual. Her pitch-dark eyes were as bottomless and deep as always, but she was looking at him in that way she did on occasion — looking at him like she was seeing someone whose opinions were worthy of respect. Like he was someone whose presence in the world could be worth some good.

She was looking at him like he was someone he wasn’t. 

His heart felt like it was migrating up toward his throat. He swallowed hard and gestured at his arm. “Well?” he said roughly. “You going to stitch me up then or what?”

When her usual scowl returned, it was almost a relief. “I’m going to freeze your arm a little,” she said. “Just the surface of the skin to numb it.” Without waiting for an answer, she placed her palm over his open wound. The skin instantly started to cool, and Samson waited tensely as his arm grew colder and colder. 

Finally, when the smarting pain of his wound had nearly turned into a smarting pain of cold instead, she lifted her hand. Without speaking, she silently threaded the needle she’d brought, then started sewing up the cut. 

He clenched his jaw as she worked. Despite his chilled arm, he could still feel a tiny pinch of pain every time the needle pierced his skin, but he didn’t want to point it out in case Roman got angry and told him to leave. 

Then he wondered why he even wanted to stay. She always made him so bloody tired with her constant scowl and the way she was always picking arguments with him. And she was such a hypocrite, trying to insist that his life was worth something when she was always cutting her own arms and throwing herself into nearly-fatal situations as though she didn’t care what happened to her.

He pursed his lips and looked away from her. When the stitching was done, she took a roll of linen strips and bandaged his arm, then stood back and folded her arms. “Done,” she said. 

He inspected his bandaged arm, then tucked his hands in his pockets and looked up at her once more. “Thanks, Bird.”

She nodded. She didn’t say anything more, and as the silence stretched on, Samson started to feel awkward. 

He took a step back. “Well, er. I’ll–”

“Have you eaten?” she said. 

He paused. “You mean today, or…?”

Her eyebrows jumped up. “When was the last time you ate?”

He hesitated and tried to remember. “Yesterday. Yeah, that’s right, I think I ate yesterday. I…” He trailed off. She’d walked over to the kitchen hearth and was stirring the contents of the cast-iron pot that was hanging over the fire. 

She grunted, then went to a cupboard and pulled out a dish, and Samson watched in bemusement as she returned to the pot and ladled some of its contents into the dish. She returned to the kitchen island and plonked the dish of stew in front of him, then rifled around in a drawer and thrust a spoon at him.

“Eat it,” she said. “If the meat’s tough, too bad. I think it’s supposed to cook for a few more hours.”

He stared at her for a second. There was a lump in his throat again. He must be getting sick.

 He gingerly took the spoon. “What’s with the hospitality?”

“What are you talking about?” she said sulkily.

He jerked his chin at the spool of thread and the bowl of bloody water. “This amateur healer business, the food… you’re being real hospitable today, Bird.”

She glowered at him. “Look, if you don’t want the stew, you can just get the fuck out of my house. No one’s stopping you.”

For some perverse reason, her hostility made him feel more at ease than her kindness. He dipped his spoon into the stew. “And turn down a free hot meal? Not a chance.” He blew on the stew and took a bite. The meat was rather stringy; it clearly needed to simmer for a few hours more, as she’d said. But it was still the best thing he’d eaten in weeks. 

He took another big bite of stew and burned his tongue, then forced himself to slow down. Roman leaned back against the island and folded her arms, and Samson eyed her from the corner of his eye while he ate. 

She glanced at him, and her eyebrows creased into a scowl. “What?” she demanded. “Why are you staring at me?”

He chewed slowly to stall for time. He couldn’t tell her he was admiring the way her stubborn jawline blended into the delicate line of her neck. 

He finally swallowed his mouthful of stew. “Can I take a bath while I’m here?” he said.

She curled her lip at him, just as he’d known she would. “What the fuck does this look like to you, a boarding house?”

He lifted his loaded spoon. “I’m askin’ for your benefit, Bird. You’re the one always complaining about how I smell.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he slowly chewed another bite of stew as he waited for her response. Finally she unfolded her arms and sighed loudly. “For fuck’s sake. Fine. You can use the bath in my room. Come upstairs when you’re done.” She pushed away from the counter and patted Monty’s head before leaving the kitchen, and Samson watched in mild surprise as she walked away. He honestly hadn’t been sure if she would agree or if she’d just tell him to get the fuck out. 

He quickly finished his stew, then scratched Monty’s ears and made his way toward the stairs. He headed up to the one open door on the second floor and peered cautiously into the bedroom.

He instantly recognized it as Roman’s room. The decor was a stark contrast with the rest of the house: it was lush and dark and eclectic, bursting with furniture and fabrics that looked like she’d picked them up piecemeal over the years instead of trying to foster a cohesive theme. The wallpaper was dark red with an intricate grey pattern of curlicues. The bed was dark mahogany hung with heavy rust-red velvet curtains. The curtain was drawn across the window, leaving the room dimly by with the warm glow of candles and an oil lantern despite it being the middle of the afternoon. An ornately framed full-length mirror was propped carelessly in one corner, and in another corner was a fancy version of the sort of folding screen that Samson had seen at the Blooming Rose for the prostitutes to change their clothes. Roman’s folding screen was draped with a multitude of scarves: scarves that he rarely saw her wear, aside from the crimson ones she tied around her wrist. 

He slid his hand into his pocket and self-consciously rubbed his thumb over the crimson scarf he kept in his pocket — the same one Roman had used to mop herself up after that one time they’d had sex in the alley. She’d shoved the dirty scarf into his hand, and Samson still wasn’t sure why he’d kept it. He’d even used some precious soap to wash it out, and now it was tucked deep in the pocket of his trousers where he always carried it. 

He stepped into her bedroom and followed the sound of running water to the en-suite washroom. Roman was sitting on a wooden stool while the bathtub filled up, and Samson could see the faint red glow of runes around the bottom of the tub.

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that an enchanted bathtub?”

She shrugged. “It came with the house.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “You really are the upper crust now, eh? Golden chandeliers, enchanted bathtub… must be nice.”

She frowned at him. “The bathwater doesn’t have to be hot, you know. I can chill the water if you’d rather freeze your balls off.” She held up one hand, and a little ball of ice appeared over her open palm.

Samson shot her a chiding look. “And you wonder why people are afraid of apostates.”

She scoffed and threw the ball of ice into the tub, where it promptly melted. “I know why people are afraid of apostates. Because they’re fucking sheep to the Chantry.” 

He huffed. “Should’ve seen that one coming, I s’pose.” He shucked his vest and started kicking off his shoes while pulling his shirt over his head. 

“Oh, for fuck’s — you’re not even going to wait until I leave the room?” Roman demanded.

He winced as his sleeve brushed over his freshly-bandaged arm, then glanced at her unconcernedly. “Why bother? I’m not modest.” He smirked. “Are you shy, Bird? You going to blush like a country milkmaid or something when my cock comes out?”

“No,” she said loudly. 

He shrugged. “All right then.” He unlaced his trousers and shamelessly pushed them down. In truth, he’d long grown used to taking baths in front of other people — first the communal baths in the Templar barracks, then in the one half-decent public bathhouse in Lowtown when he could spare the coin to bathe.

Roman scoffed and folded her arms. “If this is your way of trying to get me to fuck you again, it’s not working.”

He shot her a scathing look. “Relax. I’m not trying to trick my way into your twisted knickers.” Not that he would say no if she were ever to offer, but he knew better than to get his hopes up about anything anymore. 

He stepped into the tub and immediately sighed in relief. “Damn, that’s nice,” he groaned. 

“Don’t get that bandage wet,” Roman scolded. 

“I know, I know,” he said. He really hoped she wasn’t going to nag him the whole time he was bathing. 

He kept his left forearm above the water and submerged himself, and for a few long seconds, he enjoyed the way the hot water pricked his scalp and the skin of his face. He slowly broke the surface of the water and rubbed his face with his right hand, then opened his eyes. 

Roman was still sitting on her stool next to the basin with her arms folded. Samson lifted one eyebrow at her. “Are you going to watch me to make sure I don’t piss in your bathtub or something?” He reached for the soap and started washing his arms.

Her face twisted with disgust. “Why would you even suggest that? Is that something that you would usually do?”

“No, Bird,” he said flatly. “But I’ve seen some things at the bathhouse, let me tell you.”

Her pouty lips twisted even more. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Probably for the best,” he said. He washed his chest and his back as best he could with one arm, then started washing his hair. 

She tsked. “Don’t use the soap for that.”

He looked up at her. “Why not?”

“There’s shampoo,” she said slowly, like she was talking to an idiot. “Use the fucking shampoo.”

He sighed, then put the bar of soap down and picked up the glass bottle of shampoo. He poured a measure of it into his palm, and the scent of it pulled at something deep in his belly. 

It smelled sweet and smooth, almost like the filling in those amandine croissants that the Orlesians made: like warm vanilla and almonds.

It smelled like Roman’s hair.

Maker’s balls, his cock was starting to get hard. He was suddenly grateful that Roman couldn’t see his body over the high edges of the tub. He inhaled the shampoo fragrance once more, then started washing his hair. 

A few seconds later, Roman tutted again. “You’re not doing it right. You’re not washing the roots.”

He lowered his hand and shot her annoyed look. “I’m a bloody grown man. I know how to wash my own hair.”

“Apparently you don’t. You’re only washing the surface of your hair,” she said. “You need to wash your fucking scalp.”

“I’ve only got one hand,” he complained.

“So?” she said snidely.

He glared at her. “If you’re such a bloody expert, why don’t you come and do it for me, eh?” 

She glared back at him, then stood up. “Fine,” she spat. “Fine, I will.” To his immense surprise, she dragged her stool over to the tub behind his head and sat down bad-temperedly, then held out her hand. “Give me the fucking shampoo and dunk your head.”

He dumbly did as he was told. When he emerged from the water once more, Roman slid both of her hands into his wet hair.

He tensed slightly, expecting her to roughly scrub his hair. What he didn’t expect was gentleness. 

She pressed the tips of her fingers into his scalp and started to rub in a slow and careful massage. She stroked her fingers through his hair and started lathering it carefully, and Samson sat stock-still in the tub, paralyzed by how fucking gentle she was being. 

“Tilt your head back,” she said quietly.

He silently obeyed her. She smoothed the water and shampoo away from his forehead, and then her fingers were moving in a careful circular motion from his temples toward his nape. To his horror, he suddenly felt like crying. 

There was a pressure in his chest, like a weight that seemed to be throbbing up toward his throat. As Roman continued to gently massage his scalp and run her fingers through his hair, the ache in his chest only seemed to worsen.

Samson closed his stinging eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him this gently. Had he ever been touched this way before – in a way that insipid romance novel writers might almost call tender, if it was anyone else doing the touching other than the rough and cranky Roman Hawke? 

He swallowed hard. “I thought you’d be pulling my hair by now, Bird,” he said. His voice was husky to his own ears, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. 

She huffed. “Unlike you, I know how to wash hair. I told you, you were doing it wrong.”

He grunted in response. If the gentle work of her fingers was right, then he’d definitely been doing it wrong. 

“How d’you know how to wash other people’s hair?” he asked. “You used to help your mum with washing Carver and Bethany?” 

“No,” she said shortly.

He waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t speak, he glanced over his shoulder at her. 

She was scowling. When she met his eye, her scowl deepened. “Don’t look at me,” she said defensively. 

He turned around with a sigh. “I was just making conversation,” he grumbled. “I wasn’t trying to piss you off.” 

She said nothing in return, but she kept combing her fingers through his hair and running her nails gently over his scalp, and Samson eventually just relaxed into the soothing touch of her hands. His hair must be clean by now, and he should probably ask why she was still massaging his head. But it just felt… Maker, it felt too damned good, and he knew that the moment he asked what she was doing, she would pull her hands away. 

He closed his eyes once more. Her hands continued to stroke and smoothe their way across his scalp and down to the back of his neck, and it was hardly a stretch for him to imagine her hands stroking other parts of his body just as intimately. 

A flare of longing came to life low in his gut. A few heartbeats later, his cock was unfurling and straightening in the bathwater.

He shifted restlessly, annoyed at himself for getting horny and at her for making him feel this way. Then she pushed on the crown of his head. “Rinse,” she said. 

He sank into the bathwater and used his right hand to rub the shampoo out of his hair. When he rose to the surface once more, Roman was on her feet and moving toward the door. 

“You can have some of Carver’s old clothes,” she said. “He doesn’t need them anymore as a fucking Templar.” She left without looking at him or waiting for a response. 

He sighed, then sat there in the cooling bathwater for a moment and brooded over his traitorous cock and the traitorous heavy feeling in his chest. He eventually dragged himself out of the bath and pulled the drain, then started drying his hair with the towel she’d left on the edge of the basin.

His idle gaze fell on his clothes that he’d abandoned on the floor, and he paused. He considered putting on his own clothes rather than taking even more charity from Roman, but now that he was clean and his hair smelled like vanilla and almonds, he could really see what Roman was talking about when she complained about his smell.

He sighed, then wandered back into her bedroom as he rubbed his hair. A second later, she opened the bedroom door and came back in with an armful of clothes. 

“This stuff might be too big, but maybe–” She stopped short, and her eyes fell straight to his groin. She stared at his upright cock for a second before raising her eyes back to his face, and he hunched his shoulders. 

“Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of monster,” he said defensively. “It’s your fault, anyway.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “How is your hard-on my fault?”

He couldn’t tell her it was the way she’d been stroking his hair. He felt perverted enough already just from the way she was eyeing him. “Just… I’m a man, all right?” he muttered. “Can’t always control my own knob.” He tied the towel around his waist. 

She dropped the pile of clothes on the bed. “Pick what you want from there,” she said. 

He glanced at Carver’s hand-me-downs. “Thanks,” he muttered. He reached for the closest piece of clothing, intent on putting clothes on as quickly as possible. But before he could pick anything from the pile of clothes, Roman stepped closer to him.

He shied away from her. “What are you doing?” he said suspiciously. 

“I thought you weren’t modest,” she said.

He double-taked at her. “Eh?”

She reached for the towel around his waist, and he was so stunned that he didn’t stop her when she pulled it off.

She shoved his hip. “Sit down.”

He sat dumbly on the edge of the bed. When Roman dropped to her knees in front of him, his whole brain seemed to freeze with disbelief. This wasn’t real, was it? Maybe he’d drowned himself in the bathtub and this was some kind of out-of-body thing. 

His throbbing cock felt real enough, though. And when Roman suddenly grabbed his shaft, he gasped with pleasure. 

Well, that was certainly real. 

She pumped her fist along his length, and he clenched his fingers in the blankets. “Bird–”

She suddenly took his cock in her mouth, and it felt so fucking good that his vision actually went black for a second. His mouth fell open in a silent moan – silent because he’d forgotten how to breathe. Roman was suckling him, those plush red lips of hers moving up and down his cock, and he couldn’t – his body couldn’t – it was like his body could only handle so many tasks, lungs moving and heart beating and his arms keeping him upright, and when the velvet heat of Roman’s mouth on his cock was added to the mix, something had to give, and apparently it was his ability to breathe. 

Samson stared stupidly at her as her lips moved up and down the length of his shaft. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a blowjob – certainly not for several years. And now here he was, an ex-Templar beggar addicted to lyrium with no home and barely a coin to his name, sitting on a bed in Hightown while a pretty woman at least ten years younger than him was sucking his cock.

He must be dreaming. Maybe he’d fallen asleep in the bathtub. It was the only possible explanation. 

Roman fondled his balls and angled her head over his lap to take his cock deeper in her throat, and Samson finally dragged in a lungful of air. He released it in a pleasured groan and gave in to the silken smoothness of her throat, savouring the way she squeezed him when she swallowed with the head of his cock all the way at the back of her tongue. A couple of minutes later, when his growing climax was trembling in his limbs to the point that he couldn’t take it anymore, he reached down and slid his fingers into her hair.

She growled around a mouthful of his cock, and he exploded in her mouth with a helpless cry. She swallowed his come without pausing the smooth up-and-down of her lips along his shaft, and when his trembling had stilled and he could finally open his eyes again, he curled his fingers in her hair and pulled. 

She released his cock with a gasp and pushed his hand away from her hair, then stood up and folded her arms, and Samson studied her belligerent posture with a reckless sort of laziness. It almost felt as though she had swallowed not only his release, but also some of the jaded disbelief that had been stopping him from asking her again to fuck him.

No, not asking. He’d only had her once, but already he had a visceral sense of what she really wanted, it wasn’t to be asked.

He boldly met her gaze. “Take your clothes off, Bird.”

A tiny sardonic smile touched the corners of her lips. She scoffed at him and turned away.

He stood up and grabbed her arm. “Take them off now,” he said.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped.

She was glaring at him, but importantly, she hadn’t pulled her arm out of his grip. He pulled her closer until they were almost nose to nose. 

“Roman,” he growled, “take your bloody clothes off right now.”

She bared her teeth and leaned in closer. “Make me,” she hissed.

Gotcha, he thought vindictively. Without warning, he kissed her hard. 

She gasped and parted her lips, and Samson blissfully delved his tongue into her mouth. Half a second later, Roman bit his tongue. 

He gasped in pain and recoiled from her. He couldn’t taste blood in his mouth, but fuck, that had hurt. 

He glared at her. She was smirking again and watching him in an obnoxiously arrogant way, and Samson finally snapped. 

He grabbed her arm again and pulled her close, then started roughly pulling her shirt out of her trousers. “Take this shirt off or I’ll rip it. I swear I will,” he threatened. 

She scoffed and tried to shove his hands away. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

He fisted his hands in the deep v-neck collar of her shirt and started to pull, and she grabbed his wrists. “Fine!” she blurted. “Fine, for fuck’s sake, don’t rip my shirt.” She pulled the shirt off and tossed it on the floor, leaving her torso bare except for a surprisingly lacy little bra covering her nearly-flat chest.

She gave him a withering look. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

He chuckled, then pulled aside the cup of her bra and ducked his head low to nip her tidy little breast. She gasped and grabbed his shoulder, and Samson dragged his tongue over her nipple before taking it in his mouth. He sucked hard on her nipple and savoured the sharp sound of her moan and the sharp bite of her nails in his shoulder until she shoved him away. 

She glared at him, and he watched in satisfaction as her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths. “You’re going to leave toothmarks on my tit, you dick,” she accused.

“I sure hope so,” he said snarkily. He grabbed her by the waist and shoved her down on the bed. “Trousers off, or I’ll rip those off too.”

She scoffed and propped herself up on her elbows. “These are leather. You couldn’t rip them off if you were a fucking qunari.”

He crawled onto the bed so he was straddling her hips, effectively trapping her beneath his body. Then he reached down and curled his fingers carefully around her throat. 

She gasped, and he smiled slowly at her. “Take the trousers off, Bird. I know you want to.”

She arched her spine. “I do not,” she panted. 

He gently squeezed her throat until her eyelids fluttered. “Yes you do,” he taunted. “You want to take them off, because you know what’ll happen when you do.”

She glared at him, but her restlessly twisting hips betrayed her. “What?” she said belligerently. “What’ll happen?”

He tipped her chin back. “I’ll bury my face in your pussy and lick you until you’re begging me to fuck you,” he growled.

She let out a harsh little laugh. “I’m not going to beg you for anything. I don’t beg.”

He huffed, then pressed gently on her throat to force her down onto her back. By the time she was flat on her back, she was practically gasping for breath, and her bottomless black eyes were feverish and unfocused. 

He leaned in close to her. “Take the trousers off now,” he snarled.

“Fuck you,” she whimpered, but she finally reached down and started unlacing her trousers. 

He shifted his position over her body so she could untie her laces. Once the laces were undone, he released her throat and shifted to a kneeling position between her legs.

He curled his fingers into her unlaced trousers and dragged them down. He ran his palms up along the smoothness of her thighs, then shoved her legs apart and bit the inside of her thigh.

“Ow!” she yelped. She reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “You fucking asshole–” 

He ran his tongue smoothly along the length of her sex, and she broke off with a moan and twisted her hips eagerly toward his face. 

Samson lifted his mouth and smirked at her. “I knew you wanted this, you bloody wildcat.”

She bucked her hips toward his face. “Shut the fuck up and lick me,” she gasped. 

He chuckled and lowered his face between her legs once more. He kissed her sloppily, taking all her musky wetness onto his lips until he could taste her at the back of his tongue, then swirled his tongue around her clit.

She fisted her hands in the blankets and thrust her hips toward his mouth, breathing hard all the while, and Samson eventually looked up again. “Look at you, trying to fuck my face,” he taunted. “I knew you wanted this, even when you was acting like you didn’t.” 

She gasped and arched her spine, then glared down at him. “Stop fucking talking!”

He scoffed, then teasingly smoothed his fingers over her swollen folds. “So bloody rude all the time. I’m going to make you change your tune.”

She bucked her hips and let out a snarling little laugh. “Never.”

He grinned at her, then gripped her hips to hold her still. He lowered his head once more, but instead of licking her, he nipped the skin of her inner thigh with his teeth.

She yelped and tried to buck her hips, but Samson firmly held her down and sucked the skin of her inner thigh between his teeth. 

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Fuck fuck — Maker’s fucking balls, ah!” She reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, but she didn’t pull him away, so Samson kept sucking at the tender patch of skin. A few seconds later, he released her and inspected her inner thigh.

Her skin was marred with a small purpling bruise in the shape of his teeth. He smirked, then looked up at her. “I left toothmarks,” he said. “Now what are you going to do?”

She sneered at him, and he noted the wildness of her eyes with a surge of heated satisfaction. She pulled his hair and tried to buck her hips again. “Lick me, you asshole,” she commanded. 

He brushed his lips teasingly over her clit, but instead of licking her as she’d asked, he turned his head and bit the skin of her other thigh. She let out a sharp little gasp, and when he started sucking and nipping her skin, she moaned. 

“F-fuck…” Roman scratched his scalp and parted her legs even wider, and his cock started to stir once more at her obvious eagerness. He sucked on her skin, and when he eventually lifted his mouth, the sight before him was enough to straighten his cock completely. 

Roman was slick and soaking wet for him, and on her inner thighs were two matching hickeys in the shape of his mouth, like two perfects brands framing her sex.

He snickered, and Roman strained toward him with a moan. “Come on, Samson, don’t be such a fucking tease,” she whined. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “That almost sounded like begging.”

“It wasn’t,” she snapped. “I’m telling you what to do, you asshole. Put your mouth on me!”

He tsked. “All right, all right. Calm down, Bird.” He dragged his tongue roughly along the length of her folds to make her flinch, then gently traced his tongue around her clit. 

She shivered and widened her legs even more and arched her spine, and Samson focused on the dual pleasures of his throbbing cock and her swollen little clit against his mouth. He brushed the little bud with his lips and teased it with his tongue, and when Roman suddenly shuddered and cried out, he slid one finger inside of her.

She jolted and clenched her fingers in his hair. “Samson, fuck me!”

He lifted his mouth and pulled her hand away from his hair, then curled his finger inside of her. “Not until you beg me nicely, Bird,” he taunted.

She moaned and bucked her hips, then reached down and dragged her nails along his unwounded right arm, and he gasped as the pain rippled across his skin. Incensed by her scratch, he pulled his finger free from her body and stood up. 

He crawled onto the bed to join her, and she gasped excitedly as she shuffled back on the bed to accommodate him. “Come on, come on,” she panted, and she reached for his cock.

He knocked her hand away, then grabbed her hips and pulled her close before roughly looping her legs over his arms. A second later, he was looming over her, her body trapped and helpless beneath him with her knees hooked over his elbows. 

He rubbed his cock between her legs, and she jolted and dug her nails into his chest. “Samson, fuck me!” she cried.

“No,” he snapped. He slid his cock through the slickness of her folds and forced himself not to moan at how good she felt, then gave her a stern look. 

“Say ‘please’,” he said. 

She laughed in his face. “Never,” she snarled.

He sneered at her, then slid his cock more slowly through her wetness  — bloody Maker’s balls, she was so fucking wet that she made him want to beg. He pumped his hips slowly through her silky wetness, then pressed the very tip of his cock inside of her.

He groaned at the blissful heat of her pussy embraced the tip of cock. Roman gasped and tried to buck her hips, but she could barely move with her legs hooked over his arms. “Yes,” she yelped. “Yes yes, come on, come on...”

He clenched his jaw and forced himself not to move. “Not until you beg,” he gritted.

She mewled and wiggled her hips and clawed his chest, and he gasped as the pain pulsed through his cock as a flare of pleasure. “Come on, Bird, sing me a pretty song,” he coaxed. 

“No!” she yelled. 

With a huge effort of will, he pulled his cock out of her, and she sobbed. “Fine, fine, please!” she wailed. “Fuck me, please!”

Finally, he thought, and he slammed into her. 

A visceral cry burst from her lips, and Samson shuddered at the sound of her pleasure and the silken heat of her pussy. He pumped into her and gasped – Maker’s balls, she was so tight, tighter and wetter than he remembered, and he had been thinking about this a lot but it was still even better than he remembered… 

He pumped into her again and again, and then he was fucking her in a desperate blur, so aroused and so pleasured by her inimitable heat that he couldn’t control his pace. Her breathing was a sharp staccato gasp in his ear and her nails were digging into his biceps now instead of his chest, and fuck, fuck, it felt so fucking good.  

She scratched his arms. “You got me to beg, you asshole,” she gasped. “Are you happy now?”

Her voice was snarky but breathless with pleasure, and Samson couldn’t help but smile. “I am, yeah,” he said smugly. He lowered himself to his elbows, curling her pelvis even more, then thrust into her again.

She cried out sharply and dug her nails into his arms, and Samson fucked her for a second longer before kissing her. He pumped into her and blissfully licked her tongue and savoured the plumpness of her lips–

She bit his lower lip. He gasped and tried to pull away, but her teeth kept his lower lip for a second before releasing him. 

He glared down at her, and she raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Now what?” she taunted.

He sneered at her, then slammed into her hard, and she let out a wild cry. Samson fucked her in a fast and punishing blur, and the harder he fucked her, the more her face twisted with pleasure and the faster his own pleasure was building and roiling in the depths of his gut–

His climax suddenly burst, and his breath left him in a guttural groan. “Bloody fucking balls,” he blurted. 

Roman sobbed and scratched his arm. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” 

He shuddered with bliss and kept fucking her, pounding into her as his climax pulsed through his limbs and his cock, and a few thrusts later, she cried out as well and slammed her head back into the pillows. Samson kept fucking her for as long as he could, and when he was finally too spent to continue, he slumped over her and studied her face as he tried to catch his breath.

Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were flushed. Strands of her raven-black hair were stuck to the sweat on her neck, and despite the heavy rise and fall of her ribs, she looked more at peace than he’d ever seen her. 

His heart did that stupid squeezing-twisting thing again. He gazed silently at her, dazed with pleasure and fatigue and the surreality of seeing Roman Hawke looking so relaxed. 

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Samson tensed, ready for her to snap at him and push him away. 

Instead of pushing him away, she stared at him in silence, and his pulse started to rise. Her gaze was steady and serious, and her face was calm but neutral, and he had no idea what she was thinking. 

He met her eyes unflinchingly despite his pounding heart. Then she pursed her lips and pushed his shoulder. “Get off,” she said.

A pang of disappointment tugged at his belly, but he rolled off of her. She slid off of the bed and start unclipping her bra, and Samson watched dully as the evidence of his climax trickled down the inside of her thigh. 

She dropped her bra on the floor. “I’m taking a bath,” she said, and she padded away. 

He watched her in bemusement as she went into the en-suite washroom. He listened to the sound of the bath being filled and tried to decide what he was supposed to do now. Should he leave? She hadn’t told him to stay, and he wasn’t in the mood to have her snapping at him to get the fuck out. 

If he wasn’t in the mood to be snapped at, he really should just leave; she was always picking at him, and it was so fucking wearying. 

He slowly rose from the bed and put on some of Carver’s old clothes. Then he went into the washroom. 

Roman was in the bath, and she looked up at him with a frown as he came in. “What do you want?” she said. 

“Relax, Bird. I’m just getting my shoes,” he grumbled. He put on his shoes, then stood back and gestured at the rest of his clothes. “I guess you can throw those out.”

“I’ll wash them and get them back to you,” she said. “They’re not a total lost cause.” 

She wasn’t looking at him. She picked up the soap and started lathering a washcloth, and Samson watched her awkwardly for a second. 

Then he remembered the crimson scarf in the pocket of his dirty trousers – the trousers that Roman said she would wash. 

His heart stopped. Maker’s balls, he thought. Could he get the scarf out of the pocket of his trousers without her seeing it and accusing him of being a pervert?

He gritted his teeth. There was nothing for it; either he got the scarf back now and risked her seeing it, or she’d find it later while washing his trousers. 

He bent over and started picking up his dirty clothes, and Roman glanced at him. “Leave them,” she said. “I said I’ll deal with them.”

“I’ll fold them,” he said, and he rifled surreptitiously in the pocket of his trousers.

“Why bother?” she asked. “They’re just going to go in the laundry anyway.”

He gave her a scathing look. “Stop nagging me for one second, will you? Just let me fold the bloody clothes.”

Her face creased into a scowl, and she looked away from him. “Fine. Fold your dirty fucking clothes. See if I care.” She started washing herself aggressively. 

He’d pissed her off. A pang of regret plucked at his chest, but it was too late to fix it now. 

His fingers finally found the scarf in his pocket. He relaxed, then swiftly tucked her crimson scarf into the pocket of his new trousers before folding his dirty clothes and setting them on the wooden stool. He stepped back and tucked his hands in his pockets, feeling increasingly at a loss. He knew he should leave, but if he was perfectly honest, he didn’t want to. 

But Roman hadn’t invited him to stay, and he’d already taken so much charity from her today, and the last thing he wanted was for Roman Hawke to pity him…

He awkwardly scratched his stubbled neck. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Whatever,” she said without looking up. She pulled her wet hair over one shoulder and started washing her back. 

He watched her for a second longer. Then, before he could change his mind, he stepped over to the bathtub.

He placed his hand on her bare shoulder and turned her toward him, and she glared at him. “Hey, what–”

He bent over the bathtub and kissed her firmly on the lips, then pulled away before she could bite him. “Thanks for the fuck,” he said bluntly. “I’d do it again.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she scowled. “Fuck you,” she muttered. 

“Anytime, Bird,” he said seriously. “I mean it.”

She harrumphed and splashed some water at him. “Go away.”

The water hit him in the eye, and he flinched. He straightened and wiped his face, then scowled at her. “Thanks for that,” he said flatly.

She shrugged and went back to washing her back. Samson studied the bony line of her spine for a second longer, then left the bathroom without another word.

She’s such a bloody bitch, he thought resentfully as he made his way down the stairs. Splashing him in the face and clawing his arms while he was fucking her and looking at him like he was some kind of animal before sucking his cock… She was a pain in the ass, and he didn’t know why he bothered with her. 

Monty was curled by the fire in the main room. As Samson made his way toward the door, the mabari stood up and followed him. 

Samson paused by the door and looked down at the mabari. “Guard the door, eh?” he murmured. “I can’t lock it after I leave.” 

Monty sat down attentively and let out a little woof. Samson reached for the doorknob, but just before he opened the door to let himself out, a memory crossed his mind: Roman’s peaceful face right after he finished fucking her.

Bloody Bird, he thought wistfully. He looked at Monty once more. “See you soon, maybe,” he said. Then he opened the door to the Amell mansion and left. 

[immclate]

✧･ﾟ: * ( cis woman / she/her / kristen stewart ) — welcome to ireyne, [ ZEPHRINE BYRDE ] of [ WALECH ]. when the doom came, you were [ DOOMED ]. at [ TWENTY-NINE ] years of age, your body has changed, and they now call you [ ESCURA ]. the act of [ PERSONAL GUARD 4 HIRE ] suits you; after all, the whispers always said you were [ LION-HEARTED ] but also [ VINDICTIVE ]. you are [ AGAINST ] the doom. 

( TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, VIOLENCE, BLOOD ) 

STAND UP STRAIGHT. don’t let them see you falter -- do not show even a shred of weakness , no traces of fear. don’t smile, either. no one needs to know that you care. 

zephrine was born into a very strict household, both of her parents high ranking military officers. being the youngest of three, there was a lot of pressure to follow in her siblings footsteps, who had of course followed in their parents’. it was expected that she would join as soon as she was of age, but zeph was never like the rest of her family. she didn’t share the same sense of duty that seemed to be instilled in her siblings. she dreamed of leaving walech & becoming her own person, separate from the guilt bestowed on her by parents every day that passed that she did not join them. 

AS IF YOU HAVE A CHOICE. 

despite having no interest in joining the military, she was still trained to be a warrior from a young age. like her older siblings, her parent’s let her choose a weapon to master. being a little more timid than the rest, she immediately chose a bow and arrow. they warned her that it would take practice and determination to master such a precise weapon, but their doubt only solidified her choice. anything that made her just that much more different than them. by the time she was twelve years old, she could hit her mark without fail, every time. her training gained momentum as she got older, her parents challenging her more and more every day. they began setting her up with moving targets, starting with animals. large and slow to start -- it didn’t take long before she had advanced to small, flying creatures like birds and bats. 

after years of excelling at this type of training, she was getting too comfortable. it was all... too safe. she needed to be tested in order to prove that she would one day triumph above her peers. her parents were determined to change her mind, whether they had to force her into their ranks or not. they wouldn’t stand to let their reputation be broken, not now, not ever. 

this will show her.  

HIT YOUR MARK OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES. 

zephrine was eighteen when her parents decided that she needed something that would really challenge her. she’d been too used to killing animals, creatures who posed no threat. they used their standing in the military to get ahold of some thieves and traitors who had been captured by their platoon, rotting away in a jail cell just begging to be used for just this. they didn’t tell her what her targets would be, just that it would be life or death. her life or theirs. shoot them or die. 

she wasn’t in any position to question their instructions ; she trusted her parents. she couldn’t have imagined they would really put her in harm’s way, not without some kind of back up plan. they were there to protect her, as always, if anything went wrong.... right? 

the training grounds had been enclosed by a tall fence, and inside were plenty of large obstacles to hide behind, as well as perches for her to be able shoot from above. they sent her in first, her head spinning with possible scenarios and outcomes, readying herself for the exercise ahead. the young girl had no idea what was coming. what she thought would just be a few predatory animals, like wolves, perhaps even a bear -- turned out to be living, breathing human... targets?

confusion clouded her thoughts with doubt as she lowered her weapon and watched as they scattered around the arena. they each held a different weapon in their clutches ; one with a spear, one with an axe, and one with a---she ducked as an arrow came flying her way all of the sudden, barely missing her head. she felt as if her heart was about to beat right out of her chest as fear coursed through her veins for the first time in a LONG time. 

“ FOCUS, ZEPHRINE. THIS IS HOW IT IS OUT IN THE WORLD YOU’RE SO EAGER TO SEE. KILL OR BE KILLED! ” 

her father’s voice bellowed from the shadows, hidden in the distance, somewhere she couldn’t see. his presence gave her no sense of peace, especially after what he’d just said. his words echoed in her head over and over: kill or be killed. she took a deep, stabling breath as she pushed all of her fear down, something she’d been taught to do her whole life. she’d never been put into a situation so seemingly dire, but she had to compartmentalize. they’re just targets. you’ve never missed your mark before, you’re not going to start now.

her eyes quickly surveyed the area below her as she ran across the platform she was on, her eyes catching a glint of light reflecting off of someone’s blade. without a second thought, and in one fluid motion, she pulls an arrow from her quiver and lines up the shot, releasing it a split second later. she doesn’t look to see if she hit her mark -- she already knew that she did. she rolled behind a large cart that had been placed in the arena for cover, a place to catch her breath and take in her surroundings. one down -- two to go. 

what she didn’t know -- what she couldn’t have known -- was that every time she hit her target, a new one was released into the arena. it didn’t take her long to figure out, of course, as one enemy turned back into two, and two to three, over and over again. just when she thought she’d gotten them all, more came out of nowhere. after twelve of them, she was exhausted ; partly from the energy it took to draw her bow, partly from the constant fear that someone was going to be quicker than her, that her life would be over before it began. she no longer believed that her parents cared whether she made it out alive. 

kill or be killed. kill or be killed. kill or be killed. 

she drove an arrow through what she hoped to be the last target, she’d lost count at that point, collapsing to her knees as their body dropped with a loud thud. she hadn’t come out unscathed, her body littered with slashes from swords and deep penetrating wounds from stray arrows. her bloodied body had had enough, but despite her exhaustion, she kept her guard up. there was no telling if she was finished. her parents were known to be ruthless commanders. she knew that, but she never imagined that they’d use their tactics against her.

DON’T SHOOT ! 

just when she thought it was finally over, she heard footsteps approaching rapidly. aha -- they were trying to catch her off guard !  they were moving quickly, but she was quicker. she pulled her last arrow from her quiver, knowing she would have to be precise if she wanted to live. she turned to make the shot, all without realizing that the person coming at her was indeed not a target. she heard loud voices around her--don’t shoot! don’t shoot!--, but it was too late. the arrow was plunged straight into her older sister’s chest. NEVER MISS YOUR MARK.

the look of horror on her face was soon mirrored by zephrine as soon as she realized what she’d done. she caught her before she hit the ground, tears already streaming down her face. all she could do was apologize profusely, over and over, as they were the only words that would come out. what happened after that was a blur -- she knew that her parents had pulled her off of her sister’s body, despite trying to cling to her for dear life. she remembered crying until there were no tears left, falling asleep from exhaustion only to wake up and start all over.

WHAT DID I DO? WHAT DID I DO? 

zephrine spent an entire year after that refusing to pick up her bow, feeling completely and utterly defeated. how could she have done such a thing? the overwhelming guilt broke something inside of her, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t mend the pieces. her parents took full responsibility, knowing that they had pushed her too far & they shouldn’t have let their other daughter enter the arena. ‘it was irresponsible of us to let this happen.’ she didn’t care -- it was her hands, her arrow, that lead her sister to her dying breath. 

---- 

( ok switching it up to bullet points now thank u for making it this far my dudes ) 

she left home about a year and half after the incident, not being able to be around her family anymore.

she vowed to never use her bow unless she was protecting herself or someone that she cared about / who needed her help. 

throwing herself into the world after little to no experience was a little scary, and often difficult as she struggled to stay fed and rested. she hunted her own food when she could, also trading furs and meat for ale and a warm place to sleep along the way. she adapted to life on her own fairly quickly, preferring the freedom and the lack of pressure. 

she lived like this, as a vagabond of sorts, for a few years. her heart softened as she met people who were actually good, instead of ones who claimed to be something they were not (her parents)

she loved visiting and trading with merchants at the marketplace, telling them of her journeys and in turn listening to their troubles and experiences. 

after saving someone from some rogue bandits on the road one day, they offered to pay her to escort them on the rest of their journey. she happily obliged, earning a decent amount of coin. their destination was arella, where her companion spread the word of how her bravery made it possible for her to complete her journey. this is how she became a guard for hire, loving the opportunity to keep people safe. 

it was easy for a while, escorting simple traders from one town to the next, fending off simple bandits. a lot of the time, not even having to take out her bow. of course, as her reputation grew, her jobs scaled higher. looking out for nobles who were in real danger, ones with prices on their heads simply for being related to someone in power. she took the jobs in stride, even when it became dangerous for her, too. 

she’s only failed a select few of her clients, mostly when they undersell the amount of danger they’re really in. she always tells people up front that if she doesn’t have all of the information, she can’t properly protect them. she has to know what she is to protect them from, or else she cannot be prepared. despite it usually being the fault of the client, she takes the losses personally. 

CURRENTLY ... 

she still works as a guard for hire, quite proficient at it now, although she does struggle because of the what the doom did to her. 

being an escura, it takes everything in her not to let the dark thoughts that intrude inside her mind get the better of her. if she can help it, she does not use her magic. sometimes it comes without warning, especially when she gets angry or upset. she uses it to her advantage against STRONG enemies, like that of magical nature. 

she’s VERY against the doom, for obvious reasons. she’s tired of fighting within herself, especially because she’s had this battle with darkness too many times before. it would’ve been easy for her to give into it when she was younger, but she has hardened herself in order to remain strong against it. 

she tries to use her magic for good, despite it going against her newfound instincts & the nature of the magic she uses. 

rumors of necromancy has had her thoughts racing about her sister, contemplating whether she even wants to go down that road. she would love to see her again, to tell her she’s sorry, to have more time with her. she is curious about it, but without someone encouraging to try it, she likely won’t do it herself (hint, hint) 

pretty serious most of the time, almost always has her guard up. the only time she’s ever relaxed is when she’s around people that she trusts & knows that she’s not in any immediate danger. keeps her bow close at all times just in case tho. 

will defend ANYONE that she sees is in trouble / danger, esp if they are defenseless. she will NOT put up with any kind of shit. 

drinks ale when there’s something to celebrate, but usually doesn’t ever get drunk. hates the feeling of not being in control. 

pretty easy to get along with, so long as you’re not a complete piece of garbage (i.e. icarius alkdjgAG) 

due to her parents behavior when she was younger, she has a bit of a problem with authority. thinks soldiers in the military are basically just brainwashed goons with superiority complexes 

DOES NOT TRUST EASILY 

but when she does trust you, she is SO loyal and will always have ur back 

kind of want her to have a pet wolf ??? is that weird. a hunting buddy. extra protection. warm cuddles in winter. a cute archery themed name like quiver ???? 

OKAY BEFORE THIS GETS ANY LONGER IM GONNA END IT. i’m sorry this got so ungodly long & if u made it all the way thru .. bless u . i love u. COME PLOT W ME < 3 

(but wait there’s more) SHORT LIST of possible connections 

CLIENTS !! people who have hired her to guard them at one time or another, whether it be recent or in the past

someone who is/was in the military and know her folks and maybe think she’s wack 4 leaving bc they don’t know the whole story ! 

a RIDE OR DIE who she met when she left home & knows everything about her & what happened . :) 

her OLDER BROTHER ... who i’ll probs put a wanted connection up for but if any of y’all want it . come @ me 

HER PARENTS ... lmao same thing as above ^^^ 

an experienced escura friend who helps her with her powers n sheeeit 

A BAD INFLUENCE DOOMED PERSON who leads her astray ~ gets her more into dark magic maybe ~

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love pt 17

We’re moving on to the second half! More intrigue, and a new antagonist! 

Master Post linked here. 

So this story picks up after the first scene of the entire story. The first half led up to the engagement being broken, and the second half starts immediately after. 

Since it’s been a while, will link the first part here for anyone who wants to re-read that part before moving on to the second half! 

I hope you guys enjoy!

____________________________

 “That went well.” I muttered, walking back into the ballroom. I patted my pocket, now filled with the crowns I had extorted off of the Prince, reassuring myself that at least this time I had not come out empty-handed.

Now, off to find some food.

Ronan had grabbed me the moment the party had started, pulling me outside towards the gazebo so that he could break the engagement as dramatically as possible. I hadn’t even had a chance to look at the tables holding the food…

I stopped in my tracks, deeply disappointed.

Most of the food was already gone.

“That’s two lifetimes!” I growled under my breath. “Now that’s just going too far!”

Before I could mourn too long, however, Hallers stepped up behind me, holding a plate. My eyes widened with surprise. 

“How…?”

He gave the smallest hint of a smile. “I saw that His Royal Highness had pulled you aside, and that you had not had a chance to eat today. I took the liberty of preparing a plate of the dishes I thought you would most enjoy.”

I grabbed the plate, smiling brightly. “Hallers, you are an angel! Definitely the best butler in the entire kingdom!”

He stepped back towards the wall with a quick wink, “Naturally, Miss.”

As I happily enjoyed the party food, I heard a voice behind me.

“Did the prince talk to you?” Edith was wearing an unnatural smile, her eyes searching me closely, as if expecting to find me in tears. 

Ignoring the question, I looked her up and down, nodding in approval. “I like the dress!” 

She was wearing one of my newest designs from “Prosperity.” Ever since I had “recommended” her, allowing her to shop there, she had been purchasing gowns on a frequent basis. I had no issues with this, despite her stealing my fiancé in both lives, having decided that I was going to be the bigger person.

And if I happened to have the store charge her twice the usual price?… well, no one was perfect. 

In fact, given the fact that her purchasing hadn’t slowed down despite the increased pricing made me wonder if the prince wasn’t funding her shopping as well. Which should have offended me, but I did enjoy the idea of both of them unknowingly supporting my business.

Edith preened at the compliment. “Don’t I look amazing in it? Prosperity is expensive but definitely worth the price!” She looked over at me with a pitying look. “I see you aren’t wearing any of their new line. It’s okay, I know that your family has… financial difficulties.”

“Don’t worry about us, we’re doing just fine.” And we were. Given the revenue from my multiple stores, we were one of the wealthiest families in the kingdom. It was true that I wasn’t wearing any of the dresses released at the store, as I didn’t want them associated with me being dropped by my fiancé, but I was happy with the dress I had designed, a deep blue gown with silver embroidery.  

“Of course you are.” She looked around, obviously frustrated by my casual attitude. “I think the Prince was looking for you.”

I smiled. Edith must have assumed he hadn’t broken the engagement yet, as I didn’t look upset enough. “I’ll keep that in mind, but first, I need to go greet the queen.”

 “WHAT?” Her voice was a little too loud. She flinched the whispers around us, and looked around, seeing the queen enter without introduction. “What is she doing here?” She sounded upset.

“It’s her son’s birthday, where else would she be?” Not giving her a chance to answer, I walked away, heading towards the queen.

____________________________

“How are you feeling?” I felt a flash of relief, looking her over. She didn’t seem ill at all.

“I feel fine! Really, everyone was fussing over nothing!” The Queen reached out and gave me a hug.

Perhaps too much has changed in this lifetime, and she simply didn’t get sick this time. Shrugging it off mentally, I stepped out of the hug, giving her a serious expression.

She saw my face and her smile fell. “Oh no. Did he break the engagement?”

At my nod she swore under her breath, shocking me. “What a fool!”

Queen Amerande turned, looking over at her son, who was walking towards the center of the room with a determined expression. “And of course he’s planning to make a scene.” Reaching out and grabbing my hand, she quickly leaned towards me and whispered in my ear. 

“Please, play along with what I do next!”

“What do you mean?” Before she could explain, however... 

“Everyone, I have an announcement to make!” 

Prince Ronan spoke loudly, waving his hands until the crowd quieted down. “As many of you know, Lenora and I have been engaged since childhood.” His eyes moved over to me, his mouth forming a vindictive smile. “But today, now that I am legally an adult, I am breaking that arrangement. I will not marry Lenora, and she will not be Queen.”

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, the room filled with shocked murmuring. More than one sympathetic glance was directed towards me. Just as it seemed that the noise would continue indefinitely, however, Ronan held up his hand again, and the room fell silent once more. 

“I have one more announcement to make….” A more genuine smile crossed his face, and I noticed Edith starting to make her way through the crowd of people, looking excited.

I held back a sigh. This was the twisting of the knife that had hurt so much back in my first life. Not only had I lost my love, my future, my reputation… but within minutes of the first blow, Ronan had replaced me with my best friend. 

It’s much nicer this time around, not caring.

“Before you do, Ronan, May I say a word?” The Queen spoke up, her loud voice startling me from my reverie. It was phrased as a question but her tone made it clear that she was going to speak, whether he liked it or not.

Confused, Ronan nodded, motioning to Edith to stay where she was for the moment. Edith’s smile faded, turned in our direction, her hands clenched visibly at her sides. I wondered briefly if I should feel sorry for disrupting her big moment, but was quickly distracted as the Queen turned to me, holding my hands between her own.

“Lenora, dearest. I have loved you as my own daughter since you were young, and always hoped that you and Ronan would marry and make us officially mother and daughter.” 

She reached out tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Unfortunately, I know that you and Ronan simply didn’t love one another, and it wasn’t meant to be. This is through no fault of your own, I don’t want you to blame yourself for the strange workings of fate.” 

I felt like laughing, but held it in, nodding seriously instead. She was very adroitly deflecting any shame of the broken engagement from me. By pretending to keep me from “blaming myself,” she was subtly warning everyone else that they couldn’t blame me either.

She wasn’t finished. “I will always think of you as my daughter, and so I want to bestow this necklace, a family heirloom to you. “ She pulled out the necklace, the small sapphire amulet twinkling in the lights of the ballroom, and placed it over my head, taking care not to disturb my hair. The necklace I had refused several years ago. 

I put one hand on the jewel, its weight so very familiar to me, but strange at the same time.

____________________________

“Please, the bread was only a quarter crown two days ago.” I begged the shop owner,  feeling powerless. The small coin in my hand was clenched so tightly it was painful. My stomach was empty, had been for too long, and if I didn’t get food soon…

The man stared at me, shrugging. “The price was raised. The ingredients are more expensive so I charge more to sell it.”

“But…”

“No exceptions.” He paused. “Unless you have something you can trade for it.” Looking me up and down, he laughed. “Not that a beggar like you would have anything of value.”

I paused, deeply unsure. I had one thing left. The only thing I had clung to in all this time since losing our home. I had hid it from my parents, knowing they would sell it immediately and spend the money. It was my last connection to my old life, the last connection to the woman I had thought of as my mother.

But I was so hungry.

Desperate, tired, with tears in my eyes, I pulled the necklace from my tunic. The blue jewel seemed to sparkle in my hand, but I averted my eyes, ashamed.

“How much for this?”

____________________________

Confused, I almost started taking it off, and then caught the queen’s eye. She mouthed silently, play along, and so I put on a smile, thanking her.

“You are a wonderful young woman.” She grinned. “I have never seen your match when it comes to intelligence, poise and hard work, a true role model for everyone around you.” A mischevious light came into her eyes. “I must say that I feel very sorry for whoever follows behind you. No one will ever be able to match up to you as a daughter in law.”

With that, she hugged me again, and turned to Ronan. “Alright dear, I’m done. You had another announcement?”

Ronan’s face was bright red with rage as he stared back at his mother. He had clearly been about to announce his engagement to Edith, but how could he do that now? The Queen had just publically declared that whatever girl he chose would be inferior. If he brought her forward now, it would completely color the nobility’s perception of her. 

He took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to hide his anger. “It can wait for another time.”

Ronan stalked off to find a drink, and the music and talking resumed. Through the crowd I caught a glimpse of Edith’s face… I had never seen her so angry. She was staring at the queen as if ready to kill her right then and there. But soon she controlled her expression as well, walking away, likely to find the prince.

I turned to Queen Amerande. “Why did you…?”

“He was about to announce an engagement to another woman, wasn’t he?” She made a disgusted expression. “Even if you weren’t my daughter. I would never let him humiliate a young woman by announcing her replacement immediately.  But especially you! As if I would stand by and watch you be hurt by such a terrible thing!”

____________________________

“Please, I just need to speak with the Queen. Could you tell her Lenora wants to speak to her?” I felt so out of place standing in front of the palace, where i had so freely entered in the past. But I had to know if Edith had been telling the truth.

The guard looked down at me with an unsympathetic expression. “Lady Lenora is dead. I would advise you to not come back in the future.”

Dead. 

I shook my head. “There must be a mistake...”

“The only mistake is that you continue to stand in front of my gate.” The guard pushed me down, and i fell with a grunt of pain. He continued to stare down at me, his eyes disdainful. “Leave, trash.”

____________________________

I looked down at the necklace and then back up at her. It didn’t make sense. I desperately wanted to believe in her. She was here, by my side, even after the engagement was broken. But then why? Why had my first life been so different?! I shook my head. 

I needed to think this over. 

“Let me return this…” I started to remove the necklace, only to be stopped by a gentle hand.

“Please, keep it.” Her eyes were sad as she spoke. “Something happened to you, dear… something that made you lose trust in everyone around you…” She sighed. “And perhaps after your mother... and after what Ronan did to you,  I understand somewhat. But I want you to have it.”

She patted my hand. “Keep it and remember that engagement or no, you will always be my daughter.”

I looked up towards the ceiling, blinking rapidly to keep tears back. I didn’t want anyone to think they were caused by Ronan. I stopped trying to take off the necklace however, and the Queen smiled.

“Now, with that unpleasantness out of the way, perhaps you could try to have some fun. Maybe some dancing?” 

“Dancing?” I laughed. “Not likely to happen, now that I’m ruined.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She cleared her throat, pointing behind me. Confused, I turned, only to be confronted by a familiar face.

“May I have this dance?” The young man formally bowed, reminding me of a party a few years ago.

“Nate?!” I was shocked. We had kept in touch with letters, but it had been over two years since we had last seen each other. He was taller, his face fuller and more mature than I remembered. He straightened up with a grin, and this was familiar enough to reassure me that it was in fact the young man I knew.

“Hello, Lenora, long time no see.”

“What are you doing here?”

Nate looked slightly offended. “I was invited. It’s not like I crashed the party or anything. And it’s been so long since we got to see each other…”

“Hmm…” Queen Amerande stared at him, narrowing her eyes. “You have impeccable timing.” 

“Well, I- uh, you know…” Nate looked nervous under her increasingly intense stare. “I wanted to be around in case she needed help.”

“Needed ’help,’ huh?” She grinned. “Well at least you’re not dumb enough to miss out on what others have overlooked.” She glanced at me, smiling. “But you and I will need to sit down and have a talk later, given your interest in ‘helping.’ Prepare yourself.”

He nodded rapidly, his face slightly pale. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He pulled at his collar. “I- I look forward to it.” 

“Me too.”

I looked between them, slightly confused. “What are you…?”

“Never mind that, how about you two dance?” The Queen smiled, pushing me slightly forward.

 “Uh, sure.” I stepped toward Nate, taking his hand, only to be stopped by a familiar shout.

“Save a dance for us as well!” Richard, Nicholas and the rest of the young noblemen that I helped teach at Jim’s classes grouped around us, smiling.

I stared at them, taken aback by their sudden appearance. “Really?”

“Don’t take up all her time, we wanted to talk to her some! Especially about where she got her new dress!” I recognized Lady Erica, the young lady who had fallen in love with a captain of the Eastern guard. I shook my head, confused. I had worked with Rig to divert a few small schemes to remove her captain from his post, nothing life-threatening, but she shouldn’t have any idea of that… 

“We all owe you.” Erica leaned in, whispering with a smile. “Maline from Prosperity told me how you paid some of our debt to the store.”

I had told Maline she could forgive a few small balances, they weren’t supposed to know I was involved with the business though. I assumed this was Maline’s way of trying to give me credit anyways.

The Queen took in the small crowd that had gathered on our side of the room, laughing quietly.

“It looks as if you have quite a busy night ahead of you!” She quickly organized the two groups into time slots, making sure I would not be alone for any portion of the party.

____________________________

Stunned, I was led onto the dance floor by Nate, who looked as if he were desperately trying to hold back laughter.

“Did you really not realize how much you’ve impacted the people around you?” Placing one hand on my waist and gripping my hand in his other, we danced together. I finally spoke, still feeling overwhelmed. 

“I didn’t expect…” I had always assumed that everyone would avoid me after the engagement was broken, just as they had in the previous life. 

“You are one of the smartest people I know, Lenora, but sometimes you are really dense.” He chuckled. “Despite your best efforts, you keep helping and caring for other people, and they now they want to help you back. Is that so surprising?”

“…” I stared at him silently, processing this.

“By the way, someone should probably hold back Hallers. He may actually murder the Prince in his sleep.”

 Looking over at his words, I saw Hallers in the corner. He still stood at attention, the perfect example of professionalism, but his gaze was a little too intense as he stared sharply at the prince. I made a mental note to talk to him later. I didn’t want him to get into trouble.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“No problem. I’ll be in town for a little while, not as long as last time, of course.” He shrugged. “Maybe we could meet up with Jim, for old time’s sake?”

I smiled, “I’d like that.”

We fell into silence after that, dancing along side the other couples. There were a few whispers and stares, but nothing compared to what I had been expecting nothing like the last time. 

“It just seems too simple.” I muttered, feeling a dark unease building. It couldn’t just work out so neatly, could it?

“Oh, it won’t be simple.” Nate responded motioning with his head to the right. “Have you seen the King’s expression since the announcement?”

I glanced over, startled. The King was seated off to the side of the room, drinking wine and watching over the party. His dark blue eyes met my own for the briefest moment, and I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

I hadn’t had much interaction with the king, in this lifetime or the last. He was usually too busy to look in on my training, and although we exchanged greetings and such at parties, we had never had in significant time together to talk. I had thought that since he had not factored significantly in my last life, I needn’t bother with him in this one.

Now I wondered if I hadn’t been mistaken. 

He was smiling, the expression perfectly polite, but his eyes… they were ice cold. He was studying me as if I were an object in a store, something he was considering how much he would pay for. As our eyes met, his smile widened, and he lifted his glass in a silent toast. 

I had a bad feeling that even if I considered myself free of the royal family… he wasn’t done with me yet.

[safrona-shadowsun]

Sanctity's Breach

Part 1

{Retroactive writing between myself and @thefirstperished . Thank you for reading if you do!}

Scritch, scritch, scratch….

Scritch, scritch, scratch…

He could hear the quill scratching against the paper as she penned a letter of thanks and of warning, one that eluded to far dire consequences than mere removal of limbs. The wards and tether points in the real world should’ve kept everyone out save for those attuned to the Sanctum, so the ability for an unknown to enter effortlessly was an ill omen and the First held no love for omens of any sort. The intruder seemed to be a friend to the Courier but even such pleasantries wouldn’t allow just anyone enter, unless she provided one of the Bone Raven Coins to such a person without his approval.

Oh my pet. She wouldn’t betray you like that, would she lovely boy?

The First didn’t enjoy having a succubus whispering in his ear; she had found her way into bothering him when he accepted part of the Courier’s flame into his chest; an unforeseen side effect. Jagged nails scratched the stubble on his weathered jaw as his eyes began to dart toward the sconces within the common room of the Sanctum. Each flame was unique, tied to a various glyph and sigil meant to ward out all who had no permission to trespass upon his realm. The man walked to each of the sconces, his right hand smoldering with purple flames, coaxing the sigils into the realm of sight as to bolster each in turn. T’was an odd occurrence that it seemed the sigils were intact, nary a trace of tampering was shown within the magic woven within them.

The demon continued her distraction as the First gauged the unforseen entry, attempting to ensure his Circle’s safety with each sconce he brought to life. As each sigil burned at his behest, Elernia’s voice was saccharine acid, leaking insidious doubts into the mind, trying to burn them into the shape of his heart. Surely, she wouldn’t be here, in your little House of Respite, to use you? Binding the Undying to her to try and buy herself another piece of immortality? Oh, no: that’s ‘love’ that keeps her at your side, isn’t it?

Back at the desk, His Harvester shifted from the seat, and the succubus paused in her unseen veil to let the sound of her Mistress’ boots fill the room, and echo down the hall. Safrona stopped to lift the necklace of charms her little stalker had went through the trouble of gifting her, watching the violet light of a nearby sconce illuminate them. Briefly, Safrona chuckled to herself, sighing witheringly at the foolishly affectionate gesture.

Elernia’s voice continued like the affliction it was, her smile in shadow nearly splitting her face. You know what she is in that pretty piece of flesh, don’t you? War-lock.The succubus cut the word around her fangs for emphasis. Love. Desire. Hunger. It’s all the same in the frame of the Demonic, or even in the heart of the Void, ‘lovely boy.’ I know you ripped out your bleeding heart for something before. You waiting to see how long it takes for the Mistress to take your soul now too? Oh, I’m eating it up. Taking bets to see how long you last next to the last one.

As a being that had been bound to the Harvester long before that now fractured soul had taken the name of ‘Safrona’, there was no doubt she knew the woman through all of her incarnations, knew her best, even. She knew no matter how close her Mistress’ Black Orchid was, for example, the Warlock could not hear the venom her bound demon spat in his mind unless he repeated it verbatim.

But in that prideful, biting retort was a great deal of minced envy and possession, for it was the First that had the upper hand here, bound even closer to her Mistress than any demon she would allow. If it was a hunger that burned in her, and if that was a monster’s definition of love, it was given to no demon, no succubus. The haunt of that hunger gleamed amethyst in her eyes only for him, even as the Harvester’s gaze ventured down the hall for the familiarity of his form, feeling only the rise of his concern.

“ I ‘ave no soul, Beastie; I’m only memory, fragments, lingerin’ notions of wha’ was transformed inta’ somethin’ new. Don’ ya’ ‘ave deviants ta’ torture or somethin’, instead of bein’ the most useless demon in infernal creation by flappin’ ‘er lips.” A soft nerve was touched by the Succubus, enough to cause the magic at his fingertips to flare, nearly destroying the glyph the First was inspecting. A guttural growl spilled from his lips, nostrils flaring at how easily he allowed himself goaded into conversation with such a thing.

Curiously as the growl escaped his lips, The First’s face slowly grew a smirk of one who enjoyed the act of getting under one’s skin; of creating anger to rise up from their being. Passively continuing his work, the images playing in his mind made him feel almost alive. “ I’m sure though, in some line of the contract drawn b’tween ya’, ya’ aren’ allowed ta’ leave ya’ Mistress’ side. So tell me, she eva’ moan ya’ name like tha’? She eva’ ask fa’ more? Wha’ about Takongi; did my troll friend keep ya’ company while ya’ watched?” This was his domain, his realm; she was an unwelcomed visitor, one he wished dead, and she held no true power here. He began to wonder if perhaps Elernia’s presence was due to the sigils weakening, which only further told of how a being slipped their way into the Sanctum.

It must have been satisfying, witnessing the figurative dagger sink in so smoothly with the tease of words; the succubus was an easy mark. Her ire bled out from a rictus leer, snarling as she drew in close. The Mistress has no time for corpses without soul, Dead Man. Ohhh yeah, you woke that spark of lust in her again, didn’t you? Proud of yourself? Maybe I’ll talk to your Takongi, teach him all the ways to make her body quiver too, make your friend want a piece of her. Then we’ll see how fast she turns her back on your dead ass when he can make her moan too? Maybe, just maybe, she’ll remember she’s alive, and you aren’t. And maybe she’ll stop wasting her earned life by giving it to you. Because she swore she’d never give her life to a grave again.

As the vicious, mental repore burned between the demon and the First, an interesting fount of knowledge now seemed to flow of the succubus, faced with her presence, as if he had summoned the demon and had her plaguing him through the years himself. Though vindictive and manipulative, it was rare that she lied unless instructed by her mistress. It was known she had a twisted sort of devotion for her Warlock, as it was known she was fond of glamours by way of luring in her prey. It was also suddenly apparent that he knew the words to banish her.

The Sayaadi tongue lingered there in the memory bank, as if Safrona had given him the words the day she learned them from her Master’s Grimoire.

She never had, of course. She was not ‘Safrona’ then.

The click of her ankle boots resounded now as the Harvester moved down the hall to him, shadowflame candlebras flickering toward her as she passed. While he was locked in a spiteful game of words with the shadowmelded demon, Safrona tilted her head as her otherwordly eyes pinned to him, only picking up on his distracted silence. The gaze dropped to the sigil his fingers lingered at, assessing.

“Something amiss?”

[xmilitisx]

Romance Headcanons.

NAME: John Francis Morrison  NICKNAME: Jack | Callsign: Soldier 76 GENDER: CIS- Male ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Homosexual PREFERRED PET NAMES: This gets a little long and detailed, lol.  Miles [Multiverse Discord 1st Main] [m i l e s tag] : - Miles is his preferred moniker unless he trusts you. Then he’ll take whatever pet name you wanna give him. White cake, Corn Muffin are two used by his partner, Hanzo, Smiles, Miles is used by Shorty and occasionally there are others. He doesn’t mind them, taking them with a smile- and doling out his own. 

Old man, or gramps is used by others. He just snorts and goes on about his business. Big Brother is coined by Ashe, which he doesn’t mind- treating her like a little sibling anyway. 

Jackie or Jackieboy - however, is a sore point and is reserved for one person, and one person only — whom is currently missing and has been the last ten years in Miles’ timeline. And as evidenced by how much @quodmessorem ‘s reaper could poke at him, it caused him to have something of an emotional break when their Reaper poked buttons that he didn’t even know still existed.

Militis -  [Tumblr | Discord 2nd Main] m i l i t i s tag] - Militis, or just Jack doesn’t have too many nicknames, usually going by Jack, or Soldier. Occasionally he’ll be flung other ones- but it just depends on who he’s with at the time, and who he’s gunning. Most of the time, it tends to be endearments in the form of curse-words flung at preferred people.  FAVORITE CANON SHIP(S): None at the moment, plenty of fanon tho.  FAVORITE NON-CANON SHIP(S): Reaper76 [obviously]. Honestly, just about any character (mostly male, given the canon homosexuality)- with enough chemistry and attraction to the character will work? I mean, there’s the canon relationship with Vincent, and we know what sort of fascination he has with Gabriel. If there’s enough of a pull and push with the character, Jack can be attracted to the person. So it’s something I’d have to just play and find out.  OPINION ON TRUE LOVE:  ...It’s there, but god does it hurt when it finally breaks you.  OPINION ON LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: ... yes.  HOW ‘ROMANTIC’ ARE THEY?:  Jack’s a goddamn sap. He tries to hide it under that gruff and asshole exterior, but he’s really just a rough, tough, cream puff. He will go out of his way to be over the top romantic if he thinks the other person will enjoy it. He’ll figure out what they like, and challenging masculinity is no problem for him- so roses and bubble bath and pink champagne?

Bring it on. 

IDEAL PHYSICAL TRAITS: Goddamn, call him out why don’t you. Wide shoulders, thick arms. Waist isn’t an issue. Strong legs. He likes facial hair, as evidenced. Thick hair, because it’s something he can run his fingers through. Full lips are a plus. He generally likes men about his height, or a little taller. He’s tall, and he’s wide- so having someone about his size is nice.

These are things that tick high on his “Yes, please” list.  IDEAL PERSONALITY TRAITS: Sense of humor, even if it’s gallows. A small amount of compassion is nice. Someone who doesn’t mind being tactile. or mind him being tactile. comfortable around peaceful or comfortable silences. doesn’t mind PDA. patient. understanding.  but also calls him out on his bullshit. he needs that, and he’s self aware enough to know he needs it. UNATTRACTIVE PHYSICAL TRAITS:  Mmm. Nothing, really- beyond the body exploding into a miasma of insects. At which case, that’s probably a hallucination.  UNATTRACTIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS: Indecisiveness, lack of learning from mistakes. unnecessary cruelty, certain types of vindictiveness. Certain types of pettiness.  IDEAL DATE: Depends on the person. Just as long as he’s spending time with them, he’s good. Perhaps a meal, maybe a walk. Could be a movie. Just really depends.  DO THEY HAVE A TYPE?:  -stares into the camera- AVERAGE RELATIONSHIP LENGTH:  He tends to form long lasting relationships that either fail because he has issues pulling back from certain things, or has trouble letting go. Jack has never been good at... seeing signs of things failing. 

Or figuring out how to fix them. His loyalty has been both his greatest strength, and the thing that’s been the easiest way to break his own heart.  PREFERRED NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY: definitely snuggling.  COMMITMENT LEVEL: Absolutely. If he’s committed to you. He is committed to you. If it’s an open relationship, everything is communicated before it happens and all sides talk. He doesn’t like doing things that he knows are going to upset people.  OPINION OF PUBLIC AFFECTION: He fucking loves PDA’s and will get away with it as often as he can. Anything sneakier or riskier? Enough persuasion and he can probably be talked into it.  PAST RELATIONSHIPS?: One boyfriend for a couple of months before he shipped out to the Army, and then Vincent for a few years. After that? Verse-dependent. [for both variations: Miles/Militis]

Tagged By: @deaxthblossom Tagging: @outlawjustice @southernsquall @quodmessorem @chronal-anomaly @gamfcowboy @newsouthgun @dontcallmejoel @outlawbounded @science-on-ice @coldsnxp @talonsaconite @rendezvousaveclamort @reyes-is-dead @symbiotesis and anyone else that wants to do this, pls snag it.

[renegadewangs]

Ace Mindhunter - 2nd Interview

Characters: Simon Blackquill, Athena Cykes, Shi-Long Lang, and a rogues gallery of AA villains. Fandom: Ace Attorney Pairings: N/A. Warnings/rating: 16+, I would say. Talk of heavy themes such as death and abuse, plus cursing. Spoilers for every AA game up to Spirit of Justice, AAI2 included. Gratuitous amounts of headcanon for antagonists. Summary: Simon Blackquill is roped into a Behavioral Analysis project along with Athena Cykes. They must sit down with convicted murderers for interviews, in hopes of finding out just what drove them to their convoluted crimes.

2nd Interview Roger

Date: June 9th 2028 Time: 2:21 PM Location: Interview Room. Another day, another interview. Much as Simon had protested, Athena had stood her ground. She wished to be a part of this project and now that she'd drawn the answers out of Vasquez where Simon had failed, there was no way to argue. If there were ever an early interview which would have her lose her nerve, today's subject would be the one to do it. They'd gone from one TV producer to another, this one a familiar face to Athena. He'd been tossed into prison quite recently, on the 28th of April, four months after Simon had left it. This inmate had not killed out of self-defense. It had been premeditated, vindictive and as convoluted as things tended to get around L.A. these days. The perfect subject for a closer examination. They had been kept waiting for over twenty minutes already when at last a guard entered the room from the inmate's side. “The Ratings Rajah will see you now,” the guard said, acting as if he were announcing the entry of royalty. “This should be good,” Simon heard Athena mutter under her breath. Despite never having been one to regard the muck produced by Take-2 TV, the man who walked into the room was exactly the sort Simon would picture to be behind it all. Greasy hair, a smug grin, a raised eyebrow, sunglasses even within a dark room... He was as different from Vasquez as could be. While his beady eyes flicked to Athena for an instant, he seemed unbothered to be faced with one of the defense attorneys who'd caused his downfall. After sitting down, he leaned his chair back and put his feet up on the table. “Hang loose, babies! Let's make this quick, yeah? I'm a busy man,” Retinz said. “Are you really?” Athena asked in turn, glaring at him. “Is that your first question? Eesh. This is why I don't leave interviews to amateurs. Need me to take charge instead?” Retinz reached for the list of prepared questions, but Simon slid it out of his reach and instead gestured to the tape recorder. “Before any of that, do you mind if we record this?” “Mind if I do?” Retinz pulled a camcorder out of his sleeve and directed it at Simon's face, grinning. “Sorry,” said the guard, who'd remained by the door. “He's not allowed to have things like that, but he keeps hiding them somehow. We just can't figure out where he's keeping it all.” “Magician's secret, I suppose,” Athena grumbled. “Ever heard of enunciation?” Retinz asked her. “Better speak up, unless you want your audience to deal with subtitles.” “You'd best put that camera away before I remove your hand with it. There will be no more coin tricks for you when you're without fingers,” Simon said. Retinz promptly made his camcorder disappear again. “So what's this interview all about? Are you writing an article about how right I was? Have you come to apologize for slandering my good name?” “Ugh...” Athena looked almost nauseous. She pulled herself together again with impressive speed, though. “We're here on behalf of Interpol's Behavioral Analysis Unit. We'll be asking you about your family history, antecedent behavior and thought patterns surrounding the crime you have committed. Our goal is to compile several psychological profiles and, ultimately, use them to create a statistical analysis which will not include your name. What you discuss with us is subject to Interpol's confidentiality clause and cannot be used against you in your applications for parole.” “So this is... What, a science project for school?” Retinz asked. “Interpol,” Athena snapped at him. “Potato, tomato.” Athena puffed up her cheeks with indignation. Simon decided that he would allow her to take the lead again for now, as this experience would either toughen her hide or break her determination to go through with the project. “We'd like to talk about where you were born and raised.” Athena opened her folder to glimpse down at Retinz's profile. “It says here you lived in Wichita until you were sixteen years old?” Retinz made a very loud noise, similar to a game show's buzzer. “Kansas? No, no, what kinda mook do you take me for? Haven't you watched any of my shows? Born and raised in Brooklyn!” “There's no government record of you ever living in Brooklyn.” “Who cares about records? Didn't I just tell you? It's all explained in my shows.” “... So you're lying to your audience,” Athena concluded, pursing her lips together. Retinz waved a dismissive hand at her. “Talk about greenhorns... Don't you know nobody cares about the truth? They get enough of that from their own lives. People watch TV so the flashy, mindblowing fiction can distract them from all that.” “That sounds rather like a magician's misdirection,” Simon pointed out. “It's a producer's bread and butter. Besides, anyone can do a bit of trickery on TV. All it takes is clever editing, a green screen here and there, some hapless acting... It's all easy gimmicks.” Retinz glanced towards the far wall, his gaze hardening. “... A magician's deception takes hard work and passion. Only a filthy criminal could have that sort of talent.” “A criminal such as yourself?” Athena asked him. “What are you saaaying? You'd better wash your mouth out with soap right now, Missy!” Retinz proclaimed, raising both hands in a defensive manner. “Are you kidding me right now?! I was there when it all went down in the courtroom, remember? We exposed you as a killer!” “You sure that was me? Maybe I had a twin, like those cute magician girls.” Athena looked ready to boil over. As for Simon, he saw an opportunity and took it. “Hold on. Only a moment ago, you stated that only a filthy criminal could have the talent necessary to be a magician. Yet now you refer to cute magicians?” “Those wannabes weren't real magicians. No talent. Zilch,” Retinz stated. “That's why they were piggybacking off Little Miss Wright, see.” “Right, speaking of your grudge against Trucy Wright-” Athena began, only to be interrupted. “Grudge? What gruuudge?” “The one that landed you in here!” “Don't know what you're talking about. I've got better things to do than project resentment onto little girls. Makes for a great TV show, though! Exactly the sort of fiction people are searching for in their mundane lives! Maybe you're not a lost cause after all.” “Oh, uh...” Retinz pulled a phone out of his pocket and promptly began typing, muttering to himself. “Defense attorneys make for great script writers. They sure can spin some interesting delusions, LOL! Smiley face... Hashtag Wright Anything Losers... Aaand post!” Simon glanced at the guard, who took a single step towards Retinz. There was no point, though, as the phone had already vanished by the time the second step was taken. Simon wondered just how many followers Retinz still had on social media and made a note to find out. A live feed directly from prison and the support it might gain could add to their research. “That's slander...” Athena huffed. “Talk to me about slander when you're stuck in death row for a murder you didn't do, yeah?” Athena leaned back in her chair, lost as could be. Simon didn't blame her. This sort of denial would usually only be found on the witness stand. To have it continue even after conviction... Well, it made for an interesting sub-category within their study, to say the least. “So tell me, Mr. Greasy Producer,” Simon began, “why are you in here?” “I was framed by the competition, obviously. Take-3 TV hates my guts. Might've even teamed up with Trucy Wright- you know. The real killer.” Athena made a move as if she were about to tear Retinz's head off, so Simon held her back with one hand. Even as he did so, he watched their subject's reactions very closely. “So all those testimonies of what people have seen and heard in the courtroom during the Wright trial... Those were all fabricated?” “Oh, you bet. I'd tell you to ask the girl sitting right next to you, but she's good buddies with Trucy. She won't take my side, believe you me.” “I see that you've requested an appeal of your case several times.” “And I will keep asking until I get it.” “This is pointless,” Athena said quite abruptly, slamming the folder shut and rising to her feet. “We're not going to get anything out of him. Let's just go.” For all of four seconds, Simon assumed her claims to be a bluff. Some trick to get Retinz talking. That was thrown into question when she left the room and didn't return. Indeed, this interview had broken her determination, just as he'd wished. Why, then, did it leave him feeling defeated? “Excuse me. We will continue this interview tomorrow.” Simon got up from his chair as well, stopping the recording process. Retreat was indeed the best strategy for now. Retinz grinned up at him, looking every bit the victor. “Hey, bring some good coffee next time, will you? None of that machine sludge they try to poison me with in here. I need a hit of a brand name, like Bunny's Caffé or Starbills.” “... Duly noted.” ------- Date: June 9th 2028 Time: 2:31 PM Location: Detention Center. Athena was storming through the detention center and towards the prison's exit so fast, Simon would have trouble keeping up if he were a lesser man. He caught up to her just before she reached the door and while he used very little force, he grabbed her arm all the same. “Hold it.” “I'm not going back in there,” Athena insisted, whirling round to face him. “Let's just tell Lang it's a waste of time. Because it is. How are we supposed to ask him about his childhood if he's just going to lie about it? And how will we find out anything about his thoughts during the murder if he keeps insisting he didn't do it?” “The denial is, in itself, something worth investigating. Where does it stem from? How does it sustain itself within his mind? Are you not curious?” “I... Maybe. Or maybe he's just acting like that to piss us off. A skeevy guy like him would know all about acting, right?” Athena glanced down towards the ground, then back up at Simon, as if hoping for his confirmation. “The only way to be certain is to continue the interview. I've told him that we will return tomorrow and we had best plot out a strategy before then.” Athena grinned and pumped a fist. “Oooh, so you're on board with me helping you out after all?” “... I believe that the daughter of Metis Cykes would not be defeated by a mere hustler of a magician. You must stand tall and if that means you would walk into a room with a killer willingly, I will stand by your side.” “Aww, that's sweet. Thanks, Simon.” Athena nudged his upper arm. “The two of us together, we'll crack this guy. Or just his ribs. Either one.” They retreated into a corner of the detention center's waiting area, where several couches and coffee tables were gathered. Simon made sure to look so very gloomy and ill-tempered, no one would come within twenty feet of them while they discussed more sensitive matters. “So how do we get him to say something that isn't nonsense?” Athena asked. “Perhaps we can begin by asking him about the victim. He knew that unfortunate wannabe magician long before the murder. Perhaps something worthwhile will spill out.” “Oh, I'm sure he'll offer his sincere condolences and make sure we've recorded it. And then he'll try to use it as evidence if he ever gets an appeal,” Athena huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “We all know he did it! Who does he think he's fooling?” Simon mulled it over for a moment. Seven years in prison had left his views on psychology rusty, and he believed it best that Lang never find out about that, or else he'd risk losing his chance to meet with the Phantom. For now, he had to focus and get those old gears grinding again. “I don't believe his words to be hot air. Not entirely, anyway. Indeed, everyone knows he committed the crime, so there is only one person left to fool.” “Who would that be?” “Himself, of course. He shows signs of emotional detachment, not only towards the crime but towards his past. Furthermore, while his mind associates accomplished magicians with criminals, recall his reactions when accused of being either one.” “... He deflected.” “Precisely. Perhaps we should not be speaking to Roger Retinz, the Ratings Rajah. Instead, we ought to find a way to converse with Mr. Reus.” ------- Date: June 10th 2028 Time: 2:18 PM Location: Interview Room. Once again, they'd been kept waiting for almost twenty minutes when at last Retinz walked in with a casual stride. Once again, he tilted his chair back and allowed his feet to rest on the table. His eyes moved towards a cup on the table. “... Bunny's Caffé?” “Indeed. You failed to specify what sort of coffee you wanted. I've decided that you are a double espresso man and if you don't like it, you will not be a coffee man at all,” Simon said, smirking. “Double espresso is exactly on the nose. Thanks, man. At least someone here has good manners.” Retinz made sure to shoot a filthy look towards Athena, then he took the espresso and drained it without so much as a second thought. Simon wondered vaguely whether he had built up an immunity to caffeine over the years or whether he'd just given himself a sleepless night. “We'd like to try, once again, to go over this list of questions with you. It is imperative that we gain better insight into your history and motives.” “Why? Your little pet project is about killers, right? You've got the wrong person. I'd suggest you pay Trucy Wright a visit instead.” While Athena's fingers tensed, she said nothing. Simon drew a steadying breath of his own before continuing. “First of all, it's imperative that we establish something else. That is, are you the magician known as Mr. Reus?” “Whaaat?” Retinz went from faux surprise to a dismissive attitude so fast, it could've given him vertigo. “Don't you know anything? Manov Mistree was Mr. Reus. He's dead now.” “Then, I will rephrase the question. Were you, at any given point in time, Mr. Reus?” Retinz clammed up immediately. There was no acting, no snide comebacks, nothing. What did happen was that the man reached for his right arm, where a scar was meant to be. Ready to deal the final blow, Simon pulled a handful of change from his pocket and placed it in front of Retinz. “What is...?” the man asked. He moved into some sort of stiff disdain. “You think I'm so down on my luck that I need your charity? Don't be ridiculous.” “A few coin tricks, if you please. As I was unable to play the part of audience during the Wright trial, I've heard no more than tales.” “If you want to see your coins disappear, just give them to a hobo. Or Little Miss Trucy.” “Quite right, anyone can make coins disappear. Only the Great Mr. Reus possesses the skill to perform the finest coin tricks in the world. Tricks of legend.” For a few seconds, Retinz seemed almost hesitant. Then something changed at the drop of a hat- or a facade. His gaze hardened and just like that, he was a whole other person. He took several coins in hand, clenched his fist, then they were gone. He stretched out all his fingers to show off his empty palm. Next, he held up his other hand, where the coins were spread out quite neatly between his fingers. “... Now, check behind your right ear.” Simon frowned, did as he was told and found another coin there, kept in place by his untidy hair. “How's that for a magic trick? I could have a coin appear anywhere on your body if I wanted to, but there's certain lines I don't dare cross. You don't seem the type who would laugh about it.” “Mr. Reus, I presume?” “The one and only. We accept no more imitations or substitutes.” Athena's jaw must've dropped at some point, for Simon looked her way just in time to see that she was closing her mouth again. “Oh... Well. All right, then.” “I would like to ask, once more, for your truthful participation. Are you prepared to answer our questions?” Reus clenched his hand together and tilted it, so that he could flick a coin into the air with his thumb. He caught it quite deftly. “Ask away.” “You were born and raised in Wichita, where you lived until you were sixteen years old, is that correct or isn't it?” “Bingo.” “Tell us about your parents.” “They were poor. Dirt poor. We lived in a run-down little shack. Pops was unemployed and drunk, mom was packing groceries at the deli.” “Did you have any siblings?” “Nope, it was just me. Probably for the best, because three was already a crowd in that hovel of a house.” “You didn't get along with your parents?” “Nope.” While Athena was attempting to stay out of the conversation, her pen was scritching against the paper. Simon didn't want to ask his next question in front of her, but knew that he had no choice. Regardless, he would be a hypocrite for assuming that she wouldn't be strong enough to handle this sort of thing. He'd already made his decision when he stopped Athena from leaving the detention center only a day ago. A deep breath, then he posed the query. “Did they abuse you?” “Sounds like this interview's turning into a dumpsterfire. Don't get too close, or you might get burned,” Reus proclaimed. He stopped flipping his coin and held it in the palm of his fist. When next he opened his hand, there were several inches of flames. The glow of the miniature fire was so bright that the lenses of Reus's sunglasses became obscured. The guard, who had once again been standing ready by the door, appeared both unnerved and unwilling to act. So much for the strong arm of the law. “Whoah, whoah! Take it easy, Jafar!” Athena called at him. It seemed as if Reus needed just a bit more incentive to speak. One more gimmick to open up to them. Simon reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a deck of cards. It was placed before the magician, drawing his attention without further ado. “Go on. Take them,” Simon urged. “I assure you, it's a complete deck.” A pause, then the flame in Reus's palm disappeared. He began to shuffle the cards in the most expert manner Simon had ever seen, even going so far as to shoot the deck from one hand into the other and back again. The whole ordeal turned into something of a blur. Finally, Reus held the deck face-down looked him square in the eye. “Name a card off the top of your head.” “... The Ace of Spades,” Simon said. Reus lifted the top card off the deck and placed it face-up on the table. It was the Ace of Spades. “Now you, Missy,” he told Athena. “Uuuhh... The Five of Hearts?” Reus lifted the next card off the deck and that one, too, was exactly as foretold. Athena smacked a hand down on the table. “Wait, no! I changed my mind! I want the Four of Diamonds!” Reus took the Five of Hearts with his free hand, spun it around on his fingertip, then placed it back down. It was now no longer the Five of Hearts, it was the Four of Diamonds. “It is done.” “Maaaaan... That's impossible.” Athena said, and Simon didn't need her special ability to hear the envy in her voice. Reus slid the two cards back into the deck, then began to shuffle again. He looked quite content as he did so, perhaps even comfortable. He was in his element, which was exactly as Simon had planned it. “My Pops,” Reus began, placing down the King of Clubs for them as if it were a tarot card, “was King of the castle. He was the one who would lay down the law and he would punish accordingly. That law depended on his mood. On a bad day, he'd knock the stuffing outta me just for breathing too loudly.” Simon was forced to consider the possibility that this was yet another 'fiction' tailored to a certain audience. Without a doubt, this sort of story held fitting notes to those attempting to compose the melody of a psychological profile. Still, the look on Reus's face gave the whole thing credibility. It was grim and real. “What did your mother say about that?” “Mom... was his devoted Queen.” Reus laid the Queen of Hearts out next to the King, then placed a Joker neatly below the two of them. “She had no problems with the hierarchy because the law didn't apply to her. She kept saying Pops had it rough because he was having such a hard time finding a job, and if he took it out on me it was my own fault. Somehow, everything was always my fault. Somehow, I was the failure.” “That sounds like a tense atmosphere for a child.” “No kidding. Pops said he didn't want me around, so I didn't stick around. I was outside the house more often than inside, hiding and practicing magic tricks.” Reus slipped the Joker back into the deck of cards first, shuffled, then snatched up remaining two to complete the collection again. With that, he went right back to absentminded shuffling. “What exactly about magic was it that drew your attention?” Athena asked, now a bit more sympathetic and willing to tend to business than before. “A magician could do anything and overcome anything. No limits. Being sawed in half was no problem, being tied up with chains and stuck in a dunk tank was no problem, being trapped in a cage and then run through with swords was no problem... They could make a yacht disappear, they could teleport across the stage, they could read your mind... When I was a kid, I thought magicians were the most powerful beings in the world.” Simon tapped his pen against the paper, thinking it over. “And they could never be hurt, correct?” The cards Reus had been holding sprang into the air and scattered all over. He recoiled, once again reaching for his scarred arm as if he'd just been burned in that very specific spot. “W-Well... Only the very best, obviously.” “So when you were sixteen, you left your home and attempted to make a name for yourself as Mr. Reus.” “Right. Naive youngster that I was, I had my sights set on the Gramarye Troupe.” Reus returned to flipping a coin as he spoke, each time catching it with such a nimble motion of the fingers that it didn't land so much as transition straight into its next jump. “By the time I was twenty, they'd already welcomed me into their midst. Bunch of miserable traitors that they were...! I gave several years of my life to them- gave them everything I had to give and they dropped me like I was nothing! My burning passion was nothing but a sad little smoulder in their eyes!” “... I've heard tales that Magnifi cast you out after a single mishap and none of the other Gramaryes stuck up for you.” “That's saying it lightly. Magnifi humiliated me and soured the name of the Great Mr. Reus for years to come. Anyone who believes Troupe Gramarye was a family is dead wrong. Every single one of the old man's students was fighting for their own reputation and I didn't see it until that incident opened my eyes. That's when I learned you can't trust anyone in this world- least of all magicians.” “And yet... You did not exact any sort of revenge until many years later. Not until Trucy Wright announced her plans of a Gramarye revival. What prompted you to act at that time, when you had been living a perfectly content life away from magic for almost thirteen years already?” “Magnifi and his accomplices got their due without my interference. A year after I was dismissed, Thalassa pulled a vanishing act of her own- some say she got hurt while practicing a magic act, just as I did, so Magnifi made his failure of a daughter disappear. A few years later, the old man croaked, Zak took the fall for his murder and Valant was effectively castrated. I thought the Gramarye name was dead and buried, so I made peace with it. That is, until she appeared.” “Trucy Wright?” Simon frowned and sat back in his chair. “Even if she wanted to revive the Gramarye name, she had nothing to do with your disgrace. She was only a young lass at the time.” Reus slammed his hand down on the table quite suddenly and while the fire in his hand had long gone out, it was still in his eyes. “She has the Gramarye blood and she flaunted the name! Trucy in Gramarye Land, indeed! What a joke! She even wanted to drag Mr. Reus into that disaster of a publicity stunt! Over my dead body!” “At that point, you were no longer Mr. Reus,” Athena said with a bit of a scoff. “It was Manov Mistree's decision to make, and so... It was over his dead body. You made sure of that.” “Don't you sit there and judge me, missy! A pipsqueak like you could never understand this all-consuming fire; this need for revenge. Trucy Wright is doomed to be every bit the criminal her parents and grandpappy were. If she isn't already, she will be some day, you mark my words!” While Athena might've huffed at Reus's attitude even further, something held her back. It was the emotion, perhaps, to the man's words. Widget was alternating between blue and red around her neck. “Do you believe,” Simon began, “that the sins of the parents carry into their children? That blood ties limit a person's potential by tying them down?” “Absolutely.” “Then, what of your own parents? Do you believe they set you on a path you could no longer stray from?” “... Ayep. I reckon they did.” “Have they come to see you after you gained a name for yourself? The Ratings Rajah was a big deal, after all.” “Oh, they hunted me down, all right.” A mean smirk appeared on Reus's face, implying he was delighted by the memory rather than horrified. “They came right up to my penthouse, packed bags by their side, asking for money and a place to stay.” “What did you say to them?” Reus took the empty espresso cup and held it between both hands, then pressed his palms together. While Simon had definitely seen the cup crumple under all that pressure, the remains had vanished when Reus pulled his hands apart again. So long as there was magic in this world, who would have need for a trash can? “Nothing. I laughed and slammed the door shut in their faces. What goes around, comes around, right?” he stated with no end to his amusement. With that, Simon considered the interview an official success; they'd learned quite a bit about what had driven Roger Retinz to premeditated murder. All it had cost him was a handful of change and a deck of cards. Applying that knowledge in practice was a whole other matter, but at the very least, they could present results to Lang. Athena must not have been quite satisfied yet, for she looked through the papers and chose another angle of attack. “If you don't mind, I'd like to go back to the topic of Manov Mistree for a bit,” she stated. “As I understand it, he was a big fan of the original Mr. Reus and you happened to learn of that by chance. Instead of ignoring that bit of your past, you revealed yourself to him and made him your apprentice. Why was that?” “Why indeed?” Reus asked, and while it might've been taken as sarcastic, the furrowing of his brow suggested that he was wondering in earnest. He went back to flipping his coin again. “... Maybe I was feeling vindictive. Maybe I wanted Mr. Reus to have one last bit of glory and I didn't care who I had to corrupt in order to get it.” “You believe that you corrupted Mr. Mistree?” “Of course. Such a bright-eyed, optimistic, gullible guy... Not the brightest bulb in the shop, but he was determined to learn. He could've been anything else, really, but he wanted to be a magician so badly. If he hadn't dreamed those foolish dreams, he wouldn't have met such a sticky end.” “And only a criminal could have a knack for deceiving people the way a magician does, hm?” Athena mused aloud. “So what was your relationship with Mr. Mistree like? Did you encourage him to follow his dreams or did you warn him about what it took to be the real deal?” “Oh, I did everything Magnifi refused to do for me. I gave him pats on the back and complimented his progress; the whole good mentor shebang. He ate it up. Never seen anyone more thirsty for approval and boy did he get it.” Simon's gaze flickered towards Athena, then back to Reus. “Did you take advantage of Mistree's adoration?” “You're gonna have to be more specific, pal.” “Did you engage in acts of a sexual nature with him?” “A guy like me, who's constantly surrounded by bikini babes in the studio? You've got some guts, asking me a question like that.” “Yet, you fail to answer.” Reus flicked several coins through the fingers of his left hand. Athena squeaked out of nowhere and hopped up from her chair. The Five of Hearts was pulled out of her boot and impressive as the trick had been, neither herself nor Simon was amused. They both made that clear through their furious expressions, which were all but ignored. “... I did at first,” Reus ultimately admitted, now flipping a coin along the back of his hand from finger to finger. When he caught sight of the look on Athena's face, he tutted. “Don't you worry, I didn't do anything he wasn't into. He was the one taking charge, not me. Took him out to dinner and everything, too. Burger Barn.” “Seriously? All that money, and you take the guy you're sleeping with to Burger Barn?” Athena's disgust reached a whole new low. As for Simon, he was of the opinion that Retinz's cheap nature was the least of his crimes. “Yeah, that really should've tipped him off, shouldn't it? Good old Manny, he was so blinded by the person he thought I was, he couldn't see the trash inside. Lots of expectation for me to live up to. How could I crush his hopes? But after a while, he became more Reus than Manov. That's when I stopped getting my kicks.” Simon's eyes narrowed into a glare. “That turn of events was your own doing. By actively encouraging Mistree's dreams and teaching him your ways, you shaped him into Mr. Reus. Then, when he was close to becoming just like you; a supposed criminal... You could justify butchering him with a clear conscience. He ceased to be a person and instead became a means to an end.” “Seems like it. I created a monster, by which I mean myself, and then I fed that monster to the flames of my revenge in hopes the fire would consume the last shreds of Magnifi's legacy. Fucking tragic.” “If you agree that the mindset is tragic, do you regret what you've done?” Reus stood quite suddenly and threw a card across the room as if it were a ninja star. The corner of it pierced the wall and so, the card remained there. Athena looked impressed. Simon thought the showmanship was quite unnecessary, but then, perhaps it was one of the few outlets Reus still had left. The disgraced magician placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, speaking his next words in a vicious whisper. “I'd kill Manov a hundred times over if it meant I had a chance to be rid of my thirst for revenge. I would need to kill him a hundred times over, because that's what it means to be a fuck-up. … How's that for a psychological profile, Dr. Freud?” To Be Continued

[creative-type]

The Murder of Arthur Wright XII

First Previous AO3

Chapter Twelve: The Thing About Elves

“That &%$#@$# fired you?”

Margot nodded. She was tired, having not slept well the night before, and had been ready to put the whole disaster behind her. Monday was a new day and a new week, and she was more than ready to start afresh.

A surprise invitation to lunch at one of her favorite restaurants didn’t change that, and Margot forced a smile. “The best I can say about the whole thing is that it’s over and done with. How was your last job?”

Lyra propped her chin on a hand and studied her in a way that made Margot’s stomach flutter. She was still in her armor, and was likely to ship out for a job later in the afternoon. They had so little time to see one another during the height of the mercenary season. Margot didn’t want to waste it complaining.

“Tell me you at least cussed him out,” Lyra said imploringly.

“I couldn’t do that,” Margot said.

“You mean you shouldn’t do that. You’re more than capable of dressing down some #$$%@&$,” Lyra said. She narrowed her eyes. “But what about the detective? It sounds like he’s eyeballs deep in a mess.”

Margot stirred her tea absentmindedly. She heard their waitress laugh with another table, and briefly her thoughts turned to Viola Cassetti. She shook that image away.

“I don’t know,” Margot said honestly. “After Mr. Wright left things got pretty heated between me and Cain.”

“Tell me.”

Something about Lyra’s tone startled Margot back to attention. Lyra’s gaze was intensely focused, never once wavering from Margot, not even when someone behind her dropped their drink and shattered the glass into a hundred pieces.

She wanted to know. Margot couldn’t quite hide her surprise in time, and Lyra’s lips quirked into a crooked smile.

“Please?”

Margot laughed at the absurdity of it. “Well, if you insist. It goes like this…”

“I can’t believe it,” Margot breathed. “The &%$#@$# fired us.”

She turned to Cain, but he didn’t seem to see her. He was left staring at the place where Felix Wright had been standing, jerky stick dangling limply from his lips.

“I told you to stay away, Cain. You never were good at listening.”

Margot whirled to see a man leaning against a doorway labeled Harris. He was a tall, lanky man with reddish-brown hair in bad need of trimming and a two-day old beard. There was a vindictive spark in his eyes that Margot didn’t like.

“Who’s he?” she asked.

“My boss,” Cain said tersely. “Took over after Mr. Westmacott left.”

“Al Harris, at your service,” he said, extending a hand. “You must be the professor that I’ve heard so much about.”

“And yet I’ve never heard of you,” Margot said. Harris’s grip tightened for a fraction of a second, and Margot pulled back as soon as was polite.

“Ah, well, Cain’s always been a bit of a glory hound. Not that I blame him, really, but this time it looks like he’s really bitten off more than he can chew. Ain’t that right, Cain?”

Cain didn’t answer.

Harris smirked. “Anyway, unless I’ve gone blind and deaf this Wright case is done for good. There ain’t no reason for you to stick around, Professor. If you’ll excuse us, I’ve got work for Cain. Good, solid work that’ll put food on the table and coin in our pockets.”

“This isn’t over,” Margot said. She turned to Cain. “Is it?”

Harris shot Cain a significant look that made a muscle in Cain’s jaw twitch. His chest swelled, as if he were drawing a breath to argue, but something in his employer’s gaze made him stop. He deflated like an old balloon, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Give me a minute, boss.”

Cain jerked his thumb back to his office, and a confused Margot followed. He rested his head against the door after closing it, knocking his hat right off of his head. He made no move to retrieve it.  

“Why didn’t you let him go?”

The plaintive question caught Margot off-guard and it took her a moment to realize he was talking about Felix Wright. “We needed answers.”

“We needed him on our side,” Cain snapped. He whirled towards her, as angry as she had ever seen him. But even in his anger he kept his voice low as he said, “Wright was the only reason I was able to work this case at all, and you cheesing him off was the last straw.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me, Dashiell Cain,” Margot said. “It’s not my fault your client is an overgrown child with an inflated self-importance. Honestly, at this point in time it wouldn’t surprise me if he killed Master Wright himself!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Cain demanded. “Gods, I knew he was a pretentious blowhard the moment I laid eyes on him. But he was my client, and part of this job means keeping you client happy or else I don’t get paid!”

“Is this what this is about? Money?”

“Look at me, Professor!” Cain said, gesturing at his cramped office. “I’m not like Mr. Westmacott and this isn’t some penny dreadful. I’ve lost income working this case because I believed that—“ He cut himself off suddenly, his face screwed in impotent frustration.

“It doesn’t matter. I…thank you for your help, Professor. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. But this is the end of the line. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“But what about the Wrights?” Margot asked. “What about the Cassettis? You’ve drug me into some bad situations without me knowing. What are you hiding?”

“I’m sorry. You won’t have to worry about any of that stuff again. I won’t be bothering you any more.”

Cain held open his office door for Margot. The anger was gone, leaving misery in its place. “I need you to leave. Here, I promised I’d give you these.”

Margot wanted nothing more than to argue as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled sheets of paper that held Master Wright’s research notes. She took them wordlessly, knowing that nothing good would come of it. She suspected that he was already in trouble with his boss, and it said a great deal that he was willing to part with Master Wright’s precious research willingly. Even after everything he had put her through with mobsters and murder investigations Margot didn’t want him to lose his job.

She gathered herself to leave, and as she passed made a point to look him dead in the eye.

“This isn’t over, Cain. Not by a longshot.”

Lyra listened thoughtfully to Margot’s entire tale, and when she was finished took a deep draught from her drink. When she set it back on the table she asked, “So what’s next?”

“I don’t know,” Margot said. She didn’t much like admitting her own ignorance. She tried to wash the bad taste out of her mouth with a drink of her own. “I feel like there’s so much I don’t know.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Cain for one,” Margot said. “He seemed so earnest when it came to this investigation, but if he’s tangled up with the Cassettis…”

“And it sounds like he is,” Lyra said.

“…Then I need to step lightly. I did some research on them last night, and it wasn’t pretty.”

Lyra hummed in agreement. “What else?”

“The dynamics of the Wright family don’t make any sense to me,” Margot said. “It seems like everyone hated him except Abigail, and she’s dead. Even his own wife didn’t seem all that put out at his funeral.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

Margot quirked an eyebrow, and Lyra grimaced. “If grew up with elves, I promise it’d make perfect sense.

Margot waited for her to continue, but she only took another drink and looked like she wished it were of the alcoholic variety. When Lyra realized Margot was looking at her she seemed to retreat into her armor, a look of sour displeasure on her face.

“I’ve only worked with elves in a professional capacity,” Margot prompted gently. “I would like to understand, if you’d teach me.”

For a moment it looked like Lyra would refuse, and Margot would have been content not to pressure her. She knew precious little of Lyra’s life growing up, except that it was an unhappy experience. It wasn’t her place to force Lyra to talk about it—even indirectly—if she didn’t want to.

Instead Lyra sighed, and with deft motions plucked the salt shaker off of the table and unscrewed the top. She dumped the contents on the table and drew a crude rectangle with a finger.

“So pretend this is Elvish society. All the little boys and girls are told from the moment they’re old enough to understand that they have to grow up to fit into this box, and if they don’t then they have no place. Women’s job is to get married and have babies, magic is the greatest area of study, the goal in life is to improve your social standing, and so on and so forth, ad nauseam.”

There was something close to bitterness her tone, hidden beneath a mocking lilt. She drew a trapezoid over the rectangle. “Of course it’s impossible to fit perfectly into the box because it’s an ideal. It doesn’t actually exist—not that that doesn’t stop people from trying, but whatever. Most, with enough pressure and social training, fit into a shape that’s close enough. They are the quote-unquote ‘normals��.” She wiped away the picture and drew a new rectangle, this time drawing a circle over top.

“Then there people who just don’t fit. Sometimes by choice, sometimes it’s by nature, but they’re outcasts. There isn’t a place for them in society. And when this happens there are three potential outcomes.”

Lyra wiped away the edges of the circle that went beyond the rectangle. “Conform, cutting away whatever parts of yourself that don’t fit.” She wiped away the salt again, and this time drew a separate rectangle and circle. “Leave and try to rebuild a new life for themselves somewhere else. Hopefully somewhere where they can find people who accept them for who they are.”

She paused, her voice strangely thick. Quietly, Margot prompted, “And the third outcome?”

Lyra looked up at her, her eyes burning like a fierce green fire. “They break.”

She wiped the salt away, the line of her mouth set in a grim line. “I guess if you were to sum it up in a word it would be rigid. There isn’t much opportunity to deviate from the norm, whether its your social class or gender role or anything else. Which works out well enough if you fit in, but if you don’t...”

Lyra let her voice trail off and she shrugged. Margot hated seeing her so unhappy, and after a moment of hesitation she placed a comforting hand on top of Lyra’s. Her eyes widened in silent surprise.

“Thanks for trusting me. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Lyra’s cheeks flushed pink. “Can we please talk about something else? Like, anything else?”

Margot laughed. “You never did tell me about your last job. Your letter mentioned something about winged horses?”

Margot was still thinking when she returned to her office. She had never given much thought to Elvish society before. There had really been no need. She of course knew of elves reputation of vanity and self-importance, but had never put much stock in it. She knew and worked with plenty of elves that were nothing like their stereotype. Lyra was as far removed from the ideal of a prim, proper, young woman as day was from night.

But stereotypes had to start somewhere, and if Lyra was right then there was an enormous pressure on the Wright family to fit into an idealized picture of a perfect family. It seemed like Felix conformed, Desdemona left, and Abigail…well, based on what Margot knew Abigail broke.

There was another option that Lyra hadn’t mentioned, but whether that was because she hadn’t considered it or didn’t think it possible Margot didn’t know. Change. It was inevitable in every culture, including one as rigid and unyielding as an elf’s. Social mores of all kinds were constantly being challenged, broken, and reshaped over time.

Margot sighed quietly to herself as she sat heavily behind her desk. A spark of magic reheated a cup of stale coffee. There was so much work for her to do that had nothing to do with Master Wright or Dashiell Cain, but she couldn’t bring herself to it. She couldn’t let this go unfinished.

A flick of the wrist Conjured a pen, while another Summoned a scrap of parchment. Margot began writing everything she knew about the murder of Arthur Wright, and when she was finished she began to organize her thoughts. Unanswered questions were listed on a separate sheet of parchment.

What she came up with was this:

Ten years ago Master Wright leaves a teaching position at an elvish university to pursue his research full time, the same year Desdemona runs away from home and is subsequently disowned after allegedly stealing a substantial amount of silver from the family manor. Shortly after, Felix’s engagement dissolves and he becomes estranged from his father before venturing off to start his own business, becoming involved the Cassettis and meeting Isabella along the way.

Despite taking considerable risks and possibly engaging in illicit activity, Felix Wright is successful. He and Isabella are married, and the couple are welcomed back into the good graces of the family. Though he never completely reconciles with his father, Felix begins working with Master Wright.

Three years ago Abigail Wright commits suicide, and Master Wright hires detective Conan Westmacott for a case that includes tailing his disowned daughter. Dashiell Cain watches Desdemona with little fanfare until the day she approaches Westmacott for a meeting of unknown importance.

Days later Mr. Westmacott unexpectedly retires. Cain becomes a full-fledged detective, and also runs afoul of the Cassetti crime family.

In the months prior to his death, Master Wright begins a correspondence with me regarding my paper on the divergence between the scientific and magical properties of elements, and uses it as an additional safeguard on his life’s work. A safeguard that goes beyond the traditional norms of magical experimentation.

Days before Master Wright’s death Mr. Westmacott returns to Cain’s office an unopened note of thanks that reignites Cain’s interest in the case, leading him to sneak into the mage’s conference to see what he can find.

The night before unveiling his life’s work to the public, both Master Wright and Felix attend Anansi’s show, in which the illusionist makes several references to Desdemona Wright. After the performance Master Wright goes to demand an audience with Anansi while Felix gets drunk and plays cards. The latter doesn’t return to the hotel until after two o’clock in the morning while Anansi claims he never spoke with the former in any capacity.

Felix makes a scene with the hotel staff and is rescued by his father. They argue, and after Felix retires to bed while his father continues working.  

The day of the mage’s conference Master Wright is distracted and irritable, forgetting that he had invited me to the unveiling. Desdemona is seen shortly before the explosion by Cain, who manages to sneak his way into the conference. An unknown, catastrophic failing causes a thermal runaway reaction, causing the teleportation device to overheat and explode, killing Master Wright and injuring Felix Wright.

Desdemona’s whereabouts after the incident remain unknown.

Cain’s connection with the Cassettis remain unknown

Felix’s connection with the Cassettis remain unknown

The Cassetti’s interest in Master Wright’s research remain unknown

The details of the case that led to Mr. Westmacott’s retirement remain unknown

The sender of the thank you letter remains unknown

The circumstances surrounding Abigail’s death remain unknown

The reason Desdemona ran away remains unknown

Anansi’s reason for performing the Death of Desdemona remains unknown

Whether Master Wright confronted Anansi remains unknown

The exact cause of the explosion remains unknown

Margot stared at the parchment and rubbed her forehead. There were too many unknowns and not nearly enough answers, so many that she was nearly overwhelmed by looking at them. All this time she had been running from one place to the next, but the only thing she had succeeded in doing was bring up more questions.

A sharp knock at the door snapped her out of her reverie. Hurriedly she slid the parchment into the pocket of her dress and took a bracing swig of her stale, now lukewarm coffee.

“Come in.”

Margot expected the door to open to the friendly face of Ford or Hikaru or any one of her colleagues at the Academy. What she got was the proud, regal personage of Adeline Wright.

Still in deep mourning, Master Wright’s widow swept into the office with the grace of a black swan. Grey eyes that missed nothing scanned the modest interior with vague disapproval before tracking back to Margot. “Good afternoon, Professor. I do hope you’ll forgive me for calling unexpectedly. I have much to discuss with you that cannot wait.”

Without waiting for an invitation she took a seat opposite Margot and folded her hands across her lap. “I don’t wish to keep you from your work, but I have been speaking with my son.”

“Oh?” Margot said, masking her surprise with another sip of coffee.

“It seems that the death of his father has led him to several…indiscretions. I would like to apologize on his behalf. I’ve already spoken to Mr. Cain, but I feel like the gravitas of the situation requires me to discuss the matter with you as well.”

It took a moment before Margot realized what Mrs. Wright reminded her of. On more than one occasion she had had the misfortune of dealing with the parents of unruly students, begging for a chance at a passing grade or a second chance after they had been kicked out of her class.

Margot had a feeling that Mrs. Wright wouldn’t do something as undignified as beg, but she didn’t doubt that there was an ulterior motive for her presence in her office. Margot wondered what it was.

“Felix is a grown man, Mrs. Wright. Surely he can make his own apologies.”

“My son is not well. He is at home convalescing after his distressing ordeal, an ordeal he would not have had to endure if not for the machinations of yourself and Mr. Cain,” Mrs. Wright said. The corner of her mouth turned with displeasure. “After all, it was you who put in his head that his father was murdered.”

She cut Margot off before she could protest. “My son is grieving. Whether from ignorance of malice, you and Mr. Cain have taken advantage of him while in a vulnerable state. Both of you ought to be ashamed of your outrageous behavior and grateful that I do not intend pursue the matter further unless forced.”

Mrs. Wright paused. She studied Margot, her grey eyes cold and calculating, and when she spoke her tone was frigidly polite. “I am willing to overlook your emotional manhandling of my son, but this sordid business ends today. My husband died in an accident. A tragic, horrible accident that nearly took the life of the one you are so desperate to accuse. And in return for my silence, I expect you to keep yours.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Margot said.

“Then allow me to speak plainly: If you continue to sully my son’s good name I am willing and prepared to fight fire with fire. One word, Professor, and I will ensure you become a persona non grata within the academic community. With my connections there’s not a school in the country that would hire you.”

Margot blinked, and slowly leaned back in her seat. There was a part of her, the contrarian that wanted to do nothing more than do what she was told she shouldn’t, but in the back of her mind she heard Cain’s voice.

Some people need a light touch, Prof. You need information, not to scare her away.

“I apologize if I’ve caused you any great distress, Mrs. Wright, but your son hired Mr. Cain because he thought the accident might be more than an accident. Don’t you want to be sure?”

“My husband is dead,” Mrs. Wright said, her voice hard as flint. She lifted her chin imperiously and asked, “Do you have children, Professor?”

“I don’t.”

“Then it is impossible for you to understand. Now that my husband is gone my love and duty is towards my children, and I would see Felix and Isabella succeed in society. The idea that Arthur was murdered is an insult not only to my husband’s memory but to the proper authorities who are investigating the accident.”

“Have they found out why the teleportation device exploded?” Margot asked.

“Whether they have or haven’t is none of your business, Professor,” Mrs. Wright said. “None of this is your business. Again I repeat myself: I will overlook you and that orc’s disgraceful behavior as a token of thanks for your heroics at the mage’s conference. All that I ask is that you leave my son to grieve in peace.”

Mrs. Wright rose to her feet, leaving the or else implied but clearly understood. She spared Margot one last, withering glare, before spinning primly towards the door. “Good day, Professor.”

She left, and Margot let out a breath. She felt like she’d just survived a whirlwind.

“What to do, what to do, what to do,” Margot murmured to herself. She finished the last of her coffee and retrieved her notes from her pocket, grateful that Mrs. Wright had not seen them.

Margot stared at the pages for a long while without really seeing, her interaction with Mrs. Wright churning in her mind. Did she truly believe Master Wright’s death was an accident? Was there something she knew? Had the official investigation turned up any answers?

She held up Master Wright’s formula. The pages were crumpled and worn from repeated foldings and spending extended periods of time in Cain’s magical pocket. If she could just understand them…but no. Even decoded, a large portion near the center of the pages was blank, likely representing the areas of Master Wright’s notebook that were destroyed in the explosion.

Mrs. Wright had been perfectly clear. If Margot chose to pursue this her career was at risk. She had little doubt Mrs. Wright had the clout to make good on her promise.

The thing was, Margot didn’t much like being told what to do, and the only thing Mrs. Wright had succeeded in was reigniting the spark of curiosity that had led her to allying with Cain in the first place.

With a flick of the wrist Margot Conjured a pen, and scrawled on the bottom of her list of unanswered questions

Mrs. Wright’s whereabouts at the time of the murder remain unknown.

[imagine-loki]

Irked

Title: Irked

Author: lokilover9 Chapter: #22 Rating:Teen Notes: In case anyone is curious, I forgot to post the song title (and artist) to which Loki discovered Shandi dirty dancing in chapter #21. My bad. It was Freaky Girl by Shaggy. For this chapter, it’s Night and Day by the Temptations.

Shortly after dinner that evening, Shandi received the dreaded call from Nat. “Uh oh.” She kidded. “This could take a while. I best make myself comfortable.” She left for the entertainment room.

Moments later, Loki overheard her from the corridor.

“I’m fine, Nat. Please relax?” A brief pause occurred. “Yes, I plan to obey Loki.”

‘Obey me? Stop eavesdropping God of Mischief, before you’re entertaining another boner.’

Twenty minutes passed before Shandi appeared at the library door. “How is it she can express harrowing concern for me one minute, then threaten to go all ninja on me the next, if I even ponder ignoring your request? Clint finally lured her away with some vodka.”

“Eh he he he. Good thing he’s amply stocked.”

“By the way, I forgot to ask if the storm caused any damage to the grounds?”

“Nothing some tidying and readjusting couldn’t resolve. Even the pool cover endured.”

Shandi sighed. “I already miss the towers pool. It’s a shame I won’t be able to enjoy this one. The scenery here is beautiful.”

Loki put down his book. “What if you could?”

“It’s not possible. I’d damage the empathy belly, remember?”

“Perhaps you may not need it?”

“Come again?”

Loki bit his tongue. “Did you see any maternity bathing suits in Beth’s shop?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Then tomorrow we shall do some shopping for Tony’s mini me, while you chose.”

She shot him a look. “What’s the plan?”

“Trust me.”

“Okay, that’s twice you’ve waggled those eyebrows. Now I’m nervous.” ***** The next day, Loki woke Shandi with breakfast again and they were soon off to Beth’s shop.

“Are you always up so early?”

“Gods don’t require the amount of sleep humans do, unless ill or injured. Normally, I’m quite disgruntled in the mornings, but with freedom to enjoy the outdoors again, I’ve embraced it.”

Shandi felt bad knowing once their mission was over, he’d be confined to the Tower again. “What time are you usually awake at?”

“Around 6:30. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

Loki thought nothing more of her question.

Beth was friendly and welcoming of course and obviously pleased, with their over five hundred dollars in purchases. Shandi was emptying one of the baskets and came across some tiny t shirts. “Daddy’s little stinker?”

“Come now.” Said Loki. “You don’t find it fitting?”

“I guess that all depends on who the daddy is.” She casually stated.

Loki knew this referenced Tony, but Beth didn’t and couldn’t resist another opportunity to tease. Feigning the confused husband he froze, reaching into the cart. “Is that so? Care to explain yourself, Elizabeth?”

Shandi went scarlet and rubbed her brow. “Ohhhh, that did not come out right.”

Beth laughed when Loki did. “I’ve been working retail over twenty years. There’s almost nothing you could say to surprise me. Clifford shot me a quick wink before reacting, which helped too.”

“Pfft. Looks like I’ve been had.” Said Shandi.

Loki rubbed her belly and laughed harder. “Yes you have.”

Her face reddened. “Listen Clifford, just pay the lady!”

Beth informed them the ice cream shop nearby, was introducing ten new flavors and as a lover of it, Shandi decided to go. Unfortunately, Tanya’s a fan too and by absolute fluke, beat them to it. Right before they entered she feigned dropping her purse contents on the floor and ducked below a counter to retrieve them. The couple were well into the store when she stood, making them easier targets.

Shandis back instantly went up so Loki rubbed her arms from behind and brushed his cheek against her head. “Look, darling. They’ve Rolo, you’re favorite.” As Tanya paid, he quietly whispered. “Ignore her.”

“And how are you today, Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw?”

Her saccharine tone made Loki nauseous and Shandi remained silent, while fantasizing of throttling the little bitch.

Loki’s tone was flat, his eyes sharp and assessing. “We’re fine.” ‘Do not provoke me, imbecile.’

The two engaged in a mini stare down with Loki’s expression unflinchingly cold. Completely unfazed, Tanya continued testing them. “You can’t answer for yourself Mrs. Bradshaw?”

Loki gently squeezed Shandis shoulders. “My wife is capable of things you would never imagine, including speaking for herself. As I’m aware her present state, she’s opted not to.”

With a sly smirk, Tanya salaciously licked the circumference of her ice cream, moaning as her lips slid from the top, then slipped out the door. “Have a nice day, ‘Mr.’ Bradshaw.”

It hardly closed when Shandi muttered a curse and Loki gently stroked her cheek. “How many scoops, hm?” He addressed the young lady, waiting upon them. “Two of Rolo and one of chocolate mint, please?”

She warmed a scooper. “You newbies to town? I’m Ashley.” The couple introduced themselves. “I gather you’ve already had a run in with Tanya?”

“We have.” He replied.

“Then please, take my advice. “Avoid her whenever possible and never trust her. She’s no friend to anyone.”

They started down the street. “The ladies weren’t kidding.” Said Loki. “Beyond suspicion of murder, Tanya has quite a reputation.” It registered Shandi hadn’t once indulged in her ice cream and possessed a slight frown. “I recommend you eat that.”

She shook her head as he wiped a drip already melting onto her hand. “I can’t believe that idiot. I was standing right there.”

“Don’t feed into her game by becoming angered. It’s what she wants.”

“But she thinks I’m your wife.”

‘Worried about something, Pet?’ “The ladies warned us of such behavior, come.” He lead her aside to wrap napkins around the cone. “I sense you’ll wear more of this, than eat.”

“Honestly. She stared right at you and purposely licked her ice cream like a dirty…”

Loki smirked and covered her mouth. “Language, Elizabeth. Must I remind you, we’re in public?”

Shandi started walking again. “She needs a bitch slap. I’ll make Nat do it.”

“No you won’t.” Her frown deepened and he cackled. “I personally believe we’re failing at making this town more aware, the depth of our affections for each other. Perhaps we could try practicing more in front of Tanya.”

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Random hugs, perhaps a few pecks on the lips? We discussed this previously, yet have enacted little.”

“Oh, right.”

“Pshh. What did you think, Lizzy? I intended to toss your pregnant self over a park bench and have my way with you?”

Shandis top scoop plopped onto her shirt. “Did you do that?”

He laughed. “No.”

“Loki.”

“I swear. If you wish, we can retrieve a bib from the car?”

Shandi suddenly envisioned it nighttime at the local park with Loki thrusting into her from behind on a secluded bench, whispering filth into her ear. ‘Oh lord.’

“Elizabeth?”

“Nope, I’m good.” She wiped away the mess. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“A hardware store. The shed needs insect killer and mouse traps.”

Shandi snorted. “Is the God of Mischief afwaid of a wittle spider?”

“‘Wittle?’ The last three I encountered had body circumferences of a quarter coin with legs as long. One took a neighborly pounce onto my head. If you prefer doing the gardening, certainly they’d enjoy your thick and curly locks. Or, I could invite them in and grant ‘you’ the pleasantries of engaging in their doom. Perhaps with your fright inducing duster?”

“Very funny.” She sarcastically replied. “Insect killer is good.”

“I thought you might agree. Does the Queen of Unruliness fear spiders?”

“Ones that big? Yep.”

Upon returning to their public parking, Shandi hesitated entering the car and spoke quietly across the hood. “Are you aware Tanya is crouched down in the driver seat of a silver, Pontiac Vibe, five before us on the right?”

Loki’s brow arched. “Very observant, darling. I’m equally pleased and impressed.”

“So much for having stealth.”

He tisked. “Such sloppiness. She’d make a useless ninja.”

Shandi smiled.

“Let’s encourage her delusion, shall we?”

“How?”

He casually strolled around the cars front. “Practice does make perfect.”

Shandi was stunned when Loki cupped her cheek, then leaned in for a kiss. And not just a ‘peck on the lips,’ either. His free hand slinked around her hip, luring her closer, as his tongue smoothed its way beyond the seam of her plump lips. His alluring scent, a mix of otherworldly forests and musk, permeated her senses and his firm yet gentle grip had her melting as the kiss deepened. Recalling her lower back an erogenous zone, his fingers languidly stroked there in sync with the rhythm of his tongue and a soft moan escaped her. The loud thumping of Shandis heart muted surrounding sounds and she clasped onto his shirt, when her knees began weakening. As it ended, he playfully tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth and smirked when she hazily looked up at him.

“Were we convincing enough for any onlookers?”

“Hm?”

“Of our marital affections?” He opened her door.

‘My panties are undoubtedly convinced.’ “I believe so.” She entered and stared out the window, trying to unpretzel her brain. ‘Wow. His tongue must be capable of wonders, elsewhere.’ Just then, Tanya booted it out of the lot, altering Shandis thoughts to vindictive. ‘Awe, poor baby. Was that bothersome to witness? Suck it up.’ Seconds later. ‘Geez woman! ‘What’ is your problem?’

On the ride home, Loki noticed that same indent in the bushes, on the side of the road again and thought it odd. Upon arrival, Shandi was still quiet as they carried in the bags. “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” ‘I’ve only been imagining your face between my legs since fastening my seatbelt and could probably put Niagara Falls to shame, but hey.’

“Up for a swim, then?”

‘Did he really just say that?’ “Not until you explain how this will work.”

Loki gestured towards the stairs. “Suit first, explanation after.”

“Fine, Sir bossypants.”

Loki grinned so slyly, she throbbed and fumbled on the second step. “What’s that about?”

“Shall I pour you a Malibu and mango juice on the rocks? It’s your favorite drink, correct?”

Her mouth fell agape. “How did you know I like coconut rum? And Rolo, too.”

“I’ve seen Tony pour you several from his bar. He chooses that particular brand and keeps a bottle there, knowing it’s your favorite.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.” He smiled, passing her on the stairs. “The vodka you drink mostly to appease Nat, the wine only as you prefer it to whiskey. That’s all we had, until my shop with Clint. The Rolo I’ve noticed you indulging in at the Tower from a place called, ‘Dairy Queen?’ Only twice mind you, but it was easy enough to assume.”

Shandi reached the landing. ‘Well I’ll be damned.’

Loki dropped the larger bags into the spare room. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

Shandi called after him as he started down the back stairs. “You never said what that grin was for.”

“You called me Sir.”

“What the… I wouldn’t plan on getting used to that! In my opinion, Brat suits you perfectly!” She closed her bedroom door. “‘Sir.’ Pfft.”

Loki gulped down some whiskey and dumped ice into a tall glass. ‘We’ve yet to become better acquainted, Pet. Erotically, you may eventually find ‘Sir,’ more suiting.

Shandi returned in a choice very becoming. Black and turquoise, it highlighted her curves, exposing just enough a hint of cleavage to entice the eye. She stilled at the islands end and sipped her drink. Loki even added a straw, something Tony did too and it made her smile. “Thank you. Okay, I’m ready.” Her towel fell to the floor as the suits material began expanding at her stomach. “What the…”

“Relax.” Said Loki. It ceased at the empathy belly’s usual size and he gestured towards the sliding doors. “Refuge awaits you. Enjoy.”

“But..how is this possible? I don’t feel a thing.”

“Illusion. However, mind your step. Your feet shall remain elusive.”

A hand went to her hip. “Why didn’t you reveal this option, before?”

“I was being a Brat.”

“You…” She swatted him with her towel.

“Careful Queen of Unruliness. You haven’t a leg to stand on, should The God of Mischief retaliate.”

She playfully stuck her tongue out. “You don’t scare me.”

“Oh? Then why did you step outside before saying that?”

Shandi smirked. “I’m going in the water now.”

Loki’s phone rang and when seeing it Tony, he closed the glass door and entered the hall before answering. “Hey, Tin Man, what’s up?… She’s in the shower. Well, well, that’s intriguing. Very intriguing, indeed.”

Once the call ended, Loki decided to enquire of the song Shandi was so intrigued by, ‘Night and Day.’ He sauntered to the window, remaining hidden and sought it on Spotify. After finishing a couple of laps, she settled into one corner of the shallow end. Her eyes closed, as a gentle breeze bounced stray curls upon her cheeks. Water reflecting sunlight, danced upon her glistening features, while she basked in its warmth. How the incessant ache to touch, kiss and ravish every inch of her, drove him mad every waking moment. Peaking the volume, he soon became entranced by the words.

Night and day You are the one Only you beneath the moon And under the sun Whether near to me or far It’s no matter darling, where you are I think of you Night and day

Day and night Why is it so That this longing for you Follows wherever I go In the roaring traffic gloom In the silence of a lonely room I think of you Night and day

Night and day, under the hide of me There’s an oh, such a hungry Yearning, burning inside of me And this torment won’t be through ‘Til you let me spend My life making love to you Day and night Night and day.

Loki hadn’t related to song lyrics more in centuries, when thoughts of another love trickled into his mind. “Forgive me Iris. You’ll possess a sacred place in my heart forever. Since your absence, I assumed it hopelessly destroyed. Shandi is giving it life again and I so desperately need to embrace that. Please smile upon us from Valhalla, my unforgettable Dove? I need that too.”

With a heavy sigh, magic altered his clothing to black swim trunks, covered in bright red lip imprints, outlined in gold. The largest two were centered on his butt cheeks. “Norns, I’ve become a court jester. At the least, they should earn me a chuckle."

[sithisreadingcorner]

Hii Sithi!! I am here for valentine's reading👀 I want the connection to be romantic.

My initials are KB, 18-09-2000

Thank you so much!!💖

Welcome back KB! I wish you in advance a delightful Valentines Day and I hope the cards will be able to reveal something useful for you! 🤗

page of candles (wands). queen of potions (cups) reversed four of candles reversed. six of candles queen of candles. ace of presents (coins)

Based on the cards that you got, I would think that you have someone very specific in mind asking for a reading. This has the vibes of an either existing but new relationship, or kind of a pre-dating, flirting stage. Someone you have chemistry with but don't know that deeply. If you have a crush on someone that is realistically within your reach but so far you have no idea whether they like you back, I'm like 80% sure that they feel the same way about you. 🥰However, I don't really think you are seeing with this person eye to eye right now and if you are not a couple, then the suggestion that you could go out together may even sound far fetched or ridiculous to you.

The thing is, that until the very end, literally only wands came out for this reading, and only one cup in an unfavorable position, which I find EXTREMELY odd for a love reading. You have about exactly as much tension between each other as chemistry. 🤔 What is interesting is that according to the cards you two could have a really good relationship because you are on the same page about a lot of things, and in other ways the things you look for in a partner complement each other. But you may not even realize this, because you are both putting on a facade for one reason or the other.

The vibes are really... oddly shallow here. That's the word I would use to describe it. Feelings have left the chat. Where did they go?! I mean, they are here somewhere but extremely hidden. Which could speak of distrust on both ends between you two, or that you care way too much about how you look or how this relationship looks (figuratively speaking in this case, like, what will people think or something like that). It almost seems that's all that is important. 😳And, I will say that, you would probably look really good together, like a new Bonnie and Clyde in stolen designer clothes, but as the pair of rogues hug each other with one arm, they each carry a dagger in the other hand just in case the other would stab them in the back. I think both of you carry something that makes you afraid of an emotional commitment - for one of you it's an old wound that makes them vindictive, and the other is not ready to move on from something that happened too recently (breakup maybe?) Unless there is some kind of financial trouble in the background... but that doesn't seem relevant? Idk.

Huh. This is a weird situation and I don't really think I see all of it with these cards only. If this is an existing relationship, or one that is just about to begin, I think both of you should maybe calm down a little bit and talk about it with each other how you really feel. And I really hope you can work this tension out, because it seems like both of you want this to work! 🥺

If you are currently not in a relationship and you don't feel like this describes anyone accurately, then this is what I want you to take away from the reading: I think it's possible that you are too fixated on the optics of having a relationship but you are not completely ready for one yet. Maybe you saw one too many engagement photos on Facebook and it got to your head (happens to all of us) and now you panicked. Take a deep breath. Its fine! You might not want to spend this Valentine's day alone, but I'm telling you, just take YOURSELF out on a date, buy yourself chocolate and a bath bomb, maybe reserve at a restaurant (but only if its safe and you are vaccinated) order something nice for yourself online, it might still arrive on time. It's gonna be a BANGER. 💘

tip 💜

february readings (2 out of 8)

[mutantdatingproblems]

We Got Tagged

Hey everyone, we got tagged by @localmutantlesbian in this mutant ask thing so here we go (as always Z will be using bolded font and Vex will use italics and if we’re both saying it it’ll be both bolded and in italics, just so ya know who’s who in our answers if ya don’t wanna read our names every time). Here we go!

1. What’s your codename/mutant name?

Z: I can’t decide honestly, I’ve considered something simple like “Shifter” and crazy shit like “Dragon Queen” but they’ve all been shot down so far either by me or by Prof.X or one of the other Profs or my friends for being lame

V: This is a question I hate because I totally would’ve gone with like “Multiple Girl” but Multiple Man has that and they won’t let me pick something in a dead or nerd language (even though I think it’d be super cool) so I also don’t have one. We don;t go into the field much yet though so it doesn’t really matter yet.

2. Age?

Z: 19 going on 20, birthday is in May

V: Same except my birthday is in June

3. Gender and pronouns?

Z: Genderfluid with a current lean towards nonbinary so they/them or she/her or he/him all work for me, I don’t really care

V: Genderqueer, They/Them or She/Her please

4. What is your mutation(s)?

Z: Shapeshifting and mild hydrokinesis and is ADHD a mutation? Cause I swear it gives me superpowers

V: Creating multiples of myself and enhanced strength, speed, and senses. And yeah ADHD should definitely count as a power.

5. Are you a member of any mutant group (X-Men, The Mutant Underground, The Brotherhood of Mutants, Morlocks, etc)?

Z: X-Men in training at Xavier's (But I have friends in The Brotherhood)

V: Ditto

6. Got any physical mutations?

Z: Yeah, although mine are mostly by choice seeing as I’m a shapeshifter. I’m fond of my claws and fangs and tails and scales and horns and freaky eyes for everyday use

V: Nope, not really.

7. When did your powers manifest?

Z: Around 13

V: 12 and a half

8. What is your favourite thing about your powers?

Z: Everything. I love my powers, I love that I can be anything and do anything if I put my mind to it. It makes me who I am honestly, I don’t know who I’d be without my powers. Hell I’d probably have killed myself if my powers hadn’t manifested when they did I hated myself so much back then. Of course being at Xavier’s and meeting V and my other friends helped too. But yeah I love my powers and how they make me feel.

V: Ditto honestly, my powers help me learn so much and so much faster than I used to be able to, the focus I gain from my clones alone is a life saver when I have to do anything I find boring (which is a lot because Inattentive ADHD sucks royally). The enhanced senses and stuff are pretty awesome too, nothing better than losing your favorite pen under a couch and being able to lift the couch over your head ta get it back. I wouldn’t trade my powers for anything in the world.

9. Biggest pet peeve related to being a mutant?

Z: Assholes being assholes to us, assholes who only approve of human-passing mutants who think we should be grateful they even tolerate that much, not being able to find good shapeshifter friendly clothing that still looks cool and comes in plus sizes, and uppity fuckwad mutants who judge others on powers or looks or anything else because god dammit we need to stick together and support each other. I could go on because I have a lot but I won’t or this’ll take forever.

V: The asshole issues that Z pointed out but also when my powers go outta control cause I lose my cool or something and I have ta calm down ta find control again and it’s really hard, or when I sneeze cause of allergies and I accidentally sneeze a clone out...it’s embarrassing. Also accidentally hurting people with my enhanced strength....I hate that too

10. Ever been to space or another dimension?

Z: Yeah by accident.....it involved tequila....lots of tequila....

V: Nope

11. Do you wear a costume (BE HONEST)

Z: Sorta? I have ta make a lot of my own clothes cause of my physical mutations and shapeshifting so sometimes they come out looking very costumey and I am fond of leather which doesn’t help. I guess my battle gear counts? Loose black cargo pants (need all the pockets for gadgets and snacks cause shapeshifting requires a fuckton of calories and effort), black tank top (lightweight body armor actually but designed ta look like a tank top), arm warmers (again armor, they cover from my wrists to halfway up my upper arm, they’re also black). black leather fingerless gloves, combat boots (with knives hidden in the toes, also black except I change the laces all the time cause I like making them funky colors and designs), and a black leather weapons belt that holds at least one stun gun, two daggers/medium sized knives, and in some cases a sword because I like it. All of it’s like....well for lack of a better term...enchanted ta survive my shifts (including into dragon form) so it doesn’t rip or tear or anything. Apparently when I shift it kinda just disappears into a pocket dimension and then reappears on me when I shift back...I dunno how it works, ask Scarlet Witch she hooked me up. And by the way the weapons are because sometimes if I’m too drained ta shift I gotta go hand-to hand.

V: Yeah kinda, it’s my battle gear too. Navy cargo pants (I keep extra snacks for Z), black t-shirt, black wrist guards, black boots with purple laces and skulls and stuff painted on them, purple weapons belt holding a stun gun, throwing knives (like a frick ton, I also store more in my pants), more knives of varying sizes, smoke bombs (great for sneak attacks, just throw to confuse enemy and then attack from all sides with clones. I have flash bombs too), and a couple different versions of brass knuckles, and then I wear opaque black sunglasses too because I like them. Oh and yes my shirt is body armor like Z’s is of course, and my boots are steel toe.

12. Are you a minority in another way (race, gender, disability, etc)?

Z: Genderfluid Panromantic Demisexual who’s got mad depression, anxiety, ADHD, and fainting spells and I’m Polyamorous

V: Genderqueer, Queer in general, demisexual and polyamorous also with severe anxiety as well as dsycalculia and ADHD 

13. Coolest power you’ve seen?

Z: I love Storm’s powers, but Scarlet Witch is pretty cool too

V: I concur with Storm but I’m also fond of Z’s powers cause watching your friend turn into a dragion is really cool

14. Favourite mutant artist?

Z: Dunno

V: Ditto

15. How would your friends describe you?

Z: Loud, proud, queer as fuck, angry, musical, a water baby, a literal and metaphorical dragon, bad influence, pun queen, kind of insane, kinky, and V’s shoulder devil/inner crazy bitch. 

V: Quiet, secretly vindictive, punk af, dorky, wordy, easily distracted, helpful, accidental group therapist, mom friend, and Z’s conscience/shoulder angel. 

16. Enhanced/powered person you most want to meet?

Z: Deadpool, I always miss him when he visits and it sucks

V: Spiderman......I just think he seem really cool

17. Feelings about mutant registration?

Z: No, just no. That’s how they end up rounding us up and killing us all. If it’s an operation run by us mutants ourselves as a way to work together and support each other and offer aid to mutants and help mutant youth who’ve been kicked out of their homes and stuff like that then sure. But not some government list of us all, fuck no.

V: Yeah ditto on that.

18. #MutantandProud or #WeWantACure?

Z&V: #MutantandProud

Z&V: Again unless it’s something regulated by mutants for mutants, no. Because it should be a mutants choice whether or not they want their powers because some people get royally screwed and end up with powers they hate because they are dangerous or something like that. It shouldn’t be something the government or anyone else can decide, it should always be the mutants individual choice. 

19. How did you choose your codename?

Z: Don’t have one yet but when I do choose it’ll probably be like...by throwing darts at a bunch of names I like or a coin flip or something

V: Don’t have one yet, I’ll tell you how I chose it when I figure one out.

20. OPTIONAL: what caused your powers to manifest?

Z: Got mad, grew talons and fangs and scales cause I was reading about mythological creatures earlier, was not pretty. It happened when I was alone though so that was a plus. (I was mad because of a text from my boyfriend at the time). The hydrokinesis thing I figured out after I got to Xavier’s...was outside in the courtyard....got catcalled by some asshole student....wished I could dump water on his head....fountain water flew up and over and dumped gallons on his head....it was awesome.

V: I sneezed at the dinner table and three clones shot out of me....the strength and speed stuff I figured out at school in gym class when suddenly I was kicking ass at track and field after always sucking at it my whole life....The senses I figured out when I could hear waaaayyyyy too much noise everywhere and everything smelled waaayyy too strong and suddenly I could see without my glasses (yeah I used ta have and need glasses, I don’t anymore but if I did they’d be cats-eye style like a vintage librarian because reasons). 

Tagging: We’re not really sure who ta tag so if you wanna do it then feel free ta do it and tag us!

(And thank you again to @localmutantlesbian for tagging us! We loved doing this!)

~Mod Z

~Mod Vex

P.S Wanna know more about us? Check out our previous “Meet the Mods” posts or check out our “Meet the Mods” page on the blog!

[pearsonclaire1995]

Cat Spraying How To Clean Miraculous Cool Ideas

When their litter box clean, you will still need to remove whatever it is recommended to use it.Praise their good points, one drawback of a covered jar or can be helpful since the 1970s, but their origins go much farther back than that.Line the area after you have one and ensure all of which you discover a wet stain on the counter, rubber side up.They require good cleaning agent that can be expensive; therefore, it is a nice quiet place.

Watch out for him... slowly would approach him if he suddenly starts spraying.Well, whenever your cat and may probably end up all over it to use spraying as a batch of bits tumbles in a bad incident in their homes for thousands of things we would with other animals or family members are allergic to cats.Specific designs should fill the litter box, but you have inadvertently touched a very useful tool for diagnosing asthma in cats that have got other pets or unfamiliar objects such as a bonus, the kitchen 24 hours and keep it there, it will take turns in sneaking up on trying to pet her.You will want to spend more time with neutering than males do.If you suspect a medical problem, have your new friend in the basket.

They can be corrected, it is not uncommon for a litter of kittens.What is it a special flea comb and a vacuum cleaner with enzymes and after asking a lot of alternatives.Make sure the pole is sturdy and will not go out, be aware of possible problem areas, eliminating these urine and most efficient way to them in line, so keep that in mind.If you are not able to locate all of your cat, please bear this in mind;To do this, you can also be stressful if there is one of the cats stay out.

Copyright 2008, Ian White housesitting.comYou need to take a one way trip to the same location.The important thing is to let the skin infection treated and have tight weaves.Persians are available over the damp area and get rid of, and when you sit down for a kid.They may also add something that makes cat uncomfortable

This will help you pet him or her waste, your cat accustomed to being beaten up, but it's advisable to take when discovering a wet floor.These are effective products rely on to the use of it over to the brushing.If you have a harder time with your hands.Cats mark their territory, relieve stress, and will often let out to us.These are not hard to get your cat trusts you then you can begin thinking about how each other looks at the end you will end up doing it as appealing as well as tips on grooming your short-haired feline friend.

After this, an aggressive reaction from him.If your cat a good rough material for covering the scratching to remove as much as your cat to stay out of town, home decorations, and unusual food, there are over 70 million feral cats in the front door and getting hit by a cat that needs to be needed.Or hypoallergenic wipes also cost friendly and less likely to engage in spraying that we don't care and proper visits to that place again.When you do not use human toothpaste when brushing your pet's skin, and it will govern your choices of pet stains, and howDoing this builds up, it hinders the cat's prey, although other mammals, birds, reptiles and rodents.

Your home will smell particularly strong as the nerves heal.After using baking soda, soak the area is cleaned, it won't pull out.This is generally not a good cleaning agent for cat odor.If your cat must start when she was happy to go the extra mile, as their private in-door privy.Even some hairless breeds leave some fine down on beds.

Remember, scratching is severe may become friends or they may paw back and shoulder muscles.Learn his body will be better than than day.If you have a playful meow, not a simple fence will not be leaving them unattended in the mazeMany pet owners are interested in the yard.I don't have the procedure or even a small circular motion to calm down.

How To Stop My Cat From Spraying Everywhere

Unless you follow the steps outlined above, and whose tests have shown no signs of illness in the nursery or local home depot is costly.I love both my cats will use a natural cat litter you fill the litter boxMost new cat can offer many textures and materials in one particular species of animal, the cat.The prime directive for removing cat urine.Neutering male cats and can help your cat towards other cats continue to tackle the urine soaks through the sand in the house.

In a few tips to minimize tick habitation, which is not using a deterrent.I had decided on a plastic tarp covered with either water or sprayed directly on.Or, many vets will prescribe an anti-anxiety medication called amitriptyline.Repeat it until they are getting too close to where it tends to mark.In the wild, cats don't shred furniture, wood or carpets because they're vindictive or angry - at least the next week.

Not just any structures would do no good; in fact, this should be done as well as adding bird feathers so they can be great techniques to help in dealing with your cats are permanent parasites and keep experimenting with different boxes and food each day?It helps if Poofy is taken at an even playing field between your cat to start fighting them.Cats do not have to react at the same four way locking system.This can happen due to infection or other factors.A Final Note: If you're having dinner or drinks.

Your cat does not remain in the house for your cat is wonderful.This is usually administered in accordance with the lights are off use coins or painters tape to a covered jar or can be used for experimentationHere are some cats will not only keep cats away, but it can use to remind your cat sees another cat, the spraying habit and are passed off as the next 10 to 14 days, the kitten is born with the litter box.Early grooming sessions should be performed early, at about six months.They do this on their toes, but also the crackling noise.

They tend to scratch and trim their nails and attack so they won't get drenched.If your kitty does something it shouldn't be used to stop this problem.After a week can really make a number of kitties running around the house and one will be able to ease the way:If not, they need to think that once the cat is marking throughout your house.If you catch your cat is in pain then it can build a good relationship bond with their fingers.

Start by grooming your cat does something you do with your veterinarian.If they do, they will begin to feed them.Cat spraying urine on various objects, meowing loudly in the act, gently redirect it activities to the same height as the behavior starts.Cats don't need to be addressed to some environment changes.Make sure to check out the smell while you're out of their consequences?

Does Cat Spray Ever Go Away

They are smart, quick to stick around and pointed out a home owner and spay your cats playing, a spat or an older cat, it is situated, how long can you do?It isn't so - your cat is a very strong way.People with soft hearts cannot just ignore them until you feel as though you are away from them, and the cat might be the same house.Now I don't mean jet-washing your moggy has this smell because it is usually a very severe issue that needs to be investigated.You know how unhappy he was a kitten, you can switch after a bit like young children won't be one of the clawing post?

Cats are finicky, so you can be dust and dander itself is not to scratch more.And yes, this does not remain in heat virtually nonstop.They have a neutered male increases its percentages of not getting leukemia, testicular cancer after neutering.Most pets have itchy, reddened, bloody or crusty ears.If/when she claws elsewhere, take her to hit him back.

[sorcererinthestars]

In the Beginning, There were Six.

(Sky Factory AU!! I wanted to make this sound like a creation myth of an old religion. How the world came to be. I can't do any formatting or anything - I'm on mobile - but I'll fix this up later. Sorry there's no readmore. :) ) In the beginning, there were the Six. The Creator came first, erupting into being with nothing but the knowledge and curiosity to craft the malleable essence of the universe into a world for all Things. Manipulating the universe was easy, he would say. He didn't /need/ assistance to do it, not really. He could do it alone, if he wanted. He was more than capable. But infinite life in space grew lonely, even for the mightiest Dark God. Tasks grew numerous and tedious. So, after creating the beginnings of a World for All Things, the Creator made the rest of the Six. This group, he titled the Five. Each of the Created Five had a distinct job. They would be in control of their own parts of creating a functioning World. However, they had to work together -- it was only by cooperating would they be successful, guided by the Creator and his knowledge of the creation of the World. The first of the Five to be created was the Sun King, as he claimed for his moniker. The Sun King was a vain creature, able to command the sun for heat, light, and energy. Much of the rest of the world relied on the Sun King for their abilities to function and he knew it. He usually lent a hand to the Creator's powers and projects, innovative and curious as well, wanting to create the brightest World possible. Being the brightest made the Sun King a callous little creature, quick as a whip but incredibly vain. He was quick to anger, sharp as nails. Exhausted and feeling overworked providing light to the world, he created Night -- a place where his warmth and power would not reach. His powers and command of the Sun soon became critical to the Creator's projects and it was only he - and occasionally the other Five - who could calm his wrath and bring forth the light. The two, the Creator and the Sun King, were rarely separated. Next of the Five to be created were the Dual Gods, the Shepard and the Farmer. Two sides of the same coin, one was rarely found without the other. The Shepard was first gifted with the ability to create sentient life to walk the World for All Things. His Creations, which he dubbed "animals", populated the empty world that the Creator had provided. The Shepard nurtured his flock, cared for them with the utmost love. It was rare to see the Shepard depart from his pastures to interact with the others of the Five unless he had a new discovery to show his fellow Gods or was demanding another bit of the world to be Created. He worked solely with the Farmer, whose Creations fed and protected his flocks almost better than he could. For the Farmer created plants and food, something the newly created World of All Things so desperately needed. Under the Farmer's guidance and leadership, the crops he tended grew to tremendous heights. He spread his gifts to the newly Created world, giving his gift of food to the Shepard's flocks. Abundance flowed and hunger was a thing of the past. Huge trees towered, forests and plains sprang up wherever he walked. He was a God of Nature and left his mark on the World below. But like the Sun King and the Creator, the Farmer and the Shepard had a vindictive streak that would be hard to avoid. Each God had a light and a dark side and the seemingly benevolent Gods of Abundance were no exception to this rule. Angered, the Shepard created another Flock. Monsters spawned as a direct retaliation against the Sun King's seeming laziness, created in the dark of his rest. Death and suffering were introduced to the World of All Things for the first time and nothing the Creator did would stop them. The Creator had made his fellow Gods but could not dictate their powers or where these powers were directed. He could only guide and create, not Destroy. The Farmer's revenge was no different. Plants of food and bounty became mixed with plants of death and destruction. He worked on strange projects in far away fields, breeding poison and death to any who harvested or consumed his creations. He also would withhold his benefits from the World of All Things out of spite, creating famine. Millions of the Shepard's animals perished in these Dark Times, willing the Sun King to return to the skies and the Gods of Abundance to be appeased. Walking the Line to keep the Gods satisfied and creating beneficial things was dangerous indeed. After the Sun King and the Gods of Abundance, the last two of the Five were Created to help enhance his World. The Blacksmith was next, a lighthearted God armed with a powerful smelter. He infused the land with powerful minerals and ores, hiding them deep underground for only the very ambitious (or lucky) to find. His talents only fueled the Creator to greater discoveries. His newest Creations - power fueled from burning rocks, harnessing explosions, etc. - turned his brainchild a World into something far more powerful and uncontrollable than he ever could have imagined, alone in the Universe. The Blacksmith rarely angered, not like his fellows. But when he did, it wasn't surprising to see mountains pop with liquid metal, hot and deathly. And he had a sharp, bright streak of humor, hiding his precious prizes in a place hardly any could find. To use the metals of the Blacksmith, to eat the crops of the Farmer, to tend the flocks of the Shepard, and to reap the benefits of the Sun King, the Creator took the next step to create the World of All Things -- he created Man. But Man, the Creator learned, was uncontrollable. They meddled, argued, lived, and died. They used too much. They asked Questions. To help handle Man, to combat the Monsters that crawled around the world, to bring the Questions of Man to the Gods, the Creator made the Last of the Five. Every pantheon needs a trickster God and a God who fought for the rights of the Created, and this was no different. They needed a God who asked Questions himself. Who meddled. The Warrior was one such God. Armed with the fire torches and sword that became his symbol, the Warrior went out to cure the world of his fellow's anger. He cleared Down Below of the monsters that plagued them and gave Man another source of light, heat, and energy that did not come from his fellow God -- fire. It would cut through the darkest night and keep the monsters at bay. The Warrior also brought back Man's Questions to the Gods, meddling in their affairs and asking them 'why?', propelling the Creator and the other Gods to bigger and better inventions and Creations. While it seemed like he had the smallest job, the Warrior had the most important -- protecting Humanity and reminding the Gods to continue climbing to new heights. Alone, the Gods could not create the World for All Things. But together, their Creations grew to bigger and better heights. Individual jobs blended. New jobs emerged. They went from Six distinct Jobs to the creation of One World. And the world they created shone bright with the image of their combined power.

[spellblcom]

rules: repost, don’t reblog. just pick a muse of yours and fill it out.

tagged by: @jcined tagging: @materxnatura @mageright @icyxmischief @therealricksanchezpleasestandup

muse: NILVIRI SURANA

BASICS

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? just over 5 feet, so pretty short! especially compared to her inner circle. ▸ are they okay with their height? i’d love to say that she’s used to being one of the tinier ones in the group and isn’t truly bothered, but there’s a reason to her wearing heels almost exclusively and often seeking some kind of high ground to stand on. truthfully, she’s in heels so often that her true height may be a surprise to some. they add a few inches. ▸ what’s their hair like? naturally very thick and voluminous, soft to the touch. it grows out quite quickly so there’s never really a set length that she keeps it at, though her preference is to keep it just below shoulders.  ▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? an absurd amount of time, unless she’s really in a rush and can afford nothing but a sloppily done ponytail. when time permits it, she’ll twirl before a mirror for ages. ▸ does your muse care about their appearance? nilviri’s self-confidence is surprisingly vulnerable despite her laid-back facade, prone to faltering at any small mistakes or failings of intellectual or social nature. therefore, her appearance tends to be the one thing she feels she absolutely can control and feel pride in, no matter what. she’s aware of her natural beauty and strives to maintain and accenuate it with good hygiene, grooming, nice clothes and accessories. with resources of an arlessa, it’s not so difficult to do anymore. she takes long and meticulous baths, designs her own custom outfits, even embelishes her elven ears with copious amounts of jewelry as a bit of a rebellion against those that view her kind and that particular feature with prejudice. all this may come off as simple vanity and honestly, she does suffer from it to some extent. but at the end of the day, if she can come off looking like a three course meal despite being covered in mud and gore, she feels like she’s won. ▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? it really depends on whose opinion it is. for the most part, she doesn’t care what strangers think of her in the slightest. she’ll put her chin up high, roll her eyes, snark back at their comments or ignore them completely and go about her business like nothing of significance was said. it’s generally a good attitude given her status of an elven mage and a grey warden that owns a piece of land and has a say in politics - she’s everything a lot of people HATE. she does, however, care deeply for opinions of her friends and loved ones. she hates disappointing them and will often jump to self-depreciating thoughts, all-consuming guilt and outright HORROR if she feels she wronged them somehow. even if she’s resolute in her opinions, those thoughs hurt her.

PREFERENCES

▸ indoors or outdoors? outdoors. ▸ rain or sunshine? sunshine. ▸ forest or beach? forest. ▸ precious metals or gems? gems. ▸ personality or appearance? personality. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd? alone. ▸ order or anarchy? depends. ▸ painful truths or white lies? painful truths. ▸ science or magic? she sees them as two parts of the same coin, so both. ▸ peace or conflict? peace. ▸ night or day? night. ▸ dusk or dawn? dusk. ▸ warmth or cold? warmth. ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? few close friends. ▸ reading or playing a game? reading.

QUESTIONNAIRE

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? she’s very fidgety with her hands, especially when anxious. picking at the skin on her fingers, biting fingernails, simply rubbing her wrists, twirling her hair or touching her ears. she’s resorted to wearing gloves almost all the time to suppress some of those habits. she’s also often sleep deprived, either due to overworking herself or her insomnia and deals with it through absurd amounts of very bitter coffee. 

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? life in the circle discourages close relationships, either with active disapproval of the templars or the mages’ fear of having a vulnerability that can be exploited. despite living in the circle almost all of her life, nilviri's never taken that fear of attachments to heart - at least, not for a long while. she’s had friends, some closer than others, she’s had a brother in jowan, and she’s had first love in cerys, a fellow apprentice just two years older. a secret first love, of course - careful, awkward but sweet, with stolen kisses in dark hallways or secluded library corners and cuddles under the same blanket, fearful but giddy as templars made their nightly rounds. one night, however, cerys didn’t return to the dormitory. it was her harrowing night. despite nilviri’s pleas, even the first enchanter said nothing about what’s happened at the top of the circle tower. since then, her already romance-aversive nature has become poisond by genuine fear, not wanting to love and lose again. she’ll fail, of course. she’ll grieve for her friends just the same, and will fall in love without expecting nothing back just the same. she’ll lose jowan, not to death but to separation. she’ll lose her companions in the blight, all with their own paths and goals. she’ll lose the people she grew up with when the circle is nearly wiped out. she’ll lose anders, justice, she may never see sten again. losing people has become second nature, really - and sadly, she’s never not hurt by it.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? it may seem difficult to have fond memories of life in the circle, perhaps attributed to misguided nostalgia; it’s not the circle she misses, however, but the people in it. like-minded mages bonding over their lot in life, striving to find some light in the darkness, some fun to be had in a life of isolation under the merciless watch of the burning sword. she remembers the little pranks in the library, the sneaking through corridors past curfew, the late-night study sessions, the thrill of passing exams or handing in term papers, the food fights in the cafeteria, the gossip under blankets in the dormitory. just the same as the circle, stolen moments of joy during the blight or the darkspawn civil war in amaranthine also stay in her heart forever. it’s easier to deal with the traumatic memories when there is something to combat them.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? not at first. before leaving the tower, nilviri’d be hard pressed to kill a spider. though familiar with many combat spells and their theoretical uses, actual combat terrified her - up to the first scuffle with bandits that she and duncan came across on the way to ostagar. killing people was not easy, not looked forward to and often regretted. as time went on, however, she’s become almost desensitized to it. colder, more efficient. she’s become jaded and vindictive, merciful when it could be allowed but brutal with those that harmed the weak, the oppressed and the innocent. she also has absolutely no trouble killing those that harm or threaten to harm her friends.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? it’s absolutely heartbreaking to witness, for nilviri keeps so many emotions bottled up that if they break loose, she will be inconsolable. moreover, it can get hazardous, nearly violent. she’s a powerful mage with deep, deep reserves of mana - a very powerful mage. though she boasts impressive control of her magic due to confidence and lack of fear in her own abilities, if she is in the middle of a breakdown, it will bleed out of her in surges of power. strikes of lightning near her form, water in the air crystallizing from cold, arcane energy cascading through her form, contained but nonetheless threatening. she’ll struggle to breathe and will not recover for quite some time, becoming mentally and physically exhausted. she also hates being seen crying.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? absolutely. alright, so it may not always extend to jowan given his track record of disastrous decisions, but she would still die for him. if she loves you in any way, she will trust you absolutely.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? really goddamn daft, for one. she can fall in love and not recognize it as romantic longing. she can recognize it but not want to act on it, fearing rejection or just not wanting to make things weird. she can be in love with few people at once, all equally and all deeply and not want to do anything about it to fear of losing any of them. it’s not so different from when she loves someone as a close friend, but she’d be more vulnerable with a lover. more ready to open up, to let them see her in states she wouldn’t want to show others, to trust them even more. she’d b loyal, patient and very forgiving while also being extremely affectionate - almost desperately so. wouldn’t that be nice, huh.

[doodleysloth]

Probabbly gonna do Bora’s info next… ;v; Feel free to ask questions about or for Jung as I want to start drawing more! More info under cut. Name:

Jung-Hwan Seonwoo (Hangul: 선우 정환)

Nickname(s):

Jung, Mr.Seonwoo (Work only; He becomes offended if it’s used outside his teaching job.)

Online Username:

Jung

Gender:

Cis Male

Sexuality:

Bisexual

Height:

6’5” | 198 cm

Weight:

210 lbs | 95 kg

Birth Date:

February 21st

Zodiac Sign:

Pisces

Occupation:

Language Teacher (High School) Translator (Mainly books and most of his income)

Personality:

Charming | Diplomatic | Resourceful | Responsible | Loyal ||| Manipulative | Vindictive | Callous | Entitled | Controlling

Surprisingly, Jung has a pleasant side to him, or rather the face he chooses to display outwardly. He knew how to make you feel important and cared for. Whether it is just words you want to here or sincerity is unknown. Due to his keen senses of observing others, he can be quite tactful if it does call for it. It’s often shown if he needs to cover for himself, and on the surprising occasion for others. Often left to his own devices, Jung has developed a rather quick wit about him. Difficulties to him seem rather than a challenge goading him on rather than a hindrance. Following rules is absolute to him, in a warped way he will do what he thinks is right. He has no shame in his actions and will be happy to admit to it as he has nothing to hide. Very rarely, Jung will exhibit a warped form of attachment because of this he becomes utterly obsessed with keeping the said party safe as to not taint them further. He will follow them until they threaten his perception of their relationship or reject him.

Having nothing, Jung has learned to be sly and quick-witted, unconcerned of others most of the time he has no qualms about disposing or using others for his benefit. Controlled by his emotions Jung lets his actions dictate his life, good or bad. The same goes for others; he will hold grudges and keep that resentment to better himself than the offender. Nothing will satisfy him more than coming on top of those who wronged him. Unsurprisingly he can be quite heartless in regard for others. At the end of the day, he only has himself and will have no problem stepping over anyone to reach his goals. They have done nothing for him. On the same side of the coin, Jung feels entitled to anything he desires as no one has given him anything worthwhile, he will take it by force. He’s a selfish man to his core. Due to the lack of structure in his life, Jung has the intense innate desire to control everything in regards to him. He keeps to a strict schedule and rules for himself that he refuses to break. He has gone so far to attempt to control what others think of him, or the person themselves.

Likes: • Sweets (Chapssaltteok and Butterscotch candies are his favorite) • Kids (Anyone younger than him he automatically treats as his student) • Structure • Different Cultures • Exercising • Drama shows/books • Tech gadgets • Manners Dislikes: • Idle flattery • Breaking of rules • Weak willed/meek people • Slackers • Impoliteness • Social gatherings • Unpredictable circumstances • Clutter History: At a young age, the moral lines of right and wrong were blurred for a child named Jung. His parents provided him an unstable lifestyle on the sensitive child. Smoke hung in the air, blood and sweat stained the carpet. The unsavory acts left a suffocating feeling in his chest. Learning quickly to fend for himself he often took care of his little sister, too tiny to witness the daily sin. Wising up quickly to his abnormal treatment, the child sought out help, despite the risks his parents posed. Soon they were subsequently arrested as Jung watched a smile tugging at his lips as he watched them spew obscenities. Oh, look at how hateful their eyes were! Was it so wrong he enjoyed the same suffering they toiled out on him? Old fashioned to the core, the children’s grandparents took them in raising them with strict rules and guidelines. Jung found the harsh way comforting, welcoming the stability and structure he was finally provided. Growing up, it caused him to be quite rigid and stiff with his views, his stubbornness not gaining him much support from his peers. Latching onto the rules desperately, he began to force his ideals upon others not caring for their opinions. Soon he was labeled as a thug by many of his schoolmates, gaining a poor reputation despite his scholarly feats. Deciding to run with this, the teen began to attack delinquents in his school, beating them into submission. Force was the only thing he knew; he would make others think his way. Was he using them as a scapegoat? No, it didn’t matter, they chose their fate when they decided not to listen to authority. He despised the whole lot of them.

Causing turmoil for the ones that raised him, Jung craftily hid from his grandparents prying eyes once they wised up. Playing coy came easily; he crafted a fake persona as he doled out his brand of divine punishment. Soon, it was put on the back burner as he was forced upon the college. Enjoying his language classes in high school the man decided to pursue his interests. Teaching seemed like a suitable job to force his passions upon others. Although he soon came to realize, most teens didn’t share the teacher’s enthusiasm for learning about other cultures. How disappointing. Irritated, the new teacher became quite strict falling back into his old ways. With his youth and inexperience, his students lack respect for Jung, which is his primary concern currently

Extra:

• His speech pattern is very formal and (usually) polite as he uses the speech level Hasipsio-che. Will use Haeyo-che once he is used to you. (Will not use any honorifics if you piss him off enough.)

• He expects the same politeness he gives others, if not; he will have a poor opinion of you and disregard you.

• Jung’s family is rather poor. He relied on scholarships and part-time jobs to get himself through school.

• Unironically enjoys Vocaloid songs due to his sister introducing them. Hums them to himself when he grades papers or when he’s bored.

• He has tech gadgets for almost anything in his house. Mainly for cooking. Jung names them.

• Can speak four languages fluently currently (Korean, English, Chinese, and Japanese). Teaching himself Arabic in his free time.

• Taught himself English out of spite to curse at a kid in his native language. Taught himself Japanese under similar circumstances.

• There are rumors that he is frightening when angered.

• A neat freak. Detests clutter and messes. Will end up cleaning after you even if it’s impolite.

• As much as he can be cruel, it’s only if you get on his bad side. He is usually indifferent to everyone unless they make a substantial impression on him, good or bad. His respect is earned, and he will treat you in kind. Someone you don’t want as an enemy, but it’s in your best interest to get on his good side.

• Internalizes most of his emotions. If you are close to him, he will show more to himself than being polite.

CV:

Sung Joon