#wicked eyes and wicked hearts was the quest that made me go back and play the old games when i started with dai

[kirkwallguy]

can't believe teia and viago characters from the comics/book most da fans didn't even read were important enough to cameo in veilguard but thee zevran arainai isn't :/

including characters from past games is unfair because new players (and some devs. in zevran's case) will be confused </3 to make it fair we should include characters from the tie-in material so even MORE people are confused

[spainkitty]

okay i need the deets about your surana-lavellan i am so intrigued 👀🙏 -merrybandofmurders

@merrybandofmurderers

I'll have you know, I am OBSESSED with my Surana-Lavellan. I am OVERJOYED to tell you, every single one of my lurking followers, and the whole world all about her. 🥰🤩😍 Welcome to my Very Long Post to justify having Surana as my Lavellan!!

Okay! It starts with: I didn't put enough memory on the MS side of my Mac laptop 😅

I played DAO with my Cousland, went on to play DA2, but I went back and started my Surana file for funsies and Tabris as well. Just because I love building characters and I wanted to experience the other Origins. I fell IMMEDIATELY in love with my Surana. I played her with high Willpower, a bit of a bully and an arrogant one at that, who'd drunk the Chantry Kool-aid and was going to slowly, as she ventured out into the world, realize the Kool-aid was gross, and she and all mages deserve better. However, before I even finished the first few Main Quests (I think I did Broken Circle and Orzammar), I finished my DA2 playthru and my friend helped me set up for DAI.

This is where the lack of memory on my laptop comes in. I had to delete my Origins file to make room on my laptop for DAI. I didn't want to close down the entire partition and re-allot the memory so I just deleted everything but DAI. I was so sad and upset, I remade my Lanil Surana as Lanil Lavellan and added an entire amnesia-ridden backstory for her 🤣 Her personality and character growth was going to be along the same lines, and her appearance, of course. And then I set sail on DAI~

Basically: During Origins, someone *coughCullencough* helped her escape during Uldred’s Uprising and she couldn't get back. She barely escaped through a tunnel in the storage rooms full of giant spiders (a little bg for her DAI phobia 😉) and wandered around poisoned and pissed off with vague plans to go back home anyway when the Sabrae Clan picked her up. She ended up leaving with them instead to the Free Marches, but after everything with Uldred, didn't trust Merrill enough to stay. The blood magic and the demon on Sundermount scared her, especially since she's still a little Kool-aid drinker at heart at this time. Marethari eventually sent Lanil off to the Lavellan Clan and Lanil became a Second. Mainly because she was highly educated and a Healer with spells she could teach that they would never have heard of. Her becoming First was out of sheer moxie. She refuses to let anyone tell her she can't do something and she'd always been rather ambitious, aiming and being groomed for First Enchanter most of her life.

Along the way she does actually grow and change. She starts to care a lot more about elves and Elvhen, becomes fascinated by this history that was denied her during her Chantry-filled life, and throws herself into the culture with wide eyes. It's about more than being powerful, it's about wanting to use that power to make things better, to protect the People that have welcomed her and her magic and made her feel like she finally had a family. (Dregs of this inform who she is as an Inquisitor.)

Then, the Conclave. She's sent because she's Chantry-educated and knows the lay of the land well. She's FROM there; she has studied the geography and knows the politics. She can blend in better than any of them. When she and the Divine are blown into the Fade, though, the Nightmare doesn't just take her memories of that night and Corypheus, it took ALL of them. She had nearly nothing left and doesn't even know her own name for most of her story. She's just Lavellan, because Leliana found her belongings and the only personal information included was the Clan name: Lavellan. Dorian (I think? It might have been Sera) eventually dubs her "Lane" and she responds to it automatically. She doesn't get her memories back until after Into the Abyss, of course, which I played AFTER Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts, and after her relationship Cullen was already pretty deep and "locked in".

I had a lot of fun with writing her and Cullen's first meeting and then after she figures out who she really is 🤣 Cullen definitely gaslit himself into thinking he's crazy for noticing how similar they looked/acted. Since she was much older, heavily scarred, and had vallaslin (and amnesia, so even her personality was affected in a way), he told himself he was being stupid, how could Surana be a Dalish elf now? She's probably dead and his one truly rebellious act was for nothing. Lavellan just looks *a lot* like her. Don't be so racist, Rutherford! Surprise! It's really her! 🤣🤣🤣 (tbf, they did only know each other for a year, and even then, it wasn't like they knew each other well)

She starts off DAI ruthless and stubborn as hell, aggressively doing the Right Thing and taking everyone along with her. She consolidated as much power as she could, and does everything possible to make the world better for mages and elves, but she's not exactly wise or clever and makes some truly upsetting mistakes. Learning to rely on others, to be vulnerable, and to care more about the small, important details rather than the Big Picture is how she grows. Although she never quite shakes her knee-jerk aggressive and stubborn-jackass personality, she does soften slightly and learn empathy. The Iron Bull's betrayal much later shakes her down to her core, and it's the main reason why she chooses to save and forgive Solas instead of kill him in the end. She doesn't want to let down and lose another close friend like she did the Iron Bull.

[discordapples]

PT. 7 Third Wheel

Word count: 1.7k (7 mins read)

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Livia Novik, Ominis Gaunt.

Summary

Sebastian introduces Livia to Ominis. Ominis is roped into his friends' schemes to steal a relic from headmaster Black's office, while Sebastian senses this quest is only the beginning of a journey that is utterly and solemnly up to no good.

Read the seventh chapter below.

Sebastian | Hogwarts, Late August, 1893.

It is well past curfew when Sebastian and Livia make it to the Slytherin common room. Aside from the occasional glance around, Livia appears unbothered by the fact they are trampling through a few rules. 

Drifting from her, the same perfume that trailed Sebastian into his dreams last night. It bled out into the morning, too, as if a piece of her had been wedged between gum and teeth for him to pathetically suck on when the need for another hit arose.

What is it with this girl?

Is it the cutting wit? Her wand game? The hint of a Slavic accent leaching out when she speaks his name? The way her scant smiles feel deserved—earned?

Sebastian needs to focus on something else than the itch she leaves in his mind… And avoiding being caught is just as effective as a cold shower.

The living room is empty, save for the hiss of flames, and Sebastian steers left towards the stairwell. Together, they tiptoe up, silent as graves, and come to the dorm Sebastian shares with Ominis.

He opens the door and peers inside to find his friend sitting at the desk, hunched over a pile of books. 

“Late, as always,” Ominis chides him. “You’ll be grateful to know that while you were playing with your wand, I located the book you were after in the restricted section.”

“Playing with my wand?” 

The innuendo snatches a smirk from Sebastian. Next to him, Livia’s lips curl upwards likewise. 

Ominis turns on his chair, and for a moment, Sebastian thinks he can smell his shirt’s burned fibers or the irony tang of blood on it, but it’s neither the fire nor the blood Ominis sinks his teeth into… “Who are you with?”

How does he know? How does he always know?

Livia’s back stitches itself to the door, as if she regrets outstaying her welcome. 

In response, Sebastian slumps on his bed hoping to iron out the pleats tension has made in the Ravenclaw’s composure with his nonchalance. “Livia Novik, this is Ominis Gaunt. Don’t let his blind guy act fool you… He only does it to soften womanly hearts.”

“She shouldn’t be here,” Ominis hisses. “She’s not Slytherin, and it’s way past curfew.”

Sebastian cannot help but roll his eyes. This, too, Ominis has learned to taste on the air. “Haven’t you realized after eight years that the argument about breaking rules isn’t really a deterrent to me?”

“I’m well aware you’re a lost cause, but maybe she isn’t.”

“I feel a little embarrassed to say,” Livia chimes in gingerly, “but I don’t mind either.”

An odd pride shrugs into Sebastian’s chest. Livia’s clay is soft for the crime, and he wonders just how far she will go to get what she wants—how much her aspirations shape her.

“Fuck’s sake…” Ominis sighs in exasperation. “And here I thought this eighth year would be a quiet one. Should’ve insisted I’d bunk with someone else…”

“Oh, stop whining,” Sebastian derides him. “You’re embarrassing me in front of our guest.”

“A guest that shouldn’t be here…”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Ominis.” Livia’s apologetic tone finds the dents in the wizard’s armor and he sheds it swiftly, rising from his chair and extending a hand in her direction.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” he says. “Please forgive me.”

To Livia’s untrained eye, the gesture might seem friendly—almost penitent—but Sebastian knows better.

The little Gaunt boy that hunkered down through his family’s relentless spates of magical torture has found an inclination of his own for the meek and the complacent.

An ironic penchant Sebastian has kept himself from bringing before Ominis’ attention or else jeopardize their friendship.

Unaware of the wicked thoughts that, Sebastian is sure, don’t fail to materialize in Ominis’ mind, Livia shakes the hand offered and parts with a coy smile. “No harm done,” she says candidly before turning to Sebastian. “Now I believe you had me risk detention for a reason?”

“There are many reasons I’d have you risk detention,” he says playfully. “The first is so I have company. The second, to make good on my promise to include Ominis in my adventures, and the third being to have a private place where we can discuss the allegedly brilliant plan you enticed me with earlier, Livia Novik.” He stretches on his bed, his hands cradling his skull. “How does the saying goes? To zap three birds with one spell?”

“To kill two birds with one stone,” Livia and Ominis correct him in unison.

“See?” Sebastian sneers, “You two are already getting along like two beets in a pond.”

“Two peas in a pod…” Ominis feels compelled to rectify. 

Sebastian waves him dismissively. “Whatever… So, what’s this plan of yours, new girl?”

Livia leans against his disorderly desk. Will the pages of Sebastian’s notebook drink her scent and torment him with it when he expects it the least? Livia gives this thought no leeway to swell in Sebastian’s mind when she asks him: “Will you call me new girl for much longer?”

Ominis disgorges a sarcastic chuckle. “He will.”

“Another clause to add to our contract, then,” Livia adds.

 The word takes Sebastian by surprise. “Contract?”

“Spilling all my secrets before two Slytherin boys seems like a very asinine thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?” She crosses her arms before her chest, her eyes steeling. The stare she drags on Sebastian electrifies his chine. “I will reveal the plan to you as we go and if you prove trustworthy. We jest, we caper, we banter, and it’s all in good fun, but I’m not in Hogwarts to fawn over the Quidditch team, fuck through a cortege of boys or to learn how to cast myself out of a paper sack… I’m here to resurrect my brother, and if you two are all talk no walk, I’ll find the Promissum Mortis on my own.”

Ominis frowns. “Resurrection?” 

So does Sebastian. “A cortege of boys?”

Livia is all ice and no honey. “Are you with me, or did I risk detention for nothing?”

“I was with you the moment you cast that Confringo on Reyes, new girl.” Sebastian cracks his knuckles with a smirk. “I know now, it would be unwise to anger you.”

They turn to Ominis, both their gazes cutting enough to make the Slytherin’s brow hike. “I’m not as eager as Sebastian to walk on smoldering charcoals, but I’m not a snitch either. Time will tell if you’re likewise trustworthy, Livia Novik.”

“Acceptable terms,” she replies.

“So?” Sebastian uproots himself from his bunk bed, smoothing his trousers. “It seems like the perfect hour to snatch headmaster Black from the arms of his wet dreams, wouldn’t you say?”

* * *

The Grimfire, Livia Novik tells them, is a silver candle bristling with sharp needles. A thing you can only hold while wearing the Grimweave Gauntlet.

However comical the artefacts’ monikers seem to Sebastian, they aren’t half as absurd as the plan the Ravenclaw comes up with.

“Can you remind me why Ominis is so instrumental to your plan when he wasn’t even slightly enthused about the prospect of stealing from the headmaster?” He asks her as she discards her cloak and leaves it on Sebastian’s desk.

“Are you envious, Sebastian?” Ominis asks him, and his tone is enough a taunt to force Sebastian to inhale deeply through his nose. 

“I’m merely questioning your motives, Ominis…”

“You are quite vocal about your detention record and how… visited it has been,” Livia explains. “Black will believe me too fast if I pretend you nearly assaulted me after you got drunk.”

“Besides, I’m a Gaunt,” Ominis remarks, hammering on the nail of Sebastian’s coffin. “The headmaster won’t risk angering my father without trying to defuse the situation first, whereas he’d commit you to Azkaban without an afterthought if you as much as sneezed on her.”

“Don’t be so smug, Ominis,” Sebastian scowls. “Your bravery will deflate the second Black’s blade hovers above your neck.”

“How you underestimate me…”

“Boys,” Livia interjects, scissoring through the thread of their budding rivalry in one quick snip. “I’d love to be surrendered back to my feathery bed before the dawn rolls in, so could you focus a little?”

Sebastian graces her with a cynical smile as he kiss-feeds her plan back to her to show his assiduity. “Ominis tries to force his way on you. You make a scene and wake half the castle with your shouts, so Professor Weasley will have no choice but to bring you two into Black’s office. As Ominis wields his threats about like Ashwood would his dick, you steal the relic, and while you two are having a blast, I sneak into the restricted section to get my hands on Dovetail’s book. Seems to me like I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting…”

“Perhaps you’d choose Azkaban?” Ominis suggests. “The result would be the same for us, except we wouldn’t have to contend with your whining.”

Before Sebastian can think to retaliate, Livia clears her throat. “Or I could run to Black myself and tell him both of you sequestered me here. You already have my cloak in your possession and it would be a trifle for me to tear holes in my own clothes, muss my hair and make my eyes water.” She flaunts a triumphant smile about. The kind Sebastian aches to stare at as she twists it around his cock. “Which one will it be, chaps?”

“You do have the mind of a Slytherin,” Ominis remarks. “At least it’s one thing Sebastian didn’t lie about. Shall we?”

Leaving the dorm, they traipse through the common room, then spill out into the deserted corridor. 

The moisture of the dungeons clings to Sebastian’s nape and raises hairs on his arms. Somewhere deep inside of him, something rouses. A disquieting unrest that settles in his skull, like a viper in tall grass, waiting for a trespasser to sink its fangs in.

The walls have eyes, perhaps, and there, between the cracks in the timeworn mortar, sidle half a thousand secrets. Hogwarts’ secrets. 

His mother’s voice carries from a moment long lost. The shade of a reminiscence that, in its slow trickle, is more potent than any strychnine:

There are wonderful things hidden behind Hogwarts’ skin, if you know only where to find the loose stitch. But there are sinister things, too. For there could be no light without darkness, and no gold without its weight in coal.

[anneapocalypse]

Things that have changed about this world state since my first incomplete playthrough:

It has a name!

Starting world state for Inquisition is completely different. When the game first came out I really had no idea what I wanted my "canon" world state to be but I felt like I had to Decide and I didn't have time to replay the first two games before the release, so I sort of cobbled a world state together in the Keep. If I recall it was female Mahariel who romanced Leliana, and female Blue Hawke who romanced Isabela. It turns out that not having a "canon" and just being a multi world state mess is the life for me! "Rogues Gallery" now includes my first-ever warden, Jolene Cousland (who I replayed this year and had a fun time revisiting even if she's not the most interesting of my characters) who romanced Alistair and they both stayed Grey Wardens. It includes a new Hawke because since my first two playthroughs of DA2 were with the defaults, I feel I didn't really have a "first Hawke" so I made one on theme. Mallory is an archer and a pure Purple asshole who romanced Isabela (and Merrill post-game; they have a happy triad) and has only recently decided to start openly giving a shit about things.

Calla conscripted the mages instead of recruiting them as partners.

Calla has a bit more of a sense of humor (and is way more of a flirt) than the first time around.

Calla gets along really well with Sera (see above about sense of humor).

Calla is a bit more the master of her own fate here. I always had in mind her accepting the title of Herald as some kind of long con, but that didn't really solidify until Skyhold. This time around, she was already playing that game in Haven.

Solas hates her. 😂 I did not plan this, but this time around I've made her a lot less curious about magic (having played the game a few times, there's less pressure to exhaust every dialogue option even when it's OOC) and the decisions she's made have shifted just enough to earn a lot of disapproval. She'd managed to get him up to neutral, and then she brought the Grey Wardens into the Inquisition and now he's icy again. I had planned for her reaction to the Haven dream to stay pretty much the same ("What the fuck did you just do?") but at this rate she's never going to get it at all. I think I may have asked just a few too many questions to get the "Not really, no" option in Trespasser, which is a shame, because at this point that seems appropriate. 🤣

And I think that's the major stuff. I think I wandered away from the game right after "Here Lies the Abyss"; I know I never got to Josephine's engagement quest and I never did "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts." As the latter has since become my favorite quest in the game, I absolutely cannot wait to go charm the court with my butch lesbian mafia dwarf. And also duel for the honor of her lady love. Calla's a blast. I'm really glad I decided to bring her back.

This is it Mr. Frodo. If I do one more quest, it'll be further than I got with Calla on my first-ever playthrough of Inquisition!

[bluering8]

Olaf Hits the Dragon with His Sword

Back in October my friend @unrepentantauthor and I played a round of @prokopetz's mini-RPG Olaf Hits the Dragon with His Sword. Today I noticed that every post about the game was made by someone playing solo, so (with my friend's permission) I'm posting our game as an example of what it looks like as a back-and-forth between two people.

They played Olaf; I played the Dragon.

OLAF, why have you come?

I am a knight sworn to defend the innocent, and to strike down evil beasts for the wrongs they have committed. The dragon has slaughtered countless people, and must die for it, if not by my sword, then by the hand of some other brave warrior to come. Today, the task falls to me. For I am capable, and I am here.

(+IRON)

As for THE DRAGON, what is your nature?

You speak of wrongs committed, little knight, and I do not deny them. I have shed the blood of the innocent and the wicked alike, the blameless man and the murderer; it was my power to do this, for I have taken this land and named it mine, and now all things live under my dominion and fall to their knees at the whisper of my presence. You are not the first knight to come here, seeking glory and heroism, speaking of the grief and pain I have caused; you are not the first knight whose bones will find their resting place in my hoard.

You name me DRAGON, O little knight who comes in iron, who seeks for vengeance and names it justice, but I name myself DEATH, I name myself DESTROYER, I name myself END OF ALL.

(+DEATH)

OLAF approaches THE DRAGON's lair.

If I must add my bones to your horde, so be it. I have shed blood every month of my life in service of my principles and my quests, and I have lost many precious things already. I have lost wealth to bad fortune. I have lost friends to irreconcilable faith. I have lost the best years of my youth to hard training. And I have lost finger, eye, and foot to past combats. Yet I have still more to give. I do not fear losing my life today.

(+SORROW)

THE DRAGON responds:

You do not fear death, and you believe you have the capability to vanquish me? What good is that iron shell of armour when the creature inside it has already halfway to death, having abandoned himself so to sorrow and sacrifice? You are weak, you little knight, you little fool, you pitiful thing with nothing to live for.

There is no justice in the iron of your sword; there is only death, yours or mine, and the foolishness of a man who has willingly abandoned so much. Your strength will one day come to an end, and when that day comes you will have nothing remaining to you.

You can never regain what you have lost. Lay down your sword, foolish knight. Melt down your armour and forge of its iron the shovel, the hoe, the plough. Abandon this futile endeavour.

(+IRON)

OLAF speaks:

I am confident in my steady hand, my keen eye, and my stalwart heart. I have slain monsters, and the prices I have paid are but costs, not failures. I may slay you today, and I would rather take my chance at doing so than retire to a profession of which I know nothing, to live out a life of vulnerability and humility. I will not expose myself to your predations, O Wyrm. I will do as I have done many times before, and shed your blood in service of my cause. I will be a credit to the name 'knight'.

(+AMBITION)

THE DRAGON responds:

It will be naught but the highest of honours, then, to be slain by such a man. I call it a great flattery, to know you hold my death so high in your esteem! A credit to the name of knight! A beast which slaughters in service of its cause, so accomplished in violence that it can conceive of naught else, who aspires so dearly to end life that it can never dream of creating something new.

How much blood is on your hands, knight? How many lives have you already ended? If I am to die then I go knowing it is at the hands of a dealer in death as great and terrible as I myself was in my prime.

(+AMBITION)

OLAF speaks:

How telling of your nature, that you should compare your slaughter to my vengeance. Do you truly see no difference between wanton and indiscriminate killing of the innocent, and the sanctioned ending of a violent life to prevent further suffering? Do not seek to make me doubt my just cause, when I have seen the ashes of the young and the bones of the meek left in your wake. Do not tell me of my bloodied hands when there is an ocean of blood in your maw. I will not waver. I will not stay my hand.

(+IRON)

THE DRAGON responds:

You are not the first to speak these words to me, knight, and I tell you now you shall not be the last. Look now upon my horde, these many suits of armour. See them battle-worn, once gleaming but gone now to rust and ruin, and know that within each of these iron shells lies a rotten sack of meat and bones, a thing which was once a man. I have been visited by more knights than you could ever count, though you may live a thousand years, and each of them came to me with your words in their mouth. They are long since forgotten, their stories untold and their names turned to dust. Yet I remain! I am the DRAGON, red and wrathful, greater than any; I have withstood armies, lain whole kingdoms to waste, outlived even the memories of those who aspired to destroy me. What are you compared to I, little knight, little morsel of meat whom I could end with the merest snap of my jaws.

I weary of this folly. Let us speak no more. Strike me down now, if you dare!

(+BLOOD)

OLAF HITS THE DRAGON WITH HIS SWORD

(roll: BLOOD 4, IRON 6 2 1, AMBITION 6 3, SORROW 2, DEATH 3. -1 IRON, -1 AMBITION. roll: BLOOD 1, IRON 5 3, AMBITION 3, SORROW 6, DEATH 5)

SORROW dominates. OLAF is left broken by his trials.

OLAF, speak of your wretchedness.

As I had known, but not allowed myself to fear, this was surely my final combat. I have sustained more wounds this day than any year of my life, and though I may yet survive, I will not live as I have done. My sword hand is lost, forever to remain in the belly of mine enemy. So too have I finally lost the courage that brought me here, poisoned to death by the words the DRAGON spoke to me ere I began our battle. This was my choice, but it is a choice I weep for. I am not only wounded, but old, and I shall be lucky to provide so much as an odd word of combat training to young squires, if I can even bring myself to do so. I am not yet dead, but I am diminished more by my survival than by any death the DRAGON could have given me.

DRAGON, speak of what comfort remains.

Olaf has lost both his sword hand and the unyielding courage which drove him forwards in his quest for justice. He is slower than he was, more hesitant, less certain, damaged in body and mind. He was not slain in battle, but he thinks his life is over all the same.

There is more to life than iron and death. There is grief and there is suffering. Olaf cannot stand to hear the songs written to commemorate his vanquishing of the dragon, and so when they are sung he listens instead to the laughter of children who no longer live in fear. He travels to villages the dragon had razed to the ground, and sees fresh green sprouts growing in what once was blasted wasteland. He wakes each night screaming, shuddering from nightmares, but there are gentle hands to sooth him and to hold him close.

[pleasantanathema]

Pray to Me

Pairing: Shinsou x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Gods!AU, Rough Sex, Too Many Norse Mythology References

Word Count: 8.5k

         The frigid waters were laden with blood and ice, the salty waves licking the bows of long boats as they accosted the shores. The dark waters of the bay looked black against the fresh snow, churning oars sending sprays onto the docks as warriors returned home.

           You stood among the crowds, whips of snow billowing past your reddened cheeks, your arms crossed in protection across your chest. Despite losing the men within your family to raids and battles long ago, you always came to welcome back those who were fortunate enough to receive homecoming. Upon the sails of the ships was the symbol of your earl, dancing proudly against the winds of winter as the men and women beneath them hailed their successes from summer and autumn.

           High upon the prow of the leading ship was a carved figurehead, meticulously crafted in the image of Skoll, the wolf who hunts the moon. The wolf’s jaws were wide and within his wooden tongue was an etching of a crescent moon; the wolf with his prey in his maw was a symbol of Ragnarok, a symbol of the return of chaos. And upon the prow was a man you had never seen before.

          The man was all shades of violet and violence. His hair was the color of crushed mulberries, the long strands pushed back and wet from the sea, so deeply purple that it looked as if you were to touch him, your palms would stain with color. Blood, russet and old, crimson and fresh, was splattered across his cheeks. A warrior’s tattoos stained the expanse of his chest and arms; the thick, blue lines were heavy and sprawling from the wood ash buried within in pale skin. And his eyes, they were purple and bright, painted with black kohl. The dark smears ran down his impressive cheek bones and curled up from his eyes, appearing catlike. The curious orbs resembled the farthest stars that lined night sky.

           You expected murmurs from around the docks, but it was as if the man belonged there, towering over all the rest, hands pulling at the mouth of the wolf within the wood. He was silent power within the snow, lean and muscular, body on display as if the storm did not touch him. You felt drawn to him, like he was looking for you high upon the prow. Your feet moved before you could think. You wanted to be closer, to have those violaceous eyes upon you.

           You moved in front of the crowd, standing by the edge of the water, sand and ice crunching underfoot, but when your eyes darted to find him, he was gone. There was no trace of slick purple hair within the throngs of people. Disappointment settled into your spirit and wearily you traveled home to rest.

           For weeks you dreamt of him, saw shadows of him within the corners of your vision; illusions of a dark cat in your windows, a tawny owl upon barren branches.

            Some nights you dreamed you were sinking into a vast violet sea, trying to swim upwards to break against the surface, to breathe air into your lungs and call to Odin to rescue you. But you were stuck, some unknown force pulling at your ankles and keeping you in a watery, nebulous purgatory just below the surface. You would always give up, allow yourself to float within the celestial unknown of the eerie, mauve waters, allow yourself to feel weightless and accept that you were no longer in control. The undercurrents would push you, bring you into strong, waiting arms, and you would awaken, breathing in and feeling like for a brief moment you were whole.

           No one you asked had seen the purple haired man, save those who returned from raiding in the East. One warrior told you that the man you saw upon the prow of the ship was a land spirit, brought with them from the Balkans after blessing them with the gift of fire and aiding their struggles to survive as the weather turned bleak. Another relayed that the man was a spirit of the Wild Hunt, a straggler from the ghostly procession that attached himself to the fleet and brought the callousness of winter with him. No matter what they believed him to be, they had all seen him, the man with violet hair and violent eyes.

           You knew that the sisters were calling to you from The Well of Fate, whispering the future that they had laid before you. Something about the purple haired man, whether he be man, vestige, or spirit, made you believe that you were fated to meet him again.

           Nearly a full moon cycle passed before your curiosity could take no more. In the dead of night, you wrapped yourself in your cloak, ignoring the shadows and wisps of eyes in the dark as you made your way through the sleeping village.

You found yourself before the Seer, ancient and decrypt, asking for him to translate the gods’ wishes and intentions for your life.

           “What questions do you have of me?” His voice was as rickety as the bones that adorned his hut, rattling from stray winds. He had lived hundreds of years and now dwelled between life and death, an interpreter between gods and man.

           “Wise one, I desire to know the gods’ plans for me. I have dreams.”

           “What dreams have come to you?”

           “I dream I am drowning within the bay, and that a man saves me, but only after I stop fighting the currents.”

           There was a pregnant pause between you. The Seer considered your words. Your thumbs fiddled within your lap, and you felt heavy, like you were under the gaze of more than just the ancient one.

           “A precarious quest awaits you, one that will take you between worlds, to the land of the gods.”

           “But I do not understand. I do not adventure, nor travel. I am only a simple healer. What kind of quest could await me?”

           Below hooded eyes you watched a black tongue escape his mouth, worrying across dry lips as he pondered your words. Only a few times in your life had you visited him, well aware that fate was already the master of all, even the gods, as even they were subject to fate just like any and all other beings.

           “You shall go past where the fence separates us from the place of self-willed beasts, finding refuge in that which is chaotic, anarchic, and wild.”

           “But, Seer, I do not—.”

           “Yes, child, I know you do not understand. But such is the way of prophecy, only to be understood when it has happened, and it is too late to change it.”

           You stood to leave, seeds of fear sprouting within your spirit.

           “But do not forget there is order within the chaos.” His voice crackled like fire, calling out to you as you left his home, forging a path through the snow to your own.

           The foresights of the Seer lingered within your disposition, the cryptic words reverberating through your mind and taking hold in your daily life. You started to fight the currents in your dreams, only to wake gasping for breath after monstrous beings pulled you into the abyss. The warm arms of your illusory savior felt farther away than ever before. The murky glooms in the crevices felt stronger, grimmer, the oppressive eyes of darkness following you from every corner, every winter shade.

           Your hands began to slip as you tended to the wounded, your thoughts becoming absent as you crafted medicine or supper, often burning yourself over fires or forgetting ingredients. You felt lost, abandoned by the gods, but still yet you prayed.

           Winter continued to rage on, with the moon living within the sky at all times of day and bathing the world in a constant dusk during the desolate midwinter. Every night before you made for bed, you trekked behind the village to the isolated temple to the gods. No one was ever there. The summer raids were over, the men safely returned with riches aplenty, which, along with the great harvest, had left many believing that the gods were in good spirits and were bestowing ample blessings upon their dedicated supplicants.

           But you, you felt no love from Asgard, felt no promise of Valhalla waiting for you.

           The temple was hardly a sanctuary at all, just a hut overrun by dormant vines and overgrown with dying grass, with an altar for blood sacrifices tucked away against the back wall. Despite being a devoted village, most saved their prayers for their pilgrimage to the great temple in Uppsala, but you had become desperate. You needed to feel closer to the gods, to find the place beyond the fence that was foretold to you.

           You knelt upon a broken stone, obedient hands upon your knees as you began to pray.

        “Odin, all-father and far-wanderer, may you grant me wisdom, and    courage,

         Thor, grant me your strength, wield your hammer to break the barriers that hold my mind,

         Baldr, the beautiful, beloved by all, please bestow upon me joy and light,

         And Freya, mother of beauty, the völva, help me to discern my fate—.”

           Your prayer faltered as you heard steps crunch upon the grass. But the sound wasn’t of footsteps coming towards you, more like someone shuffling, shifting their weight within the temple.

           You were not alone.

           All your instincts began to fight one another. Your mind wanted to flee, to spring your legs and send you running to safety, but your heart felt like you needed to stay, to speak into the twilight for answers. The conflict led to you staying still and being silent. Your hands fisted upon your thighs, your eyes closing tightly. Whatever was there would go away, whoever was there would leave. Maybe there was nothing there at all, only the spirits playing tricks on you again.

           “And why haven’t you called out for me, little one?”

           The voice sounded like vibrations from within the deepest ocean; deep, unfathomable, and a little wicked.

           He was there, before you, arms across his tattooed chest that was on display under emerald linen and violet head cocked to the side. He was grinning, like a cat would upon discovering new prey. His purple hair was arched into wild plumes, his skin rubbed clean but the kohl still upon his cheeks and around his eyes. He was handsome in the firelight, fiendishly so.

           “Who are you?” Your voice was a whisper, so light and airy it floated away into the darkness.

           “Who am I?” He laughed, leaning against the sacrificial altar, a blatant disrespect for the gods.

           “Who am I…” he repeated it, drawing circles in the dirt with his toe. He shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, eyes closing as he picked up an imaginary rhythm.

           “A creaking bow, a burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake…”

           Your breath caught in your throat, fingers twitching in your lap. You recognized the pattern and knew what words came next. It was an old saying your mother used to whisper under her breath, a chant for the old women and those who held superstitions. It was a warning, a rhythmic song to help children remember to stay safe, to avoid perils.

           Your mouth opened before you could stop it, finishing the proverb for him.

           “The sons of a king, an ailing calf, a witch’s flattery. No man should be such a fool as to trust these things. For they are the trickster in disguise.”

            “Aha, so you do know me, girl. Yet after all this time, I’ve never heard you pray to me. Why is that?”

              He crouched down to your level, his startling, devilish eyes gleaming like amethyst. He was too close and you felt yourself leaning away, back arching and neck aching as you tried to pull yourself from his gaze.

             “No one prays to you, trickster god.”

              He merely shrugged, a strong hand reaching for you. Rough fingers found your chin, pulling you closer as his eyes danced across the planes of your face. You began to shake, overwhelmed by being in the presence of perhaps the most dangerous god.

            “And how do you know I am he?” he laughed, thumb running over your lips, “I could be Heimdall, sent by Odin to watch over such a devout and…fascinating little creature.”

           “Because you’re so…” you paused as you looked for the words. You felt like you were drowning within his gaze, falling to the ground even though you hadn’t moved since he appeared.

           He stood quickly, turning on his heel and smirking.

           “Because I’m so what? Handsome? Charming? Surprisingly muscular for a god who uses wits and magic to seduce his subjects?”

            He pouted at your silence, wanting more of a reaction.

          “What if I told you I could be beautiful instead? Would that hex you?”

           This time he didn’t give you an opportunity to respond. Within a haze of smoke, he transformed.

           A languid, sensuous body appeared between the mists. Voluptuous breasts met your eyes, smooth thighs peeking from beneath an exquisite olive dress. Long, violet tresses fell down the woman’s back, curling so perfectly she looked to be unreal. But his eyes stared at you from the feminine face, dark lavender and sinister upon high cheekbones.

          “Hmm,” she sighed, holding her hand out for you to take.

          You took the soft hand outstretched to you, surprised at the strength behind the grip as she pulled you to your feet. The goddess was tall and slender, and she gazed at you while she pondered whatever was on her mind.

          “Still not as beautiful as you…” her voice was melodic as she looked over her own body, swaying within the graceful skin for a moment before catching your gaze and stopping. You stood still, heart pounding in your chest as you gazed at the hermaphrodite before you. Her lashes fluttered as a familiar smirk spread across her features.

          It was as if she was floating when she neared you again, purple hair uncontrollable and suspended within the air. Her tender hands came to your cheeks, pursing your mouth with her thumbs.

         “No…nothing is as beautiful as you, little servant.” Her supple lips overwhelmed your own. You gasped, hands flying to her chest to stop her, only to have your fingers sink into the luscious valley of her breasts. A chuckle fans across your face, more masculine than feminine, and the mixture of the voice had shivers of excitement and pleasure racing down to your toes. You were too shocked, too scared to kiss back, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her lips moved against yours gently, pleadingly, only becoming more active when the delicate hands upon your cheeks converted to thick fingers and rough calluses.

           Before your eyes the god shifted again, returning to the fetching masculine figure that he was before. You could smell him now, taste him, like smoke from smoldering coals and the residue of rain from within a summer’s forest. Your hands were still upon his chest, your fingers brushing against the skin that was on display between the open buttons of his tunic. His kiss was intoxicating, a hum of magic upon his lips as he drank you in.

           “You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckled, licking your lips wantonly before pulling away.

           “Why have you been haunting me?” You demanded between heavy breaths, emboldened by his kiss.

            “Haunting you? No, no. I’ve been watching you. Observing you. You looked so…sinless among the throngs when I sailed in all those weeks ago. I must say I am very pleased by the things I have seen.”

            “And what have you seen?” Your voice snapped; tongue sharp.

            His hands caressed your upper arms, eyes glancing across your body as if he was admiring a pattern within runes that he had seen a thousand times before.

           “You serve…everyone. The gods, the people in this village, you tend to the weak spirited and the broken bodied, you serve everyone but yourself.”

            The god grew quiet, leaning forward to inhale the sweet scent of your hair. His lips pressed to your temple, thumbs stroking your arms through the thin fabric of your clothing. His breath fanned into your hair and you suddenly felt your heart begin to beat more slowly. It was as if his presence alone, his touch, could calm the raging turmoil within your mind.

            “Now, I want you to serve me.”

            “Yes,” you said too quickly, a knee buckling as you prepared to kneel, “of course, anything for a go—.”

           “Shinsou.” His hands held you in place, kept you from bowing to him. He watched as your head tilted and your brow furrowed, obviously wanting to please him. “Shinsou is the name my friends call me, and as shall you.”

          “Shinsou.” You tentatively said the name back to him. Your people knew him as Loki, but to know a more intimate name made tingles of warmth spread across your chest, like he was entrusting knowledge unknown by mortals into you.

           He became violet and beautiful as you said his name, a warm smile decorating his striking face. The safe feeling of your dreams washed over you. These arms, his arms, his hands and his body, were the safety you had been dreaming of that saved you from the tumultuous seas. You stared at him for a moment, hands feeling a heartbeat within his chest. He looked so human, felt so real, yet still an otherworldly air swirled so poignantly around him. Everything inside of you wanted to fall into him, to feel enveloped by his spirit.

        “I’m going to take you away,” he whispered it, hand trailing from your arm to your face, tucking hair behind your ear in a most affectionate way, “you’ll never have to come back here, unless you want to.”

        “Take me away? To Asgard?” Your breath hitched as you said the name of the haven of the gods.

          He laughed, the sound like honey dripping across your soul.

         “No, little one. I am of the giants; don’t you remember the ancient stories? To Jotunheim we will go.”

          Your brow lightened, remembering the words of the Seer. Jotunheim, your brain wracked over the word, letting it roll within your thoughts until it revealed what you were looking for. Útgarðr, you realized, the name of that same place given by your ancestors. It meant the world outside your own, the world of chaotic wilds that surrounded Midgard. The place beyond the fence.

         This Loki—this Shinsou—was indeed fated to you after all. You felt the connection from the moment you saw him sailing in the winter winds, felt it even more profoundly as he held you before him in the temple. For some reason, the trickster god had chosen you, or perhaps he was merely following fate, testing you for all this time to see if you were truly the human girl destined for him. He was a sign of change, his hands wrapped around the prow of the ship that was carved into a symbol of Ragnarok, the end of the cycle of this world. He was proving to be a carrier of the end times, at least the ending of your own mundane life. And just like Ragnarok, you had a feeling that with this end would come a new beginning, that Shinsou was taking you away but leading you to a new life, a new destiny, far beyond what you could ever imagine.

          “Take my hand,” it was a polite command, his words weighty but light enough to promise that you could decline.

            You felt something between his fingers, a quietness, a wickedness you could not quite name. It was like a dull thrum of lightening humming between your skin and his. Billows of smoke weaved between your bodies. Just as quickly as he transformed into a woman, Shinsou had you whisked away, transported so rapidly you felt dizzy. You clung to him, your godly refuge, light flashing as your feet found new purchase upon what felt like a floor.

            For a moment, you thought the room was a mirage. It was unlike anything had ever seen before, so lavishly decorated with lush furs, viridian curtains, polished stone and warm fires. Books lined every wall and the air smelled of perfumes and incense, even a fountain sprung from stones in the far corner. It was truly unearthly, but his arms around you felt like home.

           His head rested upon your shoulder from behind, his palms flattening on your chest to feel your heartbeat as you took in the sights around you.

           “This is…this is your home?” One of your hands gripped a muscular forearm.

            “Mhm, more like a home away from home, a safe haven.”

             He uncurled himself from you, a stout hand pushing at your lower back to urge you to explore. You padded around the room, fingers caressing the spines of books along the walls, finding many in languages unknown to you. Between many of the tomes were vases and trinkets, some glowing with mystic hues, humming with magic well beyond your comprehension.

           “What will you have me do here?” Your breath caught as you turned to find him. He seemed so large and ominous within the space, like was the commander of the room and the only ornament to be admired within the vast collection around you.

          “You haven’t figured it out? My, and I thought you were keener than most mortals.”

            He rolled his shoulders, sighing with content as he removed his tunic, tossing it into the air to only have it dissipate before your eyes in a bright flash of magic. His tattoos seemed darker in the dim light, like the blackest earth pressed into his skin. A serpent trailed down one of his impressive biceps, his other arm decorated in a swirl of runes and etchings of a wolf and a horse, his chest covered with a dark, ethereal depiction of Yggdrasil, the world tree, it’s branches spreading across strong pectorals and its roots weaving between the hard muscles of his stomach.

         “Come,” he motioned to you with his fingers, “come back and touch me.”

          You had no hesitation, coming to his call like a pet would their master. It felt safe to be back in his arms again, to have your fingers running over the indigo lines of art upon his handsome skin. He proudly showed you his arms, eyeing you with great interest as you admired him.

         “Your children,” you mused softly, tracing the pictures so marvelously stretched upon his musculature.

        “Yes,” he laughed softly, “my children. Call me sentimental, if you must.” The enormous snake was no doubt Jormungand, the serpentine dragon that encircled all the oceans, all of Midgard. Then there was Fenrir, the ferocious wolf that was chained away somewhere from all humanity and gods alike, in wait to break his binds and eat the world as the end began again. And then there was Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse that bore the weight of Odin in all of his battles. They were all wild creatures, the offspring of the unfathomably powerful god before you. They were all beasts of anarchy, yet they looked so beautiful upon his skin, so harmless within the ink.

       “Order within the chaos…” you whispered, echoing the words of the Seer.

       “I want you.”

       His powerful voice rumbled from within his chest. It startled you, caused your wandering hands to cease upon his arms and become still before him.

       “Why?” Breathless. You felt breathless.

        “I have traveled every inch of the nine worlds, regarded every corner for fascinations and enthrallments, yet it was in the homeland where I found what I wanted. You are the most beautiful, pliant little create I have ever beheld, and I want you within my bed.”

       “No, you can’t! I’m nothing, no one of importance, you…you can’t.”

        He left you then, smirk adorning his features as he sauntered to his bed, waiting for you to follow. And you did, an unspeakable urge to touch him, to follow him, to feel him, to be overwhelmed by him, drawing you to him like a fox to its den, to its safety.

        “Well, if you don’t want me, my brother Katsuki would give up his fates in order to have such an alluring woman within his sheets.”

       “Katsuki?”

        He paused, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, that playful grin still upon his lips.

         “Thor, if you rather. We all have many names, but I only want mine to come from your tongue. So many nights I waited to hear you pray to me, call out to me within your dreams, but I tired of lingering. So now I will have you say it, scream it, for me, little servant.”

         He pulled you into his lap, hands greedy upon your flesh, pulling at your thighs and sinking between your ribs. He looked untamed upon the bed, hair almost purposely unruly and muscles rolling and ready to hunt what he wanted to take.

         “Do you think you can do that for me? Pray to me? Call out for me like you need me?”

           Thick fingers gripped at your cheeks; violet eyes hazy like storm clouds above the ocean. You were reminded that he was a devious deity, a shapeshifter, a trickster, the one thing that your elders warned you about as a child. A burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake, he was all those deceitful things and more. He was the epitome of chaos, yet he had chosen you, desired you, and you knew that deep within your spirit you wanted him as well. He was handsome beyond compare, but his physical splendor was not all that had you holding onto him. Behind those eyes was a promise of release from every woe, a chance to experience pleasure like you had never known before.

         “Yes, Shinsou, whatever you desire.”

          “So devoted to the gods,” he whispered, bringing you flush against his body, “now I’ll make you feel like one.”

          Slowly, he ran his hand downward, finding the intimate, remarkably soaked place between your legs. He could feel your wetness from beneath your wool coverings and a satisfied groan builds within his throat as his lips curl even more sharply, devilishly.

         “So wet for me already,” he chuckles, wrist flicking and sending your clothing away.

         You gasped, feeling the threads peel away from your body by what felt like imaginary hands. Just like his tunic before, your shirt and trousers were gone, whisked away to perhaps another dimension never to be seen again.

        “Look at you,” he boasts, keeping one hand tucked between your slick thighs as the other rakes across your curves, pinching, pulling, teasing at your flushed skin, “not even the goddesses compare to you. Mhm, thank the All Father for breathing life into you, I must thank him for creating such beauty.”

         Your mouth could barely stammer a thanks. You were beguiled, stunned within his lap, your legs stretched over gloriously muscled thighs. You almost felt shameful to be on such display for him, but the hunger in his eyes and the hardening cock underneath told you just how pleased he was to have you.

        A deft finger began to circle your most sensitive spot, making you bite your lip as a groan burned within your throat. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, gaze catching every breath you made, every shift and roll of your body. You felt hot, unbearably so, as his finger toyed with you so languidly.

       His other hand found your breast, cupping it and testing its weight within his giant palm. His thumb grazed your nipple, circling it at the same pace and movement as your clit. He grinned as he watched you slowly come undone, felt your walls and insecurities crumbling away at his touch.

        Shinsou then took your sensitive clit between two fingers, rolling it so perfectly that it sent sparks of pleasure racing across your nerves, surging from your thighs to your toes and back again. He kept going, stroking sensually, purposely, with such expert skill that you felt you could cum just from his slightest touches. Is this what being with a god felt like? Like you were constantly on the edge of euphoria, every touch and stroke like the gift of life within your body?

      Your head tipped back as you moan, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. He watched with glee as the column of your throat was on display for him. He took a moment to press his hot mouth against your flesh, sucking roughly against the side of your neck like he was taking your pleasure for himself. You could only moan again, the sensations already drowning you in such bliss you were surprised your inner coil of pleasure hadn’t broken for him already. He was an expert in giving pleasure just like he was the art of manipulation and sorcery.

      All too easily he moved you below him on the bed, his impressive body now hovering over your own, mouth still biting at your neck, fingers still circling your nipple and caressing your pussy.

     “Tell me what you want,” it was a soft command against the slick skin of your neck.

       “You,” you breathed in deep, breasts pressing against his tattooed chest with your inhale, “please, more.”

       “More of what? Of this?” he pinched at your nipple, tugging it and twisting it so wantonly that you couldn’t help but to shriek in pleasure for him, “or this?” his two fingers danced along the lips of your pussy, sliding between the wet folds before returning to your aching clit, swirling against it so proficiently that you felt your inner muscles clenching and begging for release.

        “All of it, I want everything.”

       “My, my, you are a greedy little thing.”

        All at once, he ceased his motions, easing the pressure upon your body and leaving you wanting, burning, begging for more. But he is not gone from you. His fingers, coated in your slick, tauntingly trace over your clit once more, so light it’s like the kiss of life just barely brushing over your delicate flesh. You began to writhe in response, needing more friction, needing more of his touch, but he moved his weight upon your body to suppress you. He was teasing, purposely neglecting to give you the stimulation you so desired.

         “Any time you want more, you say my name, little one. Say my name and I can give you everything you desire.”

         “Shinsou, please.”

          He groaned, he himself coming undone at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t even begin to explain how gratifying it was to hear his name come from your lips. He was no fool of a god, he knew no one prayed to him, but he wanted you to pray to him more than anything he had ever desired before. Your songs of praise would fill him in ways a mere mortal could never fathom; your prayers, his name from your mouth, was more intoxicating than any substance Odin had ever created. To have you, a devoted child of the gods, calling his name while he stole your faith away from every other god and claimed it all for himself, fulfilled him beyond measure.

        His touch trailed lowered, finding your puckered pussy pulsing and waiting, ready for him. He entered a single finger, a heavy moan of approval ghosting against your neck as your inner walls contracted around him, pulling him deeper into you.

        “So fucking tight,” he lifted his head, finding your eyes closed and pretty mouth agape, “I can’t wait to have my cock in you.”

          Waves of pleasure rocked over your body as he moved his finger within you, curling it to massage the fleshy walls, quickly finding a sensitive spot to stroke against. His palm pressed against your clit as he buried another finger into you, the two digits working in tandem to spread you, spear you onto his thick fingers, pushing them far into your depths. Every plunge had you gasping, bursts of bliss spreading across your skin like flames.

         His mouth returned to yours as he fingered you, hot and heavy, but his kiss felt controlled, like he was holding back. You reacted quickly, pushing up into him with all your strength, arms circling his neck and pressing him for more. You wanted what he can give, all of it, and you showed him with your actions. Your hands fisted into those vivid purple plumes of hair, tugging as your hips began to match the speed of the hand working within you. You moaned, loud, desperately, your tongue prodding his lips. He graciously accepted your tongue, opening his mouth and wrestling against you. His tongue licked your own, slow and wet, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness.

        “Shinsou,” it was a murmur against his mouth, but he heard it, soaked it up and began to thrust and curl his fingers faster than before. You cried out at the pleasure, mouth falling from his.

         “You like it a little rough, hm? You’re so easy to read, my dear. I am going to make you cum so hard you’ll be begging for all that I have planned for you.”

            His words had your cheeks and ears burning with a blush. He only grinned, choosing to prop himself onto one arm so he could watch you. With every flick of his wrist, every move of his fingers inside of you, he watched your face. He watched how your lips curled, how your jaw clenched. He felt your hands twist in his hair; felt how you would pull on the violet strands in desperation when he touched the perfect spots. His eyes scanned your body as well, watching what made your breasts bounce, your stomach clench, your walls tighten around his fingers. It didn’t take the god long to discover exactly what made you tick.

          He rapidly increased his pace, using his newfound knowledge to make your body feel like it could explode at any moment. He touched you just right, plunged his fingers so perfectly as to keep you on the edge of your euphoria for as long as he could. Truthfully, he could’ve kept you in suspense forever, but Shinsou was not a god known for his patience. He wanted to watch you cum, wanted to see your face when you came around the fingers of perhaps the most reviled deity. One even you wouldn’t dare pray to.

        “You ready?” He called your name, making your eyes flutter open to see him. He saw the lust within your brilliant irises, your dilated pupils, and that sight alone had his cock harder than it ever had been before. He was no longer sure he could keep his composure as he watched you come undone.

        He leaned down closer, close enough to catch your breath within his mouth. He would’ve expected you to kiss him had you not been so far gone, so close to otherworldly release that your lips could no longer form words.

        “Cum for me,” that wicked tone of voice was back, his fingers now slamming into your body, “cum for a god, little mortal.”

         His thumb returned to your clit, showing it no mercy as he rubbed tight, fast circles against it. His words, his fingers, his body, his breath, it was all too much.

        “Sh-Shinsou!”

          You reached a high you had never felt before as you came for him. Your head felt dizzy, like you were back to drowning within your dreams, waves and waves of euphoria crashing over you so roughly you felt like you were sputtering for air amidst the onslaught of pleasure. Your walls clenched and unclenched around his unceasing fingers, your chest tightening, your core exploding, heat blooming from every patch of skin he had dared to touch. You screamed. Over and over, the bliss felt never ending, and he baited you for even more.

       “That’s right, cum all over my fingers, just like that, just how I want you.”

        It felt like he was drawing your orgasm from your body, pulling everything he could from you. His thumb still stroked your clit, fingers still buried deep within your body as you quivered around him. Your thighs clamped around his thick forearm as you finally began to descend from your high, body loosening and sinking into his bed.

         He finally stilled his movements. He merely smirked as he watched your chest heave with breaths as you basked in the afterglow of your pleasure.

         “Good girl,” he cooed. In the haze you realized how much you wanted to hear those words again, recognized how much you wanted to please him. You wanted more of those encouraging words, more of his admiration, wanted to know how much of a good girl you really were. Your spirit suddenly craved even more, despite the world-shattering orgasm still lingering within your muscles, your blood, your soul.

        You felt empty when his fingers left you, but watched in shocked delight as he brought the digits to his awaiting mouth. He sat up before you, sucking at his skin and cleaning your slick from his fingers with a very greedy tongue. He looked wild, uncaged, like the wolf Skoll had finally eaten the moon and brought the world to end.

       “Fuck,” you whispered in awe, scrambling for purchase against his sheets as you propped on your elbows to watch him.

       He quirked a brow as he slid his tongue between his fingers, relishing your slick as if it was the sweetest honey.

       “I’m sorry, did I make the pious girl curse?”

        “I’m not pious!” You countered, feeling flustered, shaking your head and pouting as he only laughed.

         He smirked as he finished cleaning his fingers, crawling up the bed and pulling you into his lap.

         “I dare not argue, not after those delicious sounds you just made for me.”

          Shinsou quelled any words that were forming in your mind with a kiss, his lips tasting of you. You moaned against him, feeling his arms snake around your back and hold you to him. His cock was hard and heavy, now prodding against your still pulsating pussy.

         “Mhm, how will I take you?”

          It was a pondering to himself, but the words still made you tremble. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your nipples hardening as they brushed against the downy hairs of his chest. His strong hands found the flesh of your ass, lifting you to hover over his large, throbbing erection. You held in a breath, waiting, expecting him to take you hard and fast and now, but he merely teased your entrance.

        “This way?”

          The head of his cock began to spread your lips apart, warm and silken and making you drip even more than before. He sat there for a moment, using the strength of his arms to lift and drop you just ever so slightly onto his cock, each little movement making you gasp.

          But then the anchors of his arms were gone, sliding down your thighs as he laid you back on the bed. So easily he moved on top of you again, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slithering up your body to wrap around your tender, kiss bruised throat.

        “Or perhaps like this?”

         He held you against the bed, cock still hard and waiting between your spread thighs, sliding ever so gently against your pussy. His fingers flexed against your throat and he watched how your eyes flashed with want, with need.

          “I could always take you as a woman. You fell so easily into my kiss when I transformed earlier, hm? Would you like that?”

           He could feel your gulp underneath his palm, shaky and deep.

          “No,” he was smirking, plotting. His deft fingers took your hip into his hand and flipped you over, both hands skimming down your body and pulling you up onto your knees. With a stern hand he kept your breasts pressed into the mattress by applying pressure to your shoulder blades, positioning you just how he wanted. You felt even more exposed than before, your pussy open and wanting and waiting, spread before his hungry eyes like a meal ready to be devoured.

          The head of his cock was back at your opening, prodding your lips apart and slowly sinking into you with agonizing slowness. You held your breath, hands fisting into the sheets. He continued to open you more and more, his cock thick and hot. His hand on your hip constrained you securely, keeping you locked into place. The hand on your back did the same, his hold strengthening as he felt you writhe before him.

        “Yes,” he purred, cock easing into you, “this is how I want my little servant.”

          But the rocking of his hips stopped, the head of his cock now barely pressing inside of you. You breathed heavily against the sheets, sweat trickling down the back of your neck in anticipation. Without being able to see him, face him, you could only feel him. You felt his fingertips press deeper into the curve of your ass, as if readying himself, or perhaps attempting to use restraint. The hand on your back was steady, keeping smooth pressure on your skin. His thighs were solid and strong against your own, his breaths even, his cock so fucking hard.

        You cried out in anguish, your aching pussy clenching around the head of his cock.

       “Please, Shinsou!”

       “Pray to me.”

         His tone was nefarious, teasing, almost inhuman in how deeply it reverberated from within that broad chest. You closed your eyes and imagined how the sound must have climbed the dark branches of the world tree upon his skin.

      “Pray to me like you did to the other gods in the temple. I want to hear that pretty voice beg for me to fuck you.”

        That breathless feeling returned. Your heart began to race, mind rolling around too many thoughts at once that couldn’t be comprehended within your lusty haze. You hastily mulled over words within your head.

         “Shinsou…” you began, feeling his fingers begin to mark crescent moons into your flesh, feeling the tip of his cock throb within your core, “wielder of cunning, god of mischief, I beg of you, please bestow upon me great joy and pleasure, take my body as this offering to you, so that I may serve you and grant you the indulges of the flesh—!”

         With your final praises tumbling from your lips, he slammed his cock deep inside of you, stretching and spreading you and making you feel like he had set your body alight with magic. Your body lurched forward, nearly toppling over from the power of his thrust, but his strong hands kept you in place, allowing him to begin a brutal speed. Your ass bounced forcefully against his hips, breasts jostling with every thrust. One of his hands curled around your waist to your lower stomach, and he groaned when he realized he could feel his cock bulge from inside of you. He became heedless then, impaling you with reckless abandon, eager to feel your belly swell from the onslaught of his cock.

        The forcefulness of his fucking left your muscles aching and your lungs breathless. You were now moaning with every plunge of his cock, as with each stroke he lit a fresh burst of pleasure that rippled across your entire body akin to the streams of enchantments you had seen him wield.

         You felt like you were slipping away, having to fight to keep your thoughts alive as he brought you up the mountain of euphoria with just the heavy strokes of his cock.

        “Don’t fight the currents. Let go for me.” He grunted the words between thrusts.

         You allowed ecstasy to fully wash over your body, allowed his hands to guide you, hold you, take you to far beyond what you once thought the limits of pleasure entailed.

          Shinsou moved the hand from your back to your shoulder, using the leverage to pound your body back against his. You could only moan at the feeling, of being so full of his cock, of hearing his groans join the chorus of your own. You clung to the bed with what strength you have left, allowing him to completely take the reins of control and have his way with you.

          With each and every thrust, he pulled you back at different angles, trying you, testing you, watching you, seeing which way he fucks you makes you react the most. He listened for sharp cries and deep moans. He felt for your walls to flutter, your abdominal muscles to tighten, learned your body and fucked you with a chaotic yet controlled force.

         He leaned over your back, hand moving to your neck, pulling your face up from the sheets. This position has him somehow deeper, head of his cock kissing where the curve of your cavern meets your cervix, farther than any had ever gone before. He filled you to the brim, stretched you so wide you felt you could burst, the intense pleasure of it all bringing tears to the corners of your lashes.

         He brought your face closer to his, so that he can kiss your cheek as he fucks you, feel your hair against his chin, watch your breasts bounce so unabashedly from his force.

         “You like this, hm? Serving me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

         “Yes, yes!”

          He squeezed the hand on your stomach, making you moan as you felt the massive cock from inside of you press against your belly.

        “You like being so full of my cock? No mortal could ever fuck you like I do!”

        “Yes—fuck—you feel so, so good, Shinsou!”

         You could feel sweat on his skin, feel his heart beating like a caged raven within his chest. He felt so human, felt so real, but the euphoria he brought you was transcendental.

        “You’re such a good girl, such a dirty girl, for me, only me.”

         His powerful words were becoming whispers within your hair, vestiges upon your skin. You could only nod, the plowing of his cock into your core now leaving you more breathless than before. You could feel your release nearing, the flames being fanned by every stroke of the head of his cock against your walls, every push of his hand against your belly.

        Your slick was dripping down your thighs, pussy so wet that every time his cock assailed your core your ears were met with the sinful sound of drenched bodies meeting one another in animalistic rut. You were climbing the orgasmic ladder again, aided by the sublime feel of his crushing hands upon your neck, your stomach, his vast chest against your back, rough lips pulling your face into him, and his thick, repetitive cock drumming into you.

      Your mind was on sensory overload, your body uncontrollably bucking against him, begging for another otherworldly release. You could feel your walls clenching around his cock, your body pleading on its own. Pleasure was singing down your body, bringing pure delight and bliss with every pulse, every push of his cock. You were so close, so fucking close, all you needed was for him to allow you to go over the edge. You had submitted to his currents and knew only he could bring the ebb and flow of release.

     You began to chant his name in prayer.

    “Fuck yes, little one, just like that. Oh you’re so good, aren’t you?”

    “Yes, yes,” you choked out, nearly sobbing for relief, “so, so good for you!”

     “Then cum, cum for me!”

      He roared the words against your cheek, his command overwhelming you and sending you spiraling as the waves of euphoria returned, crashing over your body like a tumultuous sea. Your body crumpled underneath his and he held you, the violent tightening of your body sending the god himself over the edge. Hot cum poured inside of you, making you cry out at the magnificent feeling of being completely filled by him. Your snug walls struggled to flutter around the girth of his cock, prolonging your orgasm and making you feel suspended within his arms, gasping for breath and reveling in every dull thump of his cock inside of you.

     He held you for a long moment, hand against your belly, hand around your neck. It was his turn to bask in the afterglow of sex, to feel wholly spent and satisfied with the girl he had handpicked for himself. You were perfect in his arms, hands fisted into his sheets, lips swollen, his seed dripping from where he was still lodged within your depths. You’d let go, allowed him to have you, to take you, and there was no way in the nine fucking realms he was ever letting you go.

     Shinsou kept you within his embrace as he collapsed to the bed, inked chest heaving and Jormungand curling around your back to hold you against him.

    “Mhm, all the scheming I had to do to get you here, in my bed, filled with my cum.”

    “Scheming?” You asked into his chest.

    “What, you didn’t think all those dreams were coincidence, no?”

     You sat up to look at him, all tussled violet hair, kohl on his cheeks smeared, grin upon his lips.

     “And the cats? The owls? All those eyes on you in the dark? All that time spent waiting for you, little one. I even had to whisper my indecent plans to the Seer. Can you imagine that conversation? At least he put it into fun little riddles for you to decipher.”

    “I—I can’t believe you would do all of that, for me. You could’ve just taken me.”

    He snorted at your remark.

     “I did. My hand was forced to interrupt your fucking daily prayer time and beguile you away.”

     You nestled back to him, sinking into his skin, his touch.

     “Well, I am gleefully bewitched.”

      “And to think,” he chuckled, curling a finger under your chin and bringing your eyes to his, “all you had to do was pray to me.”

      You were far too tired for rebuttal, choosing to instead settle with a kiss. He had chosen you. And for that you were filled with adoration, filled with a need to please far greater than you had ever desired to find the veneration of any other god. It was all for him, for a god who had no doubt tricked you into his bed.

__________________________________

This was written for the Citrus Dome writing collab.

[beifongsss]

fake it till you make it [zuko]

Pairing: Zuko x reader

Requested?: Yes! By a very amazing anon!: “u should totally write a zuko fic wherein he persuades the reader to fake date him so he could make mai jealous but in the end falls in love w the reader ^-^ i love ur writing btw!!”

Summary: Takes place during season 3, “The Beach”. As the request said, fake dating to make Mai jealous but it backfires. For Zuko that is.

w.c. ~4.3k

.masterlist.

~

You had no clue how you had ended up in your current situation. 

Actually, scratch that. Looking back, you knew exactly how you ended up in your current situation. It was all Zuko’s fault but then again, things usually were.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your breath had caught in your throat at Zuko’s question, and you had to hold back your gasp. “W-What?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Zuko had repeated, looking at you hopefully. You had looked at him in surprise, your jaw dropping. After years of crushing on the prince, here he was, asking you to be his. You couldn't believe that he returned your feelings.

“I-I, what?” you had finally stuttered, still gaping at him in disbelief. His gaze focused on someone behind you and a blush bloomed on his cheeks. 

“Please (Y/N). You’re my best friend. I-I want to make Mai jealous and you’re the only one I trust to do this with,” he’d admitted quietly, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired girl.

You followed his line of sight, your heart aching when you realized that he didn’t like you; at least not the way you liked him. With a big sigh, you had pushed down your tears, forcing a smile onto your face.

“It’d be my pleasure to court you, Prince Zuko.”

~

That conversation had taken place a few days ago, but your heartache never lessened. 

It was funny, really. After joining Azula on her quest to track down Zuko, Iroh, and the Avatar, you had planned to confess your feelings for the prince. In your head, it all worked out. It was the stereotypical story of two childhood best friends who grew up, fell in love, and got married. 

But it was never that simple. And now here you were, playing girlfriend to Zuko as you watched him pine for Mai. You were, quite literally, acting out your dream.

What made it worse for you was that Zuko was the perfect boyfriend. He was a good listener and always made sure you were comfortable no matter where you were. He would plan little dates and picnics when he knew Mai would be at the palace and treat you as if you were royalty. You knew your crush had turned into something stronger when even the slightest of touches made your heart race. It was time to stop the act before you got hurt.

Unfortunately the news about you and Prince Zuko spread like wildfire through the palace and soon enough, the entirety of the staff and residents knew. It was too late for you to come out and say it was all a lie because both Ozai and your parents were very pleased with the new relationship. To your parents, your relationship meant that you were set for life. They had always been Ozai’s biggest supporters and your relationship with Zuko only cemented their loyalty to the royal family. For Ozai, he was simply glad that Zuko would be distracted; which was why he suggested that all the teens take a vacation to Ember Island while he met with your parents and the rest of his trusted advisors.

You had been walking through the royal gardens with Mai and Ty Lee when Zuko had jogged up to you. He had greeted you with a short hug before nodding to Mai and Ty Lee.

“You three should get to packing,” Zuko said, causing the three of you to exchange confused glances.

“Why?” Ty Lee chirped, looking at Zuko curiously.

“My father has just told me that we’re going on a vacation to Ember Island,” Zuko replied. “We leave immediately so I suggest you all start packing as soon as possible.”

Ty Lee clapped excitedly, already excited to go to the beach. Mai simply nodded in acknowledgment before smiling lightly at Ty Lee’s excitement. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to sort out before we leave,” Zuko said, walking away before doubling back and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’ll meet you on the ship.”

You nodded wordlessly, a bright blush spreading across your cheeks at his action. You faced your friends, being met with a large grin from Ty Lee and a small smirk from Mai as they observed you. Nodding at the palace’s doors, you began to walk away from them. 

“I’m so glad you two are finally together!” Ty Lee exclaimed as she bounced up to your side. Mai trailed after her quietly. “It’s about time you guys finally confessed.”

You chuckled lightly at her words, glancing at Mai to gauge her reaction. “I guess it was perfect timing.”

“I’ll say,” Mai spoke up, her smirk growing into a tiny smile. “I was getting real tired of watching the two of you pine after each other.”

A laugh escaped your lips as you all split up to go pack. You finished quickly enough, choosing a few casual outfits and a bathing suit to last you for the few days you’d be on the island. On your way to the ferry you bumped into Zuko, who fell into step with you as you boarded the ship.

“So?” he questioned, looking around to make sure you were alone. “Anything? Is she jealous?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I was trying to get a read on her but all she said was that it was about time we got together, whatever that means.”

Zuko groaned softly before leaning against the ship’s railing. “I thought the kiss would surely tick her off. I guess we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

“Zuko,” you said hesitantly, looking away from him. “I-I don’t think we should keep doing this. I mean, it hasn’t worked so far. What makes you think that it’s gonna be any different on Ember Island?”

He looked at you quietly before coming up to you and taking both of your hands in his. “Let’s keep doing this until after the vacation. If nothing changes, then we’ll stop. I promise.”

You bit your lip softly as you thought over his words. Zuko stared at you intently, trying to ignore the way you bit your lip. After a few minutes of contemplation, you nodded slowly. You would only be at Ember Island for a few days, things couldn’t possibly get any more heartbreaking for you. “Ok. I’ll do it for you, Zuko.”

“Perfect timing,” Zuko said, a rare smile on his face. You glanced behind you to see Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee approaching before looking back up at Zuko. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Zuko slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in close as the three girls boarded the ship. The ride to Ember Island was spent with the two of you sitting together on a bench as the three girls whispered amongst themselves, occasionally throwing glances your way.

“So,” Azula finally addressed you, a knowing smirk on her face. “I can’t believe you two are finally together. I always thought Zuzu had a thing for Mai.”

You felt Zuko stiffen up next to you at Azula’s words. You kept a straight face, looking at the younger girl as you panicked internally. Zuko’s arm tightened around you, pulling you in as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“What are you talking about Azula?” he asked roughly, his eyes never leaving her. “I’ve always had a thing for (Y/N/N).”

“So you guys won’t mind me asking what it is that you like about each other,” Azula said, a very fake smile on her face. “Right? (Y/N/N), you first.”

You exchanged a mildly panicked look with Zuko before answering Azula. It wasn’t like thinking of an answer was hard; the problem was that you were going to be telling Zuko the truth about how you felt about him, even if he thought you were just playing along. You were baring your feelings not only to him, but to his sister and your friends.

“Well,” you began, taking a deep breath and glancing at Azula before refocusing your gaze on Zuko. “He’s attractive-”

“Even with that scar?” Azula asked, a wicked smile on her face as she noticed Zuko’s uncomfortable expression.

“Yes,” you stated firmly and without hesitation. Zuko looked at you in surprise. “He’s attractive even with the scar. But he’s not just physically attractive. He’s kind and sweet and just a little bit of a hothead but it’s kind of endearing. He’s always there for me no matter what and he’s always put my needs above his own, even though my needs are nowhere near as important as his. He’s my best friend and honestly, I like everything about him.”

The ship was silent as Zuko stared at you in awe. There was an unreadable look on Azula’s face before she turned to face Zuko. “Your turn Zuzu. What makes (Y/N) so attractive to you?”

“W-Well she’s pretty, and she has nice...hair?” Zuko said, stuttering for a moment before shaking his head and looking at you. He stared at you for a few seconds before speaking again. “What I mean is, I like (Y/N) because she’s been with me through everything. She made me feel like I was special, even when we were little kids. She always knew just what to say to make me feel better and she was the only one who was ever willing to put up with me no matter what. She’s the only person I truly trust, and that’s why I’ve chosen to trust her with my heart.”

You looked away from his stare when he finished speaking, knowing that what he had said was probably how he felt about Mai. In Zuko’s head, he began to question his feelings for Mai. Sure, what he had said applied to Mai but as he spoke, he began to realize that you were the one he was truly speaking about. He kept his eyes on you as his inner turmoil raged on, only getting worse when you glanced up at him and sent him a soft smile. 

“Well, I have to say, I was a little skeptical about whether or not your little relationship was real or not,” Azula said, clapping her hands twice before turning away from you. “But now I can see that you truly like each other. You have my blessing.”

Zuko scowled at her before speaking. “I wasn’t aware that we needed it.”

Azula waved him off before walking to the railing and looking out at the water. The rest of the trip was spent in silence as everyone did their own thing and you found yourself drifting off to sleep.

~

“It smells like old lady in here,” Zuko complained as you walked into the beach house. 

“Gee, I wonder why,” you replied sarcastically, yawning as Zuko sent you a half-hearted glare. You nudged his shoulder with yours, giving him a teasing smile. He rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Who are those beautiful women?” Ty Lee gasped, looking at the hanging painting.

“Can’t you tell?” Lo asked. “It’s Li and me.”

“It’s Lo and me!”

You all grimaced as Lo and Li copied the pose from the painting, Zuko digging his face into your neck to avoid looking at the scene in front of him.

“Zuko, stop,” you whispered, giggling as his hair tickled your neck. He glanced up at you, smiling at your reaction before he continued to do it. You swatted at his arms, desperately trying to get out of his hold. He simply tightened his grip, grabbing your hands to stop you from hitting him. 

He glanced up to see everyone staring at the two of you, loosening his grip when he met Mai’s gaze. He was surprised to see that she didn’t seem annoyed or upset. If anything, she seemed almost happy, watching the two of you with the faintest of smiles. He loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to slip away from him. You bent down to grab your bag, only for Zuko to step in and take it from you. 

“So, there are only four bedrooms,” Azula said, looking around. “(Y/N), Zuzu, you wouldn’t mind sharing one, would you?”

“Not at all, Azula,” Zuko replied instantly. Your eyes widened before looking at Azula and nodding meekly. 

“Great. Let’s go to the beach, I want to have some fun,” Azula said, stalking off. 

You soon found yourself down at the beach, helping Ty Lee as she tried to find the perfect spot to settle down in. Azula was off terrorizing little kids and Zuko was trailing behind you as he walked with Mai. You ignored the pang in your chest as you glanced behind you, instead focusing on the two boys that were now standing in front of you and Ty Lee. 

“Hey, need some help?” one of them asked, taking Ty Lee’s bag.

“Sure! Thanks,” she said, smiling at them. The other boy took your bag as well, setting your towel down besides Ty Lee’s. The two of you sat down next to each other, squinting in the sun. 

“Could you scooch just a little bit to the-” Ty Lee trailed off as the boys moved to block the sun. She sent them a smile and a wink. “Thanks.”

A few yards away, Zuko was sitting next to Mai under an umbrella. He noticed a shell next to him and picked it up, looking at it while he turned it over.

“(Y/N) would like that,” Mai said dully, glancing at the shell.

“What about you?” Zuko asked, meeting her eyes. Mai snorted.

“No way. A dumb shell? I’m not that type of girl,” she replied. Zuko looked at her for a few seconds before tossing it aside. It landed farther than he meant it to, one of the boys that was with you picking it up and examining it before turning to face you.

“Here, this is for you,” the boy said quietly, handing you the shell. You looked at it before placing it down next to you.

“Wow, thanks. It’s beautiful,” you said bashfully, sending the boy a polite smile. 

“Just like you,” the boy replied instantly, bringing a faint blush to your cheeks. 

Mai watched the scene in amusement, noticing the way Zuko tensed up slightly. “Told you she’d like it.”

“Hey beach bums!” Azula called out, standing by the kuai ball net. “We’re playing next.���

You all made your way over to Azula, both you and Ty Lee giving the boys apologetic looks. The game was pretty intense, all because of Azula. At the end, your team was victorious and you were left standing around as Azula gloated to the other team about her victory.

“Hey, I’m having a party tonight,” a boy said, approaching you and Ty Lee with his friend. “You should come by.”

“Sure! I love parties,” Ty Lee chirped. The boy looked at you expectantly.

“Sure, I’ll go,” you said, nodding softly. 

“Your friend can come too,” the boy added, glancing at Mai. 

“What about me and my brother? Aren't you going to invite us?” Azula asked, staring at the two boys. You don't know who we are, do you?”

“Don't you know who we are?” the boy shot back. “We're Chan and Ruon-Jian. But, fine, you're invited. Just so you know, though, some of the most important teenagers in the Fire Nation are gonna be at this party, so try and act normal.”

“We’ll do our best,” Azula replied, smiling sinisterly. 

~

You had arrived at the party way too early. Watching Azula trying to flirt was painful and so you found yourself tucked away in a corner with Zuko, the two of you quietly munching on some food. 

“So, does Mai seem jealous?” you asked quietly, leaning against the wall as more guests began to arrive 

“Kind of? Maybe? I don’t know, it’s hard to tell,” Zuko muttered, his gaze on Mai as she looked around the food table for something to eat. “She was kind of emotionless when we were talking about you but she usually is so I’m not sure.”

You nodded amusedly, glancing around before your eyes landed on Ty Lee being cornered by a group of boys. “Oh no. Sorry Zuko, I’ll be back.”

You darted away, pulling Ty Lee away from the group before she could chi-block them. She gave you a thankful smile before bouncing away making her way to Azula. You turned around to go back to Zuko to find your path being blocked by Chan. 

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, leaning against the wall as he smiled down at you. 

“O-Oh, yeah,” you replied softly, looking around for any of your friends.

“Yeah, I’m known for throwing the best parties,” Chan boasted, leaning down towards you. “How bout I show you around? Give you a tour of the house?”

“No, that’s fine,” you said meekly, meeting Mai’s eyes. She gave you a nod, understanding that you wanted her to come and save you from Chan. Unfortunately, before she could approach you, Ruon-Jian stopped her and began to talk to her. 

“C’mon,” Chan said, placing his hand on your lower back as he guided you away.

“Stop talking to my girlfriend!” 

The room went silent at Zuko’s outburst and you sighed in relief, before turning around and seeing Zuko standing in front of Ruon-Jian. You swallowed harshly as Mai met your eyes, surprise evident on her face as she looked from you to Zuko. Sensing the tension in the air, Zuko glanced towards you, a panicked expression on his face. 

“I told you they weren’t really dating,” Azula scoffed, looking from you to Mai. “Poor (Y/N) likes Zuko but Zuzu here only has eyes for Mai. Fake dating was the furthest she was ever going to get with him.”

Feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, you ducked under Chan’s arm and sprinted out the door. The room burst into chatter as people began to gossip about what had just happened.

“Mai, I-” Zuko began to speak, stopping when Mai held up her hand.

“Zuko, I’m not stupid,” she said blankly. “We all knew you were fake dating, we just wanted to see how far you’d go until one of you would fess up.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Zuko asked, following Mai as she walked outside. 

“Because after the ferry ride, we realized something,” Mai said, turning around and facing Zuko as she came to a stop. “You’re in love with each other.”

“No we’re not,” Zuko argued. “This whole thing started because I wanted to make you jealous.”

“I know,” Mai said, causing Zuko to look at her in surprise. “You’re not exactly subtle. We could tell that your focus wasn’t on her but I’m telling you that after the ferry ride, something changed. Whether you want to admit it or not, you love (Y/N). You said it yourself, she’s the one that’s always been there for you. She’s the one you trust. What you said was true, Zuko. You just don’t want to admit you’re in love with her because you’re afraid of losing her. But trust me, she feels the same way. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, you can’t tell me you don’t feel anything for her, not after seeing the way you were holding her at the beach house.”

Zuko stood in silence for a few minutes, thinking about Mai’s words. She was right, and he knew it. He had loved you since you were children and he had never told you, too afraid of the rejection that would inevitably follow. Mai was simply a replacement for you, as harsh as that was. He had wanted Mai because she was easy and convenient to be with. But you had always held his heart because as he had said earlier, you were the only one who was trustworthy enough to have it. 

“She’s down by the beach,” Mai said, breaking Zuko out of his thoughts. He looked at her questioningly. “She finds it peaceful down there, it’s where she’d go to be alone.”

Zuko nodded, sprinting down the house’s steps before pausing. “Thanks Mai.”

Mai smiled as she watched him sprint away. After many long, long years you were finally going to be together. And if Zuko messed this up, she would personally make sure that he’d regret it.

~

Tears streamed down your face no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay. You knew that it was a bad idea to go along with Zuko’s dumb plan but you had always had a hard time saying no to the prince. And look where that had gotten you, heartbroken and crying on an empty beach. 

You picked up random rocks and shells, throwing them into the water as you tried to quiet your sobs. A part of you had always hoped that Zuko would wake up and magically fall in love with you but deep down you knew that you would never be the one for him. When you were younger, maybe. But not anymore. Sighing deeply, you sat on the sand, bringing your knees to your chest and crying quietly as the water lapped at your toes. 

You closed your eyes when you felt someone sit next to you, knowing it was probably Ty Lee trying to make you feel better. “Go away Ty Lee. I just want to be alone.”

Ty Lee didn’t answer, instead wrapping an arm around you. You leaned into her embrace, eyes widening when your head landed on a muscular chest. You looked up to meet bright golden eyes and you threw yourself backwards, escaping Zuko’s embrace. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked quietly, putting more space between the two of you. “You should be inside with Mai.”

“Is what Azula said true?” he asked, his voice equally quiet. “You like me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, looking anywhere but him. You could feel his eyes burning into you, causing you to swallow harshly. “Zuko, please. Just go away. Just forget that tonight ever happened. Once we get back to the palace, we can just ignore each other. Just leave me alone.”

“I like you too,” Zuko said, pausing for a few seconds. “Wait no. I don’t like you, I love you.”

You shot him a look, his figure looking slightly blurry due to your tears. “Please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“I’m serious,” Zuko said, scooting closer to you and brushing away your tears. “Remember the time we were feeding the turtle ducks in the royal gardens and my mom left us to go get more food for them? You pushed me into the pond once she was gone, as payback for the time that I accidentally made you fall out of the palanquin. I was so angry but when I looked up at you, you were laughing and I couldn’t do anything but stare. That’s when I knew I loved you.”

“We were nine,” you snorted, remembering the incident. “We didn’t know what love was. We still don’t.”

“Maybe not,” Zuko replied. “But I know that I felt something for you. After that, every time I saw you I couldn’t breathe right and I couldn’t stop blushing. Trust me, I fell in love with you a long time ago, even if i didn’t know what love was.”

“Then why were you trying to make Mai jealous?” you asked quietly, wanting to believe his words. 

“Because I’m stupid,” Zuko said, chuckling softly. “Because I didn’t think that we could be more than friends. I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I went after Mai because she was a safe choice. But it’s always been you, (Y/N). And it will always be you.”

You looked at Zuko, seeing nothing but honesty in his eyes. You scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder as you looked out at the water. “I knew I loved you when I first met you. I had been so scared when my parents had left me with one of the maids. They had a meeting to get to and the maid was leading me to the kitchen to keep me busy. You came out of nowhere, running from Azula as she chased you and you knocked me over. When you held out your hand to help me up, I knew I had a crush on you. You led me to the gardens and you made sure that I was okay and you even stole a cookie from the kitchen for me to apologize for knocking me down. I was a goner.”

Zuko smiled fondly as he remembered the incident. He had been so worried that he had hurt you. Looking down, he saw you smiling contently, still looking out at the ocean. Softly, he grasped your chin, turning your face towards him. You sent him a questioning look, sighing softly when he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You tilted your head up, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. Your hands trailed up his chest, circling around his neck and pulling slightly on his hair. He pulled you onto his lap completely and you shifted, straddling his lap. You felt his tongue swipe at your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, letting him deepen the kiss. You pulled apart after a few more seconds, both of you breathing heavily as you looked at each other with a large smile on your faces. 

“I told you I’d make it up to you,” Zuko whispered. The two of you laughed lightly before he spoke again. “Will you be my girlfriend?” 

Your breath caught in your throat again as you recalled Zuko asking the same question a few days earlier. You leaned down, pressing another kiss to his lips before you answered. 

“It’d be my pleasure to court you, Prince Zuko. This time for real.”

~

taglist!

@musicalkeys, @mywigglybaby​, @bubblebars​, @iguessthefloorislava​, @dekahg​, @boxofteenageideas​, @bottledcotscowater, @butterflycore​, @coldlilheart​, @the-firebender-girl​, @ajediherowitchrunner​, @lammello​, @astroninaaa​, @samsmultifandomblogs​, @sadskater25, @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak​, @duh-dobrik, @eternallyvenus​,

[dreadfutures]

Inquisitor as a Companion: Ixchel Lavellan

Is your OC a Companion in the Dragon Age series? What would it be like for a player to select them to join their party for quests (or romance them, perhaps? 👀)

Here is Ixchel’s (fake) DA Wiki page, if she were a companion. Meme started by @little-lightning-lavellan​​ , so tag her if you do this!

(Find this on AO3, where I will add Location Comments and dialogue options as I think of them.)

Ixchel is an elven warrior and activist. She is a potential companion in Dragon Age: Inquisition. (WIP Tarot art by me. :) )

Background

Ixchel likely originated in southern Ferelden, but the events of the Fifth Blight drove her northward. She encountered several Dalish clans who did not take her in, possibly due to the limited resources available due to the encroaching Darkspawn hordes, or perhaps because she does not appear to be fully-elven. Ixchel has smaller, rounder ears than normal for an elf, though they are longer and sharper than that of a human. The orphan stowed away on a boat to the Free Marches, where she found no refuge in Kirkwall or the major cities and took to wandering the countryside in search of food and shelter. During this time, Ixchel encountered Clan Lavellan outside of Markham, but she did not remain.

After the Archdemon’s defeat, Ixchel returned to Ferelden, as she felt drawn to the traces of elven history she had found there as a child. There, she encountered a Warden who helped her read a word that she found in a ruin: Ixchel.

Sometime between 9:34-9:37 dragon, Ixchel reappeared outside of Markham, calling herself by this new name. In 9:37 Dragon, a particularly harsh winter drove the Lavellan Clan to seek out the orphan and took her in to teach her to hunt and fend for herself better. She proved to have a keen mind for learning, and a drive to prove her value. She remained with the Clan for two years. In 9:41 Dragon, she volunteered to go to the Conclave in Haven as a spy, due to her ability to pass as human and travel largely unnoticed. She is roughly sixteen years old.

Involvement

Dragon Age: Origins

A Dalish Warden can potentially encounter Ixchel as part of the Lead Her Through the Darkness side-quest in Dragon Age Origins: Witch Hunt DLC. She appears as a precocious, nameless orphan less than ten years of age. She has written a word on her arm in ash and asks the Warden to translate it. It is unclear if the name is Elven or Tevene in origin, but the Warden translates it as Ixchel (ihsh-chEL).

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Ixchel can only be recruited after relocation to Skyhold and beginning the A Fallen Sister side quest in the Emerald Graves. After freeing the prisoners from the Veridium Mine, the Inquisitor will come across Ixchel under attack by a group of Freemen. The Inquisitor will help Ixchel defeat the Chevaliers, for which she expresses gratitude.

A Dalish Inquisitor has the option to call her “da’len” and express relief that she escaped the Conclave. Ixchel explains that she fled Haven after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and went in search of a Dalish Clan (see: The Knights’ Tomb) to take her in. On her way, she saw the harm caused by the Civil War in Orlais. She sees how much good the Inquisition can do and offers her services to help uproot the Freemen of the Dales and fight Corypheus. Her travels and experiences have made her well-suited to consider the needs of elves, both among alienages and the Dalish, as well as humans. Ixchel cannot be recruited if Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts has been completed.

In Skyhold, Ixchel can be found in the center of the courtyard by the main stairway, either near the Training Ring (if Skyhold is upgraded) or near the City and Dalish elven NPCs who often argue there.

If Ixchel and Solas are in a party together, they will develop a fast mentoring relationship as Ixchel asks Solas about his dreams in various locations they have traveled. He will comfort her after she expresses anger at the treatment of elves in Halamshiral and gently encourage her to take action. She will argue with him about his scorn for the Dalish and insist on the merits of their resilience and efforts to reclaim their heritage after centuries of oppression.

After accessing the Exalted Plains from the War Table, Ixchel will approach the Inquisitor in Skyhold and ask to meet with Hawen’s Clan. The dialogue options vary depending on whether the Inquisitor has yet discovered that the Dalish have been killed at Din’an Hanin. Ixchel is worried about the Clan’s proximity to the front of the Orlesian Civil War.

When Hawen’s clan is first encountered, a Dalish scout will address Ixchel as “flat-ear.” Ixchel is deeply upset by this and explains to the Inquisitor that it is because Ixchel does not have vallaslin and that she doesn’t appear as fully elven. A Dalish Inquisitor has the option to reassure Ixchel of her place in Clan Lavellan with or without the vallaslin. If the Inquisitor wins high approval among Hawen’s Clan, Hawen offers to formally adopt Ixchel by giving her vallaslin and initiates the Inner Circle Quest, Inward Glory.

Ixchel hesitates to accept the honor. Ixchel wants to learn the history of the vallaslin and asks the Inquisitor to help her learn how the practice has evolved from enslaved elves in Tevinter, to the elves of the Dales, to the modern Dalish Clans. The Inquisitor must contact researchers in Tevinter, Orlais, and Varric’s contact with the Dalish--Merrill.

Completion of Inward Glory is followed by another Inner Circle quest, Proudly Crowned Withal. Ixchel meets with the Inquisitor and Solas to review what she learned and make her final decision. The Inquisitor can encourage Ixchel to honor her heritage and take the vallaslin, tell her that she can serve her People better as a human-passing spy without vallaslin, or tell her that she has proven that she cares for the elves and belongs to them whether she shows it on her face or not.

If she is told not to take the vallaslin, she will not, but she Greatly Disapproves. Solas will Disapprove of all options. A Dalish Inquisitor has the added option to tell her that the Inquisitor, as well as the Lavellan Keeper, considered her to be part of Clan Lavellan even without the vallaslin. If Ixchel is told to accept, or if the Inquisitor lets Ixchel choose herself, she will accept Hawen’s offer.

A Dalish Inquisitor who has completed their romance with Solas will have the option to ask Solas to tell Ixchel the truth about the vallaslin. A Dalish Inquisitor who removed her own vallaslin has the opportunity to tell Ixchel one-on-one. Ixchel will reveal that Solas in fact told her the truth before the completion of her personal quest, and Ixchel made her decision knowingly.

After completing Ixchel's Inner Circle quests, new missions will appear on the War Table. Ixchel wants the Inquisition to work with factions like the Red Jennies, Briala's spy network, and even members of Celene's court to make reparations for Empress Celene's burning of the Halamshiral alienage, to put an end to the Val Royeaux Chevaliers' tradition of hunting City elves in the alienage streets after dark, and to restore self-governance to the alienage in Denerim, whose freedoms were restricted after the events of the Fifth Blight.

Trespasser:

If the Inquisitor has high approval with Ixchel, the warrior has devoted her time to activism in Orlais’ alienages, potentially allying with Briala. Ambient dialogue in the Winter Palace indicates that she and her movement are reviled by members of the Orlesian court, and the ruler of the Empire is considering a preventative strike for fear of a violent uprising.

If the Inquisitor did not win high approval with Ixchel, she still appears at the Exalted Council to reunite with friends in the Inner Circle. She reveals that she spent the intervening time between Inquisition and Trespasser traveling the world with Morrigan (or Morrigan and Kieran) to continue research in Ancient Elvhen history, as well as sowing rebellion--which she calls mien’harel-- in alienages across Thedas. She is saddened that the Inquisitor has still heard no word from Solas.

In the Epilogue, if the Inquisitor has resolved to kill Solas, Ixchel vanishes. She leaves a note to a high-approval Inquisitor saying that she is sorry but she has gone to find a third option to thwart Solas. If the Inquisitor instead chooses to convince Solas to change his plans, Ixchel remains allied with the Inquisition as she redoubles her efforts to unite elves across Thedas against oppression, and to actively counter Fen’Harel’s recruitment.

Approval

Ixchel appreciates honesty and empathy in Inquisitors. Given her upbringing outside of both human and elven customs, she is skeptical of actions motivated by religion. She is generally supportive of increasing freedom and understanding between groups like Mages and Templars and humans and elves.

She is curious and precocious, and she approves of exploring magic and history without bias. She is unlike other companions in that, if she is met with anger or scorn, her approval does not change. Dialogue options that mock or disrespect other members of the Inquisition and their beliefs, even those she does not get along with outright like Sera, will net disapproval.

Ability Tree/Specialization

Ixchel is a two-handed warrior with access to the Champion specialization tree. She begins with a two-handed greataxe.

Combat comments

Kills an enemy

“Push them back!”

“Move and parry, strike and kill!”

“Did you see that?”

Low Health

“Come and get it!”

“I’m taking you with me!”

“Not sure how much longer I can hold…”

Low Health (Companions)

(Inquisitor) Inquisitor! You must keep fighting!

(Inquisitor) Lethallen, no!

(Solas) I’m coming, Solas!

Fallen Companions

(Inquisitor) Guard the Inquisitor!

(Cole) I can't lose Cole!

Companion comments about OC

Vivienne: She is certainly a quick study, but painfully earnest, that girl. It is too bad the Game is played out in court, not on the battlefield. 

Solas: A childhood free of human or Dalish dogma allows her to see the biases ingrained in many who are older or more experienced. (“She’s young and naive.”) Because she expresses empathy for those who might not appear to deserve it? *sigh* I too have expressed that such openness might only lead to heartbreak. What she told me belies a wisdom far beyond her years: ‘When we ascribe compassion to be virtues of the gods, it becomes impossible for mortals to embody them. But the Fade reflects the waking world, and Compassion, Empathy, and Justice can be found in both.’

Dorian: There are quite the depths in her, despite her stature.

Bull: You don’t see a lot of atheists outside of Par Vollen. Everyone needs to believe the world’s fucked up for a reason, that there’s something waiting for them that’s better than the crap they have to suffer. Then again, people who pick up a sword that big are usually trying to prove something. Maybe that’s it.

Sera: There are two kinds of elfy-elves--people like him [see: Solas], and people like her. She’s been like me before, hungry an’ angry. And she doesn’t want anyone to be hungry anymore, so she gets all angry. ‘Stead of lookin’ back, she looks forward. And both of ‘em forget to look right in front of their noses.

Cole: The lonely traveler [see: Dirthamen] seeks, and finds, and loses again. She is bright, but she cannot see. Where she walks, the flame catches.

Trivia

The names of Ixchel’s personal quests are from various Percy Bysshe Shelley poems

Ixchel can receive the vallaslin of Dirthamen

Ixchel’s face bears heavy scarring that she claims is due to an encounter with dragonlings

Ixchel’s in-game body model is the same height as a Dwarven Inquisitor and Scout Harding.

If Blackwall and Ixchel are in a party together, they will stand near each other. Instead of entering their idle animations, they will draw their weapons as though they are about to spar.

Ambient dialogue in Skyhold implies that she trails after Cassandra “like a loyal hound” and they frequently practice together.

[my-socialdiary]

Behind His Mask

Words Count: 1973

Pairing: Childe x Lumine

Warning: it contains intense fighting scenes, blood

Here we go again, an angsty fanfiction about Childe and Lumine. For these past days I’ve been CONSUMED by this pairing and all I can think is that writing angsty story for them just becauseeeeee. And again, english is not my first language so bear with me >_< enjoy! 

***

He pushed them, they went away. It’s fair. It’s how things should be done. 

He also pushed her. He pushed her so badly, he even did wicked; he lied, he betrayed her, he even broke her faith in him. He showed her his bad side. 

Yet, 

She stayed. She smiled. She put up with everything he did. 

She’s too good to be true. She’s too perfect for someone like him.

She’s…

Unreal.

Lumine knows sooner or later, she needs to confront her biggest enemy in this quest given by Zhongli. Her enemy, he is someone who is now carving the biggest scar in her life, pushing her away because of the perspective that has been given to him, made him believe that he’s wicked. 

Yes, dozens of times, she wanted to run away from him but she just couldn't do that. Somehow, deep down in her heart, she wants to believe… in him. 

And today, she’s trying to not let her faith be shaken while she’s seeing Childe一now finally一standing in front of her, showing her that he’s her enemy she needs to beat in order to complete the quest. 

“Well… what do we have here?” His voice sounds different. It’s not the voice of Childe she knows. “Finally, the time has come. I don’t need to explain anything, don’t I? Let’s just start the battle, then.” As he was saying that, he forms a water blade each in his hands. The sound of water along with the groans of the whale. 

“No. I want an explanation.”

“No. You don’t need one,” he said. “You’ve already seen the facts but you just want to believe in your own thoughts and opinions.” Childe walks forward, he lifts up his right hand and makes a slashing move towards Lumine. 

All she needs is just one second. She dodge her way and try to balance herself while aiming her right hand forward, palm facing directly to Childe, ready to cast palm vortex. She’s shocked by Childe’s sudden movement, but she tries to calm herself. She’s now looking at him, and trying to convince herself that this is still the man she knows. But all she sees is that the warm smile is now replaced by a cold, distant smile. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” His eyes were cold and lifeless. There’s anger, rage and… guilt. “Why are you holding back?” He asks with his husky voice. He raised up his eyebrow and gave her a smirk. 

“I demand an explanation, Childe,” meanwhile, she takes her sword from her back. “Now.”

“I told you since we first met,” He is now moving again and striking her with his blade, twice. Which makes her now tossed to the side, dealing high damage to her body. Pain creeped up through her palm, making her unable to cast anything except fight him with her sword. “I am a bad guy. But you don’t believe.” Before Childe can do anything, she gathered up her stamina and stood up then ran to the center of the Golden House. 

“The truth is, I was just going to aggressively ignore that part until it goes away,” she said. Suddenly, a burst of wind fills up this space. Soon enough Childe sees a hurricane come right towards him, but he doesn’t have enough time to escape from it. The pain it caused is not high enough to stop him so as soon as he freed himself from the grasp of the hurricane, he took out his bow and shot her with six consecutive water arrows. Her body is now marked with Riptide Blast which deals more damage to her body. 

“That’s definitely not going to work!” He shouted. He now changes himself into his delusion, which is an electro and casts his homing attack. A purple-ish ring of electricity appears around her body. Before it can deal anymore damage, she runs and attacks him with her sword, once, twice, thrice. Cancelling his moves. 

Childe seems tough but now she’s sure that she’s dealing enough damage to him. And that makes her heart ache. But she is still attacking him, half of it represents her anger towards Childe. I hate you. You hurt me. I want to kill you so badly. The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down her face. She feels the muscles of her arms tremble like a small child caught stealing those delicious fried radish balls. Her walls, the walls that hold her up all this time just… collapsed. Ruined. Destroyed. 

Her sword is making clanging sound when it met with Childe’s water blade as he tries to defend himself. With her endless attack, she is now slowly pushing Childe to the wall. I can't stop... I can't stop. Why can I not stop crying? She thinks to herself. Her vision is blurry, but she still can see expressions Childe makes. Eventually, she now pinned him to the wall. Panting, she stopped attacking and now looked at him. Her right hand holding a sword pointed to his throat, ready to slit it while her left arm held him in his chest. “All this time… you made me feel so many… emotions,” she muttered between her breath. “I was sad, confused and angry… but I couldn’t understand why,” She pressed her sword gradually into his throat. “But why does it have to be you? Why, Childe, why?” She just broke down. The sobs bursted out, ripping through her throat, muscles, and guts. 

She didn’t care anymore. All she wants is just to stop this nonsense, go back in time and choose not to follow him after he saved her from the Millelith guard. She would rather not meet him. Or she would rather not come to Liyue at all. 

Next, all she knew was she dropped her sword with a trace of Childe’s blood and pressing her forehead into his chest while grabbing his armor with both hands. She cried. And cried. And cried. She can’t hold it anymore, she chooses not to. The pain came out like madness in the form of a scream. She thought if she acted like it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t. But turns out the more she pretends, the greater pain she gets. 

“I don’t want to put up with everything you did anymore,” She whispered. 

***

Memories are the worst form of torture. 

And Childe couldn’t agree more with that. You can heal the pain from physical torture with herbs and medicine fom Bubu Pharmacy but you can’t just cut you head off to get rid of things you don’t want to remember. Even though you really want to do that. Even though that ‘thing’ is the most beautiful thing he ever experienced. The thing that he will never, ever dare to dream in his life. And that’s exactly what he feels now. 

The muffled sobs wracked against his chest. The world turned into a blur, and so did all the anger he tried to keep. Except for those damn memories. Instead of forgetting it, it keeps playing in his head, rewind itself, filling his mind with a picture of her smiles, her cheerful expression, her flowing hair, her beautiful golden eyes and conclude with the sound of her footsteps, keep coming back to him even though he pushed her away. 

Childe, I’m back! Are you feeling better now?

Childe, I hope you don’t mind if I come back here. 

Childe, let’s go! You won’t think I’ll leave you here alone, will you?

Childe, I was being too pushy yesterday, wasn’t I? Sorry, I’ll try my best not to do it again if you don’t like it. 

Childe…!

Childe!

...Childe!

He tries to shrug that off. He doesn’t want to remember anything at all. 

Childe looks down where he sees her bleeding head, probably from one of his attacks. That girl is still burying her face in his chest, clutching his clothes, begging him to stop all of this, while he tried so hard to not lift up both his arms and bring her to his embrace. The sound of her footsteps played again. Stop coming back. Just… stop. I didn’t deserve you. His head now swarms with new formed-regrets. 

“I regret a lot of things,” he finally opens his mouth. The heaviness was in his limbs as much as his throat. He sounded tired. “Having this kind of conversation tops the list.” He pushed Lumine from himself just to see her face, now red and wet because of tears. He tried to look away but his eyes were stubborn. “Now let’s finish this game and一”

“Is this a game to you?” 

“It’s nothing more than a game with reward,” He forms the electric polearm. Ready to fight her. He’s bleeding, but he doesn’t care. “You should’ve slit my throat. Now I won’t give you another chance.” As he said that, the mask that he keeps on his hair flies over to cover his face entirely. His mind is now consumed and so all of his action. The anger form in a mask is now a safe haven to protect him from the regrets. With this anger, now he can freely do anything he wants. With this anger, his fear of hurting someone he cherishes is now gone.  

“I give you the chance to kill me, but you don’t,” With the mask on, his voice has now changed drastically. “This is what cost you for thinking that I can be tricked by your actions!” That gravelly voice is now filling up the entire Golden House, making it tremble a little. Without hesitation, he comes towards the weaponless Lumine and attacks her with his electric polearm. He didn't mind electrifying, slashing and stabbing her with his weapon. Lumine tried nothing to defend herself, she’s now beaten, smacked, thumped and all of her body is screaming with ache but she keeps doing nothing. Because she knows; nothing is matter for him right now. He had been titled Eleventh of The Fatui Harbingers for a reason. 

Behind his mask, it pained him to let out all of his attacks to her yet soon enough… a little bit more energy in a form of purple flash and waves combined into one deadly attack should be enough to kill her, giving him a sense of satisfaction amongst agony to end all of this. 

Childe is now casting his final spell when suddenly a burst of wind blows away his mask, exposing his rough face. At that time, his eyes locked to Lumine who is now strengthless, her eyes are half closed, and she’s bleeding everywhere. It was Lumine who blew the wind for the last time and made him realize what he did to her.

“Do… it…” She said under her breath. 

“No…” The anger is now gone, his emotions are back, his eyes now filled with fear, anxiety and guilt. He threw his polearm and kneel beside the girl who did nothing but good things to him. “What did I do… No…Lumine, no…” He has seen so many deaths, he never truly cried. But now, he’s unable to speak, unable to breath. The world around him becomes darker. The weight in his chest locks in his throats. A token of sorrow and misery. He bawls and screams, and that is more than crying. It sounded like a desolate weeping that comes from a person drowned in the sea of regrets. His tears mingled with the rain outside Golden House which suddenly showered the entire Liyue and his gasping wails echoed around that place. 

“Childe一” She whispered, and coughed a little bit. 

“All this time,” he cuts her sentence. His voice is now trembling with agony. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing… what?”

“Treating me…” He sobs, again. “Like a person.”

She smiles. “Because you are.”

[vergess]

Right so I'm like pretty high on account of the amount of pain I am in today, so bear with me but I'm going to talk about FFXIV in a very silly way okay rad

I miss when lifejournal let me put little titles for my cutaway link instead of 'just read more nerd~' and yeah dreamwidth still lets you but

oh my god I should crosspost this to the FFXIV dreamwidth (link)

Okay right okay so moral compulsion upheld let's chat

When I write my WOL characters (which it's a different wol per fic because I do NPCships) I find myself subconsciously emphasizing that the ones who are casters are are Openly Weird and the ones who are "physical" are Stoic (TM)

This is a fairly identifiable trend across major NPCs too, so that's likely what I am mimicking.

Casters are just very Openly Conspicuous (And Kind Of Weird). In comparison the melees are more reticent and try not to reveal their whole Deal.

Alphinaud and Alisaie are conspicuously rich, foreign twins. They sound like they learned English solely to imitate private school students on news casts. Or whatever, Eorzean.

I say this, and my estinaud heart compels me, to talk about why Estinien calls Alphinaud "little lord."

I know US audiences aren't great at picking up on this stuff, but Alphinaud specifically acts like he is a peer in standing with the highest house of Ishgard despite being a weird foreign child (16 is underage in Ishgard because of catholicism as confirmed in the AST job quests where this is pointed out as being kinda like weird according to Civilized Peoples [Eorzea, Sharlayan, Garlemald, the irony abounds] but anyway the point is Estinien would probably think under 21 is a child).

Little Lord Alphinaud is on that Yes, Master Wayne shit like 'okay little man I will do what you say but you are baby' okay I love it.

Back to other major casters: Y'shtola literally wears a Weird Scientist Outfit in ARR; like she goes around with those ridiculous goggles asking random people intense science questions (magic is a science).

Then she gets a costume change to something a little more iLVL 170, and in exchange she gets aether poisoning in her eyes that make them glow. She just walks around with glowing eyes okay. We as the player just see them as a weird white, but that's because we have different eyesight, that filter means they literally glow (see: dunesfolk lalafell eyes, wood and fibercraft 90 role quest).

So obviously her next step in being the most Visibly Magical Bitch On Hydaelyn is to fall into a coma and then start dressing like the Wicked Witch Of The First.

So yes that's a pretty conspicuous Vibe.

Though at least Black is arguably a reasonable camo colour in the deep woods.

Unlike Alisaie, who goes out in a bright red tailored coat on the battlefield and then stabs people with roses made of firelight this fucking Utena acting ass nonsense.

You see my point, I am sure. Conspicuous.

I didn't play a Gridanian starter I do not know how Papalymo fits into this because I never met him (I understand that you meet him in ARR, but he's not exactly a major character after Heavensward let alone after Stormblood).

Forchenault kind of almost makes a play for stoicism when you first meet him in his diplomatic robes and his sneering, but like actually he just dresses like that. Imagine if you just saw some guy in like full Judges Robes with Wig And Shit in regular daily life that's Forchenault he wears them everywhere he goes to fucking tromp around in the Garlean (Siberian) tundra wearing his judge outfit okay.

And then you've got Urianger (Urianger).

I was just going to leave it at that because like... how do you capture whatever the fuck Urianger has going on. The gender of this bitch is unfathomable. I am constantly callign him a he/him lesbian but since he marries Thancred there's some degree of bi at play there too but on the other hand how do you describe his decision to go become a tarot reading goth GF in the land of rainbows and fairies than "he learned what a they/them is and immediately became a he/him lesbian, like a pokemon evolving".

Anyway he has a tattoo of his university on his fucking face and speaks like he got kicked out of the Society for Creative Anachronism for not taking his period grammar seriously.

Conspicuous. Not just super visible, but super visibly themselves. A poison dart frog honesty.

Compare these Extremely Visible Acting Bitches to our Melee types.

Thancred is so fucking... IDEK man he's on that PTSD repression shit and has been since before we met him, with both his Stoic War Dad vibes in Shadowbringers and his Extreme Slut vibes preceding it being equally unhealthy coping mechanisms for his constant self worth issues. Like, someone resurrect Louisoix, I have my own phoenix summon I'm immune and I just want to talk about why your children are all so insane Louisoix because Thancred and Fourchenault show similar signs of juvenile abuse. It's fine Louisoix I just want to talk.

Lyse makes an argument just by virtue of her name not being Yda.

But also there's the fact that she convinced immigration that she was a white girl at 3 different naturalization systems for different countries and then the absolute MOMENT the fucking SECOND she heard the war was turning immediately became the most hardcore violent liberationist conceivable? (Fortunately, with a strong focus on rebuilding and stability).

Even ranged pDPS fall into this, tending to be very visibly and loudly Something Else to disguise their intentions. G'raha's bardic braggadocio did a far better job hiding his intentions (gap year) and nature (nerd) than the Exarch's ~I AM KEEPING A SECRET; PLEASE DO NOT LOOK FOR MY SECRET; THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMPLIANCE~ nonsense.

Anyway literally hiding who they are etc.

Aymeric is the pope's son and boy howdy did he throw himself into being a paladin (dark knight but that's a different fight for a different day) to make sure no one ever questioned his made up heritage with some non-Pope parents that For Sure Gave Birth To Him It's Fine Really.

Ryne also uses the Yda defense by not being named Minfilia, and takes her transformation one step further to have a completely different hair and eyes (and implicitly other features).

Hien much like Aymeric was also trying to hide his parentage hmmmmmmmmm lotta daddy issues in this game.

Wait... Gaius... Ranjit... Louisoix...

Actually wait.

Okay I'm updating my hypothesis.

Casters=demandant; Melee=avoidant is OUT

Melee=Daddy issues is IN.

Anyway I wanted to talk about the types of stereotypes people would have of casters vs melee in the setting because of this difference in personalities but actually instead I just reminded myself that the fundamental truth of FFXIV is that Dads Cause A Lot Of Trauma

In conclusion: I miss Homestuck.

[obeymemc-marcie]

Special Guest Appearance

(That's the title of this one)

Warnings: NSFW, Dom!Levi, a smidge of tail action, MC uses she/her pronouns with female genetalia, slight masturbation, mentions of demon in heat, let me know if I need to add more! 💜

"Hey there Deviltube, L3 here and welcome back to another video. We're going to pick up where we left off here playing Skyrim. If you remember we were-"

Marcie mouthed the words with a practiced ease as she lip-synced his signature intro, dangling her legs outside the rim of his tub bed. Her eyes roved over her own device as she played through the same quest he was currently livestreaming. He had told her before that he didn't mind if she'd made an appearance during one of his streams, but she knew this was his passion and didn't want to distract him from it. Besides, playing along with him always made her feel giddy, gave her a sense of happiness she couldn't explain.

Today, however was a little different. After his last livestream, Marcie had pulled up a walkthrough to read ahead through the next quest. She still wanted to play it through with him but this time, she wanted to make an appearance during his livestream.

It had been almost a full month since his last heat and now that he had Marcie, well it was a little easier for him to get through it, but Marcie also knew he dreaded the heat cycle. It made him insatiable and dark, rough and driven by lust and the pure primal instinct to mate. Marcie couldn't help the bolt of pleasure that danced along her spine, pooling in her lower abdomen remembering how he had been with her. She licked her lips, fighting back a moan, as she felt the ghost of his tail coiled around her throat, his cocks penetrating both of her holes at the same time. Her blue eyes fixated on her screen, set in determination and she squeezed her thighs together just slightly, already feeling her arousal dampen her panties. Today would be an interesting livestream indeed.

"What do you guys think, should I fast travel to the Greybeards or run there?" Levi panned his camera to the area surrounding him and his eyes caught some bandits in the distance, "or should I go kill those guys and steal their horse?" He paused for a moment to rummage through his character's inventory as the comments flowed in, all his viewers casting their votes.

That's when his nose picked up a scent, light at first but unmistakable as it whirled around his senses, embracing him. The scent of sweet oranges and subtle notes of peppermint mellowed out by eucalyptus and tied together with lemongrass; it was the ambrosial scent of his human's arousal.

Orange eyes could see her legs swaying over the edge of his tub in their peripheral vision, he caught the movement as her legs moved closer together and get smell became more potent.

Levi snapped out of his trance when he felt his mouth begin to salivate and turned his attention back to the game. He saw a prominent blush spreading out across the bridge of good nose, painting his cheeks and a light pink in his livestream camera feed. The pupils of his eyes narrowed into slits but only so briefly he thought he'd imagine it. Shaking his head, he faked a few coughs and cleared his throat, hoping it would dispel the blush and felt a stirring in the back of his mind.

"H-hey," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat again, reaching out to take a swig of his energy drink. "Guess I'm going to go steal a horse," his laugh was forced but he quickly found himself delving back into the game.

Marcie was biting her hand trying not to laugh. Watching his face, his real time reactions in the corner of the steam, oh he was going to punish her for what she had planned. She smiled, practically humming in anticipation. Bandits had not spawned in her game so she led her character over to where his would be on his playthrough and paused to wait for him. Making as little sound as possible, Marcie pulled her shirt up and over her head and placed it on the blankets next to her. Levi engaged in combat with the bandits and took the opportunity to pull her legs down and tug off her jeans as well, leaving her with just her bra and underwear on.

The full scent of her arousal washed over him, no longer held back by the denim. He paused his game mid fight to catch his breath. Comments poured in, some asking if he was a noob for chickening out of a fight, some asking if he was okay because he looked feverish. His eyes cut back over to the tub and noticed her legs were not hanging over the rim anymore. Listening for a moment for any indication she was doing something indecent in his bed, Marcie noticed Levi was looking her direction on the livestream and held up her hand, giving him a thumbs-up signaling she was okay. Hesitating, he turned back to his game, face felt like it was on fire. The red stuck out against his normally pale face.

"Sorry about that," Levi saw he was sporting a small pout and changed his expression to a small smile, sheepishly looking into the camera, "I guess I'm not feeling too well today but I still plan on carrying out the rest of this mission." Talking helped him shift his mindset back into gaming mode and soon he was making his way to the Throat of the World on horseback.

A few hours had passed, Marcie found herself lost in the game as well until she'd heard the words she'd been waiting for. While reading the walkthrough, she memorized the key phrase for when she would act out her plan. Levi had a knack for letting the cutscenes play all the way through, soaking in the dialogue and cinematography like a long-awaited movie.

The voices droned on as she saved her game and put her console to sleep. Peeking her head above the top of the tub, her lips spread in a conniving smile; the mischievous kitty about to eat herself a canary. Readjusting her breasts to plump them up in her bra, she crawled out of the tub and slunk down. His attention was solely focused on the monitor, watching the Nordic heroes battling against Alduin's forces, eyes sparkling as he watched the scene unfold. She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do. Almost.

Marcie crept and crouched to hide behind the file cabinet under his desk, successfully concealing herself. Her nerves fluttered, she debated giving up and returning to the tub. But then she felt the ghost of his claws running down her thighs as his tongue, his forked tongue, made her see stars between her legs. Her breathing shuddered as she steeled her resolve and crept closer, crawling on her hands and knees under his desk.

Levi had been entranced by the cutscene. The graphics, the cinematography, the dialogue, the lore, it all fascinated him. The rich lore of the Elder Scrolls and here was the moment he saw the three heroes go against Alduin and witness how the World Eater was cast forward into time.

He almost missed the spike in Marcie's arousal. The scent was stronger this time, he choked back a whine. His leg started to bounce in frustration as he felt his own arousal start to stir. Levi bit his lip as he felt his pants tighten around him, he could feel another part of him start to wake up as well, after having slumbered for almost a month. His grip tightened on the controller as he shifted in his seat, spreading his legs wider to add a little more friction and pressure to his semi-hardening erection.

Marcie could feel the smile that stretched across her face, smug and victorious. She could fell herself start to drool and she inched closer. He was reacting to her. Reaching her hand down to her own apex, Marcie ran her fingers through her folds biting back a sigh and played with her clit and watched the tent in his pants twitch and rise.

Levi sucked in a breath, releasing his lip, a vein pulsated along his neck as he grit his teeth together. She was teasing him now. She had to have known what affect she had on him. The screen blacked out as it shifted to a loading screen. Taking the moment to roll his chair back, Levi arched his body, turning to look into the tub bed. He felt his heart stop when it was empty. He clearly still smelled her, but where-

Oh.

She smiled innocently as they made eye contact, raising her hand to her mouth and sucked on the fingers that were previously rubbing against her folds. Marcie groped her breast before pointing up, indicating his game had finished loading.

Levi's mouth was gaping, his face was burning red, his erection straining against his pants. His eyes slowly followed where she was pointing and he scrambled to pull himself back to his desk and turned off the camera.

"S-sorry everyone," he gulped, ignoring all the comments flowing in, "uh, technical d-difficulties," Levi cleared his throat, "let's p-pick up where we left off." Marcie snickered silently as he tried to keep his composure and placed her hands on his knees, gently squeezing his thighs. Levi shifted into his demon form instantaneously and Marcie licked her lips as his tail cracked against the tile floor.

This was supposed to be the moment in the game where he was to fight Alduin. He had spent days level crunching so he could be prepared. Oh, he was going to punish her. Levi smiled deviously and paused the game.

"I swear, some people in this house are really inconsiderate, I'm sorry, I have to go yell at Mammon again," his tail was thrashing around behind him making crashing noises to accompany the lie. Muting the microphone, Levi rolled his chair back slowly and leaned forward to grip Marcie's chin and pulled her up to meet his face, a wicked grin spreading over his lips. Marcie gulped and licked her lips in anticipation.

"You're going to sit in my lap, and I'm going to edge you until I've decided you've had enough." She nodded enthusiastically and he shook his head, and let out a deep laugh "You underestimate my power."

In normal circumstances, she would have snorted at the reference but with her current state of arousal and the way he was devouring her almost-naked form with his eyes, his words sent shivers down her spine.

Levi rolled his chair back and Marcie climbed out from under his desk. He raised his hips and commanded her to take off his pants.

"You should be wet enough to take all of me, right kohai?"

Marcie bit her lip and twirled a stand of her hair around her finger, saying, "but you're so big senpai, I don't know if my tight pussy will be able to take all of you, but maybe if you fucked my throat first?" Her lower lip jutted out in a pout and he groaned, the arm rests cracking under his grip.

Levi released a dark chuckle, cocked his head to the side, and smiled sadistically. "You haven't earned that right. You know where the lube is, go get it." She pouted but obliged, pulling open one of the drawers and took out the bottle.

"Good girl now hand it over," he outstretched his hand and Marcie whined. He was denying her of touching him, he tutted in response as she held it out to him. "You should have thought about that earlier. You have to earn the right to touch me," Levi coated his erection with enough lube and tossed the bottle onto the floor. "Now, turn around and come sit on my lap."

"Yes senpai," Marcie did as she was told, sticking her ass out further than necessary before lowering herself down, releasing a shuddering moan as his size stretched her out. The lube made it easier for him to slide in but she was still met with resistance and struggled with his size, riding him shallowly to coax her muscles to loosen up.

Levi growled, his tail cracking against the floor as he felt her walls squeeze him. It had been awhile since they were last intimate, and he could tell with the way her heat constricted around him. Leaning forward, a claw traced the fabric of her bra before twisting, slicing right through the fabric. His hand reached around and groped her plump breast as she had done earlier, his other hand moving down her body.

His fingers ghosted over her skin, feeling the flesh ripple and twitch under his delicate touch. He bit into her shoulder as his hand reached her apex, his fingers rolling themselves over her sensitive nub and lapped his tongue against the love bite.

"What's wrong Marcelline," he palmed her breast, toying with her nipple and teased the skin on her other shoulder, "I thought you wanted this yet you're struggling. Try to keep quiet as you take the rest of me or I'll have no choice but to shove my tail down your throat." The tip of the appendage slithered around her thigh before coming up to flick against her clit as emphasis. Panting and biting her lip, Marcie continued rolling her hips in slow and shallow thrusts, moving as much as he'd allow. His nails dug into her hip painfully if she moved too much.

Rolling them back to the computer, Levi switched out his headphones, opting for a single earbud so he could hear her and the game, and moved his mic to the other side, away from Marcie but still able to talk into it. He'd have to read the comments later, but he lost a few viewers.

'I bet if I turned the camera back on, the viewer count would skyrocket.' Levi mulled over the thought but she threw her head back onto his shoulder as she fully seated herself on his lap and he could see her face; eyes clouded in lust, breasts rolling around to match her panting, cheeks burning bright red, mouth hanging open, was that drool? No, only he was allowed to see her like this. No one else deserved to lay eyes on his precious Marcie.

Levi gave her breast one last squeeze before returning his hand to the keyboard. "Not a single peep. If you make a noise or try to move, I will only play longer." He kissed her shoulder, "you understand kohai?" He smiled as she nodded.

Shout-out to @kawaiizard for helping me beta read this 😭 I appreciate you 💜

[themurphyzone]

⭐star⭐/ Please tell us about "Eurydice" and why you break our hearts so. Lol. Okay, but, seriously, I'd love to hear more about the process of writing this story and how it affected you emotionally.

Oh boy, where do I begin? *rubs hands evilly*

Background

Okay, so Eurydice wasn't actually a spur of the moment thing. I actually posted the idea on a PatB Discord server about two months before I sat down and typed it out for real. I knew I wanted to write something for Halloween, and while my original idea for a Halloween story would've been a more comedic Scooby Doo parody, I decided that Eurydice would've been more interesting.

I've always been fascinated by mythology from around the world, thanks to the Percy Jackson series. If any of you have read those books, you'll know that one of the biggest and most tearjerking cliffhangers involved our beloved Percy and Annabeth voluntarily plunging into Tartarus together.

So I thought of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. To summarize: A bride tragically dies on her wedding day. So Orpheus goes down to the underworld, convincing Hades to give her back with the most beautiful music. Hades agrees on one condition: Orpheus can't look at Eurydice before they both make it out of the underworld. Sadly, while Orpheus made it to the outside world, he laid eyes on Eurydice before she crossed into the living, and she was lost forever.

PatB Halloween plays with a similar concept. Brain is given a task and he must complete it so he can get Pinky back. But he fails, and the only reason Pinky was rescued at all was because the Devil can't anticipate Pinky being himself.

In the story, it was just a matter of switching out the cartoonish competition for the Orpheus and Eurydice method. Similar to Orpheus, Brain can't look at Pinky or he'll be lost forever. Mr. Itch directly references the myth when he's setting up the task.

"Your challenge begins, Brain," Mr. Itch declared, and the wicked fingers slowly released Brain's head. "And remember, no looking at Pinky until you're both in the surface world. But that's a moot point, ain't it? You're bound to forget soon enough. At least try to go for most of the length before your undeniable failure, okay? We wouldn't want the show to end too soon."

Brain's failures are almost always caused by his fatal flaws, similar to the characters in Greek tragedies. By this method, why should hell or any readers expect any different? Mr. Itch is banking on this fact and is practically using it for his very own torture porn. Brain is self-aware but has to try and succeed anyway, or risk losing Pinky forever.

Personal Emotions

I listened to a lot of dark music for the bleak feeling that pervades the beginning of Eurydice. But at the same time, it was important to keep hope alive through the story, mostly through Pinky himself.

By turning Pinky into a ghost and robbing him of everything that made him alive, Mr. Itch wanted to silence that hope. But even so, Pinky still found a way to reach Brain and give him the strength to succeed on an impossible quest.

Pinky had been helping him all this time. Somehow, he'd influenced selfish demons to unite against their cruel master and protect each other from serious injury. Somehow, he'd found a way to say narf despite his voiceless state.

I'll be honest, I was actually giggling to a stuffed Pikachu during some of the more sadistic parts. Mr. Itch might as well have been my author avatar for torturing these poor mice.

But even so, it took two weeks to write this story. Partially due to real life, and partially because I felt so bad for torturing my favorite characters.

Eurydice emotionally drained me so much that I wasn't able to write much for the next few weeks after posting.

I think what gets me is this: I love characters who fail a lot. Do I find them entertaining? Yes. Do I find it upsetting when they lose? Yes, even if they deserved it. Do I just want them to be happy and find fulfilment with the ones they love? Absolutely yes.

The Ending

I wanted to bring special attention to the ending, which deviates greatly from the tragedy of the source material.

While I entertained the idea of Brain failing to bring Pinky out, the truth is that the simple ending of them being okay, of them being together, of them cuddling in bed was planned from the very start.

If Brain is with Pinky, he's happy. If Pinky is with Brain, he's happy. If they're together, that's reward enough.

Plus after the hell they've been through, they needed the cuddles.

Besides, I subscribe to Don Bluth's method of putting cute characters through hell and giving them their happy ending.

[wide-eyedscottishlass]

Scarlett and the Professor - a startling revelation

[continued from]    [contains brief NSFW material]

The way that Scarlett had kissed him when they parted lingered in Hennessy’s mind far longer than was fit for his intentions towards her. As he fell asleep in the nights that followed; when he woke up in the dark, needing to use the loo. Making him wonder if she was sleeping soundly, warm and soft, and far from his bed. Making him hope that he was the stuff of her dreams. 

But this was ludicrous! Untenable and undisciplined. And even as he watched her, innocently sitting two rows back from his desk—modestly attired in a knee length dress of pale peach, silk chiffon, the flawless skin of her throat and decolletage  beckoning to him nonetheless—he sure as hellfire intended to do something about it. 

Thus far, she had made no obvious attempt to garner his attention. Throughout Monday’s class and today’s—which was quickly winding down—Scarlett had played the part of a model student. Seated demurely while studiously taking notes, alert and attentive, and even raising her hand in bids to answer questions. True, when he allowed himself to call upon her, the slight flush that colored her cheeks was surely on his account, but she answered so confidently that it almost felt like she was daring him to correct her. 

She’d worn her hair loose today and on Monday too, instead of her customary chignon. Distracting him with thoughts of how it felt pooled in his hands, spread across the skin of his chest, and—for Christ’s sake!–brushing against his thighs when she worshipped him with her mouth. Goddammit! How the hell had she insinuated herself into his forebrain this way, and after such relatively little time? It boggled the mind. 

Hennessy was particularly aware of her scent; the combination of her shampoo, the natural aroma of her skin, combined with her light, delicate perfume. He knew that couldn’t be helped, of course, as he’d worn her scent on his skin during their many hours of sin, and it had lingered on his sheets until his cleaning woman had changed them out. Whenever Hennessy walked the aisle where Scarlett sat, it assaulted his senses, made his mouth water, and caused him just the slightest hesitation in delivery of his lecture. 

Even now, as he backed up the aisle on his way to his desk, she didn’t even react when his fingertips just grazed her arm where it rested on her desk. Scarlett before the series of sensual lessons he had granted her would have given a quiet gasp and wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes from him. This Scarlett was gazing at the blackboard while she absentmindedly nibbled on the end of her pencil, seemingly unaware of how that action made him lick his own lips as he considered the taste and texture of her pretty, precious mouth. Hennessy realized he must do something soon to change the trajectory he was on. 

He was so immersed in his thoughts that the noon bell took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered and muttered his dismissal. Scarlett was up and out of his classroom with the rest of the students, not even granting him a moment’s acknowledgement of their wicked secret. How was this to be borne! No lover had turned the tables on him so effortlessly before, and without even trying. But what could he do about Scarlett? 

Hennessy took to his chair, mulling over his options, and each seemed less satisfactory than the previous one. His mobile buzzed with a text alert, and he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his jacket, which was draped across the back of his chair. “Well...I’ll...be...damned...” he grinned, his dexterous fingers skating across the keypad in reply. This is practically a deus ex machina, he chuckled, with timing that couldn’t be more perfect. 

                    _______________________________________

Hennessy was nursing his second scotch on the rocks, taking his drink slowly as he figured he’d be hitting the road not long after his awaited guest arrived. This wasn’t so much a bar, as a seedy, roadside dive, but considering the nature of their meetup, it suited the mood perfectly. His belly felt tight with anticipation, further piqued by the burn of the liquor as he scanned the room, satisfied to see that the other few, isolated patrons were involved in minding their own business. 

She was late, of course, a perpetual habit which he’d grown accustomed to years ago, but he expected her arrival at any moment now. And sure enough, as though he had summoned her by thought alone, his favorite tall and leggy redhead strolled through the door.

Sylvie Martin, Professor of Biology, specializing in Humans and Primates. Sylvie Caldwell nee Martin, he reminded himself as she approached and he caught the flash of her huge and rather gaudy diamond engagement ring. Interestingly, she was wearing it on her right-hand ring finger rather then her left. A portent of good things to come, as far as Hennessy was concerned. 

She wore a snug, silk dress with a Mandarin collar and a slit up one side, with a dark green, Oriental print embossed on it’s emerald green background, along with her trademark spiked heels, in matching green. Sylvie knew that color flattered her best, and she certainly was a sight for sore eyes. Once she spotted him, she moved with unflappable focus towards his booth. “Darling...Henns!” she greeted him as he rose to embrace her, allowing him the familiarity of lingering his palm against her back. No bra...all the better, he thought, breathing in Dior’s J’adore, which had always been her favorite perfume, and wondering if she had arrived sans thong as well. He’d likely discover the answer for himself soon enough. 

“Sylvie, you dazzle me as always,” he proclaimed, kissing her cheek, “And honestly, the island hasn’t been the same since you decamped.” Hennessy motioned to the cocktail waitress to bring the round of drinks he’d preordered for them; a dirty martini for Sylvie and another tumbler of scotch for himself. He waited for his guest to slide into the booth and then joined her, not at all hesitant to press his thigh against hers. “So tell me, darling- what brings you back to us now? Business...or pleasure? 

“Hennzy,” she smirked, tracing the rim of her glass before eyeing him sideways, “A little bit of business, as I finally found a buyer for my old place.” Sylvie turned to him and ran the same finger along his cheekbone. “And as for pleasure, well...” she sighed and batted her eyes, “...I was counting on you for that.” 

“Moi,” he exclaimed, feigning shock, “I thought those days were done! I mean, what would Gerald say?” 

“That he married an insatiable tart,” she huffed, then took a deep swallow of her martini, “And that a leopard can’t change her spots, no matter how much luxury you lavish upon her...” 

“Ahhhhh, my poor, dear Sylvie,” he tutted, biting his lip against a smirk of his own. Hennessy had been certain when she’d left the University without giving even a week’s notice, and had barely bid farewell to even her closest friends as she pursued the 50-something tech mogul that had feted her through a whirlwind courtship---following him to his home base in the States---that she would be back one day. In the finest gold digger tradition, they had married within a month. Hennessy hoped now, as he had when he first read her text announcing the news, that she’d been smart enough to get a generous prenup. “I’ll be only too glad to help, of course,” he patted her hand in mock consolation, knowing that her heart had never truly been invested in that relationship, “Just tell me what you need, darling.” 

Sylvie laughed slyly, confirming what he had expected from the moment he had gotten her text this afternoon, “Well, we could start with a night full of shameless shagging.” Leaning into him, she murmured in his ear, “You know that you were always my favorite fuck buddy for that, Henns.” She tugged his earlobe between her teeth as she pulled away, and his prick twitched with the need she had awoken. “Please don’t say no, darling,” she pouted as she eyed him hungrily, “It’s been ages since I’ve been properly railed.” 

Why the hell not, he thought, astounded that the universe had hand delivered the perfect answer to his dilemma. She’s the most delectable, effortless and no-strings-attached distraction that I ever could have asked for. Hennessy grabbed his glass and downed the remaining liquid in a single, hearty swallow. “What the fuck are we waiting for,” he growled, “Which will it be, darling- your place or mine?”

                    ___________________________________ 

As Sylvie had arrived by Uber, they took took the Spitfire back to her hotel. Never one to stand on ceremony, she didn’t even wait two minutes before she snaked her hand across his thigh. “Mmmmm...good old Hennessy,” she purred, “And your...mmmmm...incomparable...dedicated...always delicious cock...” 

He shifted slightly, instinctively thrusting his pelvis up to maximize her access, even while warning her, “Christ, woman---let me get us there in one piece first...”

“I can’t help it, baby,” she whined, “I’ve missed this...missed you...sooooo verrrrry much.” 

Hennessy turned her way just enough to note the naked lust in every line of her gorgeous features. There’s never been anything subtle about her, he recalled, as a moue of distaste whispered at the back of his mind; but sometimes a man wants subtlety. Sometimes he wants a woman who’s soft and pliable, and...aching to follow his lead.

He gave a rough shake of his head, banishing that very uncharacteristic course of thought, and pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal. Sylvie threw back her head at the sudden acceleration, laughing hard and taking that as a sign of his eagerness. “Oh, Henns, you know I’ve always adored when you go fast!” She gave the bulge in his trousers a hearty squeeze. 

He grunted back, then plucked her questing hand from his crotch and raised it enough to give it a half-hearted kiss. “Not in everything, Sylvie,” he reminded her, his eyes remaining squarely on the road ahead, “And never when it’s crucial to go slow.” 

“Hmmmmm...right. I’d forgotten that sometimes a devil like you can show the patience of a saint,” she trilled, taking back her hand and laying it next to the gear shift, “So I suppose I’d better follow your example---for the time being.” 

“You best believe it, Syl...” Much to his chagrin, Hennessy was beginning to remember the slew of things about his friend-with-benefits that used to get on his nerves, and always ended with them going their separate ways for months at a time. Until one or the other of them had an itch for the kind of raw, filthy sex that had been their perpetual default setting. Of course, that was exactly what he was in need of now. At least once we begin, he reckoned, she’ll just shut up and put her mouth to better use than stating the obvious. 

She stayed fairly silent for the rest of the trip, likely having picked up the vibe that he wasn’t in the mood for trifling. Sylvie did grab his hand when they exited the car---pulling him along from the parking lot and through the airy lobby, and then into the elevator up to her suite. As soon as the doors slid shut, she had draped her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his as tightly as she could, and captured his mouth with a relentless, probing kiss. Hennessy had answered her advance by cupping her bottom in both hands---finding that ‘yes’ was the answer to his earlier speculation that she might be completely bare under her dress. 

He was thinking what a cliche this was, and that he wished she was making their liaison at least a bit challenging. Worse still, Hennessy was finding himself more than a little sorry for Sylvie, wondering just how miserable she must have been since the fresh bloom of her hasty marriage had faded away. That she’d fooled herself into thinking she could endure a union that had no true spark, and that Caldwell’s money would be enough to make her happy with a man who clearly didn’t understand or appreciate her true nature. 

But as she swiped her keycard to grant them entry to her rooms, Hennessy reminded himself that he wasn’t here to be her therapist or confessor. He wasn’t going to ask about what problems she was having---be they marital or otherwise---and he hoped that Sylvie wouldn’t try to tell. They each had pressing needs to fulfill, and as far as he was concerned, this was simply a palate cleanser. A chance to put some distance between himself and the threat that he was developing an obsession for the most unlikely of candidates. 

Once across the threshold, Sylvie headed towards the bar cart, where sat a sealed bottle of Glenlivit  12-Year, alongside a covered ice bucket. The sight immediately sobered him, as though the universe wanted to remind him of the very memories he was trying to blot out. It’s just coincidence, he tried to convince himself; besides which, Sylvie knows what I like. Of course she’d have that waiting for us, on the presumption that we’d end up here tonight. Hennessy didn’t say a word as she poured out for the both of them---moving to her side instead, to take the tumbler she offered him and set it back down on the bar.

Perplexed, she started to ask why, but he shook his head and then took her face in his hands, to land a needy kiss upon her willing mouth. All that he wanted now was to be in the moment; to spare no thoughts for the past several days, nor any for the future beyond what would happen in the confines of these rooms. 

Ensnared in hungry, almost violent kisses to begin with, their hands plucking at one another’s clothing, they ended up on the sofa with Sylvie straddling his hips, bending low to slather his skin, his nipples, the contours of his ribs, with further hot, impatient kisses. Hennessy was well aware where she was leading, and he thrust both hands into her flame-red tresses, gradually guiding her down to her inevitable destination. She slid her body further down so that she could undo his trousers and nuzzle his erection through his briefs. 

He groaned at the scrumptious sensation, watching her intently, and she looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Bet I still give the best head on the island, Hennzy,” she proclaimed, then wet her lips and smacked them hard. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Syl,” he countered, laying his head back while tightening his fingers in her hair, “Talk is cheap. Just fucking show me. Right fucking now...” 

She tugged his clothing far enough down to give herself full access to his works. And good god, yes, she hadn’t lost a trick; her tongue was as silky and as talented as he remembered. Her fingers knew just what he liked. Her mouth welcomed him greedily, and it all felt bloody fantastic. 

Yet something was missing. Something elementary, but vital enough that despite how great it was, he felt a sort of cool detachment. That he was experiencing a purely mechanical act, carried out by rote, devoid of...joy. Stripped of warmth and any connection beyond the physical. Sylvie was dedicated alright, relentlessly sucking and taking him deep, caressing his bollocks and teasing them with her manicured nails, groaning as she worked him---and yet, Hennessy didn’t feel any nearer to his climax. And shockingly, he didn’t care if he came or not. 

Without intending to, his fingers went slack in her hair, although Sylvia didn’t seem to notice. He squeezed his eyes tighter, aghast at the sudden notion of losing his erection before she was finished with him. Desperately, he searched his mind for images to help him stave off a humiliation he had never experienced before. His heart jumping ahead, supplying the answer which he couldn’t deny.

Scarlett. 

His soft, compliant, delectable Scarlett. 

Hennessy drew a sudden gasp---Sylvie would take it for a gasp of pleasure---as the images flooded his mind. Scarlett kneeling before him in the sand, woefully inexperienced and skittish, but bravely following his first demand of her. In his study, sliding onto the floor from his lap, eager to please him, to taste him, but turning shy in the aftermath, at the relish she had taken in their shared sin. His Scarlett. The pure dedication in her eyes as she looked up at him before she began, and the small, sweet sounds she gave over as she generously loved him---which always felt like proof of her devotion. The astonishing beauty of her head and hands adoring him, reflected in the mirror above his bed. And then how she clung to him afterwards, leaving trails of soft, loving kisses on his thighs. 

“Yes...yes...mmmmm...that’s my girl,” he murmured, beginning to thrust himself into Sylvie’s mouth. “My darling, little lamb,” he panted, repeatedly hitting the back of Sylvie’s throat, as he imagined it was Scarlett doing the deed, with her pretty, pouty mouth. Her tender, loving tongue. “Fuck...oh fuck, that’s good baby,” he groaned, the need to explode into his orgasm building and building all through his pelvis and his loins, as it hit him that when Scarlett did him, each moment of bliss she gave him arose from her generous and loving heart. “Mine...mine...” he cried out, arching his body off the sofa cushions, grunting with each hard pump of his hips and tugging hard on Sylvie’s hair. “...mine...my jo...” he sighed as he finished, the euphoria and warmth spreading through his veins, mercifully allowing him to forget for a little while that he’d been forced to fantasize in order to reach his to satisfaction.

Sylvie propped herself above him, her lipstick smeared, her mouth and chin slick with her saliva and his semen, and looking very pleased with herself. “God, how I’ve missed that, Henns! Just like old times,” she laughed, “But what’s with this little lamb shit? Where the hell did that come from?”

Hennessy had no problem fibbing his way through that faux pas. His mouth dropped open as though he was shocked and he huffed cynically, “Honestly, Syl? I have no fucking clue...” 

She narrowed her eyes and frowned slightly as she looked for the lie on his face. “Alright then- but don’t do it again. If you’re going to call me by a pet name, I’d rather it weren’t a farm animal.” 

“Got it,” he winked, “Let’s forget it ever happened.” 

“Forgotten already,” she told him, then brushed a quick kiss on his mouth, before clambering off of him. The top of Sylvie’s dress was bunched around her waist, but she didn’t seem to care as she headed to refill her glass and fetch his. This time, when she offered him the scotch, he took it and immediately swallowed half ot it---for he knew he couldn’t avoid what was coming next. 

“So, Henns...”Her voice had taken on a pouty, singsong quality, “Not to be gauche, but you owe me one now...” 

Christ! Was she always like this, he wondered; and was I just blinded by the sex? 

”...well, at least one,” she added, “Although I know you’re good for...many more.” She tossed back the rest of her scotch, gave a shake of her head as the burn went down, then wagged her head in the direction of the bedroom. “How about we crack on, as you Brits like to say?” 

“Righto.” Hennessy finished his drink and stood up, resigned to the unsavory outcome he’d wrought for himself. Knowing that he was obliged to a small degree---the wheels in his head busy spinning as he searched for a way to extricate himself with his dignity intact, before he was quite literally in too deep.

tagging:  @strangelock221b​  @thelostsmiles​  @letterstosherlock​ @splunge4me2art​ @tsukuyomi011​  @emilyinnj4real​  @aeterna-auroral-avenger​ @frowerssx2​  @groovyfluxie​ @humanbornarchangel​  @elizaaugust  @ravencatart  @doctor-stephenstrange​  @ben-c-group-therapy​   @cumbercougars​

[veorlian]

honey tongue

The stories will tell you that falling in love with your best friend is as easy as breathing, that it's the height of romance. Varric Tethras had written far too many stories to believe that crock of nonsense.

my submissions for @hightown-funk are up!! here’s the first one <3

read it on ao3 here

The Hanged Man was legendary for two things: bar fights, and ale that was at least 50% vinegar. There were also the suspiciously sticky floors, the rooms you could rent by the hour, and enterprising individuals keen on relieving you of all that burdensome coin you had on you. It was what people had come to expect. The barkeep had offered a higher-quality ale once, and the regulars had stormed out in protest. And Maker have mercy if they ever decide to clean the place up a bit. There’d be riots in the streets.

Well. More riots than usual, at least.

Marian Hawke spent most evenings in the Hanged Man. The petty crime and general chaos faded into the periphery as she played Wicked Grace with her friends. It was replaced with a different kind of petty crime and chaos, but at least this was hers.

And speaking of chaos, at the moment Varric was regaling the crowd with the tale of their most recent trip to the Bone Pit. There was a rough semi-circle of regulars standing around Varric, with the kind of slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions that normally accompanied one of his particularly tall tales.

He was in fine form. Marian had never quite figured out how he could look so laid back and engaged at the same time. She’d tried it once. Carver had just said that she looked constipated. Varric made it look easy. He made most things look easy.

“And then Hawke raised her sword and leaped through the air, landing on the dragon’s back, killing it in a single blow—”

“It was already mostly dead,” Garrett called. Marian flipped him off. A few of the stragglers towards the back of Varric’s audience turned to face the two of them.

“It was not,” Marian tossed back.

“Was too."

Marian rolled her eyes at her brother and leaned forward on the pitted table.

“Hey Varric, tell them about the part where I did a sick back-flip off of the dragon—”

“And fell on your ass—” Garrett interrupted. More of Varric’s audience turned now, their eyes bouncing back and forth between the twins like a tennis match.

“And landed perfectly and took a little bow,” Marian finished, pointedly ignoring Garrett. She kept her eyes fixed on Varric’s face, and the wry little twist of his lips.

“Of course! How could I forget,” he said, his eyes dancing. “As she struck the killing blow, the dragon came crashing down to the ground. Hawke gracefully leapt off of its back, landing neatly on the ground.”

“I can’t believe this,” Garrett complained. Varric continued to regale the audience with tales of the twins’ exploits. Marian patted Garrett on the arm in a way expertly calculated to be both patronizing and comforting.

“Sorry little brother, it’s just not very dramatic when you wave your fancy baton around,” Marian replied. “Doesn’t have the same impact as a bigass sword.”

“Last I checked, fireball has a hell of an impact,” Garrett shot back.

“Potato, potahto,” Marian said dismissively.

“There’s only one way to settle this,” he said. He rolled up his sleeves and set an elbow down on the table, his hand open. Marian smiled crookedly and did the same. Varric lost his audience again, as they formed a loose circle around the table. There was the clink of coin changing hands, and an exaggerated sigh and eye roll from Carver.

“My money’s on Hawke,” Isabela called.

“Which one?” Garrett and Marian asked in unison.

“Whichever one wins,” Isabela said cheerfully.

“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Merrill murmured anxiously. Isabela waved her away airily and tossed a few coins on the table.

“Have you seen how ripped I am? Of course I’m gonna win,” Garrett said. Marian snorted and shook her head.

“Bigass sword. Fancy baton,” she said. She gripped Garrett’s hand, and the arm wrestling began. It was evenly matched, as most things were with the twins. But not for nothing did Marian swing around a giant hunk of metal nearly the same height as herself.

She slammed Garrett’s hand down into the table, grinning widely.

“Best two out of three,” he said immediately. She laughed and shook her head.

“You lost fair and square,” she said cheerfully. Garrett flipped her off and went to refill his drink. Marian glanced up to find Varric making his way over to the table, settling in his customary spot at her side.

“You couldn’t wait until I was done?” Varric asked agreeably. Marian shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not my fault your admirers couldn’t resist the lure of my rippling muscles,” she said. “You’ll just need to make me sound even cooler. What if I had a sword for a hand?”

“No good,” Varric replied, shaking his head, “it’d interfere too much with the romance scenes.”

“Varric, I’m not exactly seeing a lot of that kind of action at the moment,” Marian said dryly. “Let me have a giant sword for a hand. It’d be cool as hell.”

“C’mon Hawke, a romance plot is always more compelling. Why not ask the pirate?” he said, gesturing to Isabela. Isabela caught the motion and winked broadly at them. “I can see it now; a daring love story, set against the backdrop of a ship tossed at sea. Readers love that stuff.” Marian snorted derisively and shook her head.

“I’ve got enough going on trying to stop this city from going to hell,” she complained. There was a deep ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Fortunately, she didn’t have to think about it for very long, because Garrett arrived back at the table, his arms full of terrible beer.

“How come I never get the big dramatic retellings?” he griped.

“Because you keep heckling me,” Varric said dryly. “Plus, you’re not as good-looking.”

Marian’s heart stuttered and fully came to a stop. She ducked her head to hide the blush that threatened to set her face on fire. What the hell…?

“Nonsense, I’m the prettiest person in Kirkwall,” Garrett said primly.

“C’mon, we all know that’s Merrill,” Marian said, swallowing down her embarrassment. A crooked grin spread across her face. “At least, that’s what Carver always says.”

“Hey—” Carver began.

The ensuing chaos and overlapping voices covered up the weird and alarming thoughts floating through Marian’s head.

 Plus, you’re not as good-looking.

Did Varric think she was good-looking?

Andraste’s sacred knickers, did that actually matter to her? Marian tossed back her drink in one go and stumbled to the bar to grab another.

Somewhere between the witching hours of 2am and 4am, the others traipsed out. Now, Marian was good at traipsing. She’d elevated it from a science to an art. She could traipse with the best of them. But when 4am rolled around, she didn’t.

It was a weekly ritual at this point, and it happened more often now that she was in that stuffy old mansion. Such a big place, but it felt like the walls were constantly creeping in on her. More than a few hours there and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And so.

“Varric, don’t make me walk all the way back to Hightown,” she would groan, and he would chuckle that warm chuckle that brought the blood rushing to her ears. Probably just the alcohol, she always thought.

“Alright, you can stay just this once,” he would say, and she would flash him a crooked grin.

“You’re my favourite.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, serrah,” he’d say. She’d generally waggle her eyebrows at him suggestively, and they’d both laugh.

She didn’t remember when the flirting had started. A few minutes after they’d met, she figured. It was just a part of them, both of them. An easy way to keep everyone at arm’s reach. If they both agreed that it didn’t mean anything, then there was no harm no foul.

After all, it’s not like anything was ever going to come of it. Varric was happily married to a crossbow, and he’d repeatedly told her that he wasn’t into humans. So that was that. Marian was perfectly happy being Varric’s best friend and partner-in-crime.

And if she couldn’t sleep these days without hearing the gentle scritching of his quill on parchment, well, no one needed to know that. … Varric Tethras was a storyteller, most comfortable staying unobtrusively on the sidelines of a tale. It was safest that way really. Fewer people shooting at you, for one.

He couldn’t remember when it had started, becoming a part of Hawke’s story. He hadn’t been, at first. He’d been a plot device, a quest-giver just tagging along.

“You won’t even notice I’m here,” he’d told her. Varric Tethras: such a gifted liar that sometimes he almost convinced himself.

It had shifted by inches, their friendship. They’d gotten along almost instantly, like they’d just been waiting for the other to come along. So it was natural for them to spend most of their time together. And then it was natural for her to sleep on his couch when she was too drunk to walk home. His palatial suite at the Hanged Man was her palatial suite. That was all perfectly natural and normal and fine.

Until it wasn’t.

He couldn’t fall asleep these days until he heard her snoring (she and Dog seemed to be in a competition for who could be the loudest. On occasion it shook the dilapidated rafters).

She’d slipped into his life as easy as breathing. Easier, in some ways. So many little rituals. Like putting extra jokes into his manuscripts, just for her.

“Hey Hawke, you think you could give this a read for me?” he asked. She glanced up from where she was lounging on one of his chairs. She arched an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face.

“Am I going to blush?” she asked. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I just want to make sure that I’ve got the character right,” he replied.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she said cheerfully, already on her feet and moving to lean over his shoulder. She rested an elbow on top of his head, like he was an armrest. He cleared his throat pointedly.

“Problem, serah Tethras?” she asked innocently.

“Hands off the merchandise,” he said easily. She leaned down to meet his eyes, her haphazardly cut bangs flopping in her face.

“I think you’ll find it’s my elbow on the merchandise. Very different part of the body,” she pointed out. To prove her point, she shifted her arm and rested her hand on his shoulder instead. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile off of his face.

“Just read the damn passage,” he said. She shrugged and turned her attention to the page. She hadn’t moved her hand, and the warmth slowly seeped into him. He realized with a start that he was leaning into her touch. What the hell?

The smell of cinnamon and honey drifted through the room. Not that that was unusual either. It clung to every part of the room. Even his trademark leather coat smelled permanently of cinnamon and honey, from that tea she drank at all hours of the day and night.

He missed it, when it wasn’t there.

He knew she’d gotten to the unflattering description of the Knight-Captain when she began to laugh. He thought her laugh was the best thing he’d ever heard. It wasn’t graceful by any means, caught somewhere between a cackle and a snort. But she laughed with her full body, like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in her life. Joyful, reckless abandon.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

 Oh.

With Hawke’s hand digging into his shoulder, her laughter ringing in his ears, the smell of cinnamon and honey on the air, Varric Tethras realized that he was in love.

Shit. … The stories will have you believe that revelations of love are dramatic, that they’re accompanied by flights of angels or some other shit like that. Marian Hawke had heard too many love stories to believe in them anymore.

She was sprawled along the couch leafing through Varric’s latest draft of The Tale of the Champion. She liked to leave little notes and doodles in the margins. It drove Varric’s editor up the wall. She heard Varric’s familiar footfalls coming up the stairs.

“Hey, you forgot to mention the bit where I single-handedly took down a chimera,” she called, not looking up. Varric hummed noncommittally in response. She glanced up from the page to study him. He was swaying slightly on his feet, eyes a little unfocused as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You okay?” she asked. “Merchant’s Guild crap?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face and he shook his head, running a hand through his graying hair.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. Marian’s eyebrows knitted together, and she shifted on the couch to make room for him. When he didn’t move, she pointedly patted the space next to her. When he still didn’t move, she made her way across the room to meet him.

“Then what is it, Varric? Crossbow troubles?” she asked. He looked away and his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Marian, I—” Record scratch, freeze frame. Varric never called her Marian. Never anything than Hawke, actually. He’d never even given her a nickname, like he had all the others. She was just Hawke.

“Didn’t realize you knew my name,” she managed. Another faint smile, only barely reaching his eyes. It was gone as soon as it came.

“Shit, I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he said. The smell of cheap ale and whiskey clung to him like a second skin.

“What kind of thing? You’re freaking me out, Varric.”

His warm amber eyes turned up to meet hers. Carefully, seemingly giving her every opportunity to move away, he reached up a hand on her face. Distantly, she realized he must be standing on his tip-toes. She might have laughed, if he hadn’t gently tugged her face down towards him.

His lips were softer than she’d imagined they’d be. His calloused hands tangled in her short hair, bringing her closer. She could taste the faint touch of alcohol on his tongue as her mouth slanted over his.

She looped an arm around his waist and easily lifted him up into the air.

“Hawke, put me down,” he said indignantly. She laughed breathlessly against his mouth.

“My shoulders were getting sore from bending over,” she said. She wound her free hand through his hair and tugged him back to kiss her again. She realized suddenly that she would be quite happy staying right here, like this, for the rest of her life. Well, maybe with a stool. She was strong, but Varric was sturdy. He’d probably whack her on the arm if she told him that though.

She set Varric down on the table, standing between his legs and bringing both hands up to cup his face.

“Better?” she whispered. He grumbled something indistinct and unflattering that was abruptly cut off as she began to trail kisses down to his neck.

“Would you believe that I’ve wanted to do this for years?” he rasped. Hawke stilled. And then, she began to laugh, resting her forehead against Varric’s.

“Well, there’s no call to be rude,” he said. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, still chuckling.

“I have as well,” she said at last.

“Ah,” Varric managed. And then, “So, what now?”

“You in a rush, Tethras?” Marian asked. She gently tipped his chin up to face her. “Seems to me we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“So we do,” he said, and he kissed her again.

[scribbleb-red]

Neil is a lying liar who lies AU

A Morning AU - with a fab prompt from @djhedy

There’s a new boy in Andrew’s class and there’s something not quite right about him. He’s mouthy and sharp, the kinda kid that should end up in detention three times a week but never does.

They are seven years old, though the new kid looks five, with eyes like a wide open sky. 

He is very pretty - that’s why Andrew notices him first - he looks like a fairy prince. 

And it’s because Andrew is watching that he notices though: the kid is a big bad lying liar who lies. 

The day he joined, the kid said his name was ‘Stefan’ to Mrs Stewart and ‘Chris’ to Mr Brasenose. The next day he was just ‘Neil’ and was given a fond, exasperated warning to keep his make believe in the playground. 

 But the kid didn’t stop lying.

Some lies were big and others were small. 

On a Tuesday, Neil announced that he’d had a huge feast for breakfast - listing all the foods and making everyone’s mouth water with the descriptions. (But Andrew saw how he winced nd held his stomach like it was empty.)

On a Thursday, Neil said he grew up in England and proceeded to spend the next week speaking in a post English accent. (But he later admits at lunch it was just a couple months).

On a Friday, Neil whispers that his house is haunted and he’s scared to go home for the weekend. (There’s a little too much truth shining through those eyes as he talks about the ghost in his house. Andrew doesn’t doubt that he’s scared of something).

The following Monday, Neil explains his bruises by saying he spent the week learning to skateboard. 

“My cousin visited and let me use her skate board. It was pretty rad.” 

(Andrew eyes the split lip, it could be true. But then he sees the hand shape around Neil’s thin wrist and knows the truth: it’s a lie.)

Through it all, Andrew is very quiet and very alone. He knows how this goes - he’s seven years old with more cracks in his heart than a fifty year romantic - but he kinda enjoys Neil’s lies and how he gets away with them.

He particularly likes the outrageous ones: 

My father parachuted into Paris because he’s a spy. He died landing on the Eiffel Tower. I once wrestled a monster. I won but it stole all my mom’s apples. I’m telling the truth. My tongue goes green when I lie. I met Kevin Day.

Andrew won’t pretend he’s not intrigued. He thinks Neil is interesting and his lies are ones he can often hold in the dark, imagining over and over when he’s hurt and wishing to be anyone, anywhere but here.

Plus Neil is funny - he always snarks at the teachers and gets away with the most ridiculous things. Other kids always want to play with him because his games are brilliant - epic journeys, castles and wizards, magical tigers, patchwork villains made from the skin of children. 

Some of Neil’s tall tales are part fairytales, part nightmares.  And Andrew isn’t sure which part Neil actually belongs to. There are times where he’s the brightest, prettiest boy on the playground. And times where his eyes are haunted, mouth wicked cruel. And then there are times like today, where Neil is quiet and blank - a little too familiar to what Andrew sees in the mirror these days, looking like someone has scooped out his insides and left nothing but darkness behind in its wake. 

Andrew almost talks to him then. 

Almost.

But he doesn't. Not for another few weeks. Not until Neil's facing down Greg Doyle - the fight has the vibe of a hissing kitten against a rottweiler. 

 There's no way Neil can win. Greg is a third grader and big beside. 

But Neil doesn't look scared. He looks ferocious.

Not that appearances are going to help. Neil could have the sharpest claws of them all and he'd still weigh nothing against Greg. Neil dodges and ducks the first few blows. He snipes and snarks, that liar's mouth rattling off stories of how he took down a SWAT team once.

But dumb luck can’t do everything and finally Greg gets a thump in, straight across Neil’s jaw - hard enough to make him stagger. 

"So much for a SWAT team, fucking liar." 

There are gasps at the bad word from the growing first and second grade audience. 

"Tongue turns green," Neil says. He spits out blood.

Andrew's had enough when he sees the blood. 

Neil might be an idiot but Andrew knows that there's no way to win this one on alone He steps forward and puts himself between Neil and Greg. 

"Oooo who's this, your boyfriend?" 

Andrew would roll his eyes, but can't be bothered. He is the tallest kid in their year at nearly 4'5. He can look the nine year old Greg in the eye without trouble and he can see the bigger kid calculating his chances of taking Andrew on instead of the skinny little creature that was Neil "motor mouth" Josten.

"Back off," he says. He doesn't inflect. He watched a cartoon where a character spoke completely flat and it was really scary so he figures this might make Greg cower too. "Leave him alone."

Greg nearly steps into Andrew's space but someone has started a whisper: 

Andrew Doe is the kid who killed his parents. Andrew Doe is the kid that burned a house down. Andrew Doe is the kid who took on Bertie Becker from fifth grade and flushed his head down the loo.

It's the last one that gives away the source of these rumours - Neil has started a chain of Chinese whispers. And Greg hears them swirling from mouth to mouth, ear to ear, each more terrifying than the last. It makes Andrew want to grin, so he does. Greg actually whimpers.

The crowd laughs when Greg runs away - he can’t save face when he’s fleeing from a first grader. 

Andrew feels triumphant. 

 Especially when Neil steps up beside him, shy smile and summer sky eyes. “Thanks Andrew.” 

 Neil Josten knows his name, Andrew thinks. Wow wow wow.

Neil’s mouth is swollen but he’s still the prettiest boy in the playground so Andrew doesn’t say anything. 

“Want to play a game?” Neil says. 

 Andrew shrugs. 

 “Yes or no?” Neil says again. “I won’t force you but I’d like to play with you to if you’d like to play with me.”

Andrew thinks about it before saying yes. 

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

*

They start with games - make believe quests and imaginary journeys. They visit magical worlds in their heads and fall about laughing when one of them (mostly Andrew) doesn’t break character even for class.

They become inseparable - two boys with home lives full of ghosts but dreams that can take them anywhere. The lying liar is the better story teller but the stoic hero a better actor. And sometimes in games they hide their truths - violent families and horrifying pasts.

Neil shows Andrew his scars, “I sometimes say they’re from a shark or ninjas and stuff but...” 

“That’s from an iron.” 

“Yeah.”

In turn, Andrew tells Neil about his foster family. 

“We could poison him,” Neil says. “I heard we can make poison from apple cores. Applesenic or something.”

If only it were that simple.

It happens just before the end of the year - summer is nearly there and Andrew can only imagine how fun it'll be having a friend to adventure with for the first time. And then he finds out that his foster family is getting rid of him. He'll be packed off at the end of term.

"I think mom and I will move too," Neil admits. "We never hang around anywhere long." 

"Because of your dad?" 

"Yeah..." Neil plays with the hem of his t-shirt. "He's in prison but mom is still terrified. She moves us a lot." 

"Maybe you can move to the same place as me."

They pretend that the world isn't going to split them apart. 

They pretend that they're going to have the summer together. 

And the year after. 

That they'll start middle school together. 

And be best friends all the way to the end of high school.

And go to the same college.

"We could play exy together all the way through," Neil says. It's his new obsession. 

"I'm not going to play stickball. I prefer playing games with you." 

"We can play games on the court. You can be the fierce dragon and I'll be the knight that looks after you."

"You'd steal all my dragon gold." 

"Would not." 

Andrew raises one eyebrow. 

"Okay, yes I would. I'd be the knight trying to take your gold. But I'd be sneaky about it." Neil's laughter is high and bright. "Does that mean you'll play with me?" 

"Yeah okay," Andrew says.

But it doesn't work out that way. 

Neil vanishes like sun behind a mountain the day after term ends. 

Andrew's bags are packed. He's dumped in a new home near the beach. He hates the beach. He misses Neil the way his lungs miss oxygen when he's stuck in the swell of a wave.

He does play exy though. 

He does it because he figures one day he'll find Neil on a court too. 

He'll either face him down or by some miracle they'll be on the same team. 

He'll find Neil again. He will.  

He tells himself this every day. 

Even when it feels like a lie.

*

Something like an epilogue

Years pass before Andrew hears anything about the little boy who - for two semesters when he was seven - was his best friend. So many years that if it weren't for one polaroid from a cheeky arcade photo-booth, he might have let the idea of Neil go.

But he keeps the photo with him - through home after home, through Cass and Drake and juvie and Aaron and Nicky. He hides it in books, folds it into pockets. Makes sure to hold onto Neil and the memories of those few happy months.

He plays exy. Keeps track of other teams and their players. The sport does nothing for him - but sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines Neil with his flashing blue eyes mischievous smile and that long ago conversation. He remembers why he's doing this.

At 13, he asks Pig Higgins to do a search on Neil's name but the policeman refuses. 

At 14, he goes through the entire directory for California and when that's exhausted, he starts searching every state from West to East. 

He calls 362 Jostens across the USA. None are Neil.

When he turns 16, he uses a fake and has two small dragons outlined on the top of his left shoulder. 

When he's 17 he meets Riko and Kevin Day. He remembers Neil once saying he'd met Kevin and wonders if that was true or just one of Neil's many many lies. He turns the Ravens down.

He signs two weeks later with the Palmetto State Foxes - taking his brother and cousin with him. 

He watches as the lists of drafted players on other teams go up. There's no Chris or Stefan or Abram - not with the matching face Andrew wants. There's no sign of a Neil Josten.

Andrew smooths out the photo at night, slipping it between the pages of Whitman's Leaves of Grass every morning. 

Maybe it's time to put the memory of Neil to rest, but he can't. 

Neil is one of those beautiful ghosts that he can't help but hold onto. The one unspoilt thing in his memory.

Unspoilt, that is, until a Monday when Kevin Day announces he's recruiting a nobody from a nothing town in the middle of nowhere Arizona and the nobody's name is Neil.

"Neil what?" 

"Josten. Want to see his tape?" 

"Nope," Andrew says. But his heart is a thunderdrum, hope cutting through the medicated hyper mania easy as a knife through butter. "Actually yes, gimme the tapes little birdie." 

Kevin grimaces at his nickname but says nothing until they’re watching the tape. And then he can’t shut up about the player’s potential, his speed and natural flare on the Court. 

It's not Andrew’s Neil. 

But it is too. 

The striker on the court is a brunette with dark eyes but he runs like Neil. He's ferocious and plays like it's the last thing keeping him afloat. He has that little flick of his racquet before he goes to score, a telltale that would never get passed Andrew but no one else seemed to have noticed. 

Andrew says as much to Kevin. 

"Exactly," Kevin says. "That's why we have to have him."

So they go to Millport. 

And Andrew knows Neil well enough to anticipate that he'll run. 

Knows him well enough to trip him with a racquet and catch him as he falls. 

Neil hasn't grown much either - he's still small and sharp and far too pretty to be real.

"Stupid little liar, you should watch where you put your feet." Andrew wishes he were sober. Wishes he didn't have to greet Neil with this grin splitting his face. 

Wishes wishes wishes. 

But his one wish has already come true, Neil is here with him. Warm and lithe and alive.

"Drew?" Neil says, but the word is choked and breathless. Neil’s voice does something to Andrew’s insides and Andrew feels the muscles beneath his hands warring between flight and relief. 

"Neil," he replies. 

"Oh my god, Drew." 

And then Neil's arms are around Andrew's shoulders, and his face is turning into his neck and Andrew realises they're hugging and he shouldn't want to hug back but he does. He does because it's Neil. His friend. His pipe dream. The little boy with the pathological need to lie and an imagination that could create whole worlds from a handful of dust. 

He hugs Neil tight. 

Never wants to let go.

Kevin of course ruins the moment. 

But Neil isn't going to say no to the Foxes. Not now. 

And even though Andrew can recognise the lies slipping passed Neil's lips, he doesn't tell Wymack. Doesn't call out his idiot's new ouchies. Doesn't answer any questions when Kevin demands answers.

"Sign," he speaks only to Neil. He means, Stay with me. "We can play a game. Yes or no?" 

"Yes," Neil says and his smile is a little wild, a lot wonderful. "Let's play a game."

The End.

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 7)

Summary: The final confrontation with the wicked White Warlock!

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: More Remus being Remus. Violence and threats of violence. Someone slowly being covered in ice.

Word Count: 3,675

Read on AO3: here

“Huh,” Remus said, apparently lost for words (which was unusual in itself). “So now what?”

Janus blinked. “I'm not sure.”

“Which means you are sure, right?” Remus said with a great big wink.

Before Janus could explain for the umpteenth time that it wasn't that simple (and never had been), there came a loud growling sound from nearby, and something huge and brown came crashing out of the brush and charged them. Janus barely managed to dive out of the way of what he quickly realized was an entire bear. Remus, always a big believer in the principle that the best defense is a good offense, dodged it by leaping straight up, and used the momentum of his downward arc to add force to a massive swing of his morningstar. The blow knocked the beast off its feet, and it threw great arcs of snow into the air as it skidded to a stop.

“That was fun!” Remus declared, resting the weapon on his shoulder. “Hey, want me to skin it for you? A nice bearskin rug will keep you warm so you don't have to crawl under a rotting log to hibernate!”

Janus had no time to muse upon how accurately he had predicted Remus's behavior, because a motion at the corner of his eye told him that the bear was not totally out of play yet. It was made of far sterner stuff than the dwarf had been and had only been stunned by the blow, and was now shaking itself awake. But rather than lunging at them again, or even fleeing back into the trees, it hoisted itself into a sitting position, clutched at its head with its paws, and began to whimper.

“Oh, stop it!” Remus said petulantly. “You attacked us, remember? Roman calls me violent, but I would just like to point out that so far, 100% of the creatures from this winter wonderland of his have tried to kill us!”

Much to Janus's surprise (though perhaps it shouldn't have been), the bear pivoted on its rump and said: “I was only protecting Mr. Logan!”

Janus smiled...now this was a situation he could deal with. He stepped forward, made Remus silence himself just to be on the safe side, and said, “Why, we would never harm Logan! We're some of his closest friends, after all!”

Still rubbing its—his—head with one paw, the bear rolled around until it was standing on the other three. “Then sirs, you must be the help he sent for!”

“We are! We got his message! But alas, it seems we were too late to prevent this.” Janus gestured at the crystallized Logan.

“It's not your fault, sir,” said the bear. “I was supposed to protect him from the White Warlock. And now I've got to go back and tell the others what happened.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. But first, why don't you tell...” Janus trailed off, realizing the Remus—still silenced—was jumping up and down behind him and frantically waving his free hand. He released him. “Yes, what is it?”

“I know what this is!” Remus said gleefully. “Roman's gone and recreated the first Narnia book!”

“I never realized you were...into that sort of thing.”

“Are you kidding? With all the descriptions of war and violence and disturbing religious subtext? Not to mention a happy ending where everyone dies! What's not to love?”

“Even after all these years, you still retain the capacity to surprise me, Remus. However, I doubt the same aspects are what holds appeal for your brother, so try not to get too excited.” Janus turned back to the bear. “As I was saying, I think it might be a good idea for you to tell us what happened here. Who did this to Logan?”

“The White Warlock, of course, sir!”

“A warlock instead of a witch?” said Remus. “That's a new one...Roman usually loves fighting witches. He has this one recurring antagonist, the Dra—”

“Yes, Remus, we are all aware of the Dragon Witch.”

“Begging your pardon, sirs, but I think this Roman of yours is the White Warlock. That's the name the others called him back at the Stone Table.”

Remus did a spit-take. He hadn't been drinking anything, of course, but it was hardly beyond his capabilities (or his inclination) to generate something within his mouth entirely for the purpose of spitting it out. It looked like used motor oil. “Roman made himself the bad guy? That's definitely a new one!” He was grinning, but it was a rather fixed grin, and his eyes darted around under a furrowed brow.

“You said you were going back to the others,” Janus said to the bear. “Take us with you.”

Virgil, for once, felt genuinely useful: He had volunteered for the first watch of the night. Hushwing the Owl had shown him a tree he could climb from which he could scan the entire western and southern approach to the hill. It was a clear night and the moon was pretty close to full, and its light turned the snow into a stark bluish canvas against which any sort of moving shadow was plainly visible. Thus, as the ten o'clock hour approached and a large shuffling shape emerged from the trees to the west, Virgil looked not directly at it but at the silhouette it cast on the ground. It was definitely a bear and definitely had riders, one of whom was wearing a bowler hat. Good enough, even with the odd distortion of light and shade that seemed to sit between the forms of the two humans. He made the hooting call Hushwing had taught him which meant “Friendly approaching” and clambered down from his perch in order to go glower at Janus.

The climb took longer than he would have liked in the dark, and by the time he got back to the crown of the hill, the party had already arrived and was being greeted and offered blankets and a bit of warmed-over stew. Stoutpaws had apparently collapsed and fallen asleep right there on the hilltop...as Virgil supposed he would, after an entire day of running. Janus (ugh) was being helped over to the rebuilt campfire. And Logan...

Someone lunged at Virgil. Flight won, as it usually did, and he skittered backward several steps, only to realize that it was Patton he was flinching away from, and Patton was crying. “Shit...sorry...startled...” he mumbled, opening his arms and letting the Moral Side fling himself into them. He was shaking with sobs. “Patton...what happened?”

“R-R-Roman d-did something awful t-to Logan!”

The cluster of Narnians seeing to the arriving group parted. At first, Virgil couldn't tell what he was looking it—the object was translucent and oddly shaped, and moonlight and torchlight played over its surface and through its interior in ways that prevented him from focusing on its edges...until a chance flicker brought the details into clarity.

His head swimming, his thoughts useless, Virgil slipped from Patton's arms and dropped to his knees. He couldn't stop staring at it.

At Logan, frozen in crystal.

A murder . He was looking at a murder.

“Hell of a thing, isn't it?” said a screeching voice behind him. It was the sort of thing that ordinarily would provoke an instant reaction in Virgil (and that voice in particular would give a huge boost to Fight), but he was just too stunned. “As soon as Janus warms up enough that he's not going to drop off into a snake-coma, we'll all sit down and work out what to do about it. I can't wait to tell all of you my idea!”

Something in Virgil's brain finally lurched into motion, but all he could manage was a half-hearted glare back over his shoulder and a mumbled “What are you doing here?”

“Well, la-dee-dah, Panic-Depressive, I didn't know Thomas's Creativity needed permission to visit the Imagination.”

Virgil decided—to the extent that he was capable of deciding anything in the moment—that he could only cope with one atrocity at a time. He brushed Remus off and turned back to Patton. “Are you okay?” Patton shook his head emphatically. “Yeah, okay, dumb question.” In a way, Virgil was grateful for Remus's presence, since severe annoyance was usually a pretty strong barrier between himself and panic. “Let's...just...gather around the fire, so we can get our discussion going the instant De—Janus is up to it.”

They did. Janus sat on a boulder less than a yard from the fire, gazing rather glassily at it. The Narnians had given him a dark woolen cloak, and he had been engaged in an unsettlingly animalistic ritual: alternately spreading the cloth wide like wings, catching heat from the flames, and then wrapping it around himself to absorb the warmth. He glanced up, more or less, as the others approached. “So I assume you've all been made aware of the depths of depravity to which our dear Roman has sunk in his quest for...whatever it is he's questing for these days.”

“Roman's not depraved!” Patton said in a tone that suggested he had expected the accusation. He took his own seat across from Janus. “He's just...I don't know what exactly is going on with him right now, but he's not depraved!”

“Patton...” Virgil said, choosing to remain standing for the time being, “...he turned Logan into stone. There's no way to sugar-coat that.”

“It could have been an accident!”

“Patton...”

“It could have! He made a point of sparing Muricata's tree! I can't square that with the idea of him doing that to one of us on purpose!”

“Pat, listen. This?” Virgil mimicked the Logan-statue's outflung arm. “Is a defensive posture.” He started pacing. “Which means he saw it coming. Which means Roman telegraphed that he was going to do it, which means it was on purpose.”

Patton's eyes started to well up again. “I just wish I knew why,” he said.

“We'll be sure to ask him when he comes here to kill the rest of us in the morning,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Who knows? He might even answer. The more important question is what to do about it. Can we change Logan back?”

“Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! I have an idea!” said Remus, who had been watching the argument between Patton and Virgil with the glee of an obsessive tennis fan. “When he shows up tomorrow to kill us all, I sneak up behind him and clonk him on the head! Once he's knocked out, primary control of the Imagination will automatically pass to me! Then I can make this story go my way, and I guess you can hash out your issues with Roman afterward or whatever.”

There was dead silence for a moment. Then Janus shifted in his cloak. “Let's make that Plan...” He started counting silently on his fingers, and manifested a few more hands to get to the number he wanted. “X. Plan X.”

“Can we make it Plan Triple-X?” Remus said, waggling his eyebrows.

“If we reach that level of desperation, I'm sure we'll be happy to let you do just whatever you want,” said the Dishonest Side. “In the meantime...something less drastic first, perhaps?”

“Logan's original plan,” Virgil said cautiously, “was to let Roman catch sight of you, hoping that it would shock him out of this downward villainy spiral he's stuck in.”

Janus looked taken aback for a split second, almost like a micro-flinch. “Well...” he said after a beat, “...far be it from me to question the soundness of one of Logan's ideas...” He let the end of the sentence hang in the air like an icicle.

Remus lost interest in the conversation and began searching the area for things to put in the fire.

“If it makes you feel any better, Scales, I was against the whole thing,” said Virgil. “But you're here now, and it's not like we have any other ideas.”

“Well, as long as I have your vote of confidence I know we'll do just swimmingly.”

Remus dropped a pine cone on the fire and giggled as it ignited with a series of explosive pops.

“H-hey, guys,” Patton said with a slight quaver. “Stop sniping at each other. This isn't about you two. It's about...well, all of us, really.” He swallowed, and when he continued his voice was stronger, more authoritative. “It's about Roman, and because it's about him it's about our whole family. We have to cooperate. Now then, Janus, if you're skeptical of Logan's plan, why don't you tell us why so we can figure out something else?”

Janus did his very best impression of a deer in headlights for a moment. Then he recovered his composure, cleared his throat, and said “I may have been exaggerating. Am I correct in thinking that the idea is to show Roman his idea of a villain so he presumably stops trying to be one?”

“Something like that,” Virgil mumbled.

Emboldened, Remus stuck a twiggy branch in the fire until it lit up and waved it in the air like a pennant.

“That's hardly a kind view of me,” Janus continued, “but I've heard of worse stratagems. Might I suggest a few...refinements?”

“Guess we can't stop you.”

“Virgil, be nice! We'd love to get your input, Janus.”

“Thank you, Patton. Remus! Pay attention; this concerns you as well.”

Remus, who had been on the point of touching the burning branch to his own hair, tossed it aside and plunked down onto a log, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupping his face. “Fire away, Jay-jay!”

Janus took a medium-long look at the ensorceled Logan, and began.

Dawn came all too early and with it, the bellow of a war horn. Startled awake, the Sides lurched to pull on clothes and scrambled out of the hillside shelter to see what they were up against.

At their previous meeting, Roman had been accompanied by an entourage. This time...he had brought an army. Perhaps five thousand strong, they massed around the foot of the hill, blocking off any retreat except by air...and the presence of Dwarven archers among the ranks ensured that any creature attempting to escape via flight would fail as well. The good Narnians, outnumbered nearly two hundred to one, clustered at the crown of the hill, facing grimly outward and wondering when the charge would come. The Sides stayed near the middle of the group at first, protected and almost entirely screened from view.

Roman, almost too brilliant to look at in his snow-white suit and icy jewels, detached himself from his throng and marched up toward them. “Showtime,” Janus muttered.

“Yesterday,” the self-styled King of Narnia proclaimed, “we issued an ultimatum to this company here assembled. Now we return to hear your decision and respond to it. Do you or do you not swear fealty to the Crown of Narnia?”

The Narnians, per the plan, stood firm and did not speak.

“We asked for your reply!” Roman snarled. “Where are my fellows? Have they abandoned you?”

“No, we haven't!” Patton said. The Narnians stood aside to let him through, followed by Virgil...and Logan. “And we're not surrendering either! You've taken things way too far, Roman, and it is not okay!”

Roman said nothing, staring dumbfounded at Logan. “You seem surprised to see me in my current condition,” said the Logical Side. “Your enchantment wore off after what I have calculated to be two hours, forty-seven minutes, and eleven point three four seconds.”

“That's impossible!” Roman shouted. “The transformation is permanent until counteracted!”

“Perhaps your control over the Imagination is not as absolute as you have heretofore assumed. Patton believes...actually, I will allow him to explain. Patton?”

“It's because you're abandoning your calling, Roman! Thomas doesn't want a wicked Creativity! Hurting your own creations for the sake of a story is one thing, but hurting us? You're turning into something that Thomas would never allow to be in charge of his Imagination!”

“Yeah, and it's really throwing a wrench into my plans!” said Remus, suddenly springing out of the crowd to Roman's shock. “What are you doing , bro? You can't be the evil twin! Because then I have to be the good twin, and I can't go shaving my mustache now! I just got it the way I want it! I don't even know how to be good!”

“You—! What are you all playing at?” Roman said, backing away slightly. He leveled a scandalized finger at Remus. “Working with him ...this is exactly why...but never mind. You will surrender to me—all of you!—or none of these foolish creatures you have befriended will survive the day!”

“I know you don't mean that,” Patton said softly “You didn't even really kill the Dryad's tree yesterday. You want to be the hero, Roman. So be the hero . Take off that crown, put down the wand, and let's talk.”

Roman's face became pensive. He was considering...no, he was listening for something, and then he stepped forward again. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” he said. The wand swished through the air. The other Sides shouted in alarm, but no one turned to stone. Patton, however, wobbled, his feet literally frozen to the ground in a thick coating of ice.

The ice began to creep up his legs.

“Surrender,” Roman hissed. “Swear fealty to your King. Or watch him freeze.”

“Guys...” Virgil said.

Someone began to clap slowly, but the claps were muffled as if by gloves. Which was exactly the case. “Oh, bra-vo, Roman,” said Janus, dropping the Logan illusion. “You're finally doing for yourself. Using your power to take what you want. I couldn't be prouder.”

“You!” Roman gawked, even more appalled than he had been at Remus's presence. Then his face split in a grin of triumph. “Ha! I knew my enchantment hadn't worn off! Now will you yield to me, or stand by while Patton suffers a similar fate?”

“Yes!” Janus said with the merest hint of a hiss. “That's just the way! Show them all what you are capable of when slighted!”

“Shut up!” Roman said, and for the first time, his rapidly twitching expressions lighted on uncertainty . “Your input is not welcome here!”

“Clearly not; why I daresay you've supplanted me and Remus both with your villainy.”

“I said shut up!”

“Roman...” said Patton as the ice slithered up toward his hips, “...why are you doing this?”

“BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO!” Roman wailed. “Because you and Thomas lost all perspective...you invited him to the table...and all I wanted was a simple adventure where I knew who the bad guy was...and then it turned out to be me ! Even the Imagination started pushing me out of the hero role!”

“Pushing you!” Patton repeated. “So you don't want this!”

“And now you're even working with Remus! You'd rather have him on your side than...than...”

Remus made a loud scoffing noise. “Dream on, bro! For your information, I invited myself! They wouldn't have let me stick around if you weren't acting worse than me! Think about that , why don't you!”

“Roman, darling,” said Janus, approaching slowly with his hands up in a gesture of appeasement, “what makes you think anyone has to be the villain?”

“Every story needs a bad guy,” Roman insisted, backing away.

“That's not true,” said Patton, a mite breathlessly as the ice began to squeeze his chest. “What about all those stories where the conflict comes from misunderstanding? I think that's what's happening here. You're not understanding us or we're not understanding you or both.”

“Look, man, I get it,” Virgil offered, though his calm tone was belied by the constant reverberation of the Tempest Tongue. “I know what it feels like to think you have to be the bad guy. This is me, right? But we got over that, and we can get through this too. Take the enchantments off Patton and Logan and let's all figure it out together. You said yourself stories in the Imagination can take on a life of their own. That doesn't mean they're always telling the truth.”

“But, you know,” said Janus, examining his fingertips. “Your choice, Your Majesty.”

Roman looked from Virgil, to Patton (iced up to his neck) to Remus and Janus, to the whole of Narnia around them. His face twisted up into a terrifying snarl and he stalked forward once again. He raised his wand. Virgil put himself between Roman and Patton (not that there was much more that could be done to the Moral Side), but when he was only feet away from them, Roman suddenly flung his crown to the ground with a shrieking sob and brought the wand down on it. And in an instant, the wand was his sword (and always had been, they realized) and the blade struck the large diamond, shattering it into a thousand shards of ice.

Golden mist rose out of the splintered gem, coiling and flowing, and washed over Roman from his feet up. As it went, it dragged a second mist, bluish-silver, out of him as if plucking hairs by the roots. Roman cried out in pain as the power of the White Witch was scrubbed out of him by the power of Aslan. Both mists spun around each other until they reached a height of several yards, at which point there was a soft explosion and they rocketed away from each other. The Witch's power soared off in a northerly direction, while the Lion's made an arc and landed in the woods nearby.

The ice covering Patton fractured away, and he sagged in relief. “Roman...?” he said.

The Prince turned a plaintive look on him before collapsing to the snow.