#even if it's very slow... since it's stuff that's been ingrained in her since childhood otl

[herostoried]

Ochako's face falls at Izuku's sudden drop in mood, and it hurts when she can tell she's disappointed him. It's ridiculous that she should care about that - he was (is?) a villain! But... even in his anger, he's trying to be understanding. He's holding back his frustrations, at least to an extent.

She doesn't know how that makes her feel.

"...I'm sorry." Ochako finds herself apologizing, eyes downcast as she plays with the fabric of her shirt awkwardly. To be honest, she still doesn't entirely get it. She wants to ask what he means when he says he wouldn't, and when he says he doesn't have a quirk... honestly, it takes her by surprise. It's not something she'd thought about before. But all the comments she's heard throughout her life, about the quirkless... suddenly rush into her head, filling her with shame.

"They... they shouldn't treat you that way." It feels stupid as she says it - obviously, he knows that already - but she still wants to make her feelings clear. But if there really are people out there who think people like Izuku shouldn't exist... how is he supposed to reach them, anyway? Is it even fair to ask him to try?

Ochako bites her lip - she can feel herself growing more and more confused, and she feels like a traitor to herself for even considering the thoughts floating in her mind! All at once, she wants to run away, so that Izuku can't "corrupt" her anymore - but she stays rooted in place, thinking deep down that Izuku doesn't deserve that.

"I guess... I don't like seeing people get hurt. But I don't even really know what you did as a villain, so it's not fair of me to judge you..." She can't help but wonder if Izuku even really is a villain. He seems just like an ordinary boy, like one of her classmates... did the Heroes make a mistake somehow...?

@vsagis ( continued! )

#ic #vsagis #v. mainverse // canon. #c. ochako. #!!!! thank you for your patience on this i know it's been forever :'))) #but izuku!! he's being so patient with her tbh... #writing ochako's slow change in mindset is so much fun as well aaaaaaaa #even if it's very slow... since it's stuff that's been ingrained in her since childhood otl

[firespirited]

I wasn't able to do what I wanted today but still very pleased.

Yesterday Lily needed an emergency close trim so we could find out if she had splinters or something in her legs and feet (she gets dreadlocks overnight if we don't get her fully dry after a walk in dew or puddles) as she started limping at the end of yesterday's walk, we were crossing a car park and she suddenly slowed down and was keeping weight off one leg. Turns out she has a slight tendinitis above the little nubbin above the front paw, slightly swollen and pink - she's not in pain but we've decided to carry her downstairs to the front lawn instead of walks until the swelling goes down. The trim was delicate work so that set off the neck. The carrying counts towards 'total shoulder use' for the day so no crochet for a while.

+Managed to locate some lost doll eyes which have now been moved to the "eye" zipper bag. Thought i just had the one set but there are two and also some lovely 10mm dark brown eyes for the mermaze whenever I get around to that. it's funny how distressing losing things can be like part of you has decided to drive the other part slightly mad. What a relief!

+My favourite winter trousers are made of wool, by the time I realised they were great and worth getting twice, they'd sold out and I've never seen anything like them again. Over time they got small holes and were partially threadbare at the crotch where you get chub rub. I was thinking about maybe patching them but rethought it after realising they're saggy enough that rehemming the crotch down the legs about 12cm on either side with a slight diagonal at the end to fade into the original hem would be good. It's nice and tough and seamless. 👌

+Compromised on a chore I couldn't complete: Instead of trying all my t-shirts at once, I've been wearing each one at night and deciding if they're too loose. Put them in the wash after. Gradually putting all the too oversized ones to the right of my lil closet regardless of sentimental value. They served me well, they don't fit anymore. Thank you, goodbye (well my sister might claim a few, there's a v neck that looks like nurse Chappelle from Star Trek TOS I'll miss that one).

+End of year hobby or accomplishment 'assessments' always annoy me to bits at first, I start getting miserable and grouchy and then pick up as soon as I actually get down to concrete stuff not the "woulda coulda shouldas". I got the big grumble out of my system and noticed that may-june was the turning point of accepting new limitations and deciding to enjoy gunky bundles of dolls even if I don't customize them all, even if it takes more patience and smaller batches of cleanup. A former client also used the reroot kit i made her to learn, starting with a unravelled yarn I sent and has been doing gorgeous work since. She has such great taste, I did love working for her.

+I've accepted that intracommunity fraud and abuse has always been a problem instead of just being super disappointed in the past 3 or 4 activists with dirty secrets. Unlearning hierarchies and building judgement-free safety nets like community funds, places to stay etc has to be part of the way forward or else people look for leadership or feel they have no-one to turn to and get 'saved' by folks with dodgy intentions. That means fighting for secular, inclusive, accessible shelters and resources even for annoying freaky obnoxious overly needy people. It means rejecting charismatic leaders in favour of committee based decision making even if it's slower and looks less decisive to the centrists. These are patterns of thinking ingrained from childhood in how we think about organising or spirituality or even hobbies.

No we don't need a queen bee. It might take us a few votes to get there but we *will* make decisions by consensus - without pastors/presidents because leadership in western culture is not remotely about serving the people in the actual practice. If I can find a way to communicate one political principle next year it'll be the importance of decentralised work. Little people doing big things slowly not saviours who do some big magic. Every health inspector, every school board member making sure the new building is wheelchair accessible and not built with junk materials. The people making sure medical books include symptoms on black skin. The people who fight to get a piece of road a new speed limit or traffic lights. That sort of 'small' work that saves lives.

+I've had to put off the flu vaccine due to an immune drop. I'd been waffling as I don't have a huge amount of contacts... but as soon as small wounds start healing normally, I'm getting my carer to take me to the pharmacy. Can't trust my neighbours or carer. That's one solid decision made.

+Sis requested that I decorate the Christmas tree as she's not been well but it really matters to her. I asked if I could do just white and silver on the dark green plastic tree - was told that's "not festive or fun" but I asked that she at least see it first. I worked on the settee with the 1m tree beside me so I wouldn't have to use my shoulders (i dumpster dived and scrubbed it in January, it's the biggest we've ever had since childhood. I got sis a mini tree that would move with us instead.). It turned out 'classy' and 'surprisingly very pretty'. 😁😎😘

+I need to find warm boots. Not sure how to go about it as the ones from the same brand as the shoes are sold out and the order cancelled. I'm going to try second hand and keep looking at men's hiking and snow shoes as they'll have the width and flat soles needed. Still no way of getting to an actual thrift or shoe store. I've donated several pairs of lovely but not right for my posture boots and hope they found good homes.

+Another resolution is to take any guilt i feel from donation request posts and go look at how they're living before I spiral. This isn't about my general circle here on tumblr. You all are doing the mostest on so little.

But in april when that youtuber did a donation drive, there had just been a couple of other people asking for money and i'd felt really awful. Then later i'd actually clicked the full link and the ask was more than I live off for months, people living way above their means, people not thinking to put their fun money aside for their pet's inevitable needs. This spring Lily wasn't doing great and I was considering how to proceed when she's gone: If I have the savings and energy necessary to properly care for a dog. At the time I was unable to carry her to go outside when she struggled with stairs and the vet bills for a full x-ray to dx arthritis and pain meds were double what they were just 3 years ago for Ginger.

I don't know how to work it into a routine but I'm done being guilted by people who don't think a pet comes with expenses or who take a trip or spend massively instead of having even a tiny cushion for the next emergency. Of course I don't mean people living from paycheck to paycheck, disabled folks who can't have savings, let alone 'no treats ever, no avocado toast' but we're not talking about a roommate running out on the rent or a medical emergency just terrible financial literacy and aggressive demands for help. Worst was one person got sick from a convention where they partied unmasked, travelled unmasked then weren't able to do a gig job they'd planned to pay it off because they were on credit the whole time and then were like "I'm multiply marginalised you all owe me and it's your fault my pets will die" but worded cleverly enough to get past my defenses and red flags until a careful re-read of surrounding context. 😬

I've gotten high on the relative safety of the past few years, mostly emotional safety and free healthcare safety and forgotten that this is a very carefully curated safety by living frugal in maladaptive ways so when the washing machine dies it's not the apocalypse it's just a lot of extra work. I don't want to be the asshole that says learn to spend better. But maybe I'm not the asshole for dismissing your post when you're asking someone who you wouldn't ask if you had any idea.

#saf #ramblings

[pricklerick]

Thanksgiving used to be Summer’s favorite holiday.

It meant spending two whole nights with Jerry’s parents and waking up early and going for a long walk in the snow, then peeling off wet clothes just in time to watch the dog show on TV while grandma baked pumpkin pie.

Things are different now, with Grandpa Rick and Morty gone. Dad, of course, had instantly accused Grandpa Rick of kidnapping Morty. Mom had screamed that her father would never do something like that to his family, to her (even know Summer knows that deep down, her mother was very afraid that Grandpa Rick had done exactly that).

The divorce was so ugly that Summer transferred to a school in Texas, losing a bunch of her class credits just to get away from them.

Texas is good. Well, it’s hot, and Summer’s skin hates that, but the people are nice and her classes are easy, and if she stays within a certain neighborhood, she can find whatever she wants without having to edge over to the east side of town.

She even has a finance. David plays football and his parents own a ranch in the Texas hill country. They have a little money and they like to flaunt it.

Years ago, before Grandpa Rick burst into Summer’s life and started taking her little brother on adventures, before portal guns and real guns and near death experiences became Summer’s adrenaline fix, she would have been thrilled to nail down a guy like David. David is kind, and sweet, and very attractive. He’s got a good future and he’s looking at being scouted as quarterback next year.

Summer’s ring is a gaudy thing, at least two carats, and it sits heavy on her finger. She only wears it when she knows she’ll be with David or the in-laws. It’s an heirloom ring, passed down through generations, and Summer hates it. She’s forever fiddling with it, or pulling her sleeve down to cover it, or hiding it in her back pocket when she’s out with girl friends.

She doesn’t go out as often anymore - they’re seniors now, and Summer has been told that the partying needs to slow down now that David’s future is getting serious. Summer is fine with this. There’s nothing on this earth that matches a party in space, anyway.

Sometimes, Summer looks up at the night sky and wonders how she could get her hands on some of Grandpa Rick’s K-Lax. That was good stuff.

It’s easy to justify spending Thanksgiving away from home because of travel expenses and final exams. Summer’s done it three years in a row now. She doesn't often think of Beth, or of Jerry, either. She’s deeply entrenched in a new family now, invested in a future mother-in -law who insists on being called “Mama June” or even just “Mama,” and an emotionally detached father-in-law who feels that talking to a woman who is not his wife is beneath him.

Summer is spending more and more time outside, looking at the stars, wishing, remembering.

But this week, the week before break, at 2:43 am, Summer’s phone screen lights up with a call from “Beth Smith.” And when Summer, groggy and maybe already a little hungover, answers with a hoarse, “Hello?” Beth is slobbering drunk.

“Honey, please,” Beth cries, slurring her words and hitching her breaths. “I need to see my baby, Summer. It’s Thanksgiving, next week. Summer, remember? Remember Thanksgiving? You... You’re all I have left.”

Yeesh.

Summer does not want to spend her break dealing with Beth and all of her sloppy-alcoholic coping mechanisms.That’s why she’d run away to Texas to begin with.  

Summer hasn’t been home since the night they lost Morty.

She doesn’t want to go back. So she shushes Beth over the phone, lets her cry it out and then they start it all again, the crying and the shushing, over and over until Beth is nearly asleep, slurring half-formed words into her pillow.

Summer disconnects the call and drops her face into her hands. “Fuck.”

“What, babe?”

Ugh, she’d forgotten that David had stayed over.

David wraps his greedy arms around Summer’s waist and pulls her in, his naked boner brushing hot against her thigh. It makes her sick. She pulls away from him, leaning against the headboard and fumbling for the lamp. Beside her, David blinks owlishly in the light.

“I’m going home for Thanksgiving,” she tells him. No sense dragging it out.

“Oh,” says David, reaching up to stroke Summer’s cheeks and twine his fingers in her hair. Summer tenses at this, but David is oblivious, still carding his big stupid paws though Summer’s shower-damp braids and looking at her with an intensity that is frankly... terrifying. “What about coming back to Pilot Point, babe?,” he reminds her and he leans forward in an effort to pepper Summer’s face with kisses. Summer dodges them, making a show of reaching for her phone, so David grabs her hand instead. “Remember talking about seeing my folks?”

Summer is suddenly disgusted with herself. She ran away from home straight into the arms of this Mama’s boy who can hardly keep it up for the four and a half minutes it takes him to blow his load in missionary position.

Summer is a Sanchez.

She’s wondered for a while, especially after that stunt Dad pulled during the divorce, if she should have her name legally changed. She shares a quarter of Grandpa Rick’s genes, and by her rights as a Sanchez, the universe owes her good sex.

At least.

“Sorry, David,” she says and she deftly rolls away from him to stand at the edge of their shared bed. “Plans have changed. Mom needs me.”

Now David is sitting up, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that Summer doesn’t like. Oh well. In for a penny, she guesses.

“Listen, dude, this isn’t working anyway. I’m not the hot little wifey on your arm that your parents are hoping you’ll find here.” She snorts, pacing around the bedroom, ticking off points on her fingers. “I don’t even want kids. I’m Summer Sanchez. I’ve been to space. I’ve seen the stars and constellations and comets and asteroids.  I’ve met people you wouldn’t believe. I’ve met planets you wouldn’t believe - sentient planets, David! I’ve hit alien drugs that would blow your tiny mind.” She’s trembling now, all keyed up, but it feels good. There’s something cathartic about acknowledging the truth after so long.

She decides that Summer Sanchez has a nice ring to it.

She lifts her hands and twirls, landing in a heap at the foot of the bed. “The best sex I ever had was with a flying lamb on Oourivian Prime, for Chrissakes.”  Summer turns, flushed and grinning, and pokes David in the chest. “You better believe I’m not settling down on a silly horse farm in Pilot Point!”

David is looking at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like he’s seeing her for the first time. The thought makes Summer smile a real smile. In a fit of giddiness, she pecks him playfully on the lips, sliding his ridiculous ring from her finger and curling it into his palm. “Good luck with that, babe!”

Feeling freer than she has in years, she flutters around the room, grabbing a few outfits that she likes and stuffing them haphazardly into an old gym bag. The whole thing takes less than a minute.

“Oh, and don’t take it too hard,” she calls over her shoulder, “I don’t think we’re really all that sexually compatible, anyway.” She waves a hand toward the flagging erection that is peaking from David’s boxers. “I’m more of a tentacle kind of girl, if you know what I mean.”

And so, during the fall semester of her senior year, Summer Sanchez dropped out of Texas A&M’s pre-law program and flew home to see her mother for the first time in three years.

                                                            xxx

Morty enters through the front door because he’s not a stranger. He’s not exactly sure how long it’s been on Earth - time moves differently on Morty’s  waste planet - but somehow, he hadn’t expected it to be night. It makes him feel like a burglar, walking up the concrete steps to the front door with his big black cowl pulled low over his face, a deeply ingrained habit.

“You’ve only got one face, Mo-AAAUURRGG-rty. Don’t get caught with it.”

The key code to unlock the door is the same. Morty sighs, surprised at the stress that leaves his body with this revelation. He hadn’t wanted to break into his parents’ home. Now, he doesn’t have to.

He whirls around, taking one last look at the ship he’d parked on the garage pad. He’d avoided the streetlamps best he could, managed to land very quietly (thanks for that rad auto-landing feature, Rick)partially concealed behind some overgrown azaleas.

Morty sighs, tense again. Modifications aside, that is obviously Rick’s ship to anybody who knows it. Morty hopes he can get what he needs and get out. It would be wrong to disturb whatever peace his family had managed to regain in the years he’s been gone.

The front door is squeakier than Morty remembers. He slips into the kitchen as quickly, quiet as a ghost, and pulls the door slowly to behind him.

His first thought is that he’d forgotten that home has a smell. Carpet and lemon pledge and laundry detergent, and the lingering scent of last night’s dinner all converge on his senses like a physical blow to the gut.

How could Morty have forgotten that smell?

He glances around, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the street lamps. A few scattered dishes lie in the sink, an empty wine bottle sits abandoned on the counter. He’s standing on the same ugly linoleum floor with its worn green leaf patten, so subtle you’d miss it if you didn’t know where to look.

Time hasn’t touched the kitchen.

Morty stands in his childhood home and takes three deep breaths. He thought he’d been prepared for anything and everything - all the changes. He’d been ready.

But the house is exactly the same.

It’s Morty who has changed.

Morty’s breathing speeds, and he shakes off the shudder that tempts to run down his spine. If the kitchen affected him this deeply…. He swings his gaze to the garage door that beckons ominously to his left.

Don’t think about it, he reminds himself sharply. The plan is simple - break into the garage, grab the stuff, and get out. There will be time for memories later.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about… him.

Morty shakes himself, setting his shoulders and pulling the heavy door handle toward him as he turns it to minimize noise. Unlike the kitchen, the swing of the garage door is silent.

The darkness deepens as Morty steps down the single step - there are no windows to let in the glow of the street lights here. The air is hotter and heavy, almost stale, and as Morty turns his back to the room to slowly pull the door to, he gets the strangest feeling. It’s almost the uneasiness he feels when he walks to the grave of the other Morty who is buried in the backyard.  It raises the hairs on his neck, and Morty wonders if anybody in the family have used this garage since...

Don’t think about it.

Door secured and locked, Morty lets his fingers drift along the walls, his opposite hand outstretched in search of obstacles. But it seems that the garage is exactly as Morty remembers, and he navigates the dark with increasing confidence. He snags the dangling string - right where it should be - and tugs. The bare bulb that hangs over Rick’s work table pops and hums as it slowly blinks on, and Morty bites back a smile at the irony of the inter-galactic space genius Rick Sanchez discovering his greatest scientific breakthroughs beneath this dirty fluorescent bulb.

A thousand memories assault him at once.

“A hair, Morty, I need one of your hairs!”

“Bring me the thing. The thing. The thing. The -- the -- it's got, like, buttons on it and lights on it. It -- it -- it beeps.”

“You little son of a bitch! Y-y- are you a simulation?! Huh?! Are you a simulation??”

“I’m the Rickest Rick there is. And you know, it would - UUUURRGGHH-  go without saying that the Rickest Rick… would have the Mortyest Morty.”

“Be better than I am.”

“Don’t… Don’t think about it.”

Morty sucks in a deep breath and grits his teeth hard. Time to get busy.

                                                           xxx

Three hours later, and Morty is almost done with the garage.

He glances at the digital clock that reads 3:33. By the time he gets this stuff loaded, it’ll be nearly daylight.

Damn, he’d really hoped to get everything in one trip. Fuel for a trip to Earth from his encampment is not cheap, and this was a long trip.

He picks up the first item, a strangely lightweight box labeled “Time Travel Stuff” and heads toward the kitchen. He dares not raise the garage door - that would make too much noise.

He opens the door and comes nose to nose with Summer.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing in my grandpa’s garage?” she says slowly, advancing on him with each word.

Morty’s first thought as he stumbles backward is, “Where did my sister get a pistol?”

He trips over the step in an effort to give her some space, sending the box flying. He finds himself sprawled on the floor, space bits everywhere, and his ass is killing him. “Ah, geez,” he breathes, repositioning slowly to take the pressure off of his coccyx. It’s probably broken.

Summer’s hands are trembling, and she lowers the gun. “Morty?”

Oh. His hood had fallen when he did. Morty looks up at her, a little sheepishly, suddenly very aware of the beard he’d decided to grow a while back. “Umm, yeah,” he says lamely, still wincing at the pain. “Hi!”

There’s a funny expression on Summer’s face, like she’s thinking a billion things at once, and her eyes are wider than Morty’s ever seen them. But then her gaze hardens. “And which one are you?” she demands, looking as if she’d like to bring the gun back to his head.

Morty raises his eyebrows. He wouldn’t have expected Summer to immediately question his dimension. Clever of her. He quirks a little smile. “C-137,” he answers her, trying and mostly failing to get back on his feet. “I’m your Morty. Well, your second Morty.”

Quick as a blink, Summer slings the gun away. It lands with a clatter and she launches herself at Morty, wrapping him in a rib-creaking hug. Morty’s body tenses - hugs are definitely not his typical physical interaction. But Summer is burying her face into the crook of his neck, and Morty is surprised to find how easily it fits there. When he’d left, they’d barely stood eye to eye.

Morty is stunned. Summer has never hugged him like this. Feebly, he reaches up and lays his hand across her back. She’s shuddering. So Morty pulls her closer, shifting his weight so that his knees are beneath him, and gathers her in. She allows this, never looking up at him, and slowly, Morty relaxes into it.

“Summer?” he asks softly after what feels like a long time. He’s never been good with his sister’s emotions.

Summer cranes her neck sideways to look at him, and she’s a mess of mascara and tears, red-faced and absolutely shaking with laughter. Morty huffs with her, still utterly bewildered by girls. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing’s funny, Morty,” she tells him, but she’s still laughing, so Morty laughs with her. “You’ve been gone for three years. You’ve been legally declared dead, you asshole!” She swats him on the shoulder, but he manages to doge the blow, which only makes her face fall. She comes closer, looking more tearful now than before, and settles beside him. “We had a fucking funeral for you, you complete sack of dicks!”

Morty doesn’t know what to say, so he grabs Summer’s hand and squeezes. “Sorry.”

And he is.

Summer rolls her eyes and snorts, but there’s something softer at the edge of her lips, and she lays her head on Morty’s shoulder and sighs. Morty assumes means he’s forgiven, at least on some level.

They only sit like that for a minute or so before Morty starts to fidget. His ass is absolutely killing him, and time’s a-ticking. He needs to get out of here soon. Summer seems to read the tension in his body, because she stands abruptly and offers her hand, pulling him to his feet with an exaggerated groan.

“Thanks,” he quirks her a little half-smile, the only thing he has to offer her.

But Summer isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are tracking around the garage, noting the boxes that have been drug out and packed up. Something tightens in her face, and when she speaks, it’s in that no-nonsense tone that always drove him up the wall when they were kids.

“What happened, Morty?” Summer finishes her sweep of the garage and pins her gaze on him.

Morty nearly stumbles back at the intensity of it.

“What happened to you? Where is Grandpa Rick?”

Authors Notes:

Based on Vapor Morty, who was originally developed in this hot mess of a text post. Rick’s been kidnapped and Morty has been scouring the universe trying to find him and doing a lot of learning and growing along the way.

Kidnapped Rick saw Morty “die” just before he was kidnapped and went crazy over it. Morty obviously wasn’t dead, was trying to get to Rick to say hey, I’m all good and these guys are after you so let’s get out of here.

Morty literally lives in an intergalactic dumpster and makes a living renovating and selling weapons and machinery. He found his way home to earth because he wants to find any of Rick’s stuff that he could possibly use to track him down, or maybe even build his own portal gun.

Basically, Morty is a little badass now.

I might write more of these little drabbles if people are interested in them. Also, just really hoping I got Summer’s voice right here. Feedback is always, always appreciated, friends! My messages and ask box are open!

#pricklerick original #rick and morty #vapor morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #rickorty #summer smith #i could pretty easily be convinced to dabble deeper into this au #so many vapor morty feelings #summer is my precious sunshine child

[btsthlm]

Magical Garden—Chapter III

> genre: kingdom au, kind of enemies to lovers? fluff, comedy, angst, romance, fantasy

> pairing: crownprince!yoongi x crownprincess!reader

> warnings: fluffffff, some angst.

> wordcount: 1.4k

> authors note: hello!! I am so sorry for this late ass update but i had somethings to deal with, i hope you all forgive me! I am also clueless on how to do a masterlist so until i can figure it out, you can find this au by searching “magical garden” as well as the number of the chapter. enjoy this chapter and please feel free to give my any kind of feedback, i really appreciate it. thank you so much! have a nice weekend lovelies!

........................................................................................................................................................

Banging on the door made you wake up in a very rough manner. Slightly dazed and confused you tried to recall memories from what have happened, though it did not take much time before you sighed. The sunlight peeking through the windows, the birds singing a beautiful melody made you smile despite. A voice from the door was heard. “I’m very sorry Princess but the King has requested you joining breakfast with him and Prince Yoongi. Are you awake?” You had met the King of Begonia many times and he was not a unfamiliar face, no it was the opposite. The King was many of the few whom you trusted with your whole heart. This however, it made you anxious. But you realized where this bubbling and ugly feeling came from. Were you ready to face the harsh reality? Here was a crownprincess in another kingdom. Why? Her own kingdom was taken over by her own people. Not only was her mother and father killed, but a part of her died as well. Were you ready to face the problems? Nevertheless it just made you anxious. You did not know what to feel and it made you uneasy. The voice was looking for you but all these thoughts were blocking you from functioning.

“Princess can I come in or are you sleeping?” Another voice said. This time however your daydreaming stopped abruptly. “No, it is okay, you can come in” you said as you pulled the covers away from you and stood up. Though you and Prince Yoongi were childhood friends and both royalties, you still had respect for him. He was two years older than you and your parents had always been on you ever since you were a child about royalties and ranks when it came to age, so you automatically functioned. Much alike a robot.

The door opened and once again you were face to face with the person whom had been apart of you being saved. Even though your father had taught you that in every fight, you will always be your own saviour despite helping arms, you could not be more thankful to be in Begonia. You needed to give the guards a hug later honestly.

Yoongi nodded to you and walked over to the window to look outside. “I am assuming you had a good sleep Princess” he said while observing the far forest. If you looked closely, you could see the towers of your own kingdom. Your heart clenched. “I had a very good sleep, thank you Prince Yoongi” you answered while looking at his back. He chuckled.

“You do realize that we are both royalties, no need for the Prince before saying my name Princess”. Rolling your eyes you knew he was just messing around with you. Knowing Yoongi, you knew he was very punctional and loved structure. Not only did he love punctionality and structure, but later on in life when he was King, getting used to the formality was very important. Even til this day, hearing “Princess” before your name was weird and for a King or Queen to feel like that was not much fun. This was every day life. You cannot simply run away from it. Thus, even for “royalties”, this was important. Also you not mentioning the “Prince” before his name would just mean more material for him to use and pick on you. Not that it was severe picking to the point that it would hurt your feelings, it was mutual. You and Yoongi had a bit of a “love” and “hate” relationship. I mean, really sometimes you just wanted to make him into a pancake and eat him, but that would not be possible. We never crossed the lines to where it would hurt any of us, it was just our humor.

The room started to feel stuffy somehow and your breathing was getting caught up in your chest. You needed some fresh air. “As if you wouldn’t throw me out of that window if I actually did you idiot” you replied as you walked over to him to look out of the window. Once again he chuckled. “Oh, you would have been way out of that window, trust me”. You laughed and hit his back playfully. Feeling a breeze coming, you closed your eyes. The floral smell was still ingrained in the wind. Your breathing slowed and for a second everything seemed alright. Yoongi glanced down on you and felt his heart tense up. Of course he would be sad about this whole situation.

You may annoy him to death sometimes, but you are still a very important person in his life. You have always been. No matter where fate might bring you, he has always thought of you highly. Yoongi may not say or act like his thoughts, but that is what he felt. You knew of course. Everyone always looked on Yoongi and would describe him as cold and distant to everyone, but that was not it. He just had trouble expressing himself and would express himself in other ways, and that is completely fine. Everyone does it differently, just because you express yourself in one way does not mean the other way is wrong. Yoongi, to you was someone that you also looked highly of. He was such a loving, caring and understanding human being. He was so selfless and could swim oceans to help others.

Yoongi’s stomach rumbling made you open his eyes and look at him as if he just killed a cat. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked on you. “What? I am hungry and I was supposed to take you for breakfast with my father, not to be sightseeing”. Sighing you hummed and looked down on your feet before realizing that you needed to change. There was absolutely no way you would greet the King looking like this. Yoongi noticed you clenching silky fabric of your dress between your fingers before taking your hand in his.

“Do not worry Princess, I had some of my personnel to get you some dresses for different occasions. They also bought anything else you may need. This room is officially yours, do whatever you’d like with it.” For some reason this made you teary eyed. Why? You had no idea. It was just finally hitting you, your home was gone. This did not go unnoticed either and soon you felt warmth caress your cheeks.

“Princess, my kingdom and I will do everything in our power to get your kingdom back again. Camellia will be rescued as soon as we know what have happened over there. For the mean time, you know that this castle has been and will forever be a second home for you. Never feel like an intruder.” He sighed before he continued. “I am so sorry about what happened with your parents and I would have done anything to help you save them”. Hearing him say those words officially broke you. Sobbing before throwing your arms around Yoongi and taking him by surprise, it did not even take seconds before he also had his arms around you and swaying you in a comforting manner. He let you cry for a bit before hushing you and used the sleeve of his silky shirt to dry your tears.

He lead you to the bed and made you sit down on it. Opening the closet he looked through before finding a white cream colored summer dress and some flats before throwing them on you. “Hey, be careful” you said as one of the flats hit your head. He laughed a bit to himself. “Okay listen Princess, you have other personal stuff in the closet and in your vanity you have makeup and what not if you want to use, feel free to take a shower and then tell the guard outside to take you to the garden, we are having breakfast there.” Yoongi said as he pointed at the furniture mentioned. You were very much glaring at Yoongi, but the mentioning of the garden made you instantly smile.

“I have to go before I get executed by these looks you have been giving me” He said as he walked over to the door and picking up a velvety box that had been neatly put upon a beautiful stand. You nodded and put the clothes on the bed. “Before I forget, your crowns along with other important jewelry’s were safely taken out of the castle. Your crown is here, put it on before you come out.” This made you a bit happier and relieved. The crowns meant so much to you. Before Yoongi had the chance to go, you called for his name. He turned around and looked at you. “Thank you so much for everything”. He smiled before nodding and heading out.

#bts #bts angst #bts au #bts au fic #bts comedy #bts enemies to lovers #bts fantasy au #bts fluff #bts romance #bts yoongi #magical garden #chapter 3

[manjimelody]

Rebel the Status Quo

Pairing: NaLu  Soulmate AU *This fic follows the American school system. 

Natsu never cared for soulmates. He found it ridiculous that so many people obsessed over finding out who their soulmate was. There was so much more to life than just romance. There was no point in searching since people meet their soulmate when they are destined to. Some people meet their soulmate as early as middle school like his friends Erza and Jellal did. Others might not meet their soulmate until they are almost 30 years old. There were many different ways to meet your soulmate in this world. Some people could not see color until they met their soulmate or others meet their soulmate in their dreams until they meet in person. Natsu was born with a red tattoo of a fairy with a tail on his upper arm. He had met a few others who have the same tattoo except they were located on another area of their body and were a different color. He figured that was a sign to find his soulmate.  

Natsu never cared for soulmates. Until he met her.

***

The irritating shrill of the school bell woke the pink-haired boy from his slumber. Natsu yawned and rubbed his sleepy eyes as he tried to process his surroundings. He closed the textbook he propped up on his desk to shield him from his teacher’s view, and stuffed his notebook into his backpack. Natsu didn’t hate English class, but the book they started to read was boring so he dozed off.  

“Wow. First week into our junior year of high school, and you’re already sleeping in class.”

Natsu raised his eyebrow and glared at his dark-haired friend. “Shut up Gray. I saw your eyes closing too!”

Gray smirked. “Yeah but I didn’t fall asleep.”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever,” Natsu muttered as he stretched his arms and got up from his seat. Natsu’s friendship with Gray mostly consisted of the two of them roasting each other. However, they were both fiercely loyal to each other.  

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Natsu waved as he walked out of the classroom.

“Later.”  

Natsu dragged himself to his next class, feeling groggy from his nap. His next class was AP Chemistry. He enjoyed the subject, but he wished that one of his friends shared that class with him. Most of his friends opted to take Psychology or Economics instead. Gray was his only friend who also took Chemistry, but he was in a different class. When he reached the classroom, Natsu threw his backpack on the ground and slumped in his seat. He rested his head in his arms and closed his eyes to relax for a bit until class started. The second bell rang, signaling that class has started. The other students stopped chatting with their friends when the teacher began to speak. Natsu raised his head and leaned back in his seat.

“Okay! Today you are all going to pair up to work on this lab together,” Mr. Conbolt began to explain as he handed out the lab worksheets. Natsu scanned the instructions on his worksheet. It didn’t look very difficult to complete. Natsu’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt a light poke on his shoulder. He turned his head to meet warm brown eyes.

A girl with long straight blonde hair smiled at him. She was very pretty. “Uh..hi! If you don’t mind, can you be my partner for this lab. I’m new here, so I don’t really know anyone.”

“Yeah that’s fine! I don’t have any friends in this class anyway,” Natsu agreed, grinning at the blonde.

“Thank you! I’m Lucy Heartfilia,” she introduced herself.

Natsu held up a peace sign. “I’m Natsu Dragneel. Nice to meet ya!”

“Likewise!”

Natsu was about to return his attention to the teacher until he noticed the tattoo on Lucy’s right hand. She had the same tattoo of as him. A fairy with a tail. However, he noted that the color of it was pink unlike his red one. Natsu released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He almost thought that he met his soulmate, but he figured that the tattoo would have to match in color as well.

Lucy raised her eyebrow in confusion, snapping Natsu out of his thoughts. He smiled awkwardly at her and turned around to face Mr. Conbolt in order to listen to him clarify any questions about the lab. After Mr. Conbolt answered all the questions, the class got up and shifted to the back of the classroom to the lab stations. Natsu grabbed a pair of goggles for himself and Lucy as she tied up her hair into a ponytail.

“Thank you!” Lucy smiled as he handed the goggles to her.

Natsu returned the smile. “No problem!”

Lucy glanced at the worksheet. “So how do you want to divide this?”

“I can set up the bunsen burner while you grab the equipment and chemicals we need,” Natsu suggested. Lucy nodded and walked to the back table to grab the materials they needed. When she returned, they started working immediately.

“Sooo...you’re new here?” Natsu asked in order to break the ice.

“Yeah. I used to be homeschooled, but my dad allowed me to attend public school this year,” she explained. Natsu noticed the hint of sadness in the tone of her voice when she mentioned her father.

“How are you liking public school so far?”

“It’s nice so far, but I’m not used to being around so many people my age. Thankfully, I was able to become friends with a girl named Levy.”

Natsu’s eyes lit up at the sound of the familiar name. “I know her! She hangs out with my group of friends sometimes.”

“Really?! That’s cool!” Lucy exclaimed. Natsu could tell that she starting to become more comfortable around him.

“Do you have lunch next period?” Natsu asked, and Lucy nodded in response.

“You can sit with me and my friends if you want,” Natsu suggested.

Lucy grinned. “I would love to! I’ve been sitting alone these first few days.”  

“They can be crazy, but I think you’ll like them,” Natsu chuckled.  

Natsu and Lucy chatted away for the rest of the class, talking about their favorite tv shows or games they liked to play. After they finished their lab, they cleaned up, answered the questions on their worksheet, and turned it in. When the bell rang, Natsu waited for Lucy to pack up her stuff so they could walk to the cafeteria together.  

When they got closer to the cafeteria, Natsu noticed that Lucy started to slow down. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried. What if they don’t like me?” Lucy admitted.

“Nah! They’ll love ya. You’re pretty cool,” Natsu assured her.

As he expected, Lucy was able to fit in right away. She didn’t talk a lot in the beginning. He figured she was intimidated by the energy of his friends at first. However, she gradually opened up and it felt as if she was always part of his friend group by the end of the lunch period.

***

As the months passed by, Lucy grew closer to Natsu and his friends. He was able to see different sides to her personality. She was a sweet girl, but she was also scary when she was angry. She was also very intelligent and talented. Natsu wasn’t the biggest fan of reading, but he enjoyed reading all the stories she wrote. Lucy aspired to be an author one day, and he was confident that she would be successful since even a guy like him enjoyed reading her stories.

Natsu was friends with a lot of girls, but his relationship with Lucy was not the same as the others. They had their differences, but they also had their similarities, which allowed them to work well together. There was this pleasant feeling Natsu couldn’t identify whenever he spent time with Lucy. He never felt it with anyone else.

He didn’t understand what he was feeling until it came crashing down on him that day.

***

Natsu leaned back against the tree, sighing in satisfaction. He had just stuffed his face at a buffet with Lucy as a way to celebrate AP exams being over, and they decided to stop by a local park before heading home. Natsu closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of the cool spring breeze. After a few seconds, his eyes fluttered open and he was captivated by the sight in front of him. Lucy was standing a few feet in front of him, sniffing a rose. Her long blonde hair flowed with the wind while her soft pink lips were pulled into a sweet smile. The sun’s rays made her look radiant and serene. Natsu always thought that Lucy was pretty but in that moment, she looked absolutely gorgeous.

He wanted that image to be ingrained in his memory forever.

The sound of his name snapped him out of his trance. He noticed that Lucy was looking at him with a confused expression on his face. He turned his head to the side to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.

“Natsu, what’s wrong? You seem to have zoned out,” Lucy asked as she sat right next to him against the tree.

“N-nothing. I thought saw something weird behind you. That’s all,” Natsu lied.

“Hmm if you say so,” Lucy said, stretching out her legs.

“So what do you want to do afterwards? We could go over to my house and play Smash Bros,” Natsu suggested in order to change the topic.

“Sure! That would be fun. I’m not in a rush to go home anyway,” Lucy agreed.

Even though they’ve known each other for a while now, Natsu knew very little about her family. Lucy never spoke much about them besides a few stories from her childhood. He was curious.

“So Lucy...you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I noticed that you never seem to talk about your family. I’ve never been to your home either,” Natsu asked, letting his curiosity get the best of him.  

The blonde stiffened at his question, causing Natsu to immediately fill with regret until she relaxed and let out a melancholic sigh. “I don’t really like to talk about it, but I trust you.”  

Lucy turned her head to face him, tears poking at the corner of her eyes. “My mom had been ill for a while. Last summer, she succumbed to it. I knew that she did not have that much time left to live, but it was still so sudden. My dad couldn’t handle the pain. He closed himself off to everyone. Even me. He hardly ever talks to me anymore. I don’t have any siblings, so I f-feel r-really lonely whenever I’m at home.”

Lucy sniffled as she wiped the tears that cascaded down her cheeks. Natsu felt his heartbreak at the sight. He had an inkling that her home life wasn’t very happy, but he had no idea she went through all of that.

“I’m so sorry to hear that..” Natsu whispered. He slowly lifted his hand off the ground and placed it on top of hers, squeezing it. Natsu was bad at responding to these kind of situations with words, so he hoped he could convey how he felt through his actions.

“Not a lot of people know this, but Igneel isn’t my biological father. My parents died in an accident when I was 4 years old. I barely remember them. Igneel adopted my brother Zeref and I afterwards,” Natsu shared. He was very happy that Lucy trusted him enough to open up about her family, so he felt that she deserved to know about his.

Lucy looked at him in shock. “Wow, I never would have guessed. You guys are so similar.”

Natsu smiled wistfully. “I’ve never thought of him as a step-father though. He will always be a father to me.”  

Lucy returned the smile before she leaned her head against his shoulder and turned her hand, so she could lock her fingers with his. “Thank you Natsu. I’ve always kept this to myself. Telling this to someone else is so satisfying. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest.”  

Natsu rested his head against the top of hers. “I’m glad. Remember that I’m always here for you.”

The two of them remained in that position for a while. Natsu didn’t want to let her go. He finally understood the pleasant feeling he felt whenever he was around Lucy.

I get it now. I’m in love with Lucy.

***

Is it possible to fall in love with someone who is not your soulmate?

Natsu found himself asking that question everyday ever since he realized that he was in love with Lucy. He heard that some people would hook up with people they find attractive prior to finding their soulmate, but dating someone who wasn’t their soulmate was rare. Lucy had the same tattoo as him on her body but hers was a different color. Normally, people would have the exact same tattoo or birthmark on their body.  

Natsu covered his face with his arm to muffle his groan, earning a weird look from his neighbor. He didn’t care though. He felt frustrated with his newfound feelings. He never really cared about love and meeting his soulmate before, but now he is in love with a girl who is most likely not his soulmate. He wondered if Lucy already met her soulmate but hadn’t told him. However, he knew she would have definitely told him if she did.

The sound of the dismissal bell ringing snapped Natsu out of his thoughts. All of the students rushed out of the classroom, eager to go home or go to their after school clubs. Natsu grabbed his backpack and walked to the library. He planned to meet Lucy at the library, so she could help him write his final essay for English. When he walked in there, he saw her standing by the bookshelf closest to the door. Natsu was about to call out her name until he noticed that she wasn’t alone. Lucy was talking to a dark-haired boy who wore glasses. Her cheeks were tinted red and she was avoiding eye contact.

“So do you wanna grab a coffee later?” He heard the boy ask.

“Sorry I can’t. I promised a friend that I would help him write his essay,” Lucy replied.

“That’s okay. Maybe another time,” the boy smiled before he took out his phone from his pocket. “Can I get your number?”

Lucy took out her phone from her pocket. “Sure.”  

They exchanged their phone numbers while Natsu stared in shock, trying to process the scene that just occurred. Natsu quickly hid behind the other shelf when the dark-haired boy turned towards his direction. He watched him leave the library before he took a deep breathe and decided to approach Lucy. She was staring at the pink tattoo on her hand as if she was in a trance.  

“Hey Lucy!” Natsu greeted, causing her to flinch.

Natsu saw a gleam of sadness flash through her eyes before she regained her composure. “Dammit Natsu! You scared me. I told you not to sneak up on me like that!”

“You were zoned out. Not my fault,” he retorted, crossing his arms. “So...who was that guy you were talking to?”

Lucy’s eyes widened briefly before she turned her gaze away from him. “His name is George. I bumped into him while I was looking for a new book to read. I-I g-guess he’s my soulmate since we have matching tattoos.”

Natsu felt his heart sink. He knew that she was most likely not his soulmate, but the confirmation hurt more than he expected. He pushed away his feelings and mustered a wide fake grin. “That’s awesome Lucy! Why waste time on me? Go spend time with him.”

Lucy stared at him with wide eyes for a second before she finally spoke. “O-oh. I see. Are you sure?”

Why does she sound so disappointed?

Natsu turned his head away from her, pretending to look for a book. “Yeah I’ll be fine. I’ll just ask Erza to help me instead or figure it out on my own. Go have fun.”  

“Um alright. I guess I’ll see you later,” Lucy waved before exiting the library so she could call him.  

Natsu groaned and staggered to the nearest table, so he could sit down. He placed his backpack on the table, so he could rest his head against it. He wished he had never developed feelings for Lucy. Life was easier when he did not care about love.

I guess Lucy and I were just meant to be friends.

“Natsu?”

The pink-haired boy raised his head at the sound of his name. He saw Erza looking back at him with a worried expression. “Hi Erza.”

Erza grabbed the chair next to his, so she could sit down. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

Natsu contemplated on whether he should tell Erza or not before finally speaking up. “Erza...did you ever like anyone else before you met Jellal?”

Erza raised her eyebrow. “No. I thought some boys were cute, but I never had feelings for them. What’s up?”

“Is it possible...to fall in love with someone who is not your soulmate?”  

“Hmm I think it’s possible. Most people don’t fall in love with people other than their soulmate, but there has been some rare cases,” she explained.

Natsu frowned. “I see.”

Erza placed her hand on his shoulder. “Natsu...I’ve been wondering. Are you in love with Lucy?”

Natsu jumped in his seat. How did she know?

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said in response to his reaction.  

“Is it obvious?” he whispered.

“I don’t know about that. I understand how it feels to be in love, so it’s probably easier for me to notice compared to others.”

Natsu nodded. That made sense. Erza was the first one to find her soulmate in his group of friends after all.

“Well I just found out that she met her soulmate, so I guess this is one of the rare cases,” Natsu lamented.

“Honestly.. I think she feels the same way,” Erza admitted, causing Natsu to stare at her in shock.

“Please don’t be saying that to make me feel better. She met her soulmate,” Natsu pleaded.

“I’m not. I don’t want to give you false hope.. I’ve been observing you two, and I think Lucy is in love with you as well,” Erza reassured.

“Even if she is, she’ll probably fall in love with her soulmate now.”

Erza rubbed his back. “Was she happy to find out he’s her soulmate?”

Natsu crossed his arms as he recalled the events that just occurred. “She was blushing, but she seemed disappointed when I told her to spend time with him.”

Erza smiled. “See!”

Natsu felt his mood lift. It was highly possible that Lucy returned his feelings.

“You love her, right?”

“I do!”

“Tell her! If she’s in love with you too, there’s got to be a reason behind all of this,” Erza encouraged.

Natsu grinned in determination. “I will!”

***

Natsu waited by the tree in the park. That tree has become special to him since that is where Lucy and him opened up about their families. That is where he realized that he loved her.   

He was anxious and the feeling got worse when he saw the blonde approach him. However, he knew he needed to reveal his feelings. He had to know.

“Hey Natsu! What’s up?” Lucy greeted while flashing a peace sign.

“Lucy…how are things with George?”

“We got coffee yesterday. He’s pretty cool. He likes reading and writing as well! He gave me advice on how to improve my writing,” Lucy responded.

Wow he sounds perfect for her. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.

“Is everything alright?” Lucy asked, smiling sweetly. Natsu felt his heart skip a beat at the sight.

Screw it. I need to know!

“Lucy…”

“Yes?”

Natsu tried to speak, but the words would just not come out.

“I’m sorry, but I have to know,” he apologized before he cupped her cheek and wrapped his other arm around her waist.

Natsu closed his eyes and pressed his lips on top of hers. He felt her stiffen for a moment before she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Her lips felt soft and warm against his own. He slowly moved back, pressing his back against the tree. She prevaded all of his senses. All he could think was Lucy, Lucy, and Lucy.

He slowly let go of her, and his eyes fluttered open to meet hers. She was smiling widely with tears poking at the corner of her eyes. She cupped his face with her hands and rested her forehead against his. “Natsu. I can’t believe this. I’ve been dreaming of this for a while now.”

Natsu closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth of her body. “Really?”

Lucy pulled away but she didn’t remove her hands from his cheeks. “Yes! Oh my god. Yes! I love you so much!”

Natsu grinned and and placed his hand on top of hers. “Lucy, I love you so much! I’m so happy that you feel the same way.”

Lucy sighed in happiness before she kissed him once again. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. Natsu returned the gesture and rested his chin on top of her head.  

“What about George?” Natsu spoke up, breaking the silence.

“I don’t care. He’s nice, but I want to be with you!” Lucy exclaimed.

Natsu kissed her forehead. “I do too, and I’m not planning on letting you go.”

After a few moments of basking in each other’s warmth, Natsu reluctantly let her go. However, he froze when he noticed something was missing.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy questioned.

Natsu pointed at her hand. “Lucy your tattoo is gone!” He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to find that his own tattoo disappeared as well.

Lucy gasped. “You’re right. It’s gone.”

Natsu gazed at her in confusion. “What does this mean?”

“I checked out a book about soulmates from the library recently. I read that there has been cases in which some people’s sign to find their soulmate is a red herring. That they had to rebel against the norms of society to be with their actual soulmate,” Lucy explained.  

Lucy laughed in joy. “Natsu. You were my soulmate all along. These tattoos were a red herring!”

Natsu grinned from ear to ear before lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. “I’m so happy that it’s always been you. I love you!”

Lucy giggled and rested her forehead against his again. “I love you too, and I will never let you go!”

#fairy tail #nalu #natsu x lucy #nalu ff #soulmate au

[a-gay-bloodmage]

---Redren, I may have made a mistake.---

For @zevranology‘s #Zevwarden week

Pairing: Zevran x Male Amell Warden ((Side of Morrigan x Leliana))

Pairing Type: M/M

Words: 14,548

Warnings: Sex jokes, mention of sex work in a neutral light, pretty slow burn, some great lesbians, use of OC’s name, they’re all just nerds

Redren, I may have made a mistake. Texts like this were never good. Coming from Leliana, they either meant that she burnt a cake or that she broke a leg. One could never tell.

What have you done? Redren write back, setting aside his current project.

“Who is it?” He heard Morrigan ask from the back of the room. They were currently in his basement along with Alistair, one of their mutual friends.

“Leliana,” he sighed. “She’s been typing for a while so I’m going to assume it’s nothing good!”

His phone vibrated in his hands, five messages coming though at once.

OKAY SO I MAY HAVE MET THIS REALLY NICE GUY THE OTHER DAY, OKAY? ANYWAY HE WAS CHATTING ME UP, SAID MY BUTT LOOKED GOOD, ALL THAT STUFF. ANYWAY, HE WAS REALLY NICE SO I INVITED HIM TO STARBUCKS. WE WERE OUT GETTING COFFEE TODAY AND HE ASKED ME WHAT MY HOBBIES WERE AND

OH SWEET BABY JESUS I SAID THAT I WAS GOING TO LARP THIS WEEKEND WITH MY FRIENDS (AND MY GIRLFRIEND, SOMETHING HE SEEMED COOL WITH, EVEN IF HE SEEMED A BIT CONFUSED AS TO WHY I ACCEPTED A WEIRD SORT OF DATE THING) WITH SOME OF MY FRIENDS AND OF COURSE HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT THAT WAS BECAUSE HE’S HOT,

NO OFFENSE, DUDE. ANYWAY THIS MADE ME END OF HAVING TO EXPLAIN WHAT IN THE LORD’S NAME LIVE-ACTION ROLE PLAYING IS TO A REALLY HOT SPANISH GUY OVER STARBUCKS COFFEE AND IT WAS REALLY AWKWARD BUT

HE SEEMED TO BE INTO IT???? I DON’T KNOW BUT ANYWAY HE LOOKED GENUINELY INTERESTED AND I COULDN’T SHUT UP SO AAAAHHHH

LONG STORY SHORT I INVITED HIM OVER I’M SO SORRY

are you kidding me

No.

Redren sighed and put down his phone, falling back onto the sawdust covered carpet.

“God,” Alistair muttered, looking over at Redren sighing on the floor. “What did she say?”

“She sort of accidentally invited someone to go to Moondust with us,” he said, rushed.

“What a fool!” Morrigan cried, raising her staff above her head in mock agony. “Oh, ‘tis truly a horror! We are exposed!” She snorted and set down her staff.

“It may be funny to you, but she mentioned he was attractive and now I’m nervous!”

“Hey!” He heard Alistair whine. “Am I not attractive to you?”

“You’re my friend, Alistair, our token heterosexual! I don’t know this guy! And she mentioned he was Spanish!” He lamented his head tilted back to look at his friends. Morrigan had gone back to applying another layer of paint to her homemade staff, shaking her head in amusement.

“What if you ask her to ask him if he’s available to come over tomorrow?” Redren sat up and stared at Alistair. Alistair blushed a bit in awkwardness before he explained. “I mean, he needs a character, and maybe we could whip one up tomorrow before the weekend?”

“Lord,” Redren exhaled, “I’ll text her. I thank God every day for your ideas, my friend.”

“Should I be offended, or…?”

Leliana.

Do you have his number?

Yeah, why?

I need you to text him.

Tell me what you want to say and I’ll send him a screenshot so I don’t have to worry about messing up and any typos are on you~

Fine, fine

Okay, attractive mystery man, as you may know, you have been invited to one of the most embarrassing social gatherings on the planet. I am wondering if you are available to come over tomorrow, any time between noon and one am to

work on preparing you for one of the strangest things you’ve ever been invited to.

Sending it!

It took only about two minutes for him to respond.

Greetings Leliana’s friend! My name is Zevran Arainai, and I can say with certainty that anything you invite me too will not be too strange for my tastes~!

If Miss Leliana here is available at noon, I can be as well, although I cannot stay after nine pm. I work, shall we say, night shifts? Haha, well I am excited! What your friend described sounds VERY interesting!

~Z ♡

Lord, he sounds… interesting.

Oh he is.

“He’s coming over at noon.”

“Nice! I’ll be over after work, so, like, four? Duncan said he’s closing up early. Doctor’s appointment,” Alistair replied, setting his pain-stakingly well made latex sword. He worked at a local hardware shop under Duncan, who was incredibly nice when it came to a bunch of twenty-somethings asking to use his machines when the shop was closed. He was sort of like Alistair’s pseudo-dad, and was happy to let them use the machines as long as he was supervising. He had no idea what they were doing, but he was happy to watch from the sidelines. A confused smile and a thumbs up were his go-to resources.

“Morrigan dear,” be heard his grandmother, Wynne, call out from the top of the basement stairs. “Your mother just called the house phone, and she said you need to come home!”

“I am twenty-five,” he heard her mutter as she put all of her art supplies back on the table she used as storage.

“And she said that if you mute her calls again, she’s coming over herself to collect you herself!” Morrigan’s mother was incredibly odd, for lack of a better word. She ran a tiny shop that specialized in herbal medicine she brewed herself and other miscellaneous items of witchcraft. Redren found the whole thing fascinating, but despite being a pagan witch herself, Morrigan couldn’t stand her mother. She still lived at home and helped with the shop which was housed on the first floor of their home.

“Remind me I need to splatter-paint that in case I forget!” She said, grabbing her backpack by the stairs. “I’ll sneak out at two, so I’ll be over at quarter after!”

“See ya!” Both Redren and Alistair called out after her. About half an hour passed until Alistair glanced up at the clock, noticing the time. 9:30 pm.

“I’ve got to be home by ten,” he sighed, “so we should probably start cleaning now, huh?”

It took about fifteen minutes to get everything put away, with Alistair departing after one of his bone-crushing hugs.

“Again, four o'clock!” He reminded, a dorky smile on his face. “Don’t want to leave you alone with Morrigan, Leliana and the new guy!”

“God bless you, Alistair!” Redren laughed, waving him goodbye as he grabbed his satchel from the basement railing.

As soon as he left, Redren put his music on the Bluetooth speaker and set to work, breaking out the vacuum for probably the first time in three months. Bits of sanded off wood were all but ingrained in the carpet, so it took quite some time to get even the smallest portion of the dust out. He wanted this place as clean as humanly possible, as having a guest over, a supposedly attractive guest at that, was a good motivation to actually clean. The added distraction of his boxer bolting down the stairs to howl at the vacuum just made the job that much harder. Redren could only pray that Zevran didn’t ask him what the overgrown puppy’s name was, or else he’d have to admit that at age twenty, he’d named a boxer Dog. Hopefully Zevran had a sense of humor. Eventually he moved to attempt to scrub at the cement floor where Morrigan had been quite relaxed with her painting. A red, smeared handprint is not a very good sight for making a first impression.

The only place he didn’t clean was their paused game of Dungeons and Dragons, a sacred place that nobody disturbed unless they wanted to lose their hand. Dog was circling his legs, excited at the prospect of going to Moondust for the weekend. There, he was a proud warhound who got to roll around in puppy-friendly red paint to his hearts content and chase any rabbit he wanted. Everyone loved him there, and over the two years he’d been going with Redren he’d become a bit of an icon. Redren had been personally LARP-ing for six years, ever since he was sixteen and Alistair, eighteen at the time, had noticed him sketching a self-insert sorcerer in his chemistry notebook. The dork had struck up a conversation with him, and ended up talking about how he and his older half-brother Cailin went up once a month to Live Action Role Play in a medieval village called Moondust. Redren and him had become friends quite quickly, which was pretty handy, as Alistair was on the Rugby team, so a lot less people were tempted to bully Redren like they usually did. He was an androgynous gay teenager with red hair to his mid-back. As soon as he went to Moondust he knew that was where he belonged. He ended up running a blog for it, posting all about his little adventures, truly excited to be a part of it. He ended up meeting Morrigan there. She was three years older than him, making him the baby of the group. Leliana, her girlfriend, was two years older than him, and an older sister if anything.

“Redren!” His grandma Wynne called from the top of the stairs. “Don’t forget you have work tomorrow!” Her tone meant that she didn’t mean it as a mere suggestion to hurry up. He put away his cleaning supplies and headed up the stairs, Dog on his heels. He collapsed into bed after giving Wynne a quick goodnight kiss on the cheek. Despite being a bit of an overbearing busybody sometimes, she was a good grandma, taking him in when his mother died when he was five. She owned a little restaurant called “The Circle,” that specialized in breakfast food. He was mainly just a waiter there, and the staff was fairly small. Irving, a man that technically retired five years ago did much of the finances for Wynne. Probably because he was bored and good with management. His childhood friend Jowan and his wife Lily also worked there with him. Really nice, average people of you didn’t count Jowan’s fascination with the medical world. He didn’t have the funds for med school, but that didn’t stop him from knowing every artery, vein, and capillary in the human body.

Redren nearly fell asleep in his jeans. Cleaning was much more exercise than he usually did. He began to think about Zevran, and how he still knew nothing about the stranger that Leliana had invited over. He worked nights, it seemed. Redren couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like. If he was Spainish, he must be tan, right? Redren looked at his own corpse-pale hands and laughed. Lord, was he British! Was Zevran’s accent strong? Oh, how tall was he? What would he roleplay as? An elf? A human warrior, or a mage? Or was he really tall, a Qunari, perhaps? The mixture of anxiety and excitement twisted his stomach in knots. He buried his face in his pillow, taking deep breaths. It was no use worrying, it’d happen either way. Eventually, he settled to sleep. Nervous. Very, very nervous.

..

His morning was like any other. He said hello to Jowan and Lily when he walked in at six am, and set to work taking orders from the steady stream of customers. The Circle was actually popular, but unfortunately, every morning, a loud group of the Rugby players from the local High School, the Templars, would waltz in like they owned the place. More than once he’d been called “sweetheart” or “tits” from the back, so it made the experience worth it. The looks on their faces! It’d almost become a hazing for the new kids on the team. As well as alcohol and running laps, there was the shaming of the androgynous homosexual test. Ah, the fragility of their masculinity! Alistair had once belonged to their order, but due to his sweet personality, such a sin was forgivable.

Rolling up an American pancake and eating it like a burrito, he watched the customers and thought about Zevran. What was he like? Leliana mentioned how he tried to pick her up by talking about her arse… Lord, what was this man?

Eventually, his shift ended, and as soon as the clock struck 11, he was out of there. He took a quick shower, actually scrubbing his hair for the first time in what, a week? His hair was always a mess, but this time, he took the time to blow dry it, carefully brushing it out. He even made sure to put it up in a neat ponytail, his bangs covering his honest to God unattractive eyebrows, and brushed out the two long locks of hair framing either side of his face. He threw on his working shirt, an old orange tank top, and his working pants, a tight pair of blue jeans. Both of them were stained with paint, making the combination the official “Working Outfit.”

He was just setting up in the basement when he heard the doorbell ring. He straightened out one of the chairs at the D&D table, and ran upstairs. He was too late. His grandma Wynne had already opened the door, and he felt his stomach drop as she introduced herself as “Grandma Wynne,” adding on “Oh! Are you one of his friends? I haven’t seen you before!”

“Grandma!” Redren whined, his face heating up. “Please leave them alone!”

“Am I embarassing you, sweetie?” Oh, she was so doing this on purpose! “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you alone!” She strolled off, a smug little smile on her face.

“Uh, why don’t you come in? I’m Red…ren…” He finally got a look at the man standing next to Leliana. Lord was he short! He must’ve been what, 5'2"? But, God, was he cute! Redren noticed the tattoo on his face, and couldn’t help but stare at the smooth lines on tanned skin.

“Already rendering you speechless?” Zevran’s voice was smooth and heavily accented. Beautiful!

“Come in,” he smiled shyly, moving out of the doorway. Zevran and Leliana slid their shoes off, following him down to the basement. “Sorry about my grandmother, she’s a bit much!”

“No, no,” Zevran laughed. “She seemed lovely! And she had a wonderful bosom!” Redren turned around, his eyes wide as he saw Leliana and Zevran muffling giggles.

“God, want did I get myself into?” He sighed as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Lord Almighty!” Leliana’s voice was a mix of a laugh and a gasp. “I’ve never seen this place so clean!”

“Why can’t I just try to make a good impression?” He sighed. If anything, he was hoping Zevran’d think he wasn’t as much of a mess as he really was.

“So this is your base of operations?” He asked, his eyes wandering around to look at the back wall covered in paint, replica latex swords, staffs, and armor. All hand made, too. “Impressive!” Redren smiled at that.

“Thanks,” he said, heading to the back. “So, Lels, given any thought to his character?”

“Damn, I haven’t!”

“That’s okay! I have!” He turned to look at Zevran. “You know, just based on appearance, you strike me as an elf!”

“Is that a compliment?” Zevran asked Leliana.

“Yeah!” She nodded. “Elves are noble and beautiful creatures!”

“Oh, I enjoy that beautiful part!” Zevran laughed, sending butterflies straight through Redren’s stomach.

“Oh, I can totally see it!” Redren’s mind was racing with possibilities. “I could braid your hair! Oh, that’d look good!” He heard Leliana and Zevran sit down on the carpet as he opened up a desk drawer full of assorted accessories. He pulled out a pair of elven ear extensions he thought would match Zevran’s skin tone. He turned back around and set the objects against Zevran’s skin. A perfect match!

“Oh! Should we explain this stuff more before we delve into character creation?” Leliana laughed. Redren blushed, embarrassed at his excitement.

“Probably, yeah.”

“I’ll start. So, I’ve already told you about the very basics of LARP-ing, like, how you go to a camp-type place and act as a character for a weekend.” Redren sat down next to them, so that they were sitting in a triangle of sorts. “I, personally, play as a former bardic assassin, turned Church sister, turned adventurer! I’ve been going to Moondust for eight years!” Her smile was quite proud, full of love for her character. “I’ve been developing her for a very long time!” She turned to Redren. “Why don’t you explain your character?”

“He’s a mage, and a really powerful one at that!” Redren grinned. “I’m a blood mage, which means I can manipulate a person’s blood to my will! I can also summon demons, but that’s not a very good idea, because there’s too high of a chance it could backfire!” He laughed. “Unfortunately, blood magic is banned, so I was nearly executed for it!” At Zevran’s concerned look, Redren explained further. “I went to a mage’s guild trial, and I nearly went to the stake, but fortunately, Morrigan stood up for me, protesting that blood magic could be a valuable asset in battle, so they decided to let me live!”

“This seems like quite some world!” Zevran marveled. The fact that he actually seemed interested was amazing, most of the time, people disregarded him as a complete freakshow when he mentioned Live Action Role Playing.

“Well, what we need to do today is design a character for you, which means background, armor and weapons,” Leliana explained. “So, why don’t we base him off of you? It’s always easier to play a character that’s a part of yourself!”

“What would you like to know?”

“Job, what your majoring in, those things!”

“Oh, you’re in college?” Redren asked, hoping this meant Zevran was his age. Then again, Leliana was in college, and she was twenty-four. She was in a music program, as she was wonderfully talented with the flute. She’d put off college for two years, so she was in her final year now.

“Yes, but I must admit it took me a while!” Zevran laughed. “I finally joined the University of the Arts last year! I’m getting my acting degree. Although it means I won’t be out of college until I’m twenty-eight!”

“You’re twenty-five?” Redren asked.

“Yes sir! And you’re, what, eighteen?” Redren’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

“He’s actually twenty-two,” Leliana whispered.

“Oh! You truly have a youthful face!” Zevran laughed. “But as for what I do as a job, I must admit the club I work in is, eighteen and over,” he smirked, seeming to enjoy as Redren’s face heated up further. “So innocent!”

“Oh, hush,” he mumbled.

“Anyway, as for a background, I came to this dreary country of yours last year from Madrid, Spain. Dios mío, do I miss it!” He laughed. “It’s too cold here!” Leliana laughed in agreement, as she would also often lament how Avignon in her native France was so much better than London. Zevran ended up talking about how he’d grown up in a brothel, eventually getting a job at a strip club when he turned eighteen, and had saved up enough to move to London last year. Redren hung onto every word, and felt like he could listen to his voice forever.

“So, any fancy ideas for my character?” He laughed, startling Redren out of his trance. “Or would you prefer to gaze at my lips a few moments more?” Said lips were curling into a smirk as Redren hastily looked away, his ears red.

“A few ideas, yeah,” he mumbled, standing up to grab a notebook and a pencil. “So, we need a name for Spain. Any ideas, Leliana?”

She hummed in thought as Redren sketched a blank human outline on the paper. He could feel Zevran looking over his shoulder as he added on fingerless gloves, a black leather skirt paired with a matching top. Shoulder pads and wrappings around the elbows were added as well.

“So, Zevran,” he asked as he sketched in some shoulder-length hair, “you don’t need to answer if it’s too personal, but what was the name of that club you mentioned?” Tiny braids and ears were added.

“An interesting question, dear Redren!” He laughed. “It was El Cuervo, which translates to The Raven. Why would you like to know?”

“The Raven’s too pretty,” he mused, “but… The Crow!” He smiled, jotting down The Crows next to the drawing. “How would you feel about being an assassin?”

“An assassin? Sounds fun!”

“What about Antiva?” Leliana piped up.

“Any meaning to it?”

“Nope, but it sounds pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Alright,” Redren nodded, writing down Antivan next to the character. “Since this world’s countries’ names are so boring, we come up with new ones; France is Orlais, Britain is just one called Ferelden, and now, Spain is Antiva!" 

"When Leliana mentioned this, I have to admit I was interested, but as you explain further, I find myself more and more eager! And for someone like myself, this would certainly be good acting practice, no? Staying in character for a whole weekend is a challenge, isn’t it?” Redren was actually surprised at how excited the man looked. Personally, it had taken Redren a good couple of months, about four weekends in total, to feel comfortable with the LARP-ing community. Zevran, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any sort of anxiety regarding the idea. He was happily brushing his hair back with his fingers, allowing Leliana to place the medium-length ear extensions on him. He opened up his phone to look in the camera, marveling at how well they matched his skin tone. He snapped a quick selfie and set his phone back in his pocket.

“I have arrived!” They heard a voice call out from up the stairs. Morrigan had finally managed to come over, meaning it’d been just over two hours already. She shuffled down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder and a Styrofoam container of leftover pancakes in her hand. “Your grandmother insisted you were fed,” she tsked. She hung her backpack up on the peg by the stairs, and set the food down by the edge of the D&D table for later.

She took a long look at Zevran, raising a perfectly maintained eyebrow. “I presume you’re the one who said my girlfriend’s arse looked nice?”

Zevran laughed. “If I had known she already had a beautiful partner, I wouldn’t have said anything,” he said, sincere. “But truly, I’m glad I did! This world of your’s is fascinating!” Morrigan seemed to have taken notice of the elf ears, laughing lightly.

“Truly nice to see we’ll be gaining an elf in our party! So far, we’ve everything but,” she sighed. “Qunari, dwarf, mage, warrior, you name it, but elves? Nope.”

“Our party consists of mainly Morrigan, Leliana, a guy named Alistair, and I, but there’s quite a few more players that we hang out with,” Redren added. “I will warn you, that most people there are social rejects or incredibly bored nerds, so be prepared!”

“I go to a school of the arts, Redren,” he chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine!”

“All right, don’t we have work to do?” Morrigan clapped her hands. She went to the back, grabbing her latex staff off the table, along with a can of white paint and a large tub of glitter. Redren set to work looking for already-made armor with Leliana that they could adjust for Zevran’s size. As he worked on getting Zevran armor, he watched Morrigan in amusement as she dumped the light blue glitter into the white paint, and began to splatter-paint her staff. She loved cold magic, and she’d decided to make a new, cooler, staff. She was nice enough outside of Moondust, but Lord, was her character bitchy! It was endearing in a strange way, her cold personality working incredibly well with her winter magic.

As they were starting the chestpiece, they noticed the clock had hit four o'clock. Alistair arrived shortly, and after intoductions, had started talking about what types of weapons Zevran’d be good with. They eventually settled on dual-wielding with a dagger and a short sword. Leliana mentioned that she had some spares, digging out two of her previous weapons. Redren was busy embroidering little patterns on a pair of leather gloves. He’d learned the skill from Grandma Wynne, and enjoyed putting little curves of black string around the edge of the brown gloves. He was modeling them after Zevran’s tattoos. He couldn’t resist adding a tiny pink heart to the top of the right glove. Cute!

“So, when in battle, you have a certain amount of health and armor points, but since your character is a rogue, you’ll have less armor points than me, since I’m a warrior and I can wear heavier armor,” Alistair explained, a bright smile on his face. He was such a dork, and always happy to explain things. He rambled on about armor, repairs, and healing spells, with Zevran paying a surprising amount of attention. Maybe his love for acting was what compelled him to actually stick around. Regardless, his enthusiasm was appreciated.

“I believe your dog wished to be a part of this gathering,” Morrigan nodded her head toward the closed basement door. Faint little whines came from behind it.

“You’re not allergic, are you?” He asked Zevran before he let Dog in.

“I don’t mind dogs,” he shrugged. “I’m more of cat person, but feel free to let the little thing in if it so wishes.”

Dog bounded down the stairs as soon as Redren so much as cracked the door open, nearly knocking him down. Thank God for the door knob. He heard a slightly amused yelp as the eighty-pound boxer ran to Zevran, slobbering and drooling all over him.

“Oi!” Redren yelled, running down to grab Dog by his collar. “You do not act like that!” Dog still looked very happy, despite being scolded. “You will behave if you wish to stay down here, young man!” Dog whined a bit, lying down in defeat. “You know I don’t like yelling at you,” Redren shook his head. “But you must learn, you can’t be so forceful, you’re too big.” He took a deep breath. “Do you want to help me age up this cloth?” Redren grabbed a large wad of fabric, tossing it to Dog, who happily began to chew it up. That was his job.

“Never have I seen a man speak to a dog like that!” Zevran laughed. “Are you sure you’re not really a wizard that’s trapped the spirit of your child in there?”

Redren laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, he’s a good boy most of the time, but he never knows when to calm down!” He patted Dog’s head affectionately.

“So, what’s his name?” Redren heard Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair snort at the same time.

“You’re all bullies, you know that, all of you,” he muttered under his breath. “His name is Dog.” Zevran snorted, too.

“Dog?” Dog perked up, staring at Zevran with the fabric hanging out of his mouth. “It’s unique, I’ll give you that!”

..

Eventually, eight o'clock came, and everyone said their goodbyes. Zevran’s outfit was held in his hands, a bright smile on his face. He was the last one out the door, as he’d stayed back for a moment after everyone had left. He folded it, and set the leather in his satchel.

“I’d like to thank you,” he said, looking up at Redren. “I, I’m very excited for this weekend. It doesn’t feel like I just met you. And if I can have my way, I’d like to do this again. I’ve, I’ve never had many friends, and,” he took a deep breath before finishing. “I’ve very thankful that you let me experience what it’s like, even if only for a couple of hours.”

“It doesn’t have to be just a couple hours,” Redren said, his face pink. “I mean, yoire spending the weekend with us, and, uh, if you like it, I’m, well, I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you again.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“That sounds wonderful.” Zevran was beaming. His teeth were exposed when he smiled, and his tan cheeks were ever so slightly darker, a blush on them. “See you tomorrow. Seven am?”

“Don’t be late.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Zevran turned, walking down the driveway, looking back to wave one last time. Redren waved back. When he finally came back inside, he noticed his grandmother by the fireplace, shaking her head with a soft smile. Heading to his room, he couldn’t help but fall back onto his bed, his face on fire and a stupid grin on his face.

I talked to a boy! I talked to a really pretty boy! I basically just asked him on a date! I talked to a boy and he liked me!

“I talked to a boy!” He breathed out, his chest rising and falling quickly. His heart was racing. Hugging his pillow, he imagined what the weekend would be like. Redren the mage was straightforward, he had no anxiety when it came to talking to people if need be. Could he talk to Zevran? His mind was clouded over with the question of how soft Zevran’s lips were. He let out a shaky breath. Those questions would have to wait for now. Perhaps he’d find the answers in Moondust. He hoped he’d find the answers in Moondust.

…

Seven am came around the next day, with Redren waiting on the couch in his robes, leg bouncing with anxiety.

“Redren dear,” Wynne chuckled. “You haven’t been so nervous for these in a very long time. How come?” She paused, but didn’t give him enough time to answer. “Is it because of the young Spanish man?” The smile on her face was a tell that she knew she was right.

“Yeah, but I’m mainly just nervous because he’s never been to one of these and he’s really nice and, and, ugh!” His stomach was starting to hurt.

“Now, I know you’re old enough where I don’t need to tell you to be careful, but he’s a handsome young man, so if things go further, please remember to use-” the doorbell rang and Redren shot up like a bullet.

“Loveyougrandmahaveagoodweekendbye!” He grabbed his small bag of luggage, his staff and his hat, Dog running out behind him, barking happily.

When he took his usual place in the second row of Morrigan’s van after putting his things in the trunk, he noticed how Zevran had taken Alistair’s seat. Alistair was now sitting in the back with Dog, not looking at all dissapointed with the new arrangement. Leliana was in the passenger’s seat, and gave him a smug little smile.

“What did Wynne say that’s for you all red-faced?” Oh, how Redren loathed his pale complexion!

“Nothing, so can we please get going?”

“'Tis a three hour drive, poor fool,” Morrigan laughed, already getting into character. “And the Lady Leliana has her ways of persuasion!”

“And I have no tits to grab so I’m already immune to one form of torture you’re so fond of, Morrigan,” he laughed. She just tsked in response.

“Is this going to be another one of those drives?” Alistair groaned. “Zevran, are you straight?”

“Of course not, my dear,” he smirked, turning around to look at Alistair.

“You’re the only one I have, Dog,” he sighed, making the rest of them laugh.

“Zevran,” Redren said, “I haven’t mentioned yet how nice you look in that.” He could feel the tip of his ears heat up, and shifted his hair to cover them.

“Why thank you,” he smiled. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I couldn’t work out how exactly to put the ears on, so if you could…”

“Ah, of course!” He leaned over, and Zevran brushed his hair out of the way so that the extensions could slip on. “There you go.”

“Why thank you, and may I say your robe is quite nice as well.”

“This atmosphere of romance is going to suffocate me,” Morrigan sighed.

“Hey!” Leliana protested, giving her girlfriend a playful hit on the shoulder.

“Your mine so it’s different,” she drawled.

Redren didn’t protest Morrigan’s comment, not wanting to dig his own grave twenty minutes into the car ride.

Moondust LARP-ing community was about a three hour drive North of London, around Leicester. It was built on the farmgrounds of Alistair’s father’s old farm, which he had named Ferelden Farms. The land had been left to Cailan and his wife, Anora, who turned it into a tiny village of their own. Cailan was a couple of years older than Alistair, and has ended up inviting him brother to help him set up the little community. Over the nine years it’d been open, it had grown, so that there were about a hundred and fifty people every month, all camping on the grounds.

Cailan and Anora were the Crowned King and Queen of Ferelden, with Cailan being the one who kept up activities and campaigns while Anora did more of the behind-the-scenes work. As lovely as she was outside of LARP-ing, Anora played the stuck-up and cold Queen, balancing out Cailan’s outspoken personality. She was the one that suggested his execution, in fact. That’d been a fun weekend, in all honesty.

As the people in the car lulled into a comfortable silence, Leliana’s music filled the quiet and covered Alistair’s soft snores. It was pretty obvious he was the kind of baby that only stopped crying via car ride. Redren glanced at Zevran out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man gaze out the window, watching the countryside go by. The English countryside was always beautiful, much different from his native Spain. He had a soft smile on his face, the tattoos curving just as softly. The elf ears were just as cute, and look surprisingly natural on him.

..

When they arrived, unpacking their things from the trunk and shaking Alistair awake, they were greeted by Cailan. Well, King Cailan now. The King greeted his half-brother with a nod of the head and a handshake, formal.

“Greetings,” he smiled. “I am not often one for formalities as you know, but I see you have brought a new member. Is he of your order?” The King was referring to the 'Grey Wardens,’ an order Alistair had created, in which he and Redren were the only formal members, the rest of their little party were 'allies.’ He’d created lore himself, speaking of it as a once proud order wiped out by an invasion of fearsome monsters. He’d been happy to allow Redren to join, since he didn’t have any friends in Moondust.

“This is Zevran Arainai of the assassination organization, the Antivan Crows,” Alistair said, gesturing to Zevran, who took a deep bow.

“Ah yes, the Crows,” Cailan nodded, a hand to his chin in thought.

“He was hired by a rival faction to wipe out the Wardens, but we defeated him in combat. He is now forever in our debt for sparing his life.”

“I am honored to be in your presence, King of Ferelden,” Zevran smiled, putting a hand to his chest. “I swear to serve the Wardens, my Lord, and by extension, you, if they so wish it.”

“An honorable man,” Cailan nodded. “I am pleased to welcome you to Ferelden, Arainai.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Now, shall we get going?”

They followed him down the winding trail from the parking area to the town of Moondust. It was truly something to see the difference between the modern world and the faux old. Zevran’s look of surprise was quite amusing to watch, and Redren couldn’t help but comment.

“Ah, the world of Ferelden is much different than that of your native Antiva, no?”

“Very much so,” he nodded. “As lovely as it seems, it’s much too cold and stinks of wet dog!” Dog whined at his laugh. “Now, assassinations and political corruption, that’s home!” They walked to the old barn that had been changed into a community guild hall, complete with a convincingly realistic electric candle and iron chandelier. Over the years, people had added to the hall, the druids, elves, and forest witches hanging potted plants from the rafters and arranging pots of magical incense on the tables that lined the walls. Healing crystals painted in glow-in-the-dark paint were arranged around the entire compound as well. At night, the forest had a soft glow to it as the rocks emitted their light and the fireflies danced around them.

After the introduction of Zevran was finished, King Cailan formally inviting him to Moondust, they headed out into the former cow field that’d been turned into an outdoor festival space, and housed the battlefield further back. They still had two cows, however, lovingly named Ondai, Giver of Life, and Seotayss, Lord of the Green. Zevran had found that fact quite amusing. Since it was still fairly early in the morning and the community plans weren’t laid out until one in the afternoon, they had time to find some of their fellow LARP-ers.

“It had brought a painted elf?” Redren heard Shale say from behind him.

“I have, and may I say it’s nice to see you again, Shale. I missed you last month!”

“There were pigeons on the way here, so I spent the weekend doing a service to the world.” She said, deadpan. Shale, or, out of character, Shayle, was a stone butch, gender-indifferent, towering, muscled woman. Her character was a tank of a golem, her face painted grey, matching her stone-like armor. She had some of the witches add in crystals, which gave her special magical resistance. Shale only referred to people as their defining feature. Or, instead of 'you,’ she said 'it.’ Shale used to be a dwarven warrior, but had undergone a surgery of sorts to become a golem. She did not regret it, as it made her much better than her inferior, squishy comrades.

“I am honored to be in the presence of such a beautiful warrior,” Zevran flirted. His character was turning out to be even more of flirt than his usual self. Redren wasn’t complaining.

“If by beautiful, it means strong, then I agree.”

“Why not both?”

“A truly unique creature, the painted elf is.”

“Thank you!” Zevran said, patting the golem on the arm. Lord, did he look tiny next to her! Shale wandered off in the heavy-set fashion of hers to speak with her fellow warrior, Sten. Nobody knew his name outside of the LARP, but the Qunari warrior was an amazing roleplayer. He never broke character, never smiling and always talking formally. The only time he broke character was when someone had asked him why he didn’t have horns, he simply replied with 'angered housecat,’ and never elaborated. He was an incredibly muscled and tall African man, with silvery white cornrows, and always wore red contact lenses. He said that he came as a sort of messenger for the Qunari, and stayed in order to observe how the foreigners lived.

“So, Zevran,” Redren asked, turning to his elven companion. “How do you like Ferelden?”

“It’s certainly unique, and I say that in the best of ways. And as much as I love Antiva, these people, many of them are quite pleasurable to look at!” He winked at Redren, making the mage pull his wizard’s hat over his eyes to hide him blush. Zevran laughed, and bumped his shoulder into Redren’s. “Are all mages so bashful?”

“Being raised by the Circle Tower of Magi, I have very little experience with flirts such as yourself,” he muttered. “And the elder witch Wynne wasn’t very willing to let her apprentices fool around with each other!” He was laughing, still embarrassed.

“I am not a mage, nor one of your lovely Wynne’s apprentices,” he said, teasing.

“You’re about three seconds away from being turned into a frog, Crow.”

“No I’m not,” he chuckled. “Assassins are quite good at detecting lies, you know. And you, my lovely mage, are enjoying this attention, aren’t you?”

“I cast a spell of silence,” Redren laughed, pressing a finger to Zevran’s lips. “It may only be removed when I say so.” Zevran dropped his jaw in mock betrayal, pressing a hand to his throat, falling to his knees.

Curse you! He mouthed. Both of them laughed at his act, with Zevran putting a hand over his mouth to silence himself.

God, am I enjoying this! Attention and flirting from a very handsome man!

The Horn of Gathering sounded, summoning everyone to the barn. It was one of those plastic bugle horns, but Anora had painstakingly painted it gold, and had even sewn a banner bearing the royal crest to attach to it, so the thing looked really good.

Zevran took a seat between Redren and Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana settling in next to Redren.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and knights,” King Cailan started, standing up from his throne. A couple years back, a non-bianary roleplayer joined, Ser Gilamore. Cailan had made sure to update his saying. “I bring unfortunate news this day. A horde of the undead had been spotted several miles to the north, and are likely to arrive at nine pm tonight. At sundown, all forces are to gather in the middle of the battlefield.” He paced down the middle of the hall, the gold chains decorating his armor chinking together as he moved. “We know not what has caused this invasion, but we will stop it. I have faith in you all, for we will triumph!”

Redren whispered an 'undo curse’ into Zevran’s ear, allowing for him to whoop along with the rest of the hall. The King raised his hand for silence.

“Your Queen Anora has decided to organize an event in the hopes victory will be achieved. I grant her the floor.” He sat as the Queen stood. Her long, beautiful dress trailed along the floor as she walked the same path as her husband. She was a manager of a fabric store, granting her discounts to all the materials she needed to make the beautiful creations.

“In the hopes we are victorious in our coming battle, I have planned a ceremony for Sunday night. I understand that tomorrow is sacred to the witches, druids, and elves as the forest is said to breathe new life at the full moon. Therefore, I invite you all to partake in festivities of your cultures.” Her nose was upturned as she spoke. It was obvious Cailan’s character had twisted his wife’s elbow a bit to get her to say that last part. She was a very, traditional woman. King Cailan was a very open-minded man whereas his wife, not so much. The two rubbed off on another as the years went by, with Cailan becoming a better King, and Anora becoming a better person. The two had a great relationship both in and out of character.

“Now,” King Cailan said, standing next to his wife, “we prepare for battle! You have seven and a half hours to prepare, so I expect a sweeping victory!” A cheer rose up at the King’s words. “Dismissed!”

The hall emptied, with most of the folk wandering outside. Many of the wild elves headed back to the Dalish camp, where tents were set up and a campfire was being started.

“With me,” Morrigan called back, curling her hand in a gesture meant for Zevran and Redren to follow her. Alistair stayed behind to talk strategy with his half-brother. Leliana held the witch’s hand as they walked into the forest North of the Elves’ camp. They came to a tiny hut at the end of a winding dirt path. “I hope you fools appreciate the fact that the bard and I brought your things to the hut earlier.”

“Ah, yeah, thanks Morrigan!” Redren smiled shyly, remembering how he and Zevran had gotten so caught up in everything they hadn’t grabbed their bags from the van.

Dog barked in greeting, as he’d been staying by the hut for a while, likelt taking a nap and re-marking his territory in the woods. Redren greeted the boxer with a pat on the head.

“So,” Zevran started, “I’ve had your Ferelden battle rules explained to me, but I wonder about this plan your King has. In the Crows, it is simply a target and an occasional deadline. Is that how you do things here or…?”

“In Ferelden,” Leliana explained, “the King briefs everyone on the battle strategy, but truly they lack the ability to follow!” The bard giggled. “War in Orlais was much more orderly, no?”

“And war in Antiva was just nobles hiring Crows to kill other nobles! A fine middle ground, this is!” Zevran said, nodding in approval.

“Redren, I have some potions to brew, and I require another mage. Leliana, I believe 'tis wise for you to train with the elf. You improve your skills while Redren and I improve his.”

“Don’t you mean 'ours’?” Redren asked.

“No, I am already better than anyone here. I have no need to improve. You, on the other hand…”

“Oh hush, witch!” Redren sighed. He saw Zevran’s lips quirk up at their banter.

Morrigan’s hut was another world in itself. Fake animal pelts hung from the walls, and wind chimes were hanging from the ceiling like stalactites in a cave. The whole place was a circle, only about eight feet in diameter. Alistair had helped her build it one weekend while the LARP wasn’t going on, and she’d been decorating it for five years ever since. Food dyes acting as magical ingredients were lined up along the shelves, and actual items of witchcraft were scattered among them. Crystals and pebbles were everywhere, and the drying herbs gave the place a strong, but pleasant, smell. Redren could spend hours in the place. Morrigan pulled a heavy book off of one of the shelves, thumping it down on the table. It was a book of Harry Potter potions with the cover changed to make it look like more witch-y. She flipped open to a potion of strength, and began to prepare the ingredients. Sure, it was technically tea, but here, in this little world, it was so much better.

“Light the fire while I prepare,” she said. Redren rolled back his sleeves and cast a fire spell, tossing a match into the tiny wood-burning stove. Morrigan cerimoniously cut off the tops of about five water bottles, pouring them in while chanting. Redren kneeled, presenting her with the box of teabags. She took them, a solemn look on her face as she dumped about six of them into the pot. “Now we wait,” she said, grabbing a wooden spoon and giving the pot a quick stir, repeating the process every couple of minutes.

Redren always enjoyed hanging out with the witch, even if her LARP character was a bit of a pain in the ass. Dog was barking outside, and the sounds of laughter from Leliana and grunt of mild pain from Zevran probably meant nothing good. Redren stayed inside to spare himself from likely seeing Zevran on the ground, an eighty pound boxer on his stomach.

Morrigan and him finished up about an hour later, all the potions put into labeled flasks. Redren wandered outside, and couldn’t help but observe the elf and the bard silently. The way Zevran’s body moved  to dodge the bolts from Leliana’s crossbow was mesmerizing. It’s obvious his time acting and his time at work had combined to make an amazingly flexible and agile man. Leliana was firing at him, a smile on her face as she kept him at bay, holding a dagger in her other hand. Her crossbow was a revamped nerf gun, painted and modified so it hardly looked like the original. Eventually, Zevran got in close, scoring four points before Leliana fell back, landing on the ground with an oomph.

“I’ve been bested once again!” She cried out, in a T-pose on the dirt. “Oh, hello.” She said, looking over at Redren.

“The lovely Leliana has been sparring with me, and I do believe she has underestimated my skills several times over,” Zevran laughed. “Let this be known: the Crows’ training is not one to underestimate!”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that by now,” she sighed. “It’s what, two thirty now? Zevran and I are a bit winded, not to mention I’m at about 1 hp right now, so we might want to take it easy for a bit.”

“Here,” Redren sighed, walking over to the woman 'bleeding’ on the biggest floor. “I cast a spell of full healing to Leliana,” he said, raising his staff. She sat up, breathing out heavily.

“Thank you, my good mage,” she smiled.

“Zevran?” Redren asked. “You’ve got any cuts?”

“Ah, yes I believe one of her bolts hit me about here,” he pointed to the side of his stomach. Redren pressed his fingers to Zevran’s side, muttering a small healing spell. “Is all magic so intimate?” He questioned, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Gross,” Morrigan spat as she walked out of the hut, two trays of flasks chinking together. “Leliana, be a dear and take one of these off my hands.” Leliana happily did as she was asked. These little tasks never failed to earn her favor in battle. Redren stayed back, watching the two walk off, Leliana bouncing as she stepped and Morrigan scolding her.

“Well,” Redren started, turning to Zevran. “Would you like to help me put war paint on him?” He pointed to Dog with his thumb, who stuck his tongue out and barked.

“Sure,” Zevran said. “What’s it do? Or is it simply to make him look cool?”

“The paint,” Redren called back as he grabbed it from inside the house, “improves his attack, as it’s enchanted to give him buffs in battle.” He brought out  the red paint. “Just dip your fingers in and go ahead.” They spent the next couple of minutes swirling the war paint on the boxer’s brown fur, Dog’s tongue happily hanging out of his mouth.

“A fearsome war hound indeed,” Zevran nodded, admiring their work. He’d given Dog a similar set of curves on his chest, so that their tattoos matched.

“Indeed,” Redren echoed with a soft chuckle. “We’ve got quite some time before sunset, so-” He was cut off by the growl of Zevran’s stomach. “Food?” He laughed.

“That sounds like a good idea!” They started walking back to the main area, Dog on their heels. Several of the Druids, nymphs, and forest witches paused their flowercrown making to wave at the odd little trio, one of them tossing a stick to Dog, who happily took the gift. They always spent much of the day before battle partaking in nature rituals. Flowercrowns could be enchanted to prevent all sorts of magical damage or to improve nature magic. All sorts of things.

They walked into the tavern, Silver Lake, and sat down at the bar. The bartender, Rehael the Angel, handed them both goblets of water, which were always on the house. Silver Lake stood by a small pond, The Silver Lake, about two hundred feet from the barn.

“Nice 'ta see ya again, kiddo,” a man next to Redren said. Redren looked to his left, and then quite sharply down to see the man that spoke. Oghren looked up at him. The man was a fellow roleplayer who had hit the nail pretty hard on the head when he decided to roleplay as a dwarf. He was an actual dwarf, standing at 4'6". He’d joined the LARP about two years ago, looking for something to do when he wasn’t doing yardwork. His wife leaving him was what made him actually go look for something to do with his time, and help wean him off of alcohol. He’d been getting better with time. “Ah, an elf!” He growled, looking at Zevran.

“Is this where we re-ignite the age old dwarf/elf rivalry?” Zevran said, taking a sip of his water.

“At least you look pretty itsy, so I think I could take ya,” Oghren shrugged. “Just watch your back, you pointy-eared little weasel,” he wiggled an accusing armored finger.

“Will do, my fine dwarven friend!

"By the stones,” Oghren sighed, the two massive red braids of his beard swinging as he shook his head. He took a sip of his one-quarter-beer-seventy-five-percent-water. Many other patrons came and went from the place as Zevran and Redren ate a late lunch. Rehael struck up a conversation with Zevran, asking the elf all about his former home. Zevran was incredibly good at staying in character, and talked about Antiva and the Crows as if he was actually there. He was constantly animated, and didn’t hesitate to flirt with the bartender. Oghren scoffed at his display, staying true to his standoffish and constantly annoyed character. His giant latex waraxe strapped to his back wobbled as he swung his feet, since they didn’t reach the floor.

Redren was enjoying listening to the two talk while watching the patrons all around him. His character was certainly one who didn’t let anybody escape his sight, making sure to know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. Just in case. A Cousland came in, his noble aura protruding from every pore in his body. He was pleasant enough once you got to know him, or so Redren was told. The nobleman didn’t exactly like the mages. Or the nymphs, druids, dwarves, or elves. Most nobles seemed to be like that. There weren’t many of them Moondust, as only Cailan and Anora’s good friends could rise to such a rank. They stayed in the Castle, which was a renovated farmhouse. The place certainly looked like a little castle, and was very nice to look at.

“Redren?” Zevran elbowed him gently in the side, making the mage nearly drop his staff. “You ready to head out?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry, was thinking about… stuff.”

“Oh, what kind of stuff?” Zevran smirked at Redren as they stepped out of Silver Lake. “Dirty stuff, I hope.”

“Please stop being so Antivan,” Redren sighed. “And for the record, I was thinking about everyone around here. About how to defeat them if I need to.”

“Ooh, such useful information for an assassin!” He pushed his shoulder against Redren’s arm, looking up at the mage. “Why don’t we find a good place to discuss such things?” His sly smile was not missed by Redren.

“For you, things mean more than any normal person would assume. Thankfully, I am no normal person, Zevran Arainai.”

“Ah, no fun, you are!” He cried out, laughing. “But I still do wish for you to inform me of these notes you take. As someone in your service, I should know all I need to to protect you, no? My Warden, surely you understand what an advantage that would be!”

“Fine, fine,” Redren sighed, giving in to the elf. “I shall teach you most of what I know.”

“Most?”

“Keeping secrets makes me feel more powerful,” He shrugged. “And do you ever plan on, well, leaving my side, or were you secretly hexed in the Tavern?” Redren was glaring down at Zevran, who was all but glued to his arm.

“An assassin thrives in shadow, my dear,” he said lowly. “And that wide-brimmed hat of yours provides much of such a thing.”

“Lord,” Redren muttered. “One would think an Antivan such as yourself would be accustomed to the sun.”

“Oh, I am,” he chuckled. “I just like being so close to you, Redren.”

“Oh.” Redren blanked, letting his character take over his short circuiting brain. “Remind me why I saved your life, again? Lord, elf, you’re far too much for me to handle!” Zevran gave him a smile full of false innocence. “Hush,” Redren laughed, putting a hand on Zevran’s head and ruffling his hair. Zevran let out a gasp and hastily fixed his hair, putting the little braids back into place. He must’ve done them before they picked Redren up. Did Leliana do it? She’s good with hair. They looked very cute.

..

It probably took a good couple of hours to talk about all the people Redren could remember off the top of his head. Of course, he’d gotten off track about a dozen times, and had even started recalling a time about a year ago when Cailan had given the elves full reign for a weekend due to them staging an uprising the month before. They’d been tired of not being able to practice their magic in public, and the final straw had been the arrests of an entire little camp of elves for growing oregano, which they called Elfroot, without permission from the King and Queen. They’d argued about how it was all contained in pots and such, but the Queen had not been lenient. He had a feeling the King was still trying to get on the non-humans’ good sides. He hardly noticed how long they’d been talking.

“Ferelden certainly has a fun history,” Zevran commented, giving Dog absent-minded pats on the head.

“Do you have any sorties of Antiva?” Redren was curious about what he’d come up with.

“Oh, my turn is it?” He leaned back on his arms. “What is it you wish to know of Antiva? The Crows? The women? The men?”

“What about the Crows? Surely you must have stories about such an infamous group.”

“Why of course!” He took a deep breath, a lazy smile on his face. “The Crows are known all throughout Antiva as the most reliable group of assassins, as well as the most expensive. They keep their, shall we say, workforce, well fed and entertained, even if it’s the guild masters making the real coin.” He sighed. “A gilded cage it is, lovely but confining. Sure, killings are fun, but freedom, that’s much better. But now that you have removed me from that life, I’m not sure what to do, what should I take advantage of it for?” It was obvious he was simply switching up some details from his life in Spain as a sex worker. He didn’t look upset by it, more indifferent if anything. Of course, he could be lying, keeping a blank face and staying in his fairly aloof character, but Redren couldn’t pick up on it.  

“Well, you’re certainly welcome to stay by my side.” Redren said, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I have reason to believe you’d be quite useful.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he smiled, leaning forward. “And soon, you’ll be begging to be rid of me!”

“If it comes to that, I have quite a few spells for, shall we say, an effective disposal?”

“Sounds fun!” Zevran went on for a while more, casually building up his world and character, talking about how he’d always wanted to get to know the wild elves. He’d grown up in Antiva City, and had never gotten the opportunity to see the Dalish.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the chirping of birds and insects providing background noise.

“Zevran?” Redren asked after a couple minutes of quiet.

“Yes?”

“I have no idea what time it is.”

“Neither do I,” he laughed, looking up at the sky. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “But it seems we’ve been here for quite a while.” The sun was nearly starting to set.

“Let’s see,” Redren thought, “we left the tavern at what, quarter to four? It must be nearly seven now!” Zevran and him laughed in shock. “God, why did you let me ramble on so long? Truly you can’t find Ferelden stories that interesting to let me go on like that.”

“Maybe.” Zevran shrugged, and leaned forward to press a finger to Redren’s chest. “But I find you very interesting.”

“Bloody flirt,” Redren scoffed, looking away to hide his embarrassment. “Truly, you tempt me to use a silencing spell again.”

“You like my voice too much,” Zevran said. “Or else you wouldn’t have have let me go on for so long.” Point taken.

“Shouldn’t we start heading back? If the King wants us at the battlefield starting at sundown, that means we’ve got about an hour and a half.”

“You’re quite dedicated to the rules, my dear mage.” Zevran remarked.

“Do you think I’m so dedicated because I wish to be? No, it’s more of a debt I owe to this place than anything.”

“A debt?”

“Why don’t we talk while we make our way back? We can take a longer route if you wish.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zevran said, standing up. “And I think I really need to stretch my legs before battle, as it’s never good for an assassin to have his leg asleep in combat!”

“Seems wise to avoid that, yes,” Redren said with a soft laugh. “Come on, Dog,” he added, the boxer getting up happily. His stumpy little tail wagged as the three walked down the rock-lined paths.

“You mentioned something earlier,” Zevran said a couple minutes into their walk. “I’d like to hold you to your promise to explain.”

“I was hoping you’d forget,” he laughed shyly.

“A Crow remembers, my dear, best keep that in mind.”

Redren took a deep breath. “Back in The Circle, I was always treated differently. I wasn’t allowed to be what I was, blood magic isn’t exactly something people find endearing.” What a thinly veiled metaphor, dumbass, he chastised himself. “So I had to hush everything, keep my head down. Alistair was a Templar, a prominent guard type order that made my life a living hell,” he laughed without humor. “I thought he was going to be like the rest, but he offered me a chance to escape. He got me out of that place one weekend a month. Right under the Head Witch Wynne’s nose, too!” Zevran was staring at him, with unusual silence. “This place really saved me, you know,” he rested his staff on his shoulder. “It’s special like that. Gives all sorts of people chances to be what they are, whether it be a Blood Mage or an assassin. I really think I owe Alistair my life, so I’m honored to fight alongside him, no matter what.”

“I see,” Zevran said quietly. “I have no story like your’s but I do believe this has been, good for me. After all, I met you, no?”

“That you did,” Redren smiled. “I can certainly say that we have met.”

“And you’re back to being a pain in the ass,” he laughed. “It’s endearing!”

“It’s likely nearly eight and we’re yet to get back is what it is.”

“Oh, the rumors that will be spread! A several hour long rendezvous in the woods is worth talking about, isn’t it?”

“Hush it!” He gave Zevran a swift little hit with his staff.

“You wound me! May I have a healing spell, please?” He put a finger to his cheek, batting his eyelashes jokingly.

“You’ll regenerate that health in a minute, you baby,” he waved his hand dismissively.

“Aawwee! Am I your baby now?”

“In need of constant supervision, incredibly tiny, wounded so grievously by a minuscule hit? Yes, you are an infant.”

“You’re an angry little mage!” He was shaking his head, flipping a dagger absent-mindedly. “Honestly, releasing a bit of that pent-up tension could benefit us all.”

“Bloody Antivans,” Redren muttered.

..

They managed to get to the battlefield about thirty seconds before King Cailan did, standing in the back eating two ham sandwiches they picked up from Silver Lake. Cailan went into a a speech about the dangers of Necromancy and unsupervised magic, and that Maria, the only practicing necromancer, was to be executed tomorrow morning. This would be her eleventh execution in two years, since she had enchanted herself using necromancy. She let out a whoop as a gaurd carried her in the fireman position to the shame cage.

“We will try to deal with her,” he sighed. “As I was saying, those with ranged weapons are to stay behind the fence and funnel the undead through the gates. I require two mages to stay and guard the Guild Hall. Rogues are to attempt get behind the horde to backstab, and warriors are to attack head-on.” He raised his sword. “For Ferelden!” The crowd echoed his chants. There were about seventy people in the field, and sixty waiting in the forest. Twenty people were non-combatants, staying behind to guard their shops. Alrael of Silver Lake was a healer, and one of the most valuable in battle. His darker completion gave him higher stealth at night, making him able to sneak past enemy lines to revive the fallen. His glitter-covered black deadlocks were always a sign of God’s favor in combat. The troops were given a couple minutes to do any last minute preparations.

“Hey!” Alistair called out, waving to Redren and Zevran.

“Nice to see you, my friend,” Zevran smiled.

“Don’t do that with me, assassin,” he frowned. “I went to the witch earlier since I couldn’t find you two anywhere, and she said you two had been in the woods for hours! What on Earth were you doing?” Zevran grinned, and Alistair quickly retracted his statement. “You know what, nevermind. What mages and elves get up to in the forest by themselves is not something I need to know.”

“Alistair!” Redren whisper-yelled. “It wasn’t anything like that!”

“I can’t believe a fellow Grey Warden would doubt my skills of perceptiveness so much!” He faked hurt.

“Alistair, Zevran’s being Zevran.” He deadpanned. “Please don’t take anything he says like that with complete faith.”

“Wounded again!” Zevran sighed, leaning with his back against Redren.

“You two are way too much for me to handle,” Alistair said. “I’m glad you’re heading up and I’m staying back with the warriors!” He walked off with a laugh.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Redren laughed, looking down at the elf slumped against his side.

“And if I did, I wouldn’t have picked the assassination job, and I wouldn’t be here with you right now.” Zevran looked up at Redren, who’s mouth was opening and closing, unable to form words to respond. Thankfully, he was spared the need to respond by the sounding of the war horn.

“Let’s go,” Redren said in a relieved exhale. Zevran seemed to forget the exchange in a heartbeat, excitedly running side by side with Redren to engage in combat. Every one of the “undead” had red glow necklaces around their necks, a sign of the magic reanimating them. They had ten health points each, making them a bit tougher than regular players. Redren took his place behind the fence, crouching down and waiting for the horde to get within range. He saw Zevran darting among the trees, ducking behind one and facing Redren. He flashed the mage a wide smile, Redren happily returning it. He heard footsteps behind him, and saw Leliana approach, crouching next to him.

“Bonjour,” she greeted, chugging one of Morrigan’s offensively strong potion-teas. It made her shudder and gain a small bonus to defense. She was already more resilient than Redren, as she wore actual armor, and he only had a robe to defend himself. Mages weren’t the best with armor, though Morrigan was making an active choice to basically flash her tits to the enemy. The stun effect did work, so he gave her credit for that.

Soon enough, the undead were within range, and since the sun had set, they were easy to spot. Oghren and a couple others were heard activating their Beserker abilities, war cries ringing out across the field and carrying into the forest. Redren felt himself falling into the familiar rhythm. An initial hit with the staff: 1 point. A spell of gore: 2 points and 1 point bonus every hit afterward. Dodging, nearly tripping. Another jab with the staff: 2 points. Halfway down. A spell of paralysis and another hit: 2 points. A spell of manipulation, causing the paralysis to wear off, and the target to harm themselves: 3 points. The fellow combatant fell to the ground in defeat. He gave a quick wave to his foe and ran off to heal anybody calling for assistance. The process was repeated many times. He saw Alistair and Oghren fighting near each other, with Shale and Sten not too far behind. Leliana was firing off bolts next to Morrigan, and Zevran was darting between the enemies, weakening them two points with a backstab so that the warriors could finish them off.

..

After the battle, everyone but Maria was called to the Guild Hall for an after-battle speech. Redren zoned out for most of it, his eyes slowly looking around for Zevran. The elf was nowhere in sight, so he assumed he was stuck behind someone of an average height. Eventually, Cailan stopped talking, and Anora dismissed the players.

“Finally,” he heard Zevran say from behind him. “I was stuck behind some human, and I do not appreciate being hid behind a wall of flesh,” he paused, adding, “clothed flesh, that is.”

“So,” Redren asked, pulling out a chair next to him for the elf, “how was your first battle in Ferelden? Different then Antivan assassinations, I take it.”

“Oh, it was great!” Zevran was beaming, leaning forward on his chair, his hands pressed into the seat between his legs. “The opportunities to backstab were everywhere, and the chaos! Oh, it reminds me of the time The Crows were hired to take out half of a royal family! Now that was a bloodbath,” he sighed in fond memory. “Nothing like a good bloodbath, eh?”

“I completely agree,” Redren smiled. “I always enjoy battle, it really gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it?”

“It does!” Zevran said, exhaling. “So, I presume we’re sleeping at Morrigan’s hut in the woods, yes?”

“It may be cramped, but yes,” Redren said, a bit of a grimace on his face. “We,” he sighed. “We may need to share a bedroll.”

“How every great story starts, no?”

“I am begging you not to get any ideas.”

“Too late, my Warden, too late.”

“I assumed as much,” Redren laughed. “Shall we get going? Magic really drains me, especially the blood magic I was using.”

“What kind of magic is that?” Zevran asked, looking up at Redren. “The Crows, we rarely have magic-users, so I know very little of such arts.”

Redren launched into an explanation of how blood magic worked, lasting a good couple minutes. They had gotten about twenty feet into the forest when Zevran stopped, staring ahead. The path was lit softly by dimly glowing stones, giving the forest floor a winding green river. Redren couldn’t really appreciate the view, however, as he was transfixed with the way the fireflies’ yellow lights reflected in Zevran’s honey-coloured eyes. He didn’t even notice when the other man’s eyes shifted to look into his own until he blinked.

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“What are you apologizing for, Redren?” Zevran’s soft smile sent a wave of nausea through Redren’s stomach.

“Nothing, old habit,” he shrugged. “Most people don’t appreciate strange looks from strange mages.”

“I am not most people,” he laughed, turning back to the path and walking ahead. Redren had to jog a bit to catch up. They eventually made it to Morrigan’s dwelling, where a small campfire had been lit. Morrigan and Leliana were in their nightgowns, sitting on a log. Dog seemed to have followed Leliana back, as he was asleep a couple feet from the fire.

“And they finally return,” Morrigan said, not looking up from the fire. “I’ve been waiting for you two. Leliana insists waiting up for you fools.”

“That I do, yes,” she laughed, looking up at Zevran and Redren. “I wanted to make sure you were coming back, and not spending more time in the woods.” She smirked. “Reminds me of Orlais,” she sighed fondly. Redren as thankful for the dark as it helped hide his blush a bit.

“Unfortunately our lovely mage has not only a sick for magic, but one up his ass, as well,” Zevran lamented, making Leliana giggle.

“Don’t worry, eventually they come around. Right, dear?”

“Please remove your hand from my thigh, bard, before I turn you into an actual brainless songbird.”

“Why don’t you two go get changed into your nightclothes? Just tell us when you’re done.” Leliana shooed them inside.

Zevran started stripping the second the door shut, not giving Redren enough time to breathe. The man’s chest was clean shaven, matching his arms and legs. His tattoos also seemed to not be limited to his face, as they stretched around his body like serpents. He shook his head, undoing the think brown ribbon that held his robe together. He undid the two buttons that held the sides of the fabric together as well, holding the robe together loosely with his hand as he reached into his backpack to grab his nightclothes. He turned away from Zevran and slid on the long pair of brown pajama pants, allowing the robe to slide off before he put his white tank top on.

“And here I was hoping for a show,” Zevran lamented as Redren turned back around. The man wore nothing but a pair of short, very short, shorts. He was sadly removing his elf ears, as they were unfortunately uncomfortable to sleep in. He set them on the side table that he’d placed his armor on. “Back in The Crows,” he stated, “nobody ever changed in front of each other, as the most vulnerable a person is is when they’re in the nude. A shame you have no such trust,” he tsked.

“I’m not falling for that, assassin,” Redren laughed. “And here,” he took off his shirt, tossing it to Zevran. “Please be decent. If not for me, then for the women.”

“A fine compromise, my friend,” he nodded as he slipped the top over his shoulders. It was slightly large on him length-wise, covering up to the very ends of his shorts. Redren opened the door and nodded his head to the girls, indicating that they were changed. Dog was asked to stay outside, as Morrigan did not want him in the hut. Morrigan took her place on her bedroll, Leliana following suit, squishing herself up against the unamused witch. Redren laid down on the floor, and scooted over to make room for Zevran. Not that there was much room to make, though.

He could feel Zevran pressing into him, heating his left side up like it was on fire. He’d never shared a bed with anyone else, a bit of sad thought for someone in their early twenties, but still, the feeling wasn’t all too welcome. It was hot, the fake fur blanket heating the bedroll like a sauna. He stared at the ceiling, and knew Zevran was doing the same. The only light was from an electric tea candle that rested on a high shelf on the other side of the hut, ten feet away, since the campfire had been doused before the girls came in. He could hear Zevran’s breathing slow down, an indication that he was falling asleep. Leliana was already out cold, and Morrigan hadn’t been long after her. Despite the discomfort he’d previously felt, Redren started to enjoy lying next to Zevran, and he felt himself being soothed by the man’s steady breathing. His eyes started to feel heavy, and before he knew it, the world faded softly to black.

…

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he was in a completely different position. He’d started off on his back, and now he was on his left side. His right leg and arm were wrapped around Zevran, in what was likely an incredibly right grip. He had also managed to shift up, so that Zevran’s head was nestled underneath his own. All in all, a very cuddle-y position. Shit.

“Now now, no need for such language,” he jumped when Zevran spoke, right out of his previous position.

“I am so sorry!” He apologized, his face red.

“No no,” Zevran laughed, sitting up. “It has been a while since I’ve shared my bed with another, and never so innocently!” His tone was both mocking and sincere.

“Well I, for one, am very happy I didn’t end up like your previous bedmates,” he sighed.

“Ravised by a very beautiful Antivan elf?”

“Likely dead, judging by your career.”

“I suppose one never came without the other,” he shrugged. “But since I am now serving you, I can assure that you’d only get the one.” He stood up, stretching, and Redren couldn’t help but notice how  Zevran was wearing his shirt, and about how it rode up slightly when he stretched, exposing a tiny bit of his toned stomach. “Staring, are we?” Zevran laughed.

“That killing you offered sounds very nice.”

Zevran just chuckled, getting into his armor. Redren followed suit, almost not noticing how he mindlessly started changing without being so nervous. He pulled on his robe, and was nearly ready to drag Zevran out of the hut since he was taking a very long time, when he felt him arm being grabbed.

“And where do you think you’re going? Perhaps this is a Ferelden mage thing, and I’m being culturally insensitive, but as I’m supposed to be serving and protecting you, I cannot allow you to go out of this place without your hair brushed!” He shook his head in mock dismay, grabbing the brush from the table and gently shoving the mage to the floor. He started at the ends, holding Redren’s long ginger hair as he worked through the knots that had managed to appear while he was sleeping. As he worked, Redren felt himself slowly leaning back, relaxing into the other man’s touch. He didn’t say anything, but Redren could tell Zevran was enjoying his reaction. “Done.”

“Ah,” Redren ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks.” He glanced over at the wall clock, which claimed it was already eleven.

“It was my pleasure,” He smiled. “And based on your facial expression, it was your pleasure, too.”

“Let’s just get going.”

“Lead the way,” Zevran bowed, putting on his ear extensions. 

..

The day was in all honesty, a blur. King Cailan staged another execution for Maria, who laid down on a slab for about ten minutes before she sat up and went to the tavern for a drink. Anora gathered everyone in the hall for another speech, starting the celebrations, and begrudgingly allowing the magic-users to use magic. Redren and Zevran met up with Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair, and decided to simply have a good time, eating and watching Leliana break out her recorder and show off her bardic skills. They all sat and watched her, Zevran being the most interested. He had known she was a music student, but Leliana had a gift for recorder covers for basically anything. She was a strange talent all in herself.

The day flew by, like all other Sundays seemed to. The moon had come out, hanging big and bright in the night sky. It was full, and the sky was perfectly clear. Out here in the countryside, the stars were in full view. Many of the witches, wizards, and other magic users were performing ceremonies. He wasn’t a big part of such things, and as a blood mage, he wasn’t big on nature magic. Morrigan was messing around with Leliana, prodding her with her staff, making the bard giggle.

He got so swept up in everything, he hardly noticed Zevran’s hand on his shoulder.

“Would you mind talking to me for a moment?” He didn’t wear his usual carefree smile, so Redren wasn’t sure what he was feeling. “I promise it’s not anything bad,” he said, reassuring Redren with a hand on his shoulder.

“Alright,” he agreed. “Would you like to go somewhere more private, or…?”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” Zevran grabbed Redren’s hand, and hoped the other man couldn’t feel how nervous he was. Zevran took him back to the forest, where it was dark enough for only the glowing rocks to be visible underneath the cover of the the trees. The moon lit the area, soft rays of light dancing as the trees swayed in the slight breeze.

“What,” Redren started. “Uh, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to offer you my gratitude,” he said, looking down for a moment. “I’ve had,” he paused, and looked up at the taller man, “I have had so much fun.” His smile was wide. “I wanted to thank you, for making all this possible for me.”

“No, no, it was really Leliana. You, you shouldn’t be, you shouldn’t be thanking me,” Redren said, stumbling over his words.

“But you could’ve easily told her no, that you didn’t want anyone else in your group,” he countered.

“But-”

“Oh hush,” Zevran laughed. “Can’t I just say thank you? If anything, simply for being so sweet to me.” Redren wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t have to. Zevran stood up on his tip-toes, gently grabbing the back of Redren’s neck to pull him down. He placed his lips on Redren’s, and kissed him. Redren’d never been kissed before, and he could hardly think. It wasn’t a fevered exchange, or heavy, or passionate. It was just, soft and incredibly romantic. What else to expect from an Antivan? He thought, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to the small of Zevran’s back.

Eventually, Zevran pulled away, breathing fairly heavily. Redren was sure he was, too.

“If that wasn’t wanted,” he started, looking apologetic, “I’m incredibly sorry, but I-”

“Oh don’t worry,” Redren cut him off, laughing a bit to hide his excitement. “That was not unwanted!”

“Ah, good!” Zevran said, letting out a relieved breath. “You just looked so shocked, I wasn’t sure!”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never really been kissed before, so…” Zevran looked at him like he was insane. “Are you kidding m-” the sound of a dog barking cut him off.

“There you two are!” Alistair called out, jogging to where they were, Dog on his heels. “It’s getting late, and… wait, what are you two doing?” He squinted, looking at them in the low light.

“Is it such a crime to want to get to know your fellow Grey Warden better?”

“You know what? I don’t want to know. Morrigan and Leliana have already packed stuff up, and I was sent to retrieve you for the closing, which is in like, ten minutes.”

They followed him back to the field, where King Cailan was standing on a wooden box, Anora on the grass next to him.

“I thank you all for coming,” he began, a smile on his face. “It has been an amazing weekend, and I hope to see you all next month! We are incredibly thankful for the turnout, and I hope we only continue to grow!” Anora took the makeshift stage, breaking character to smile.

“And I would like to say, that regardless of magic ability or race, you all contribute something to make this place special,” She put a hand to her chest. “And I thank you.”

Everyone eventually dispersed, heading back to their cars. Morrigan and Leliana came over to where Zevran, Redren, Aliastair, and Dog were, holding backpacks, including Alistair’s, which he’d left with them when he went to find Zevran and Redren.

“Time to head out,” Leliana sighed. She led them back to the van, tossing their things into the back. Morrigan once again took the wheel, as not only was it her mother’s van, but she was the only one who could stay awake reliably the whole way back.

“So,” she started, looking in the rear-view mirror at the rest of the people in the back, “how was your first LARP, my elven companion?” Zevran launched into an excited explanation of how much he loved it, that he had an amazing time, and that he’d be honored if they invited him back.

“Of course we’ll invite you again!” Leliana laughed from the passenger seat. “You were very fun to have along!” She looked back to where Alistair was, raising an eyebrow at the mildly concerned expression on his face. “What’s up, Alistair? Got something on your mind?”

He took a deep breath. “Redren and Zevran were shagging in the woods!”

“Alistair!” Redren yelled, more shocked than upset.

“I’m so proud!” Morrigan laughed. “Finally!”

“Morrigan!”

“Losing your virginity at a LARP? Wonderful!”

“I did not!”

“Awww, a shame,” Leliana sighed. “I thought we were one in the same, there!”

“What?” Redren and Alistair said at the same time, making Zevran suppress a laugh.

“What? I had a beautiful witch offer me a dark ritual in the woods, and I accepted! Had a great time, got a girlfriend and a permanent plus three health!”

“So that’s where that bonus came from…” Redren muttered.

“You know, my lovely Morrigan, you’ve given me an idea,” Zevran said before he was quickly shushed by Redren’s hand over his mouth.

“Don’t.” He narrowed his eyes. “Lick this hand all you want, I don’t fear it. I’ve had that mouth on my mouth.” Zevran’s response of good point was muffled.

Eventually, they all fell into quiet, the hum of the van as it drove through the night calming.

…

The next LARP was amazing. As was the next, and the next, and the next. He and Zevran had officially become a thing, and he couldn’t be happier about it. Dog truly was the only one Alistair had now. Redren had worked up the neve to give Zevran the pair of Dalish leather gloves he’d embroidered. Zevran wore them all winter long. Their whole little group had been invited to one of Zevran’s theatre productions, and Redren couldn’t have been a prouder boyfriend. He could tell that the Live Action Role Playing had helped, as his character tame through in every line. And God, did he look good! How Redren had managed to snag someone like that, he’d never know.

Grandma Wynne had been supportive, and if anything, too supportive, saying things like It’s a changing world! or I’m so happy you could find someone! General happy grandma things. Zevran made sure to visit him almost every morning, sitting at the barstools and watching Redren wait tables. Redren had even visited Zevran at his job, although such an experience wasn’t exactly good for his more innocent heart.

All in all, they were very content to be the nerds they were.

#zevwarden week #jesus this is LONG #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #da warden #da morrigan #da leliana #alistair theirin #dragon age #dragon age origins #fanfiction #im so sorry this is late!!!! #original content

[elaristalselin]

Character Development Questions: Hard Mode (Elaris Edition)

So I’ve edited a lot out to keep from spoiling too much, but there’s still plenty of info on this Mystery Boi that everyone is so curious about!

1. Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

He doesn’t actually have any siblings, and his mother is like….300 years older than him. That’s partially why he’s so jealous/protective of Wilhelm and Memor; he wishes he had someone that close to him in his life when he needed it most. If he had had a sibling, his life would have gone in a VERY different direction

2. What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

HAHAHAHAHA. He hates her right now. A lot happened that already put a huge strain on their relationship, but then there was some serious gaslighting that happened to both of them and that’s what broke them up so badly. Then again, he hasn’t seen her in years so *shrug*

3. What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

His father died when he was about 2-3 years old, so he doesn’t really remember him. However, as a tiny child, he desperately wanted to grow up to be like him. He wanted to be a big strong soldier that would protect his mother and the rest of the village

4.Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

Only one other person knows, but yeah he saw some shit that really messed up his view of his life and of Silshaar. He’s not telling anyone else any time soon.

5. On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

He’s always got an entertainer’s pack, a mouse, and forgery kit in his bag, but he also will often stuff his pockets with stolen goods and he never leaves without the seashell given to him long ago

6. Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

A lot of his dreams are of his childhood and life at *REDACTED*, but there’s often his current friends inserted in his dream worlds, interacting with the environs and changing the course of events. While not nightmares, his dreams often make him feel uncomfortable, as his friends are often seeing him during his most vulnerable times.

7. Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

His nightmares often revolve around being found out, be it the party learning of his past or of his past demons finding his present self. He’s hiding too much, and that’s been weighing down on his psyche. He hasn’t stayed with anyone long enough for his life story to come up prior to this adventure, so he’s been dreading having to explain himself or risk putting the first friends he’s had in years in danger.

8. Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

Guns don’t exist in this world, do they? If so, he’d probably have gone foxing at some points, but I don’t know if he’d actually participate. 

9. Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Yes. His childhood faced an extreme shift from dire poverty to luxury. Now, he shows traits of growing up under both statuses: He hoards food and has sticky fingers, but also has a very strong love of fine clothes, jewelry, and galas.

10. Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

Elaris’ comfort has less to do with how conservative or skimpy the outfit is, and more to do with how it makes him look and feel. His common clothes are generally full-length pants and light overshirts, but if he sees an outfit that shows more skin that it covers, he’s just as likely to want it. The fabrics, quality, and situation are the biggest draws for any particular garment for him. A silk kimono cardigan paired with a strappy tank and lace-trimmed shorts is his current desert outfit, so I think that says enough about his modesty.

11. In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

*REDACTED*

12. In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

An old, old friend of his used to help calm him down after some of his harder days. She would cast thaumaturgy multiple times to emulate the soundscape of the ocean whilst he would prestidigitate the gentle sea breeze and the scent of salt in the air. They would close their eyes,  and in those few moments, they could escape their troubles.

13. Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

Blood is not typically in the job description of a bard, but he’s come into contact with the sick and wounded enough that he’s not particularly phased by it. Unless it’s large amounts of his own blood, in which case he begins to panic a bit. Being stabbed would alarm most people, though.

14. Does your character remember names or faces easier?

Faces, probably. He doesn’t often deal in names anymore. Most of the people he interacts with are nameless but with big pockets in his mind. You come to remember whose face to avoid when aliases can be so easily utilized.

15. Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Definitely. His background gave him a very strong connection of money equating to survival. It doesn’t matter too much to him how he gets it, but he can never feel quite comfortable unless his coin purse can sustain him for at least a month

16. Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

He was taught that success should always trump personal happiness. He definitely values happiness, but to him, true happiness is meant to be a byproduct of success.

17. What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

Continuing with wanting to be like his father, he had a small wooden sword and shield that he adored. As a tiny child, he’d storm around his mother’s cottage, wildly swinging at sacks of food, trees, even the plants in his mother’s garden. After they moved to the capital, he played with other children his age, playing “guards and marauders.” He insisted on being the handsome, smart captain of the guard.  

18. Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

I’d say wisdom. His closest friend was calm, introspective, and wise. He sees wisdom as a counterbalance to his lack of it. He’s smart and ambitious, but wisdom and good judgement evade him. Having someone to keep him on the right track and supplement his conscience-- the way Memor does for Wilhelm, for instance, is something he misses.

19. What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

He can be incredibly manipulative. It’s just so deeply ingrained in him that it’s not even something he can turn off. After so many years of training, charming people into doing his bidding is his default mode of operation. As such, the longer people keep him around, the less they trust him and the more they see him as the conniving little rat he is. He knows this and usually keeps from staying anywhere long enough for it to come up, but he realizes that it’s going to cause some major problems later on in the party.

20. In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

He knows he’s a bad person and is terrified of others knowing how bad he is. This is why he works so hard to put up a facade. He's very self-critical to the point that he overanalyzes how the party members would react to finding out what happened in his past, which only spurs him to reinforce his facade further.

21. If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

He typically blames himself, because usually he is the one that caused the issue. Be it being caught with his hand in someone’s safe or the rare instance where he mixes up his lies, his fall is usually caused by his own folly.

22. What does your character like in other people?

Money. Next question

In actuality, he loves people who are open-minded and can think critically and question any situation. Intelligence and a dark sense of humor are nice as well.

23. What does your character dislike in other people?

He doesn’t like people who look down on others just because of their backgrounds/class/race, and is usually put off by blind faith.

24. How quick is your character to trust someone else?

Not very. He hasn’t shared very much with the group intentionally. He usually can tell quickly if he’ll like someone, but trust must be earned.

25. How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

Elaris can read a situation and the actions of others really well, so he can often tell when something’s up. It’s been a long time since he was close to anyone, so we’ll see if his party dynamics affect this.

26. How does your character behave around children?

While not directly hostile towards them, he’s….not very kind. In the few instances where he has to interact with children, he often will try to scare them by making up extravagant lies, such as how during the full moon, kobolds will snatch up bad little kids and eat them.

27. How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

He tries to be diplomatic if the confrontation absolutely has to happen. See when he tried to get Wilhelm to stop skipping out on fights. If it’s not necessary, he’ll avoid it like a pair of crocs.

28. How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

He’s not above it by any means. Stealth and subversion are more his forte, but if push comes to shove, he isn’t afraid to strike first.

29. What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and join the city guard within the Spade’s domain. Elaris wanted soooo badly to continue his father’s legacy and uphold this childish vision of duty and harmony created by countless bedtime stories of his father and of heroes that came before him. Of course, having to steal your food to survive and then being trained to be someone completely different changes how you feel about your childhood dreams.

30. What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

He’s most strongly repulsed by slavery and other egregious crimes against human rights, but onions and runny noses gross him out a lot as well.

31. Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

Drunk and/or too high to really care about his problems, preferably on the lap of someone hot and surrounded by wealth.

32. Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

Being placed in a situation that forces him to confront his past traumas, such as by being tied up, seeing people being abused, or by people specifically saying they love him.

33. In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

He knows he’s not perfect, so depending on how comfortable he is with the person (Say Wil or Rosario) He’d be pretty self-deprecating but also willing to improve. Otherwise, He’d pretend to be that way, but hold a slight grudge against whatever stranger said that to him and passive-aggressively work to do whatever it was they criticized more and more.

34. Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

He’d try a few times, simply assuming that whatever went wrong was on his end. If it’s something involving danger, such as pickpocketing, he’d definitely try something/someone different rather than risk getting caught.

35. How does your character behave around people they like?

He’s less afraid to let his snark out and is generally more excited to be around them. He’ll actively look for ways they can have fun together and things that will make them like him more. This is partially intentional, trying to make them like and trust him enough to keep them on his side.

36. How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Unless he REALLY dislikes them the way he does Ocha and Ifa, he’ll disguise any inkling of disgust around them and play the coy, submissive elf facade up to keep their guards down.

37. Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

Honor? He’s never been honorable. Status can be manipulated and changed, but honor is like a public manifestation of his alignment, which is much harder to get people to like.

38. Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

Can he take on that threat? If it’s something that he sees within his power to remove, Elaris would rather get rid of the nuisance covertly than see it persist. If it’s beyond his control, you better believe Elaris is as far from the problem as possible.

39. Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

Elaris was probably bitten by Basil a few times after initially taking him in. Basil was scared and hungry, so it was inevitable that he’d snap a few times. Elaris saw a lot of himself in the terrified little mouse, so after saving him he did his best to give him enough space to make him feel safe and let Basil come to once he felt comfortable enough.

40. How does your character treat people in service jobs?

Despite his air of pompous regality, he’s suprisingly respectful to people in service jobs. He’s been there and lower, so trying not to make their lives as hard as his was is the least he can do.

41. Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

Elaris thinks he deserves any material goods he can get his little hands on, but at least with emotional matters he feels like he needs to earn it. He works so hard to get the others to like him because he thinks that right now, he doesn’t deserve them. It’ll take a lot more changing on his part before he feels like he’s atoned enough to deserve genuine affection.

42. Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

Yes! It was a horrific figure to have as a parental figure, but *REDACTED* assumed a semi-parental role at times. He manipulated Elaris into believing that *REDACTED*, so Elaris latched onto him. 

43.Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

Not really, no. The closest thing he’s ever had to a dependant is Basil. He’s not the most parental figure...

44. How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

Hoo boy. It’d be somewhat impossible for him to say it at this point. Too much trauma associated with him saying that. He can say it insincerely and has done that far more times than he is comfortable saying, but he’s got too much baggage to say it in full honesty. Even if he truly did love them, it’s just not something he’d be able to say outright. He’d find other ways to show his affection to them.

45. What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

He thinks that he’d go to the Priesthood of Silshaar’s equivalent of hell, but he’s too afraid to think of what he’d face there, so he just tries to rationalize the possibility that death is the absolute end and nothing else with happen afterwards.

#Elaris

[oxfordeliterp]

CONGRATULATIONS, PEYTON!

You have been accepted to play the role of LANA CHAMBERS with the faceclaim of IM JINAH. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. I know that there was no other application for this role, but even if it were, I can’t imagine anybody being able to capture who Lana is as a person better than you did. The application is immaculate, beginning to end, and you are clear proof of not only a talented writer, who twists words around with incredible skill, but also an amazing, vivid story-teller. Your paragraph sample caged my heart and it is yours forever, for you developed, with just the right amount of humor and snark, a balanced dynamic that I would sell my soul to read more of. Maybe soon. Anyway, I cannot wait to see the things Lana has to do that keep her too busy for love, for she already is such an asset and I believe you’ve only begun unfolding her.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name and pronouns: Peyton, they/them pronouns

Age: 19

Time-zone: EST/-5 GMT

Activity level: It’s actually the end of the semester for me so I have a lot of free time! I’d give myself a 7/10 though because I do have a job, but with summer right around the corner I’d love to get back into roleplaying.

Triggers: None!

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired character: Lana Theodora Chambers

I love Lana because she is more than the stereotypical mean girl trope, having many hidden layers that make her only more complex. She’s unassuming with her background and scholarship, yet a shark in the water that no one at Oxford could have ever prepared for. She’s smart, witty, and acts like the ground is blessed the moment she walks on it. I admired the fact that Lana is so great and unapologetic about it because I believe there needs to be more female characters like that. A character like her is so important as she stays true to herself (even if she isn’t the most moral human being) and breaks the stereotypes that come with her kind of character. Gender and pronouns of the character: Cis female. She/her/hers.  A crystal clear idea of what is meant to be masculine and what is meant to be feminine was ingrained in her from a young age. With her parents holding their more traditional beliefs, sons were celebrated, considered to be a great honor and cherished by their families, while daughters were but a small happiness. As the only child of the Chambers family, there was extra pressure for Lana to prove that she is a child to be proud of and oh how she has rubbed it in their faces.  

Changes: I was just wondering if I could change her faceclaim to Im Jinah? 

Traits: a m b i t c h i o u s → To say Lana aspires to be at the top would be a severe understatement. If she wants something, she fights tooth and nail and takes it. One thing people can say about Lana is that she has the uncanny ability to never give up. She’s worked too hard, put in too much effort to allow herself to slip now. In her hungry, unyielding eyes, she has yet to take everything the world owes her. When she’s surrounded by those who get whatever they want served to them on a silver platter, her perseverance and her determination will bring her on top of all of them. i n t e l l i g e n t → She learned four languages by the time she was seventeen. Auditoriums full of people would applaud after she played during her piano recital. Her poetry left those in awe as the words flourished, dripping down her chin like honey. She’d leave teachers singing her praise as she excelled academically, top of her class in every class, and captain of as many clubs she could be in. It’s impossible to deny that Lana has an impressive mind and may be one of the brightest girls of her age. Although she does not stand out quite as much in Oxford as she did back home, she isn’t going to let that inhibit her showing off her intellect in any way. She’s worked three times as hard as the rest of them and she’s going to prove her worth. r a t i o n a l → Lana is a fairly realistic thinking person. She’s goal orientated while keeping the important things the same. When she’s angry there are no fires burning down forests, and when she’s upset there are no oceans flooding cities. She watches Gwendolyn and her other peers and sees them for what they are– entitled dreamers without a care in the world. She’s the first to come up with a solution under pressure, the one to go to for guidance if she is willing to give you it, the one who keeps going despite any hardships. Lana is the type who appears to never lose her cool or allow herself to get carried away, if her head is in the clouds then she will lose sight of the path she’s been taking, both feet on the ground. i n s e n s i t i v e  → To put it plainly, Lana cares for few people, and none of her peers at Oxford have proved show they are worth caring about. She’s got a tongue sharp as a whip and has no problem cutting even those she is friendly with down to size. She didn’t get into Oxford University on scholarship to make friends or to try and turn herself around. Her whole life has been taking what is rightfully hers, leaving bodies in her self righteous wake as she adamantly bulldozes her way forward. From what she knows, and she knows a lot, the world is a cruel place. Call her a cynic, call her immoral, call her a heartless bitch, she’ll just examine her nails and ask if you said anything important. i c y  → If Gwendolyn is fire then Lana is ice, cold and calculating just like the slow touch of winter. She is fresh fallen snow, beautiful but it’s best if you do not touch. She’s the type of person to stare at you blankly when you approach her, not so patiently waiting until you walk away if you take too long to get to the point. Lana can ignore someone or rip their head off if they made the wrong move and honestly it’s impossible to tell which reaction she will go for. She is cold and harsh and comes off as someone who cares for so little it’s actually fairly alarming. c o n t r o l l i n g → It is no mystery that Lana loathes being held back and makes her own rules as if it is her own divine right. The moment she walks into the room she radiates power, and like so many others, said power goes right to her head leading her to be controlling and manipulative. She’s extremely perceptive and will store up gossip while oozing charisma that leaves people in awe the moment she opens her mouth. Lana is self serving and power hungry and will not allow anyone to stand in her way or let them inhibit her with their own issues. No exceptions.

Extras:

headcanons.

She’s actually changed her major quite a few times upon getting accepted into Oxford. From political science major to mathematics major to classical studies to biomedical engineering, Lana was actually unsure what she wanted to do. With such a brilliant mind she knew she was perfectly capable of doing just about anything. Finally, she has settled on pursuing a law degree and got into Oxford’s graduate program with flying colors.

Lana is an excellent dancer. While she enjoys many of her extra curricular activities, she’s been attending classes since she was little and it has a special place in her heart. With a ponytail tied tightly on top of her head, she would walk in with the same air of authority she has to this day. Unlike what her personality and appearance may give off, she loves ballet with a passion (although she occasionally she does contemporary dance as well), she can practice it for hours and relieve her stress that way. Her routines are impressive, like everything else she does, and when she was small her dream was to be a dancer.

Her father had left the family when she was too young to remember, not that she cares if he ever comes across her mind. It isn’t something she’s supposed to feel guilty over all and she barely remembers him. Her entire life has been her, her mother, and grandmother all under one roof. Her halmeoni was born and raised in South Korea, and is a big inspiration for Lana as she is a proud woman who takes no shit and goes right for the jugular. Lana loves her and hates her at the same time, mostly because their temperaments are so similar. Her mother is not negligent, albeit distant from her one and only daughter. She’s worked everyday during Lana’s childhood in order to make ends meet. The dynamic between the three of them is not very close, but still they’re family and one thing she took away from her upbringing was how your own blood trumps everything else.

Lana is bisexual, with no particular preference for one or the other. She does get around, however, as human contact is important for the mind and she knows that. She doesn’t have the time or optimism for anything long term though.

here’s some incorrect quotes for lana because they made me laugh.

lana: gwendolyn and i have the kind of easy chemistry where we finish each other’s- gwendolyn: sentences lana: please don’t interrupt me

nicohlas: you read my diary? lana: at first, i didn’t realize it was your diary. i thought it was a very sad, handwritten book

jacob: you’re probably one of those beautiful women that don’t even know it lana: no, i know it

lana: sophia, thanks for agreeing to see me sophia: i didn’t, you just walked in and started talking lana: i don’t have time for a history lesson

jacob: can we talk, one ten to another? lana: i’m an eleven, but continue

also here is a pinterest board for lana!

PARA SAMPLE

Lana pools her hands into her bag for the pack of Marlboro reds, her mother’s words echoing in her head as she does so. That stuff’s poison, the more you smoke the more you’re killing yourself and me. She knows it’s a bad habit and she tells herself she’ll break it by the she graduates. Realistically, cigarettes don’t have an adverse affect on your health if you only smoke them for a few years. Besides, with Sophia failing to get back to her, she needed something to take the edge off. There was always some sort of edge to Lana, in her voice, her body language, her opinions, she supposed was always sort of high strung (or as she preferred to think, high maintenance).

She didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, she wasn’t out at parties snorting angel dust in the bathroom, craving a constant high she couldn’t handle the harshness of reality. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like them. Life is tough but so is she, tougher than anyone else she knew. A little self medication here and there so she could stay focused and grounded was not something to feel ashamed about. Lana was more concerned with the consequences if people found out, if the perfect ice queen turned out to not be so perfect. She couldn’t allow the scholarship she fought so viciously for to slip through her fingers like sand.

“Thank god.” She mutters under her breath, pulling the carton out, finding a lighter already nestled in between the cancer sticks. The flame erupts and she watches it briefly, before bringing a cigarette to her lips and lighting it. Lana feels the smoke enter her body, swirling around her lungs, before exhaling out the open window. Oxford University on a Friday night meant parties and the rich’s definition of mischief, something she wanted no part of. She leans on the window sill, eyes ice skating around her view of the campus. Drunk students stumbling around, party music blasting in the distance, and lights flickering all around, she couldn’t believe this was an esteemed private school sometimes.

Lana looks at the cigarette for a moment, letting it burn. She could think of something poetic here, something deeper and better than the thousands of bland male writers that describe how a woman is like a cigarette. It’s familiar and she can’t quite put her finger on it until her mind goes back to her tan, witty but not as witty as her, Romeo.

Perhaps not Romeo. Things did not end well for him and he was too much of a cliché for Lana’s liking. Anyone could be a romantic these days.

The homecoming ball was an event she reveled in, enjoying dressing herself up and enhancing the beauty she already possessed. Although there was only so much of Gwendolyn’s rambling that Lana could listen to before needing a break, causing the girl to escape and find solace on the marble steps of the building and curbing her nicotine craving. The architecture taking her breath away as she sat in blissful silence– until she was rudely interrupted by a handsome stranger. Not that handsome was that much of a compliment, he was conventionally attractive after all.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“Depends. What’s in it for me?”

“A stimulating conversation.”

“Stimulating? I’m already starting to fall asleep, pretty boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

She was amused, something that was near impossible for anyone to do. Yet, as he sat down next to her she found herself to be more welcoming than usual. After much contemplation, Lana figures it was the champagne that had caused her to be friendly to the boy. There wasn’t anyone worthwhile at Oxford, no one that would come across her mind once or twice. None of the boys there were King Midas, she was golden without their touch. The girls were more tolerable, though ultimately just as entitled.

“These things are such bullshit.”

I rather like them.

“They’re just another way for the entitled elitists around here to prance around like everyone cares about their Dior suits and Versace bags. The champagne’s good, though.”

“I thought all girls liked Versace.”

“I thought boys thought of girls to be something more than their clothes.”

“Of course. We care about what’s underneath.”

“You’re a neanderthal.”

Despite herself, he had made Lana laugh. She allowed herself to get lost in the moment for once. He had this charisma to him and she found herself being pulled deeper into the water until she was drowning in the conversation. They talked about school and philosophy and this and that. Not that it got personal– Lana had the ability to make people feel as if they knew a lot about her without giving away any secrets. A lost and nosy Gwendolyn had found the two and she had to deal with the same warning the leader had told them since she was recruited into the Quarrel Club, stay away from the Riot Club.

She remembers leaving her half lit cigarette by his side as she was ushered back inside. Not that it mattered now. They didn’t even exchange names and perfect strangers came and went. Her grandmother always told her to stay away from things like love, and to focus on her future because she was going to be something great and couldn’t afford any distractions. Lana was convinced she’d never allow anyone to get close to her. She had things to do.

#lana chambers #accepted