#I hate spring cleaning sigh but alas it has to be done

[loopyarts]

Spring cleaning sucks man. So I did a quick messy kinda silly doddle of Niji to convey my feelings on it because there is no way a spoiled prince like Niji would ever be caught doing spring cleaning, let alone liking/enjoying it.

[ragnaofazure]

Reasons Why.

(BGM)

It was time to pay a visit to someone he really wished to see. The man had not felt the excitement to have a rendezvous with another person in quite a while, he was outright... Eager. After all, he rarely met with anyone directly anymore. A smile stretched across his face, it was refreshing, he was picturing the whole event...

Ah. To be able to experience this set of emotions put some spring to his step. Given his status in the world, anyone found to have connections with him was as good as getting marked, due to that, he gave up hope to form any sort of lasting connections unless it was possible for the other party to remain safe and unseen with anyone else. It was a true price to pay for everything he has done, an unrestorable status in society, unsurprisingly.

Alas, that was but the price to pay for his path, and he knew it well from the beginning. He continued increasing his pace over the outskirts of the city, getting ever so closer to the big mansion, where he was meant to go to his meeting.

About ten minutes later on top of the half an hour of on foot travel, it finally came into view... And that is when he started to run... And then broke into full sprint, faster than any human should go, aiming for that front gate. That grin on his face becoming wider.

(BGM)

Right over the walls, they were already rushing to give him the warm welcome he was expecting, a hail of bullets that were missing the target by an extremely long shot due to the speed he was moving at. It was literal seconds before he shoulder tackled the robust gate and busted it right open with little effort. As it went flying off the thick hinges, all the way to the big fountain not too long a distance from it right behind, smashing it apart considerably. And before the two thugs that went to welcome him ahead of time could do anything, aside from the couple waiting at the main entrance...

They did not see him leap at their higher elevation on the steps on each opposite sides of the gate. One got skewered by huge weapon before pulling out, the other earned a huge diagonal gash from shoulder to hip, both deep and serious injuries that caused immediate collapses.

After watching them fall to the floor in fatal agony with almost simultaneous thuds, should immediate help not be brought to at least one of them, the other two were witnesses and nothing more to the effortless short and brutal work they made of their fellow cohorts. Shaking hands pointed firearms at him, he was unimpressed as he shook the initial scarlet fluid staining the blade, as soon as he was within arm's reach of the two, he had a simple question as he sighed.

 "Where is he? You all knew I was coming." He looked smug, as if he had just done nothing wrong whatsoever, “And don't even think about lying, no matter if I respect the loyalty that you could have to the piece of garbage, make it easier on yourselves." Giving a chance, it then came.

'He ran away hours ago!' 'The best, most honking office all the way back!'

‘What are you doing?! Traitor!!' 'Screw him! We're all dying anyway!'

"Only one."

Ragna interrupted, kicking the liar down and through the double door with inhuman force before stomping on his chest, cracking noises echoing before impaling his weapon right between his ribcage, finding the heart after small, painful torture. Turning back to face the one that helped and flashed an honest smile again in a full easy mood change.

"Run now. I'm not chasing, better not see your face ever again if you don't turn a new leaf." Allowing escape, he then turned to the mansion standing before him. Echoes and fear of the spared life fading to the distance...

"The Grim Reaper is here! I suggest only the most loyal to the prick step up! The rest? One chance to start escaping!" Making his callout, he waited at the fancy foyer, right in the center after waltzing in.

"..." And sure enough, some devotees sprang up, jumping over the railing of a second story, armed with japanese swords, pipes, chains, more fierarms... The whole classic variety of criminals. "I hope that's not all of you at once..." And right as he was speaking? One of them took the first swing as he was turning around, addressing them, managing a clean cut from the back of his ear down to the carotid artery, causing his blood to begin flowing and making him grin.

...Yet Ragna still stood. And seconds after?

His wounds began closing like nothing. Collective fear took place before he cracked his neck. "...I should have expected one of you assholes was going to try the cheap shot." He slammed the tip of the huge blade on the floor, metal loudly echoing against carpeted tile.

"Come at me then! All of you in whatever manner you want! You're all that brave and loyal?! Willing to die for nothing?! Huh?! Show it to me!" Calling them out, he waited for the next swing, which was a sickle, aimed straight at his chest, which was immediately deflected, he then took it in hand... And crushed it in half. After letting that sink in, "My turn..." He whispered at the shocked thug, raising a fist then smashing it against their face, the rattling sound as he sent the poor bastard packing resounded as he slammed against the wall with decent impact.

Stretching his hand and wrist, he turned to the baffled rest once more, "Next. All at once. Again, if you don't value your life, keep tossing it. You had your chance to be spared." Throwing out the confident taunt and warning, he then waited for the swarm to congregate around him... Which came out swinging. A hail of bullets, many sharp and blunt weapons swung at him, he obviously could not block all of them, yet... No matter the cut or where, it closed almost instantly, even one landed in his eye. And while that was annoying? It was restoring.

A pipe smashed his head? Cracking the skull? Shook it off, everything within rearranging. It was a small massacre of about twenty men or more surrounding him as they were dropping dead, or being blown away... A loud, violent ranbat of one man being surrounded to the very end.

(BGM)

Soon enough, it all was calm as he momentarily caught his breath, lifeless or gravely injured men sprawled at his feet, few more decided to try and attack, so he could only assume everyone in the back came forth. Those were all of them. A bloodbath. There was no other way to call that.

"I ultimately respect your devotion... But it could have been much better placed." He slowly returned his sword to it’s resting place behind him. After a couple of minutes with his head lowered... It was time to find who he came to see. A tour of what was now a ghost house.

Making it through many a kind of hallways, rooms, all the regal household until he was kicking one last door that stood out. Velvet red, gold around the frame, egotistical initial... This was it. And sure enough, there he was. Sitting like it was nothing.

(BGM)

“You didn't run? Facing this like a man?" Immediately, he asked as he slowly waltzed in. The man he was after was the head of a real bad mafia, adhered to no standards. No exception to colaterals, no real grace periods... No mercy even to children, the little ones were outright trafficked or used as bargaining chips. All of this? It was a recipe to absolutely piss off the big bad considered as Ragna, and it was why he was excited all along. To kill him as deserved in his book.

‘You would have tracked me down easily, no matter how far I ran.'

"Heh, I see any big wig has the head right on he shoulders enough." Fake compliment, but still, outrun him? Very few get away. But he was grinning, this bastard was... grinning? To what he narrowed his eyes in immediate reaction, there was literally no reason to be happy about this.

"...What's funny? Proud of the little dirty legacy you're leaving behind? A goddamn pile of unnecessary corpses, and that's due to innocents and those who were never involved, you lack any standards unlike most other leaders, a bad kind of iron fist."

Fist balled in anger as he retold everything, a quiet, clear anger that could burn so much...

'And where do you get off talking to me about morals? Grim Reaper? Your body count is above the goddamn four digits... And that's an estimate.'

‘You figured: “Oh, I'm no longer bad but I don't want to get jailed! I'll just pluck every other bad that will only keep appearing in this world!” ...Give the act a break. Even you know you would make a much better life committing to the underworld all over again.'

"..." No words, which caused the fellow criminal to laugh, it was true... But there were reasons why he didn't. He reaffirmed his gaze, a piercing glare, unbreakable... "There's a difference." He responded, "I know how this whole world works... And you are true evil."

"Your kind normally has standards. They know who is supposed to get what they deserve under any circumstance, you? You don't care. You are greedy, you tossed all your men at me as if they were disposeable, most likely forced because they don't know better." Scoffing, he continued on.

"The only reason you grew was due you having no limits, no matter what, and that... That's exactly why I hate." And what circled back to his reasons. "Evil is unremoveable, after all... I am here. But you? That goes beyond it."

The comment caused the fat cat in suit to grimace, 'That still doesn't make you or anything around you better, you are still the most hated man in the world, the chain of command that comes clean up takes your credit. They outright know your MO.'

“And?" He immedaitely interrupted, “To what he was surprised, "I don't care." Then confused, "I don't give a shit how many times your particular kind reappears either... I'll root you out, our grime and stain will always exist, but you? You have no place in this world..."

“You are not remotely human. And that is what makes us different... You threw that away and became a real monster, and you know what? I GODDAMN exactly knows what it is like!!" It was then he was tightly gripping him by that white, fancy suit, rage coursing his body...

"Evil is necessary, but not you, and if I can cull it to make the right one remain? That's all I need. I don't need thanks, glory, forgiveness... None of that. I only want to do what's right." 

 'You are out of your mind...' Shaking his head, laughed in disbelief, unable to comprehend how could someone just do and accept that... Such selfless, thankless life while treated like scum of the world beyond even his kind...

"...And you lost yours. Just like any heart." It was the moment weapon was raised, pressed against his chest... "...Yet you still can bleed. But not enough to make up for it all." Those being his words, the fear became apparent in his face at long last.

A solid, swift impalement, right in the chest, squeals filling the air. And this time? He could not resist the desire to twist the blade for good measure this time too. Until he stopped moving for good, he never pulled the weapon out...

After the deed was done, he sprawled the corpse on his fancy wood desk, perfect to be discovered by said authorities that would be sure to arrive within hours. Taking deep breaths, he would begin relaxing as the last spill of fresh blood dripped off the weapon.

(BGM)

Looking out the big window to his side, the day was beautiful outside in contrast to the fatality fest that was this whole development. And this was far from the first time as implied.

"...I can't ever go back, but this is all the good I can do. I am the big evil. And I erase what I think should not exist." Repeating that, he finally returned his blade to the resting position behind him. As he looked at the vast sky, opening the window,  gentle breeze blowing from the ocean nearby despite his still messy state from the massacre...

"The monster who kills monsters, one said that one time... I don't care what they call me. I don't care if it's thankless." Determined voice spoke out loud to no one but himself.

"If you want to do what you believe is right, stick to it, don't expect happiness, gratitude, nothing... It is why I will continue calming the raging waves of the vast ocean known as evil... For I am the pushing force from it to begin with."

"Until then... That is also what I can do to counterweight not only what I've done, but what I am." The hint of sadness was heavy, but one of acceptance, he was not truly lost... But determined. Unbroken. The evil itself to keep it's balance.

That was who he was. That is why he chose to destroy other evils he deemed too much worse than himself in terms of morals and threats to life.

All evil began and ended with him, he was the one to judge the evil...

Until his last day.

[ask-rijus-ocs]

Starter

[ There must be better ways to meet an interesting stranger than in the middle of the night during a storm. Yet, here he is.]

[ Twilight really didn't have a reason to go out this late. But like always, sleep evades him. And like always, he doesn't have anything better to do. So he heads outside. It's raining. He doesn't seem to mind it, despite the many, many times he's caught a cold from staying outside in the rain. Ordon is quiet. Unbearably quiet. ]

[The forest village is usually bustling. To see it silent is...different. He's not sure if he likes it. It brings back memories of when the kids were taken. ]

[ Epona is asleep. Thank Hylia. She has much better luck than him. Twilight pulls the fur hood over his head and walks into Faron Woods. Even in the dark of night, he knows exactly where he's going. He could probably close his eyes and end up in the exact same place. He's going to the bridge.]

[ Twilight doesn't know why he's going to the bridge, but he is. His feet have their own instinct, and he knows the forest both from seven feet up and kneeling to the ground. He cannot possibly be lost; simply wandering. He's about to pass by Faron Spring when he sees something. There's a shivering form in the water. Just from a glance, he can tell that the person is not from Ordon. Even Uli doesn't have hair that long. It would most certainly get in the way of work. ]

[ Twilight knows he can't leave them there. The protective instinct takes over, and suddenly his pace increases. They're asleep. Cold. Very cold. They've probably been laying in the water for a long while, there are petals mixed in with their golden hair. He doesn't have a towel, but he does have the pelt, which he quickly wraps around them. He's also soaked by now, and he's cold too, but like hell if he's about to be selfish and take it for himself. ]

[ "C'mon. Let's get you somewhere warm." He picks the young girl up, planning on heading back to Ordon. And then he hears it. Rustling, everywhere. Perhaps if not for his acute hearing, he wouldn't have noticed, but here we are. Twilight places her back down (on dry land this time, of course) and turns up to face the sky. Is that a...tail? Hm. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, almost by reflex. And then, they jump.]

[ "Lizalfos. Just as expected." Twilight has the Ordon Sword out in an instant. Water is where Lizalfos are most mobile, but he can handle it. There's a lot of them. One,two, three, four, five....nine. Nine Lizalfos. In the rain. Hylia must really hate me, Twilight suspects. ]

[ The brunette attaches his shield fast enough to where he has time to get into stance. Two rush at him, and boy having the Bow or his Gale Boomerang with him would be real helpful right about now, but his past self assumed with naiveté that it would just be a harmless midnight walk. He's lucky he never lets go of his sword, otherwise he'd be dead. ]

[ Twilight's able to kick the first one to the ground before the second one gets to him, which he goes for the arm, and misses. Why'd it have to be midnight? Why now? He's saved Hyrule once before, can't he just be left alone? Perhaps it is his insomnia getting to him, but he's getting quite fed up with this. ]

[ He lands a hit the second time, and uses the pommel of his blade to slow down the third Lizalfos. An arrow hits his shield. Wait, an arrow? They have bows now? Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful.]

[ First is back up again, so he prepares for a helm splitter. That one's fast, so it dodges the head hit, but he's able to hit it from behind once he lands. Next comes the fifth, sixth, and seventh. They hold off for a few moments, and Twilight holds his blade out to his side in warning. They don't take it. Too bad. He releases a spin attack, sending all three stumbling backwards. An arrow hits his shield arm. Great. Just great. ]

[ He doesn't have any ranged attacks on him except for...Slingshot! How did he remember to take his slingshot and not his bow?! Stupid! Ugh, never mind, it'll have to do. He has to awkwardly tuck his sword under his arm so that he can use both hands. Good Hylia, it hurts to use an arm when you've got an arrow stuck in it, but he has a high pain tolerance, and so he manages. The last two bow wielding lizalfos fall to the ground and exchange their weapon for the swords of their fallen comrades. ]

[ Twilight has to straight up drop the Slingshot just so he has enough time to meet the Lizalfos in a sword lock. After it backs off, Twilight rolls behind the second one and performs a Back Slice. It's not as great as it could have been thanks to that goddess-damned arrow in his arm, but it hits just as well, and it's cause enough for the Lizalfos to retreat. He must've waited there for a solid ten minutes before he finally sheathed his sword. He's always tense after battle. ]

[ "It'll keep the wound sealed up until I can get back to the house, but it's gonna hurt like hell once I try to take it out. But I can't worry Rusl with this..." Twilight inspects the wound. If it gets infected, though, that's a different story. Hm. Well, thankfully, the girl is fine. He'll have to carry her only using one arm, but he'll manage. ]

[ The walk to the house is uneventful and painful. Putting all that weight on one shoulder made it hurt just as much as his arm.]

[ The sun is up by now. That fight must've taken a while. And now, another problem presents itself - how to get her up the ladder. At this point, he might as well just go to Rusl's place. Hmm.... If he can hold the ladder with his hurt arm well enough, then maybe. Twilight carefully ascends up the ladder, finally making it up to the door. ]

[ He sets her down on the bed, making sure she's warm enough. Hypothermia is something he knows well, and for someone with a child-like form to have to go through that is troubling. He wonders how she got here, and why she was laying out like that. ]

[ The next ordeal is his arm. He cleans the wound before taking out one of his spare daggers to cut the lodged in part. Renado has done this so many times that it's like instinct, but it's hard without anyone to hold out his arm or use the scalpel. He misses when Midna could just magic the arrowhead out and all he'd need to do was heal his skin afterwards. But alas.]

[ A pitiful wince escapes him as he pulls out the arrowhead. He'd been trying his hardest to stay quiet so she could sleep, but still. "Okay. Now to wrap it," He doesn't have any gauze, so he reaches into his dresser and uses one of his shirts to wrap it. There. He swaps his heavier arm guard onto that side for more protection in case it gets hurt again. ]

[ "Mm?" The girl sits up a few hours later, to find Twilight sharpening his blade. "Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." He looks up, placing the sword by his side after her panicked reaction. "Where.. Are we?" She looks around, baffled. "This is Ordon Village. It's my house." He explains calmly. ]

[ "Did you bring me here?" She adjusts herself on the bed, taking off the hood. Twilight nods. "You were passed out in the spring, it was raining. What were you doing out there?" He asks. "I found a portal while i was traveling. Took me here, but I got real dizzy and I think I passed out." She rubs her head. A portal? Strange. He decides to leave out the part about the Lizalfos to not worry her. ]

[ "Where's Roxy?" She searches her things. "?" "Roxy. Small fox, like 2'4", green eyes?" She explains. "Never seen them. Sorry." Twilight shakes his head. "Ah... " The girl looks nervous. "What's your name? Oh, right, uh, I should introduce myself first. I'm Carly Elizabeth Parker-Callisto. Uh... but just Carly works!" Carly nods. "I'm Li- Twilight." He corrects himself. He doesn't like his old name much anymore. ]

[ "Hm?" Carly pulls out something from her bag. "These quests weren't on the Slate before..." She swipes across the screen. "The Slate?" Twilight is confused. "A sheikah slate! It stores all my things, and I write quests down on here." Carly explains, holding it out in front of her. "Main Quest: Answer Questions... Side Quest:Find Roxy..." She cites it. "That's weird. I didn't put these in here." Carly scratches her head.]

[ "Answer questions? We don't have time for tests. It'd be best if you could get home as soon as possible. Where are you from?" Twilight sighs. "Lurelin Village! It's right here." Carly pulls up a map on her Sheikah Slate, handing it to him. "Never heard of it before. Actually, this whole map seems really off. Snowpeak is behind Zora's Domain, after all." He squints. ]

[ "Well, until I can get back home, I don't think it'd hurt if we answered a few.." Carly seems to like the idea. "I - I guess it'll be okay. But only until we can find your pet and get you back home." Twilight rubbed at his temple. "I think it'll be fun!" She smiles. Fun. Right.]

// Carly and Twilight are now open for asks! I will open up new characters as they appear.

- Mun Riju

[modestlyabsurd]

Divine (Loki x Reader)

Trying to ingress a home quietly is much harder than it seems. Especially when your feet might as well be sacks of rocks and your hands would rather not cooperate.

The sound of heavy approaching footsteps and keys jingling roused Loki from the trance of his story. His eyes light up, locking on the door waiting for it to open. A smile overtakes him. Your return is always a comfort.

The door opens. "Hey," you whisper as you pull your keys from the lock and close it securely. "I told you not to wait for me."

"I know, but..." he trails off, watching you kick off your shoes - not very neatly - at the door. He was particularly fond of you in this form; wild strands of hair framing your face, your cheeks flushed with exertion and your eyes drooping adorably.

"But what?" you saunter over to him. "You can't help but await the exciting event of my coming in and falling asleep?" Your sarcasm is weak. It's impossible to stay annoyed with Loki. The genuine happiness he exhumes when you arrive home from work is heartwarming at the least. And as much as you hate to admit it to him, arriving home to your shared apartment, your first home together with Loki every night is one of the most amazing parts of your life.

He's as cute as he can be, all curled up in his night clothes on the little loveseat you bought second-hand, a book in his hands, the amber lamp light casting regal shadows upon his face. The modestly sized TV plays softly in the background. His hair is loose and freshly washed. You sink into the loveseat next to him, soaking up every bit of it; the closeness, the smell of him.

"A hard shift?" his nose nudges your head.

"Yeah, it was." You sigh. Loki always looked forward to this. "There must've been some event happening that I didn't know about, because people were just coming in left and right in these big groups ordering drinks and shit. And it seemed like I got every single one of them; either that or everyone else was just conveniently unavailable to help. I didn't even get to take a break until last minute, which didn't even really count because we closed right afterward. Ridiculous."

You blew a piece of hair out of your face. Loki finds it incredibly sexy when you do that. The after-work rant!

He folds the book together and places it on the side table before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. He gives you a long, full kiss on the temple of your head, and on your clothes he can smell both the raw scent of you, and the food you'd served all evening.

"Why do you continue to do it every night? Since it's so ... draining."

"I'll show you why," you shift on your legs to reach into your back pocket, subsequently leaning most of your weight into his shoulder. When you sit back down, a fat wad of green money appears in your hands, and you proudly spread the bills out like playing cards. "Two hundred and thirty-five dollars, baby."

Part of Loki is certainly impressed, as normally you jokingly declare "I'm making two hundred tonight!" before you leave for work. Seldom does it actually happen.

So, of course he gives you a high five.

"Are you proud of me?"

"Unspeakably proud, my love. Well done indeed."

Your cheeks become heated as they stretch from your huge smile.

"But you always make me proud. Even if you only make your salary."

"Goodness gracious, don't jinx me!"

You go to stand up, ignoring the dull ache in your back, and make way to the shower. The bun in your hair is nearly nonexistent at this point, which makes it much easier to untangle the hair tie from it.

After giving your hair a much-needed shake, you notice in the kitchen an empty sink. Complete with spotless countertops and the piney scent of cleaner.

"Who cleaned the kitchen?"

"I did."

"Sure you did," you blew off, and received nothing but an awaiting silence. "Wait, you actually cleaned?"

"I'm afraid so." He's so happy with himself.

"You've never cleaned anything!"

"Hey!"

"What? I'm not wrong. And what about your dinner?"

"Taken care of."

"Shut up."

"You know, a small bit of praise wouldn't be terrible."

Doing the dishes and wiping everything down was something you've always been used to doing for yourself, and never minded doing for Loki either. You just didn't expect those kinds of things from him - he always shows he cares in other ways - hence your surprise.

An eyebrow goes up as you rack your brain on the way to the bedroom. Gotta be a reason, you thought.

"No 'thank you'? Not even 'looks nice?'"

"What're you trying to get?" You lower your chin at him, and he turns pink immediately.

"Well, I wasn't exactly making a conscious attempt to get anything, but if you're offering -"

"I'm not."

Loki grits his teeth and whispers "damn" before flashing you a wink. He knows exactly which buttons to push to make you blush.

"You really didn't have to do that," your voice carries through the hallway as you enter the bathroom. Loki stays back, having learned after being yelled at so many times to not look as you undress for a shower. He doesn't understand it, why you're so shy when you're so beautiful. How even though he's bedded you, thoroughly bedded you, he still isn't allowed to look.

But alas he complies, since you seem exceptionally tired tonight.

"It truly wasn't any trouble, darling. I may have even enjoyed it. Just a bit. A small bit. A very tiny bit. Microscopic, borderline invisible - "

"Alright, alright, I get it!"

Loki laughs, gathering your work clothes from the floor. After tossing them in the laundry basket, he puts two clean towels in the dryer before making his way to prepare the bedroom. The gray sheets are still rustled from the morning, so he straightens and smoothes them out, fluffs the pillows. Lights a couple of your favorite candles.

He can hear you humming to yourself over the sound of showering water. Steamy air wafts in from the bathroom, bringing with it the smell of your shampoo. He breathes in. He wonders how in the Norns he got so lucky. He wants to peek in the shower, to hear your adorable shriek ... but he refrains.

"Loki!" you shriek from the shower.

Not quite what he had in mind.

In a couple steps he's in the bathroom. "What's wrong?"

"I got shampoo in my eye."

"Darling, I thought it was an emergency."

"It is an emergency!" Before you finish, a pale hand reaches through the shower curtain with a cloth. "Thank you."

Swish!

The curtain yanks back.

"Loki no! Get out!"

"My, my. What a wonderful sight."

"Loki I swear to God - give me the rag! It burns!" Oh how cute you are; wet skinb suds in your hair. Turned away giving a perfect view of your backside. Nursing your eye with one hand and scrambling to cover whatever you can with the other - which isn't very much.

The bathroom walls reverberate the deep, lovely laughs from the trickster.

When he's decided you've suffered enough, he pries the hand from your eye and places the cloth in it. "You're blushing, love."

"It's probably blood pouring from my eye, you dickhead!" Blindly, you grab for the curtain. Your stinging eyes can't tell that Loki is holding it out of your reach.

"Can you see?"

You huff. "Yes."

"Then look at me."

"No! Get out of here, you perv!" Even as angry, disrespected, frustrated, tired, and in pain as you are, no matter how hard you try you can't hide your smile. It used to be embarrassing, but now it's rather flattering - that he just has to steal a look at you every once in a while. That he thinks you're so attractive.

He makes you feel attractive, too.

"Fine," he sighs before dropping the curtain, casting a dim shadow in the shower.

The cloth helped the burning so you could finish rinsing the shampoo out of your hair. "Y'know, you could've just asked to join me. That would've been less pervy," you call out.

"It isn't my fault that you're so tempting. You're practically a walking tease."

"I literally burned my eye with shampoo, how is that teasing?!"

"Being gone for so long and then beckoning me into the bath, while you're showering, all for an eye injury."

"Oh, well please forgive me for accidentally getting acid in my eye while in a very vulnerable position. My bad, all on me."

This banter is nothing new. In fact, it's one of your favorite parts about Loki; being able to go back and forth with sarcasm, wits, and arguments of points, knowing that all is in fun.

Even if he is a dickhead.

The bathroom door creaks as it shuts, but before it latches Loki adds, "Oh, by the way?"

"Hm?"

"You are absolutely divine." Which is why I'll always look, even when you ask me not to.

~

"Mmm, whatcha doing?" Your sleepy voice calls.

Waking up in the middle of the night for no reason is unsettling enough. Then add not finding your other half sleeping peacefully next to you.

Loki is in the living room, curled up on the little loveseat with papers splayed all around him. Your worried voice has pulled him out of a concentration, making him spring up and approach you.

"Oh dear, are you alright? Have you had a nightmare?"

"If I did, I don't remember it," you yawned.

His hair is tied away from his face in a loose bun, the one you showed him how to do, and unlike you, he is wide awake.

"Why aren't you in bed? What's all those papers for?"

His head drops sadly, and he gently holds your elbows as they hang tiredly at your sides. "I didn't want you to know right away."

Your suspense and awareness is increasing by the second. "Know what?"

"I, ehm, I was eh," Loki sighs. He hates stumbling over words. "I was filling out employment applications."

"What?" you whisper, confused. "Why?"

He looks slightly over your shoulder, choosing the best words he can. "Because, I don't feel it's fair that the burden of financial security falls solely to you, when we are a team. You work so hard serving others every single night, just to have funds to provide everything for the two of us. You worked until eleven o'clock tonight and you've still got to work more tomorrow. I-I-I would just like, to, to perhaps share that burden. So that it doesn't fall on your shoulders alone."

By the time he's finished, he looks like he could cry. But he doesn't. He retains a composed, sure-of-himself appearance.

You're the one who cries like an idiot.

"Loki..." you drawl and your voice cracks, half from laughter and half from stifling tears of overwhelming gratitude. "Loki, you don't have to do that. I truly don't mind what I do."

"Yes, but we can both agree that you deserve a break. I know I don't have to. I want to. I live here as well; I consume food, I use electricity, I use the water. I'd like to make a contribution, I don't expect you to allow me to freeload."

His feelings have brought an unconscious smile to your lips. Loki always shows he cares in many different ways - his words are one of them - so much so that the financial aspect of your home together didn't make a difference to you. Sure, some months are more stressful than others, but going through it all with Loki by your side made it more than worth it.

You don't know what to say.

"Loki, you really don't have to do that, I - ouch - " your neck pops, "I don't mind at all working for us."

"Your body seems to disagree," he winks.

"Shut up. Hey, that massage really helped," your cheeks warm up.

It's a beautiful thing when he speaks his feelings honestly, unfiltered, straight from his heart. How could you turn that down?

While you let everything he's told you sink in, he grasps your head in both hands and interrupts the process with a sweet, mind-numbing kiss to your lips. Leaving you breathless and dizzy.

It's been over a year of living together, and his kisses still give you butterflies.

You sigh, still only inches from him, "You really don't have to."

"I know. I want to, my love."

Something pops into your mind. "But what about your ID? Your information? What do you plan on doing about that?" you begin to worry.

Loki bares his teeth and sucks air through them. "That's what I was a bit stumped about."

A thought-filled silence falls between you.

"I mean, you could apply for S.H.I.E.L.D."

He stiffens immediately. "Darling, I was thinking more along the lines of a florist or something."

"Think about it!" Oh dear. He knows that look. When your eyes get bright and your voice gets high, and you take his hands into your warm ones. "You could help with intelligence! Especially outer intelligence - you could help with research about Asgard! The life in the other realms! You're so smart, you know all about those things!"

He casts his gaze down, not bearing the pleading, soaring wonder in your eyes.

You shake his forearms, "C'mon, Loki. You wouldn't have to make up anything about yourself. This could even redeem what you've done in the past, or at least begin to. And plus, there's mad money in it. But that's not even what matters to me."

"I can't even begin to think about this," he turns away, pulling himself from you.

"Loki, don't do this," you say softly, but it's a demand. "Listen to me."

"You do not understand my position."

"No, I don't! I haven't seen what you've seen, I haven't done what you've done. You're one-hundred percent right."

The fabric of your flannel pajamas itches your leg. Loki picks at his palm, looking for something to look at.

"But I know you have potential. I know you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. I know you have so much to offer. And look!" you motion to the mess of papers around you, "You clearly have a desire to use it."

Carefully, slowly, you approach him. The icy outer layer can be very hard to break when he gets like this. His stone cold gaze doesn't lift, doesn't waver, but he relaxes ever so slightly at the touch of your hand to his wrist.

"You could change the world, Loki."

"What if I don't want to change the world?" whisper-quiet, his eyes meet yours. "What if I just want this little life with you? I'd like to take some of the responsibility off of your shoulders, yes, but what if just, just this, makes me happy?"

You wet your lips, as they've gone dry at his words. So many things going through your mind, so many emotions. But you push them aside, for the sake of your best friend. "Well, I would still support you. It would be a little hard, knowing that you have so much more potential than just this. But I'd still love you. I want you to be happy, no matter what."

Loki closes his eyes. He breathes in. He wonders how in the Norns he got so lucky. He wants to just scoop you up and hug you, cry into you until all of the emotions are out of him, but he refrains.

"I'll consider it." He takes your smiling cheek into his hand. So soft, he thinks. "Only for you. Because you make me happy."

~

tag list: @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @paradisaicsam @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum

[cruelangelstheses]

alistair theirin, cat-sitter

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: alistair, zevran, isabela, merrill, morrigan words: 3k additional tags: modern au, fluff, humor description: alistair ends up cat-sitting ser pounce-a-lot for the weekend. everything is fine, except that he knows nothing about cats—and to make matters worse, he’s pretty sure ser pounce-a-lot hates him. a/n: i’m back lmao i’ll be done reposting these soon. this was written for @compulsive-elfrootpicker for a wintersend exchange! their warden reina cousland is mentioned briefly so that’s who that is :-)

read it on ao3

—

This is not what Alistair had expected when Reina asked him to take care of a cat for the weekend.

It’s not even Reina’s cat; it’s Reina’s friend’s cat—Anders is the guy’s name, if Alistair remembers correctly. Apparently, Reina had agreed to watch Ser Pounce-a-Lot for the weekend while Anders was away, before realizing at the last minute that she was also going away for the weekend. Cue a panicked phone call late Thursday evening in which Reina asked Alistair to be the substitute cat-sitter, and Alistair agreed despite knowing next to nothing about cats. “Surely they can’t be that much different from dogs,” he’d assured himself. It should be fine, right? Right?

Wrong.

It’s only been about ten minutes since Reina dropped off Ser Pounce-a-Lot at Alistair’s apartment. In that time, Pounce has shredded Alistair’s curtains, knocked over several cups, and pissed on the kitchen floor despite knowing full well how to use the litter box, which Alistair had placed right near the back door to the balcony. Granted, it could be worse—at least the cups are all plastic and didn’t break, and at least Pounce didn’t piss on the carpet, and Alistair has been meaning to get some new curtains anyway—but still.

“What do you want from me?” Alistair asks the cat, who is standing on top of the kitchen table and swishing his tail back and forth. He’s just finished cleaning everything up, but there are bound to be plenty more messes at this rate.

Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows, but Alistair doesn’t speak cat, so he has no idea what that means. “It was a rhetorical question,” he says. Pounce hisses and uses his hind paws to slide his collar off of his neck. Alistair sighs.

It’s only Friday afternoon. Reina won’t be back to pick up the cat until Sunday evening. Clearly Alistair isn’t going to survive until then without some help, so he does the only thing he can think of to do: he calls Zevran.

Zevran Arainai is not usually the first person Alistair calls in the event of an emergency. That would be Wynne—she’s a sensible woman who has lived a lot longer than Alistair, and she’s very good at being “the adult” in any given situation. Alas, she’s apparently busy all weekend—if she’d been available, Reina would’ve asked her to watch Ser Pounce-a-Lot instead of Alistair.

The second person Alistair calls in the event of an emergency is Reina, but obviously that won’t do any good in this case. The third person would be Leliana, but she’s visiting family in Orlais; thus, by default, Zevran is the next person on his list, because Sten and Morrigan both scare him, and he trusts Oghren with a cat even less than he trusts himself.

Alistair’s conversations with Zevran normally take place over text when not in person, but this is an emergency, and he’s not going to risk being left on read when there’s a cat loose in his apartment who seems bent on giving him the headache of a lifetime. Luckily, Zevran picks up on the third ring. “Hello? Alistair?”

“Zevran!” Alistair says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Look, I know you probably have plans this evening, but I’m having a bit of an emergency and I need you to come over as soon as you can.”

“An emergency?” Zevran repeats. He sounds like he’s not sure whether to be concerned or amused. “What sort of emergency are we talking about? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Alistair snorts. “Zevran, if I needed to call an ambulance, I would’ve called it before I called you.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Zevran replies. “Just let me put my pants back on, and then Isabela and I will be right over.”

“You—what?” Alistair says, but it’s too late; Zevran has already hung up.

Alistair shakes his head and turns back to the kitchen table—except Ser Pounce-a-Lot is not where Alistair last saw him. “Ser Pounce-a-Lot?” he calls, looking back and forth between the table and the counters. “Pouncey?”

It’s no use. Ser Pounce-a-Lot is nowhere in the kitchen—Alistair figures that out pretty quickly just by checking the cabinets and the pantry. The cat is gone, and he clearly doesn’t bow to Alistair, so it’s unlikely that he’ll return just at the sound of his name. “Blast it,” Alistair mutters. This day is just getting worse and worse by the second.

Alistair heads into the living room, checking behind and under furniture and even lifting up the couch cushions, to no avail. Beginning to grow desperate, he runs to the bathroom, searching under the sink and behind the shower curtain and even in the (closed) toilet, just in case Pounce somehow lifted up the lid and crawled inside. Nothing.

Alistair is in the process of tearing his bedroom apart when he hears Zevran’s voice singsonging, “Alistair! Oh, Alistair!”

“Yes!” Alistair calls as he digs through his closet. “I’m back here!”

A few seconds later, Alistair hears two pairs of footsteps behind him in the messy room. He glances over his shoulder to find Zevran and his friend-with-benefits, Isabela, both staring at him with their eyebrows raised in confusion. “What is the emergency?” Zevran asks coolly.

Alistair turns around to face them, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, so Reina agreed to watch some guy’s cat for the weekend, but then she realized that she was also going away for the weekend, so she pawned the cat off on me to babysit. Except the cat is a monster who hates me and I don’t know how to take care of it, and also since I called you I have discovered that the monster-cat has gone missing.”

“Wait,” Isabela says, holding a hand up. “Whose cat is it again?”

Now it’s Alistair’s turn to raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Err...I’m not quite sure why that matters, but I think his name’s Anders?”

Isabela gasps and claps a hand over her mouth. “I knew it! You’re watching Ser Pounce-a-Lot!”

Alistair shrugs helplessly. “Well, I was. How do you even know this guy?”

“I met him through a mutual friend,” Isabela says. “He gets around, it seems, despite the fact that he’s kind of a hermit.”

Zevran, meanwhile, is typing something in his phone, a half-smirk on his face. Alistair narrows his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I am adding this to my list of ridiculous reasons Alistair has called me,” Zevran replies with a laugh. “Do not worry, my friend. We shall find this Ser Pounce-a-Lot in no time.”

“You have a list?” Alistair says, before shaking his head. “You know what? Never mind. We have more important issues here. Number one being that I’ve had the cat for less than half an hour and I’ve already lost him. I checked the whole apartment, every hiding place I could think of, and I haven’t found anything.”

“Hmm. You never know,” Zevran says thoughtfully as he puts his phone back in his pocket. “Cats can be very quick and sneaky. Maybe he keeps moving to different hiding spots like a game of tag.”

“A game of hide-and-seek tag,” Isabela adds. “If we split up, we might be able to find him.”

“Yes. Good idea,” Alistair agrees, so with that, Zevran and Isabela rush out of the bedroom to search other areas of the apartment.

Alistair investigates every part of the bedroom and bathroom multiple times, with no success. When the three reconvene in the living room after a solid ten minutes, he can tell by his friends’ expressions that they didn’t find the cat, either.

“I don’t get it,” Alistair says. “I didn’t leave the front door open or anything. How did he get out?”

At that, Zevran awkwardly gestures toward the kitchen. “Alistair, I have a question,” he says slowly. “Was that window always open?”

Oh, no. Alistair nearly sprints into the kitchen, his eyes resting on an open window right above the kitchen counter. He’d opened it earlier in the daytime because it got hot in the apartment and he’d needed some air. Now the spring breeze blowing peacefully through the window seems to mock him.

Alistair rests his elbows on the counter and then buries his head in his hands, groaning and swearing under his breath. “Maker, I’m so stupid.”

“Well, Isabela knows the fellow who owns the cat,” Zevran says reassuringly, doing his best to remain optimistic about the whole situation. “That will probably come in handy.”

Isabela laughs nervously. “Um, actually, it might not.”

That is not what Alistair wanted to hear. “What? Why not?”

Isabela crosses her arms. “He loves that cat. If he even suspected that something bad happened to it, he’d probably—I don’t know—magic us to death.”

Zevran snorts. “I believe the phrase you are looking for is ‘kill us with fire,’ my dear.”

“Wait,” Alistair says, an automatic reaction. “Anders is a mage?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Isabela says nonchalantly. “Why?”

Alistair shakes his head and reminds himself that it’s not relevant. “Oh. No reason, I guess. I used to be a templar. Well, I left before I could actually take my vows, but I have all the abilities.”

Isabela’s eyes widen, as if she’s just suddenly put two and two together. “Are you serious?”

“Err...yes?” Alistair says, eyeing her with confusion. “What about it?”

“I think Anders somehow teaches his cats to like mages and dislike templars,” Isabela explains. “Or maybe they just learn the behavior by being around him. At any rate, they seem to be able to...sense that sort of thing.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know a whole lot about magic and such.” Then she smirks a little, her eyes twinkling playfully. “But that would explain why Ser Pounce disliked you so much.”

Zevran practically cackles. “Oh, the thought of a cat shredding your curtains because you’re a templar!” he crows.

“I was a templar,” Alistair corrects. “But if the cat likes mages and dislikes templars...do you think he may have wandered off to a mage’s house?”

A lightbulb seems to appear over Isabela’s head. “That’s it!” she exclaims. “I know where to look for him. There’s a mage girl who lives just down the street, and he can’t have gone too far.”

Zevran snatches a bag of cat treats off the kitchen table, probably to entice Pounce to come back. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he says, shaking the bag. “Let’s go cat-hunting!”

With that, the three all rush out the door. They don’t bother with the elevator (since Alistair lives on the third floor of his apartment building); Alistair practically leaps down the stairs, Zevran slides down the railing, and Isabela sprints faster than Alistair thought was possible in knee-high boots. They probably look strange running through the lobby and bursting through the front doors. Isabela leads them across the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, heading in the direction of the downtown area.

Any thoughts about how it might have been faster to take the car vanish when Alistair sees the bumper-to-bumper traffic. It’s late afternoon on a Friday; it would’ve taken them ten minutes just to get out of the parking lot. Besides, they’re pedestrians, so they have the right-of-way at every crosswalk.

It’s not long before they arrive at a quaint little white townhouse with a rocking chair and several potted plants on the porch. Isabela bangs on the door several times, yelling, “Merrill!”

A few moments later, the door opens, revealing a small elven girl with black hair and tattoos on her face. “Isabela!” she says cheerfully, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What brings you here? And who are they?” She gestures toward Alistair and Zevran.

“Some friends,” Isabela replies quickly. “Listen—did you happen to see an orange tabby cat recently? Like, within the past forty-five minutes or so?”

Merrill’s eyes light up. “Yes, actually! A cat that looked just like that came scratching at the door maybe fifteen minutes ago. I gave him some pieces of cucumber and he sat with me on the porch for a little, but then he left.”

“He left?” Alistair repeats in a panic.

“Merrill,” Isabela says slowly, “that was Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Anders’s cat.”

Merrill covers her mouth with her hand. Clearly she knows Anders, too. “Ohhh,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink. “I knew he looked familiar. But he wasn’t wearing his collar, so I wasn’t sure.”

Alistair mentally smacks himself, remembering the way Pounce had removed his own collar with ease. Alistair hadn’t bothered to put it back on him.

“Oh, Merrill,” Isabela says with a sigh, but there’s not a trace of malice in her voice (in fact, Alistair thinks he might actually hear a bit of endearment).

“The last I saw him,” Merrill adds, “he was headed down toward Korcari Street. Fast, too.” She giggles a little. “He was a cat on a mission. As if he had somewhere very important to be.”

Alistair and Zevran exchange glances. They only know one mage who lives on Korcari Street. “Morrigan!” they say in unison.

Alistair throws his hands up in the air. “She hates animals!” he yelps. “She’ll kill him! Skin him alive, eat him for dinner, then use his bones as kindling!”

Upon hearing this, Isabela grimaces and says, “Well, we’d better be going, Merrill. Got a cat to save and all that. Bye!”

Without another word, she turns around and leaps down the steps, Zevran following her. Alistair shoots Merrill a glance and says, “Thanks.” Then he turns around and runs after Isabela and Zevran.

“Oh! Um, no problem?” Merrill says from behind him. Isabela will have a lot of explaining to do later, it seems.

As they rush to Korcari Street (earning strange looks from passersby as they shove their way through crowds and cross streets when they’re not supposed to), Zevran says, “I have to say, Isabela, I am surprised.”

“Surprised about what?” Isabela asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You always go on about how selfish you are,” Zevran says smugly, “yet here you are, helping Alistair with his cat predicament without expecting anything in return.”

“Oh, come on,” Isabela replies defensively. “I’m only doing this because I don’t want Anders to kill me. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Zevran says, clearly unconvinced. “From what I’ve gathered, Anders still thinks that Reina is the one taking care of the cat. If anything were to happen to him, it would be on her head, and maybe Alistair’s. Not yours.”

“I—well, I just had to make sure that—shut up.” Her cheeks turn pink, and Zevran laughs.

This time, when they reach Morrigan’s townhouse, Alistair is the one who pounds his fists on the door and shouts, “Morrigan!”

“She may not answer to you,” Zevran says. “Let me try.” Taking a deep breath, he cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Morrigan! O magical temptress, I beseech thee!”

The sound of the front door slamming open stops Zevran from continuing his speech. “What?” Morrigan snaps, looking even grumpier and more terrifying than usual. “First a cat, and now this.”

“A cat!” Zevran exclaims. “That is what we’re here for!”

“Please tell me it’s still alive,” Alistair adds.

As if on cue, an orange tabby cat appears from behind Morrigan, rubbing himself against her legs and purring. Morrigan rolls her eyes and lightly pushes him away with her foot. “Shoo,” she says with a scowl.

“Pouncey!” Alistair cheers, a wave of relief washing over him at the sight of Ser Pounce-a-Lot all in one piece.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow, probably at the name. “I was not aware you had a cat, Alistair.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Alistair says quickly. “He’s not mine. I’m just...cat-sitting. Except apparently this cat really likes mages and really doesn’t like templars.”

Morrigan snorts. “Explains why he thought I would be a good person to visit.”

“Why did you even let him in, if you hate animals so much?” Zevran asks.

“I didn’t,” Morrigan says. “I opened my door to see what all the scratching was about, and he ran inside before I could stop him.”

“Well, uh, we’ll take him off your hands,” Alistair says, crouching down to pick up Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Pounce hisses and doesn’t move from Morrigan’s side.

“Go,” Morrigan tells him, sounding exasperated. “I have other things to deal with. This man will not harm you.”

Pounce meows at her. Alistair thinks the cat almost sounds unsure.

“He is an ex-templar,” Morrigan continues with another roll of her eyes. “He never actually took his vows. Now go.”

Alistair holds back his laughter at the sight of Morrigan trying to reason with a cat. Ser Pounce-a-Lot trots out the door, but instead of heading toward Alistair, he stops at Isabela’s feet.

Isabela laughs a little. “It’s because he knows me,” she says. Then, to Ser Pounce-a-Lot, she adds, “Fine. I’ll carry you, you spoiled little furball.”

Ser Pounce-a-Lot meows approvingly as Isabela picks him up. “Well, err...sorry for bothering you,” Alistair says awkwardly to Morrigan. She glares at him, but—if he isn’t seeing things—he swears that her eyes betray something akin to amusement beneath the irritation and hostility.

“Try not to do it again,” Morrigan says with a hint of a smirk.

Alistair sticks his tongue out at her. Behind him, Zevran snickers.

They take their time walking back to Alistair’s apartment. “So,” Alistair says slowly, “we found Ser Pounce-a-Lot, but something tells me he’s going to keep making trouble.”

Zevran raises an eyebrow. “Is this your way of asking us if we would like to sleep over? I graciously accept.”

Alistair can feel his cheeks heating up. “Well, I mean, if you want—”

Zevran holds up his index finger and presses it lightly against Alistair’s lips. “Nonsense. I will not abandon my good friend Alistair in his time of need. I assume you have no objections, Isabela?”

After a short pause, Isabela, still carrying Ser Pounce-a-Lot, says, “None. But I reserve the right to leave whenever I want.”

“But of course,” Zevran says. “It has been decided. Ser Pounce-a-Lot will not stand a chance against us!”

Alistair smiles and shakes his head. It’s going to be a long and interesting weekend for sure.