#my first thought was prayer circle and blood but... like it was a nice spring day

[austajunk]

Nagito and Angie hanging out platonically as friends?

Pals who pray together save Hope together!

Also TheAmityElf!!! Hiiiii, you legend, you! Thanks for the inspiration to silly doodle!

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Jon I (Chapter 7)

The big cheese!

Six days ago, the largest hound had attacked him from behind as the wildlings camped for the night, but Ghost had turned and lunged, sending the dog fleeing with a bloody haunch. The rest of the pack maintained a healthy distance after that.

Hounds and direwolves are fighting.

+.+.+

The girl laughed scornfully. "For one o' us. D'ya think you're the first crow ever flew down off the Wall? In your hearts you all want to fly free."

"And when I'm free," he said slowly, "will I be free to go?"

"Sure you will." She had a warm smile, despite her crooked teeth. "And we'll be free to kill you. It's dangerous being free, but most come to like the taste o' it."

Ygritte, and the illusion of choice...

+.+.+

"They don't much care for that beast o' yours," Longspear Ryk said to Jon.

"They're dogs and he's a wolf," said Jon. "They know he's not their kind." No more than I am yours.

A dog is not a direwolf. :)

+.+.+

A dozen women sat nearby in a circle, fletching arrows.

Arrows for my brothers, Jon thought. Arrows for my father's folk, for the people of Winterfell and Deepwood Motte and the Last Hearth. Arrows for the north.

Arrows for the north!

Don't mind me, just suffering my normal paranoia whenever arrows are mentioned.

+.+.+

There was no doubting which tent was the king's.

[...]

Here at least they found defenders; two guards at the flap of the tent, leaning on tall spears with round leather shields strapped to their arms.

We're visiting the Queen of Thorns and King-beyond-the-Wall in back-to-back chapters. The similarities won't stop there.

Smarter people than me have already observed these are twin chapters, so I won't highlight every single parallel. (Go look, it's a lot.)

Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. - Sansa I, ASOS

+.+.+

A pregnant woman stood over a brazier cooking a brace of hens, while a grey-haired man in a tattered cloak of black and red sat crosslegged on a pillow, playing a lute and singing

Songs are being sung in back-to-back chapters.

The old woman called to Butterbumps. "Fool! Give us a song. A long one, I should think. 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' will do nicely." - Sansa I, ASOS

+.+.+

The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,

and her kisses were warmer than spring.

But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,

and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,

in a voice that was sweet as a peach,

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,

and the taste of his blood on his tongue,

His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,

and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,

"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,

But what does it matter, for all men must die,

and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"

The Bear and the Maiden Fair is about Sansa, therefore my gut tells me the Dornishman's Wife is somehow related to Jon. Don't ask me how though.

Important to note, the words will be changed in the future.

Abel rubbed the sleep from his eyes, took up his lute, and launched into "The Dornishman's Wife," whilst one of his washerwomen beat time on her drum. The singer changed the words, though. Instead of tasting a Dornishman's wife, he sang of tasting a northman's daughter. - The Turncloack, ADWD

+.+.+

The bearded man laughed so hard he sprayed bits of chicken everywhere. He rubbed the grease from his mouth with the back of a huge hand. "A blind boy, must be. Who ever heard of a king without ears? Why, his crown would fall straight down to his neck! Har!"

Hmmm.

Jon felt as blind as Maester Aemon. - Jon VII, AGOT

Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm.

+.+.+

The King-beyond-the-Wall looked nothing like a king, nor even much a wildling. He was of middling height, slender, sharp-faced, with shrewd brown eyes and long brown hair that had gone mostly to grey. There was no crown on his head, no gold rings on his arms, no jewels at his throat, not even a gleam of silver. He wore wool and leather, and his only garment of note was his ragged black wool cloak, its long tears patched with faded red silk.

Pretty close to what I imagine Jon would look like as king.

+.+.+

"How did you like the song, lad?"

"Well enough. I'd heard it before."

"But what does it matter, for all men must die," the King-beyond-the-Wall said lightly, "and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife. Tell me, does my Lord of Bones speak truly? Did you slay my old friend the Halfhand?"

The character that has the next POV should probably start to worry over these words constantly following her around.

And I don't mean Arya.

+.+.+

Beside the brazier, a short but immensely broad man sat on a stool, eating a hen off a skewer. Hot grease was running down his chin and into his snow-white beard, but he smiled happily all the same. Thick gold bands graven with runes bound his massive arms, and he wore a heavy shirt of black ringmail that could only have come from a dead ranger.

[...]

Tormund rose to his feet. "Hold. You gave Styr his style, give me mine."

Mance Rayder laughed. "As you wish. Jon Snow, before you stands Tormund Giantsbane, Tall-talker, Horn-blower, and Breaker of Ice. And here also Tormund Thunderfist, Husband to Bears, the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall, Speaker to Gods and Father of Hosts."

What? Is? This?

Tormund is wearing thick gold bands graven with runes. Runes. Why runes?

The description perfectly matches the Horn of Joramun:

Two queen's men brought forth the Horn of Joramun, black and banded with old gold, eight feet long from end to end. Runes were carved into the golden bands, the writing of the First Men. - Jon III, ADWD

Now, get this. Tormund gifts those runes to Jon:

The wildling pulled off the band from his left arm and tossed it at Jon, then did the same with its twin upon his right. "Your first payment. Had those from my father and him from his. Now they're yours, you thieving black bastard." - Jon XI, ADWD

Strange, right?

I don't know what to make of this. Horn-blower and Breaker of Ice isn't helping.

+.+.+

"The good woman at the brazier," Mance Rayder went on, "is Dalla." The pregnant woman smiled shyly. "Treat her like you would any queen, she is carrying my child." He turned to the last two. "This beauty is her sister Val.

+.+.+

The night your father feasted Robert, I sat in the back of his hall on a bench with the other freeriders, listening to Orland of Oldtown play the high harp and sing of dead kings beneath the sea. I betook of your lord father's meat and mead, had a look at Kingslayer and Imp . . . and made passing note of Lord Eddard's children and the wolf pups that ran at their heels."

I've never liked that last line.

+.+.+

"Bael the Bard," said Jon, remembering the tale that Ygritte had told him in the Frostfangs, the night he'd almost killed her.

"Would that I were. I will not deny that Bael's exploit inspired mine own . . . but I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. Bael wrote his own songs, and lived them. I only sing the songs that better men have made. More mead?"

No, we have Bael-ish for that.

+.+.+

"Your father would have had my head off." The king gave a shrug. "Though once I had eaten at his board I was protected by guest right. The laws of hospitality are as old as the First Men, and sacred as a heart tree."

+.+.+

"Here you are the guest, and safe from harm at my hands . . . this night, at least.

Weird foreshadowing developing between these two.

"You flatter yourself, crow. I never broke a sweat."

"Next time you will," said Jon. - Jon VI, ADWD

+.+.+

Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. Weigh every word before you speak it, he told himself.

Words are being weighed in back-to-back chapters.

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. - Sansa I, ASOS

+.+.+

When he set the horn aside he said, "Tell me why you turned your cloak, and I'll tell you why I turned mine."

[...]

"You will have heard stories of my desertion, I have no doubt."

"Some say it was for a crown. Some say for a woman. Others that you had the wildling blood."

[...]

Mance Rayder rose, unfastened the clasp that held his cloak, and swept it over the bench. "It was for this."

"A cloak?"

"The black wool cloak of a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch," said the King-beyond-the-Wall. "One day on a ranging we brought down a fine big elk. We were skinning it when the smell of blood drew a shadow-cat out of its lair. I drove it off, but not before it shredded my cloak to ribbons. Do you see? Here, here, and here?" He chuckled. "It shredded my arm and back as well, and I bled worse than the elk. My brothers feared I might die before they got me back to Maester Mullin at the Shadow Tower, so they carried me to a wildling village where we knew an old wisewoman did some healing. She was dead, as it happened, but her daughter saw to me. Cleaned my wounds, sewed me up, and fed me porridge and potions until I was strong enough to ride again. And she sewed up the rents in my cloak as well, with some scarlet silk from Asshai that her grandmother had pulled from the wreck of a cog washed up on the Frozen Shore. It was the greatest treasure she had, and her gift to me." He swept the cloak back over his shoulders. "But at the Shadow Tower, I was given a new wool cloak from stores, black and black, and trimmed with black, to go with my black breeches and black boots, my black doublet and black mail. The new cloak had no frays nor rips nor tears . . . and most of all, no red. The men of the Night's Watch dressed in black, Ser Denys Mallister reminded me sternly, as if I had forgotten. My old cloak was fit for burning now, he said.

"I left the next morning . . . for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose."

You know what I think? I think Jon will decide to leave the Night's Watch after being gifted a cloak as well.

There will be no red or black in that cloak though.

+.+.+

"You say you were at Winterfell, the night my father feasted King Robert."

"I did say it, for I was."

"Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated."

Unreliable narrator... George R. R. Martin? Jon Snow? I don't know.

Bran did not walk the center aisle at the feast.

+.+.+

"And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?"

Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

Call me a hater, but I've always thought this was flimsy.

It's good motivation to leave Winterfell and your family, but it's not a great reason to desert the Night's Watch, where all brothers are equal, and even a bastard can rise high.

Final thoughts:

I'm confident I missed crucial foreshadowing in this chapter. Oops.

Ygritte Death Countdown

4 down, 6 to go. :(

-> return to menu <-

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

This chapter contains canon typical violence, smut, mentions of blood, major character death.

Small Time Witch (31)

It had been three days and you hadn’t heard from Loki. The little screwdriver around your neck was barely warm. His heart rate was erratic and sometimes barely existent. You were beginning to think Odin was right. You sat alone on the field where Loki would lead Thanos. You sat waiting for him every day.

The field was filled with wild flowers. You picked a few and braided them into a crown. It was warm and the sun kissed your skin making it glow. When this was all over you would re sod this field. The people of Vanaheim deserved to have nice spaces. While you were deep in thought you didn’t notice the presence until she was sitting next to you. She was always with you in some capacity. Always whispering in your ear. Begging you to follow her. These last few days her voice has been louder than anyone else.

“Took you long enough to show your face.” You didn’t look over. You knew what Death looked like.

“You’ve been waiting for me?”

“What’s to wait for? You’re always with me. Have been for the last ten years. Longest relationship I’ve had.”

She laughed, “I made you what you are. Shaped you into the person you’ve become. I’m here to see my creation’s first steps.”

You sat quietly enjoying the breeze together. You set the crown on her head. She smiled for a moment then the followers wilted. She frowned and plucked off the crown and set it in her lap. You hovered your hand over it springing it back to life.

“Is this what you envisioned when you fucked with my life? Did you put me here so that I could fight your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Semantics. You love him.”

“I do. I’ll take him with me today.”

“You’ll take him in pieces.”

“So violent. Unbecoming of a princess.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“Semantics.” She smiled showing you all of her perfectly polished teeth.

“Is Loki alive?”

“Barely. Thanos will bring him alive to the battle. Don’t let him get in your head. He knows you’ll be moved to save Loki. You have a job to do.”

“And when I do it, what side of the battlefield will you be on?”

“The winning side. Get some rest, my sweet. Tomorrow is going to be a son of a bitch.” She winked at you and disappeared. You knew what you had to do. When the time came you would be ready.

——————————————————————

The eve of battle. Everyone was antsy. You could practically smell the adrenaline. It’s thick fog choked you when you walked into a room full of people. You made some modifications to your plans which involved magic you could barely do, The Ancient One, Auntie Agatha and Wanda. You had to get Loki away from Thanos as soon as they land. You had to strike fast and hard. They were prepared.

You sat alone at a table ignoring the merriment. You almost didn’t notice your coven and Wanda filing in. They held hands and your mother and Helene rested their hands on your shoulders. Frigga stood behind you making you the center of the circle. They invoked Hecate and Diana to be by your side. “May your magic be strong and your resolve stronger.” Helene chanted.

“And may Thanos know who is the baddest witch in every known universe.” Agatha chimed in.

“Blessed be!” they all cheered.

“Ladies, tomorrow, please aid in evacuating the outlying villages. I don’t want innocent lives lost. Lana, Constance, Margot and Flora, you will stay behind with several of the light elves to keep the palace grounds protected.”

“Why does the new girl get to go to the battle grounds with you?” Constance whined. Mobius was right. It should have been her.

Before you could answer Agatha chimed in, “When you have magic as powerful as Wanda you can fight the aliens. Keep practicing, sweetheart.” You almost spit out your wine you were laughing so hard.

The little screwdriver felt hot against your chest. You could feel Loki. “SHIT! They are almost here!” You stood on the table and shouted, “Shut up! Everyone shut the fuck up! They’re early! Get to your assignments now!”

Hilde fitted you with with armor and you all raced to your positions. Those who were going to Asgard got to the field and called for Heimdall. You kept your eyes trained on Steve and whispered a silent prayer that he’d be safe.

You and Helene lit up the field as much as you could with energy balls. Around the perimeter the Vanir set torches ablaze. Freyr joined you and the ladies to concentrate your strongest magic on Thanos to incapacitate him early. Hilde, Thor and Ororo were on guard as well.

Thanos’ ships landed spraying earth all along the front lines. Frost giants snarled and banged their shields. Thanos stepped off of his ship holding Loki over his shoulder like a rag doll. Just as predicted, Cull Obsidian and Proxima Midnight did not exit the ship with them. You called for Heimdall to show you. They landed there. Danvers added that the Nova Corps and the Sovereign reported Thanos’ troops on Xandar. He was punishing anyone who helped you. Tony said a ship landed outside of DC. Shield , Rhodey and the rest of the X-men were handling business there. You prepared for this and ensured that armies were ready in all the nine realms. No one was safe from this disease.

While Thanos walked down the ramp of his ship, his troops and yours held stock still and aching to fight. Your own plan was clear. Get Loki, kill Thanos, make sure Tony dies, snap the rest out of existence. You could not be shaken.

Thanos picked up Loki by the scruff of his neck. Agatha kept a hand on you. “Stay with us. No stupid mistakes.” she whispered to you. Of course, because he’s an arrogant prick, he made a speech.

“Look at you, hiding behind your wife’s skirt. Your weakness is disgusting. How easy it was to sway you to my side. You are a failure.”

“I am a god” he croaked “and my wife is going to rip you apart.”

“Now!” You shouted and sent a beam of energy straight at Thanos. You had him on his knees. Pietro swooped in and grabbed Loki. He took him to Frigga and Njord then rejoined the fight.

Thanos screamed as his armor split and his weapon clanged on the ground. “Go, you idiots!” His troops mobilized and so did yours.

Just as you planned, the barrier went up when he called for airstrikes. The firepower from the guns could not penetrate effectively protecting your troops. Unfortunately also Thanos’ troops. Danvers and Valkyrie incapacitated the ships right away. The Ebony Maw had Tony in his grasp. Tony wouldn’t be able to fight him off. One of the Maw’s spikes penetrated the Arc Reactor. You heard Thor screaming for him. Hulk rushed to him and tried shaking him awake. He was gone.

You almost lost it hearing your friends scream for Tony through your comms. This time you didn’t shut them off. You deserved to hear it. Out of nowhere, an additional beam of magic hit Thanos. It was brilliant green and strong.

“Miss me, Pet?” Loki shouted looking strong. Frigga Njord and Maja worked fast to heal him.

“We’ve got him! Go!” You screamed to everyone else. You stopped using your magic and let the stones take over. Your whole body glowed and your eyes went white. You grabbed Loki’s hand and intensified his magic. Thanos was in complete agony. While Loki weighed him down with chains that sprouted from the ground, you rested your boot on his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

“This is over.” You snapped and his ships and all of his troops started to disintegrate. You got confirmation that they were going down everywhere. You knelt down next to him and got up close to his ear, “I hope you rot and I hope it hurts.”

Thor came behind you with Mjølnir resting on his shoulder, “Go for the head, Brother.” With one swing he delivered the fatal blow. His blood sprayed your face and body. You didn’t move until his heart stopped.

Death rested her hand on your shoulder, “I’m impressed.” Her voice was amused but you could see she was shaken seeing Thanos in this state.

“I knew you would be.” Just for good measure, you electrocuted his body until it turned to ash. You swept it all up in a little wind and dumped it into a box that you sent deep within Vanaheim’s core.

Death smiled again, “You don’t trust me to hang on to him?”

You chuckled, “I jumped time and almost died taking in these stones to save my man. No telling what you’d do.”

“Smart girl. I taught you well.” The two of you embraced and she shimmered away.

Everyone in your general vicinity was staring at you. You could hear a pin drop.

“What? We’re old friends.”

“Like in Harry Potter!” Lana shouted excitedly. You nearly fell over laughing.

——————————————————————

All in all you had very few casualties. The armies of the Nine were virtually unscathed. Your greatest loss, of course, was Tony. The crew from Asgard rejoined you. You gave them space to mourn privately. With Wong’s help, you expelled the Time Stone and gave it back to The Ancient One. They opened up portals for all Midgardians to return home. You said your goodbyes to all of your family and friends as they left. Your mother made you promise you’d be along to visit soon. You reminded Agatha you still had the Kale’s to deal with. You’d be home soon enough.

You made your way over to the Avengers to extend your condolences. You fashioned a vessel for his body to arrive safely back on Earth. They all shook your hand as they filed out. All except Steve who drew you in for a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Captain. He fought valiantly.”

“Thank you, Princess. We know going into any battle there could be losses. He’s not the first friend I’ve had to say goodbye to.” That broke your heart especially knowing Bucky was alive.

“Does he have a family?”

“A girlfriend. His parents are deceased.”

“I’m so sorry again. Please, never hesitate to call on me should you need my help.”

“Thank you.” He followed Tony’s body through the portal.

Loki eyed you suspiciously. “Save it. I’ll tell you later” you groaned as you stretched.

“You are a dazzling liar, my little queen.”

“Oh, king of my heart, you have no idea.”

You went to the great hall with the intention of going to bed soon after. But, doing battle works up an aggressive appetite. You ate and drank until you were about to bust and then you drank some more. You were laid out on the table while Thor regaled everyone with tales from the battlefield. You nearly made it out when he suggested body shots. You and Loki declined but we’re far too entertained to leave the party. Hilde turned to you and smiled. You knew that smile. She just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Just one.” She jingled the shot glass in front of your face. You couldn’t resist her.

“One! Hilde, just one.” You took her hand which she pulled away. “Well where do you want it?” She unbuttoned the top two of her shirt. There were hoops and hollers a plenty. You shook your head and didn’t dare make eye contact with your husband. You sprinkled the salt in her cleavage, licked slowly, did the shot and went for the citrus wedge. She spit it out and kissed you. Loki’s annoyance grew almost to the point of anger. You pulled away with her cackling like a crazy person.

“Is that the face other me wanted?!”

“You are going to get me in so much trouble.”

“I certainly hope so.” She winked at you and went back to your friends.

Loki stood from the table and made his way to you, “If you are quite finished, I would like to take you to bed, wife.”

“I am so ready, husband.” He picked you up and slung you over his shoulder. You yelped when he smacked your bottom.

He was undressing you before you even got to the door. He pushed you against the wall just outside the great hall and slipped his hands into your waistband. “Mmmm. So wet for me, darling.”

“All for you, my king.” He was so hard straining against leather. It was nearly painful. You were falling apart in his hands. “If you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” You were breathless. Chest heaving out sharp pants.

“I want you to. I want everyone to know how I make you feel. You are mine and I want the world to know it.”

You cried his name over and over again when you met your release. He set you down smothering you with his lips. “Take me to bed or I’m going to pull out your cock right here.”

“Ha promises promises.” he says against your lips. You trail your hand down to his pants and undo the buttons. When you pulled him closer he winced in pain. You took your hand away and lifted his shirt to see he was still bruised and bleeding from a wound on his side.

“Lok..” the higher you lifted his shirt the more damage you saw. “Oh. Loki...”

“It doesn’t hurt” he whispered trying to pull you back in for a kiss.

“Stop, Loki. Come on. Let me get you to bed.” He followed you into the bedroom and you started undressing him. “No more illusions.”

“Lie down, Pet. I’m going to fuck you silly.” He lifted off his shirt and you burst into tears. “Please don’t cry. You said no more illusions. Y/N, I’m dying to be inside of you. I will go slow. I just need to feel you wrapped around me.”

“God. I can’t believe you, Loki! You could have killed yourself. Look at you! You’re still bleeding. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“My love, I will only be hurting if I don’t get to fuck you. Please. Don’t make me beg.” You needed him too. For the next few hours you lost yourselves. There was no more pain. No more degradation. No more expectations. Just the two of you.

[bellemorte180]

Just Good Business

Caroline Salvatore, married into one of New York's most brutal crime families. Niklaus Mikaelson, a notorious mob boss who is hell bent on taking down the Slavatores.

It's an affair for the ages.

Written for Day 5 of Klarolin week- Smut.

Thank you, @klaroline-events!

She shouldn’t be doing this. She knew it was wrong, but she honestly didn’t care. She was a married woman and the man she was straddling in the back of his limo as it drifted down New York’s busy streets was most certainly not her husband. Granted, the life they all lived, what could be considered right anymore?

“Are you sure these windows are tinted?” Caroline hissed out, pushed down upon his clothed erection. It wasn’t the first time it happened. Her affair with New York’s most notorious mob boss began months ago. It started out as a power play for him and a way for her to try and feel something; anything. Neither one of them could have imagined that it would have become more than just sex for them. “Klaus?”

Niklaus Mikaelson, the most feared man in the entire city; one who ran not only drugs, weapons, and woman but had more blood on his hands than anyone else, was in love with her. It was an intoxicating feeling.

“I would never let us be seen, Sweetheart. Not yet at least.” Caroline smirked at him and kissed him hard; her teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Her hips rotated again, searching for some friction in order to relieve that pent-up tension she was feeling. It had been far too long since he had been able to touch her. It wasn’t easy for Caroline to sneak away in order to meet her lover, especially when she and her husband are well known in the city; that and in the last few months Stefan had been having her followed.

The marriage between Stefan and Caroline Salvatore was an arranged affair. They both came from very old families who wanted nothing more than an alliance. So, the corrupt Chief of Police married her only daughter to the brother of an even more corrupt "businessman". It did not take Caroline long to realize that her husband was dull, horrid in bed and was in love with his brother’s wife, Elena. Stefan looked at Caroline as nothing more than a possession and barely spoke to her.

Klaus’s finger tips traced up Caroline’s spine while her black backless dress bunched at her waist. His fingers sent shivers all over her body. When he went to lace his fingers through her impeccable up-do, Caroline stopped him.

“Not the hair. I can’t go home looking freshly fucked, now can I?” Caroline replied, nipping playfully at Klaus’s lips. “We still have to let Stefan think that I am his faithful and dutiful wife, don’t we?”

“I can have you widowed by morning, love. Just was the word.” Klaus replied, his hand slipping under her dress. His fingers graced her clit, her panties had been long forgotten on the limo’s floor. Caroline hissed out his name again. He added a slight pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves just as his lips graced her throat. His tongue peeked out and licked her pulse point. “He would be dead and I could easily make you mine.”

“But your plans?” Caroline whimpered. Klaus slipped a finger inside of her and pumped lightly. Then he added a second finger before curling him, his nails scraping the side of her walls. His thumb touched her clitoris and began drawing circled on it while his fingers slowly fucked her.

“Fuck my plans.” Klaus hissed, his fingers pushed in roughly, causing Caroline to cry out. “I don’t like that he gets to touch you. I don’t like that he gets to fuck you when you’re mine. I want his head on a stick and my plans already changed once.”

It was true. When Klaus and Caroline started sleeping together, he was using her to get intel on the Salvatore family. He originally planned on revealing his affair with Caroline to Stefan in due time after getting everything he needed in order to take down Damon Salvatore. Caroline knew this and in truth she didn’t care. She hated her marriage and screwing over Stefan and Damon was enough for her; even if it meant getting herself killed.

However, when Klaus started falling for Caroline, he shifted his plans. He did not want to risk Stefan getting enraged that his wife was fucking his brother’s rival and killing her; they didn’t call Stefan the Ripper for nothing. So, they changed course.

“He hasn’t.” Caroline whimpered out, grinding down on Klaus’s fingers. He looked at her in question, a smirk playing upon his lips. “Stefan and I haven’t had sex in months, not since I caught him in bed with Elena.”

“Really?” Klaus hissed. He removed his fingers from her and Caroline cursed at him. He just grinned at her, bringing one finger to his lips and licked it clean before doing the same to the other. “You wouldn’t just be saying that so I will go easy on you, now would you?”

“No.” Caroline weaved her fingers through Klaus’s hair, gripped and pulled his head back. She looked down at him, peering into those pearly blue eyes she adored. He kissed him slowly, tasting her juices on his lips. “He said that he was glad I knew and that he didn’t have to pretend with me. He made his opinion very clear. Stay the pretty little wife on his arm while he fucked Damon’s behind closed doors. In return I get to keep my head upon my shoulders.”

“He threatened you.” That was unforgivable to Klaus. “The increase of bodyguards?”

“Just to ensure I don’t spend too much alone time with Damon. Can’t have his brother learning his dirty little secret.” Caroline tossed him a sinful smile and Klaus bucked his hips upward, rubbing roughly against her core. “Pity Enzo is employed by someone other than Stefan.”

“Good man Enzo.” Lorenzo St. John, Caroline’s personal bodyguard and double agent. Klaus hired him to infiltrate the Salvatore business. When he was assigned to guard Caroline, even better. The problem was that Enzo was only one of Caroline’s guards that was Klaus’s man; the rest where loyal to the Salvatore brothers. “And what are you and Enzo up to tonight?”

“Dress shopping.” Klaus chucked at that.

“Such a pretty dress.” His one hand running over the dress, touching her erect nipples through the silk. “It would be a shame if it got ruined.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Caroline ran her hands down Klaus’s chest, slowly inching down farther and farther. When she reached the top of his pants, she bit her lip as though asking for permission to continue. Klaus nodded his head and Caroline unbuttoned his pants, allowing his member to spring free. She palmed him, causing him to hiss at the contact. She gripped his penis and stroked him, picking up the pace as she went. Klaus grabbed her wrist, stalling her movements.

“I want to be inside you.” His tone was rough and harsh, causing Caroline’s arousal to seep down the inside of her legs. She lifted up on her knees ever so slightly, giving Klaus enough room to align himself with her entrance. Slowly, Caroline lowered herself down on top of him; seething him into her heat completely. “Fuck Caroline.”

“That’s the general idea.” She braced her hands on his shoulders and began raising herself up and down on top of him. The feel of him, sliding in and out of her was a feeling she missed the last few weeks. Ever since Caroline had concrete proof of Stefan’s affair, it was harder for her and Klaus to meet; Stefan’s paranoia driving him to do drastic things to protect his secret. But, the feel of Klaus fucking her was worth the wait. “God, I love you.”

“And I you.” Klaus’s hand reached down between her legs to touch her clit again. Caroline cried out his name, loudly. She began to ride him faster and faster, chasing that relief. His name slipping from his lips like a prayer. The sound of the honking horns of New York’s traffic fell away and she could care less if Klaus’s driver knew exactly what they were doing in the back of the limo. All that mattered was finding that release. “Klaus!”

Klaus felt her walls clench around him, sending him spiraling. His release came hard; spilling himself inside her. Caroline let out a long breath and rested her forehead against his. Slowly, once their hearts stopped beating rapidly, Caroline moved off of him and into the seat next to them. Klaus tucked himself away into his trousers while Caroline pulled a handkerchief from her purse to clean the inside of her thighs. She shifted in order to drape her legs over his lap and Klaus immediately began drawing small circles on her skin; sharing smiled between them as he did.

Soon enough the limo pulled to the side of the curb and the driver knocked on the window separating them from the front of the car.

“I suppose that this is my stop.”

“You’ll be safe?”

“Don’t worry.” Caroline leaned over and kissed him gently. “Damon is in a board meeting tonight” which was code for murdering someone “while Stefan and Elena are probably at the house fucking each other while I’m out spending Stefan’s money. By the time they realize I’m home, I’ll be in my bubble bath, drinking a nice glass of Pinot Grigio. Bags and bags of my shopping spree littering my room.”

“Thinking of me I hope, while you’re all naked and wet.” Klaus’s eyes traveled over the length of her and Caroline just giggled. She leaned up and kissed him, before grabbing her purse on the floor. Klaus grabbed her wrist before she could open the door. “Soon Caroline.”

In the end, things came to a close far more quickly than either of them expected. Within the next three months, Caroline would discover she was pregnant with Klaus’s child. Knowing that she would not be able to pawn the child off as Stefan’s, not that she would want to, Klaus had to act quickly. Photos of Stefan and Elena in an intimate position surfaced, causing Damon to go off the rails. He murdered both his brother and his wife, brutally. By the time Damon spared his sister in law a thought, she had already left and was in Klaus’s protection-handing over all of the secrets Damon worked hard to keep buried.

Damon was dead within the week.

[mangorochi]

bad guy (1/1)

luhan's the bad guy. or, in this case, the bad angel. and sehun's the good one. so he doesn't understand why the demon's affecting him so much, in all the wrong ways, when they've just met for the first time.

Bruises, on both my knees for you

Don't say thank you or please

I do what I want when I'm wanting to

My soul? So cynical

-

Sehun likes to think he’s a good angel. He always completes his tasks to a T, whether that be watching over his assigned humans or collecting prayers or even vanquishing the occasional demon that manages to creep out from the underworld.

In fact, most days, Sehun could be found just lounging on the edge of a rooftop, having already completed everything on his daily to- do list. Beautiful, crisp, white wings spread out from either side of him, he was perfectly content with just observing the bustling streets down below.

It was in this exact position that Sehun was currently in when his handsome features morphed into one of caution and suspicion. The faint spring breeze that blew over his face had trace amounts of something impure, something dark, embedded in it. Sehun was much too seasoned a veteran to not be on his very highest alert as soon as he had detected the scent.

Was it a demon? The scent had the cold, darkness of one, but somehow smelled almost… sweet? Sehun’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip and one hand carefully traced the gilded hilt of the sword strapped to his left hip. Sehun may be an angel who had served God and the heavens for many millennia, but he was also a celebrated warrior who wasn’t afraid to spill a few drops of blood if necessary.

Sehun rose to his feet, wings slightly contracting behind him as he turned away from the rooftop edge and made his way toward the center. He would take flight and circle from above to see if he could manage to track down this oh- so- bizarre scent of whatever it was that had found its way here on earth. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be another angel or celestial being, as Sehun would’ve easily been able to pick out the refreshing, warm traces left behind by his fellow kind.

With a single powerful beat of his wings, Sehun propelled himself into the air, easily twenty feet above the rooftop. He brushed the stray strands of blond hair out of his eyes, calculating, gray eyes seeing more than met the mortal eye as he scanned over the city.  

Sehun tsked, lips slightly parted as he stretched his wings out to their fullest span, sunlight pouring over his shoulders like a pooling robe.

“If you won’t come out of your little hiding spot, then I’ll just make you come to me,” Sehun muttered, unsheathing his sword from his hip and slicing it through the air a couple times before pointing it slightly downward. The slightly gold, metallic color of the sword was almost blinding in the bright sunlight, creating a faint glow in the area surrounding the tip. Sehun held out his other hand, palm facing the sword as if he were shielding his eyes from the intensity of the light.

Concentrating on the warm pull toward it, Sehun surged more of his energy into the sword, turning it into almost a beacon of sorts. Vibrations coursed through it, and the sheer, raw power simply emitting from it would have been able to instantly turn a mortal blind if one were to simply look at it, which is why Sehun took great care in shielding himself from the human eye, creating a thin veil around him that prevented his celestial powers from shining through.

Sehun closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, waiting to detect any sort of presence near him. He remained perfectly still, body completely in combat mode, ready to launch itself into fight at any given moment.

And there was… nothing?

Sehun opened his eyes, thoroughly confused. By infusing his holy sword with his celestial energy, there was no way any demon or hellish being would be able to refuse a source of such concentrated, raw, divinity. It was like honey to ants.

Which is why Sehun was absolutely bewildered by the fact that he didn’t have a demon dead by his sword by now, black blood running down the edge-

“That’s a nice little trick you got there,” a playful voice from behind Sehun piped up.

However, when the blond- headed angel whirled around and was met with nothing but blue skies, he looked farther down below him, and it was a good distance away, nearly twenty blocks separating them, perched atop a rooftop garden, that he spotted the thing.

A demonic little thing, black wings folded neatly behind its back as it casually laid across the swinging bench in the garden. How ironic that such a thing of evil and chaos was surrounded by beautiful flowers, peaceful as could be. It was also remarkably beautiful, its fluffy black hair sitting atop its small head like a cloud, face small and almost feminine, and petite body draped with some kind of dark material. Just enough to cover the most convenient places, of course. Wouldn't want a demon to be seen as too modest.

Sehun sneered down below and positioned his sword so that it directly faced the demon.

“And how, might I ask, are you able to resist the call of my little trick?” Sehun quipped, interested in hearing the answer before he wiped the demon into a little smear across the heavenly skies.

“Hm,” the demon mused, running its strangely delicate fingers through its tousled black hair. “Perhaps,” he lowered his voice, although Sehun could still hear him despite the distance, “because I have one too. And mine’s bigger,” the demon smirked, reaching from somewhere underneath him, and it was mere nanoseconds that Sehun had to react and raise his sword just in time for it to clash loudly against the grind of the demon’s pitch- black sword.

How had the demon moved so quickly? It seemed all Sehun could see was black. Black wings covering the sky above him, black sword created sparks of energy that flew all around him. Black hair in front of him, black, black, black.

Sehun grunted with the effort it took to keep the combating two blades away from his face, momentarily taken aback by the demon’s strength. Not only was it powerful enough to avoid falling prey to Sehun’s divine sword, it was actually strong enough to hold its own against Sehun, one of Heaven’s most gifted warriors.

Just who exactly was this demon?

As if reading his mind, the demon grinned, and Sehun’s careful eyes noted the pointy ends of its canines.

“My name’s Luhan. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. What’s your name, oh holy one?” The demon, or, Luhan, mused playfully. His tone was mocking, almost in an inviting way, although Sehun wasn’t fooled in the slightest. Ignoring the question, he parried the demon’s sword away and immediately inserted himself within an inch of Luhan’s face. Had he stayed longer in that position, Sehun probably could’ve counted the lashes lining Luhan’s deceivingly sweet eyes, could’ve felt the cold exhale of breath out of surprise.

Instead, the angel latched onto one of the smaller being’s arms within his ironclad grip, squeezing tight enough to nearly crack the small limb, and more than hard enough to leave a mark. Sehun swung with all his might, using his celestial powers to amplify his strength. It gave him great pleasure in seeing the demon propelled through the sky like a ragdoll from the force of the throw (although he was still aggravated to see the demon managed to slightly open his wings to push against the force of the attack and prevent him from being blown any farther).

Sehun gave the demon no time to react, following through his previous attack by tackling the demon head- on, both hands on his sword and flying closer by the millisecond.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” Luhan laughed, using his thumb to wipe away a small droplet of blood that escaped the cut below his eye that had formed as a result of being cut by Sehun’s powerful celestial energy. Just as Sehun’s sword was swung in an arc, aiming for Luhan’s legs, the demon’s wings gave one powerful beat before immediately contracting neatly against his shoulder blades, the action giving him the height he needed to avoid Sehun’s sweeping sword. Almost like a majestic swallow dipping down, Luhan let himself fall back like an arrow headed to the ground, Sehun catching a sly smile on his face just before he leaned back.

Not to let the demon out of his sight, Sehun immediately gave chase to the nuisance, his wings allowing him to slice through the air like butter. He could acknowledge that the demon seemed to be slightly faster than him, more nimble, but Sehun was still bigger, and confident that he was stronger.

It was frustrating to the angel, because just when he thought he could manage to catch the demon falling to earth, he managed to just barely escape Sehun’s grasp. The two played the game of tag for a little bit, like two koi fish circling each other.

Finally, Luhan let his wings open, gliding toward the top of a tall skyscraper before sharply turning.

Sehun followed suit, sword already raised and no more than a foot away from Luhan’s narrow chin. He wouldn’t let his guard down, even if the demon was literally standing in front of Sehun, completely defenseless and of his own volition.

Luhan let out a chuckle, one hand adjusting the loose black fabric draped across his body. Sehun ignored the movement. He forced himself to keep his eyes trained on the demon’s face, even if he could practically feel the other’s eyes on him, analyzing every inch of his body from head to toe.

“You know, if you’re going to smite me now, don’t you think I deserve to at least get a name?” Luhan asked in a mock- voice, one finger resting on his chin as he tilted his head to feign innocence.

Sehun sneered. “Why would I waste my breath blessing you with my name when I could just end your miserable existence now and get on with my life?” He ignored the voice in his head that was questioning why the demon wasn’t putting up a fight, or why he was even humoring the demon’s small talk to begin with.

Luhan’s dark eyes widened. “Oh! Wow! You have a real command of language, don’t you?” The demon suddenly extended a hand, and for some reason, Sehun didn’t want to immediately cut it off with his sword.

“I like you,” Luhan smiled, and Sehun watched with confused eyes as something began materializing in the palm of the demon’s hand. “That’s why I’m not going to kill you. And you’re very lucky you ran into me today, and not one of my nastier brethrens, because I’m even going to leave a little gift for you to remember me by, my dear angel,” the dark being mused, in a sugary- sweet voice that made Sehun feel strange and in a way he had never previously felt before. He should feel insulted, disgusted even, by how familiarly the demon was talking to him. Instead, he felt a sense of..... comfort? He couldn't quite pinpoint the emotion, but it made Sehun feel as though he had too much energy running through ought his body.

In the blink of an eye, Luhan was gone from Sehun’s vision. The angel blinked again and jumped in surprise when he felt a cold arm wrapped around his waist from behind. Why was he so jumpy? Sehun couldn't remember the last time he had been caught off guard. This all felt so wrong.

“You sure you don’t want to give me a little gift in return, too, hm?” A seductive voice murmured from right behind his ear, and suddenly Sehun felt something touch his lips. One hand released its grip on his sword to touch the object in front of his face.

An apple.

“I’m…. Sehun,” the angel said in confusion, whirling around to see the demon all the way on the other side of the rooftop, standing right on the edge, hands behind his back.

Luhan made a kissy face at the angel before waving goodbye and falling backwards. Sehun didn’t have to race to the edge to know that the demon had likely disappeared, either gone to torment some poor soul on the other side of the globe or back to the hellish place he came from.

It seemed Sehun was left with more questions than answers though, because what the hell was he doing with an apple in his hand, no slain demon carcass in front of him, and the urge to learn more about the psychotic fiend he had just let go free?

[naopao]

Too Curious By Far

Pairing: Genji/Zenyatta (eventual), background pairings Chapter: 1/? Summary: Zenyatta, prince of the forest, finds a dragon in need of aid. Warnings: none, light blood/wound mention

A faunyatta AU inspired by the best @russet-red! (I don’t know what I’m doing, but expect updates on a fairly consistent basis.)

An abundance of discord could kill, but an abundance of harmony could blind. It was one of Mondatta’s favorite recitations when Zenyatta, well-meaning but too curious by far, caused trouble. He heard it after he had climbed the tallest, most ancient tree in the forest to see if he could spot the forest’s edge, and again when he breathed magic into the spring buds too soon, causing a flood of pollen that threatened the timelines that Mondatta and their brethren followed so meticulously.  

Now, fully grown and a master in his own right, Zenyatta tempers his brash capriciousness and desire for knowledge with a veil of maturity. It is why he ignores his brother’s constant lectures and explores the borders of their lands, explaining to Mondatta the importance of knowing one’s boundaries, that not possessing an intimate knowledge of one’s home could be disastrous.

Zenyatta’s mapped nearly all of it, and the forest is a vast, living thing, one that he has studied and learned like the marks upon his brother’s face and the lines of his favorite runes, scrawled centuries ago by another, antlered master. However, unlike markings or writings, the forest is not unchanging. It grows, ebbing and flowing with the cycles of the sky and the life force of the beings that inhabited it. There is always something new to see, a sprout, a species or color. He catalogs them all, first with his eyes and then within the pages of stitched parchment, penned by hand when he has the time, but often he magics the words onto the pages with his whispers, quicker than a reed quill.

His explorations have led him to many curious places. The lair of the spider queen is one such area, only seen at a distance, the aura powerful and overwhelming. The forest is heavier there, not discordant, but a warning lies in its sensation, and Zenyatta grants it berth. Another is much less ominous, a small cottage at the edge of the northern wood, a tiny dwelling of stone and red tile. The windows are small with lacquered wood borders, and the curtains within are always drawn.

However, Zenyatta had caught a glimpse of shifting gold during his last visit, a warm, strangely familiar color, as if he had seen it somewhere long ago.

Zenyatta’s journey leads him there in the wayward fashion he goes anywhere, taken by the small details, letting the scents and sights of the forest swell around him with the same comfort that a parent’s fur lends a fawn.

He spots the telltale smoke stacks through the gaps in the leaves. The gold he saw through the window belonged to someone with long, flaxen hair, and their aura, while difficult to place, is kind, and he intends to introduce himself.

So distracted by the mysterious inhabitant, he doesn’t notice the figure doubled over until he’s nearly upon him.

Green is the first thing that strikes catches his eye. Blazing viridian scales erupt along the creature’s skin, bristling like fur. Bandages swath most of the figure, barely held in place by healing runes, some stained red, painting the dirt and grass beneath him. All but his eyes are hidden, and they burn with the same intensity as his skin, horns sprouting from his crown, furred tail whipping behind him, so much like—

Oh.

“A dragon.” Zenyatta whispers, and all at once the figure stills, the intensity of the dragon’s glare puffing Zenyatta’s fur.

Blood trails from behind the creature Zenyatta never thought he would meet; he had been dragging himself across the forest floor.

Zenyatta breathes out in a slow, even exhale, lowering his satchel to the ground. He keeps his hands raised, mind struggling to remember the words he had studied with such ferocity.

[...I am...Zenyatta.] He tries, forcing the air from his chest in a low, rumbling timbre. [I am peaceful.]

The dragon stares, unmoving, clutching the wound at his waist, blood dribbling between his fingers.

[Dangerous.] Zenyatta says as he takes a step closer, gesturing to the forest. [Creatures will smell the blood.]

Seconds pass in terse silence, the only sounds are the dragon’s labored breathing and the chirps of far off birds.

Then the dragon snorts with a derisive huff, shaking his head, though the motion makes him wince.

[Your accent is terrible.]

Zenyatta blinks. Then his smile lights up his face, all straight white teeth. He draws nearer, and the dragon bristles further, as if to intimidate him. His nostrils flare, pupils thinning to vertical slits.

[You smell like prey.] A labored breath. [What do you want?]

[To help.]

[And how do you propose to do that?]

Zenyatta kneels just out of arm’s reach; he doesn’t want to startle him when he touches one of the orbs circling his throat. It chimes and begins to glow, painting the deer’s hand in warm heat, hovering just above his palm.

[With magic.] Zenyatta smiles at the dragon’s widening eyes. [Are you afraid?]

[Hardly.] The dragon straightens, struggling to pull himself upright.

[Try not to move. You are bleeding quite heavily.]

Zenyatta shifts his hand forward, and the orb follows the motion, a slow, dream-like toss that breaches the space between them. The orb’s warmth extends, a ghostly hand that meets the dragon’s skin with a burst of memory: Genji in his youth, playing in the koi pond, the fish nibbling at his fingertips. He blinks, memory fading while peacefulness lingers, warm like slipping beneath the covers for another hour’s sleep. Each breath is easier, less painful, and though the deeper hurts don’t disappear, they soften.

When he finally looks up, the strange creature, hooved and tawny-skinned, is staring at him with russet eyes, a wan smile tugging his lips.

[It is an interesting feeling, is it not?] Zenyatta says.

The dragon frowns, but his anger subsides like his pain, slow but sure.

[I have not felt magic like this before.]

Zenyatta smiles wider, eyes thinning in his mirth.

[So you have experienced other magic. Wonderful!] Zenyatta shifts forward. [What should I call you?]

The dragon stammers, mouth shifting beneath the bandages.

[Genji.] He says with a single dip of his head.

Zenyatta leans close, and suddenly Genji’s vision fills with a bright smile. He didn’t notice his spattering of freckles and faded scars until now.

[Well met, Genji. Let me show you how my people greet each other.] He hesitates, pursing his lip in thought. [Your antlers...may I?]

Genji swallows, hoping the bandages cover the myriad of emotions that flash across his face. He nods, staring up at Zenyatta expectantly.

[Get on with it.]

The last of his words die as Zenyatta cups Genji’s face, his palms surprisingly rough, the pads of his fingers littered with callouses. He stiffens; Zenyatta is close enough that the warmth of his breath ghosts over his lips. Then their antlers connect, soft and firm.

Suddenly, the contact is gone, and Zenyatta is already gently maneuvering Genji’s arm over his shoulder.

[The texture of your antlers is quite different! It is nice.] Zenyatta says brightly. [I know it is soon, but we must try to move. My home is far from here.]

Zenyatta counts down aloud, but stands before he reaches the final number. Genji is jostled from his reverie with newfound aches, but the orb keeps his mind cushioned and dull.

His antlers had been velvet soft, almost ticklish in their smoothness.

[What if I do not wish to go with you?] He mumbles.

[Have you somewhere better to be?]

Genji stares back the way he had come. It would be dark in a few hours. The forest is strange, claustrophobic compared to the empty expanse of sky. He did not know what monsters lurked. Perhaps it did not matter, but still the ember in his chest burns.

He cannot leave the earthly realm so soon.

Genji tries to walk on his own at first, but Zenyatta was right: their trip is a long one, slow and painful with the state of his body. The fading light makes each step more treacherous. Not once does Zenyatta complain; he only points out the trees, asks Genji if he’s ever tasted buckwheat honey or seen sakura in bloom, each word in stilted, pleasant dragon’s tongue.

He wants to ask Zenyatta how he even knows the language, why he isn’t terrified. Dragons were ancient enemies of the valley, even though the war between sky and land is long past. Even the woman who pulled him from the bramble had only a moment of fear before dragging him, slowly but surely, to her cottage, bandaged him while speaking softly in common.

Genji couldn’t understand her, didn’t want to understand her.

He ran.

His strange companion seems oblivious to it all, slowly quieting as they lose light. Colors begin to blur, each step dull and dream-like. He would be on the ground without Zenyatta’s shoulders, a constant, reassuring weight, even as he begins to tremble.

[Genji. Gen—

Greens and browns smear across his vision, a wave of vertigo twisting his feet. Darkness.

Mondatta is never surprised to find Zenyatta has gotten into trouble. He wanders too far, is too curious, though he dutifully performs his kata and meditation with a precision Mondatta wishes he could critique. That he can do so much and still find time to stir discord in such a peaceful place never fails to give him headaches.

So when the northernmost scouts bolt into the forest proper and alert Mondatta that the prince is not only worse for wear but carrying an outsider, he whispers a terse prayer and steps into the twilight dusk of the clearing.

He meets Zenyatta near the border of their village. A scout hovers  at his side, but Zenyatta will not take her aid, and his brother’s stubbornness summons an irritation that only his own sibling can rile.

“Zenyatta—”

“Brother, prepare a bed. He is bleeding out.”

Mondatta bites his tongue when he sees the fear in the prince’s eyes. Within seconds he is in front of him, taking some of the weight of the heavily bandaged stranger, shorter than them both but heavy like a corpse.

He will lecture Zenyatta later. Now, he will help.

[viscerallybriller]

Nathan and Bryan attend a Halloween party where Nathan is wearing a dress like Marilyn Monroe in Seven Year Itch. They've had quite a few drinks. Nathan is feeling playful tonight and wants to be a good girl for Daddy. How can Byran say no to such an offer.

Every year Miller would spring a new costume idea for Halloween and it was usually some scary shit where Bryan ended up sticky in fake blood instead of dried cum. Miller was always stealing their costumes from Alpha station so they were usually restricted to wearing them in front of each other. Miller scaring him shitless until he was screaming and panting. Bryan much preferred his usual way to accomplish that particular feat. He opened his quarters' door after another exhausting shift on the fields to find Miller in a long silk dress perched atop his bed, his legs akimbo to allow him a peek at some frilly underwear. Bryan struggled to swallow as his throat dried out. The clash between Miller's warm chocolate skin and the immaculate white of the dress was breathtaking and he found himself staring like an idiot for a minute before defiantly moving forward. This kind of role play he could definitely get into he thought when Miller called him 'Daddy' struggling to appear coy under his heated gaze.'So pretty' Bryan said as the rough pads of his fingers glided against the silky dress that parted to expose Miller's strong thighs.'Gonna be so good for you Daddy' Miller teased lowering his gaze his long soot eyelashes fanning against his cheeks. He handed him a beer that Bryan took a long swig from, moistening his parched throat. He ran the still cold neck of the beer along the inseam of the dress drops of condensation wetting the material and Miller trembled at the sensation. Bryan was really getting into this as he finished his beer and put it down. He beckoned him over to sit on his lap his dick chubbing up in his pants as soon as he felt Miller's round bottom grazing it. Miller started to fidget in his lap trying to get some friction going for his aching cock.'Who's pussy is this?'Bryan asked with an authoritative tone,his fingers barely touching his hole.'Yours Daddy' Miller replied clearly as turned on as his boyfriend.Bryan couldn't take it anymore he wanted to take what was his , taste the sweetness of his unbreached boy pussy kept intact just for him. He picked him up forcing him on his hands and knees. Miller whimpered in anticipation feeling completely at his mercy but fully trusting that his Daddy would look after him. The panel of the dress just fell naturally to the side beautifully revealing the white virginal underwear that was clinging to every curve of that delicious ass that Miller was now wiggling in his face begging 'Please Daddy'. Bryan lowered his face to settle between his parted legs. His breath ghosting against Miller's skin bringing out goosebumps all over his body. He pressed his mouth against the material sucking it in whilst driving Miller crazy with the lack of contact. The now wet fabric moulded to Miller's untouched hole and Bryan used his thumb to spread the material before diving back in his face now snug against Miller's crack. He breathed deep for a second allowing Miller's internal scent to fill his pores. He licked and sucked at the material his tongue pressing firmly against Miller's hole.'Such a good girl your pussy is so wet for Daddy' he said as he shifted the panties aside so he could taste Miller's flushed skin. There was no reply from Miller as he laid his head heavily on his arms as soon as he felt Bryan's tongue teasing his hungry boy pussy that was contracting at every broad lick that Bryan was lavishing on him. He wanted more , so much more as he started to prod his opening with his tongue and Miller could only whimper. His pussy was getting all wet and open just for him and Bryan was devouring it trying to get deeper inside, drool dripping from his chin. He put his fingers in Miller's mouth and like a good girl Miller sucked the digits moaning around them. He slid one finger in the thoroughly wet opening and Miller's breath caught at the foreign intrusion but Bryan soothingly circled his rim with his tongue and soon Miller was begging his Daddy for more. Bryan brought a warm palm to Miller's tailbone gently massaging as he added another finger. Miller took what he was given soon fucking himself on the fingers buried in his ass. Bryan quickly found his prostate but refrained from pressing it as he wanted Miller first experience of it to be from his dick alone. When he was satisfied that Miller was stretched enough to accommodate his girth Bryan lined himself up angling it so it would graze his prostate on the first thrust. Bryan hit the right spot as he engulfed himself in tight heat and Miller could only gasp gripping the sheets in a desperate effort to hold on. Bryan enjoyed the way his boy pussy fit him like a glove just made for him. The thought was heady as he pulled out and slammed back in Miller crying out in shock and pleasure. He kept a nice rhythm listening to all the change of breath of the boy underneath him, squirming to fit more of him inside. 'Harder Daddy' Miller begged his legs shaking to keep him in position.'Your pussy loves my cock' Bryan stuttered as Miller's hole fluttered and clenched against him.'Yes' Miller kept repeating like a prayer as his orgasm was coming full force no longer chasing it just succumbing to it in a litany of profanities that good girls shouldn't say but her Daddy will be sure to punish him later, Miller shivered at the thought. Bryan rode him through his orgasm his cock pumping inside of him at a punishing speed until Bryan grunted more animalistic than human into his ear collapsing boneless on top of him. 'I love you' Miller murmured before falling asleep nestled inside Bryan's arms.

[blisserial]

Seven

Ross came back to the Cat'n Hammer five days running. He spent until his coin ran out and he had nothing left but the pretty stones. On the sixth day he traded one stone for an entire afternoon in the attic.

"Opals," he said again. "They're all I've got left, love.  And each is worth more coin than you'll see in a week."

I didn't believe him but I took the stone anyway. It warmed in my hand.

Ross made me pile all eight mattresses in one corner of the attic and then he took me on the floor, despite the splinter and the damp. He was less enthusiastic, this time. Perhaps the frenzy of lust was finally wearing away.

Nevertheless, when he had rutted his fill, he wanted me to stand in the center of the drafty room and turn about in a circle on my toes.

I humored him, but only because I could see he had something other than his prick in mind.

"You're small," he said. "You won't grow much more. How old are you?"

"I don't remember," I lied.

Ross propped himself on one elbow. His brow  creased over the scars on his face. I wondered what he was thinking. And then I decided it didn't matter. The draft had prickled my flesh and I'd had enough of his avid stare.

"You've got long fingers," he continued, watching as I squirmed back into my shift and trousers. The smell of him lingered on my hands. "And you're quick."

"Quick?" I looked up, suddenly uneasy. It was much safer, at the Cat, to be remembered as stolid and loyal.

He stood and stretched. "I've watched you. You're careful. You pay attention. And you don't intend to stay here long, do you, Bliss?"

"No." I showed him elaborate unconcern. "I imagine I'll move on, eventually."

"Got some wage put away for travel? You don't send it all to your grandfather, do you?"

So he’d been asking questions. I felt a knife edge of fear and masked it with annoyance. I wondered who had spoken so freely about my life. If it was Shel, I would make her regret it.

I must have taken a step backwards because he laughed.

"I'm not in the slave trade, Bliss. I'm looking for a juggler."

"A juggler?"

He nodded and collected his strewn clothing, separating boots from tunic. "I own a circus troop. Performers, yes?"

When he saw that I understood, he nodded. "We're about to head south for summer's end. And I've just lost my juggler. To a pretty widow and her passel of brats, Fox save me."

"I don't juggle." And I did not intend to start. Circus folk were little more than beggars. And also thieves, more often than not. That very last thing I needed was a right hand lost to the king for stealing.

"I'll teach you," Ross replied. "Like I said, you're quick. By the time we reach the border, you'll juggle in your sleep."

"I'm happy here."

"You don't belong here." He pulled his tunic over his head, then tossed me a lumpy bag. "It's time for a change."

I could feel the juggler's props through the felt. "I'm not going with you."

"You'll stay here and die of the rot?" Ross mocked. "Or perhaps you had ideas of joining the king's court. They'll never take you, Bliss. You're a peasant and a whore and you look it."

I had not  thought of the court, not exactly. Still, I shivered.

"Come south with me, for two seasons. We'll be back in the spring. By the time the buttercups blossom, you'll be in Derby again but this time rich as a lord."

He saw my face and smiled. "Southerners love our kind, Bliss. You'll be fed to bursting, clothed in silk and weighted with jewels. Opals are just the beginning, love. Wait until you earn a Southern sapphire."

I cannot remember if I believed him, truly. But the pretty stone was still in my hand, glinting as I rolled it between thumb and forefinger.

"Come," Ross cajoled. "Let me show you."

I told myself I would be back in the spring, with enough coin and riches to set Granda up nicely. But I think I knew, even then, that there would not be any home waiting for my return.

                                                            *****

 It was six days' ride from the River Ann to the center of Emman. Bliss would have taken it all in one lump with hardly a stop in between if Maurice had not put his foot down and insisted on wisdom.

"Fear has made you blind and bullheaded," he said. "And you are not doing any of us any good."

She'd listened, for once. Which might have worried Maurice if he were not so grateful for the rest. His body no longer took to the saddle as it once had. He wobbled in the mornings and collapsed, numb, into his bedding each sunset.

Shaara had more energy. The boy went into the nearest village every evening and returned at moonrise with any bits and pieces of interest he could glean.

Which, in truth, was not very much.

After the very first temple the boy disguised himself. Or so he said. There were no more offers of cooked meat for the prodigal heroes.

In the snatches of sleep between dismount and dawn, Maurice dreamt. He dreamt of small faces painted on smooth shell, and of the Southern perfume he could smell on Shaara at the end of the day.

In his dreams the miniatures spoke in urgent, blurred tones. Maurice strained in his sleep to understand and woke with an aching head for his troubles.

As they gained on the Lower Temple he began to dream instead of the past, of the dead lying broken in the mud, and of the sound of pistols and cannons. In one nightmare grapeshot throbbed in his shoulder, the wound searing his flesh. He could smell char as Moire, insubstantial as the rest of the dreaming, bent to tend his wound. In his sleeping mind her hair had grown long and her eyes were bright and dilated, opiate touched, and when she spoke it he could not understand her any more than he could the faces on the painted shell.

"She hadn't a head for healing," Bliss said, unaffected, when he relayed the dream. "And she would never let her hair grow long. Too dangerous."

"It was beaded," Maurice said, slowly, remembering. "And knotted."

This unwelcome news silenced Bliss, but only for a moment. "Was she wearing a temple shawl?"

"No."

"Good." Bliss waved a hand, dismissive. But the rest of that day she'd ridden the pony at an unfair speed, as if trying to outrun Horrid himself.

 Emman City lived on the very edge of the Seat’s shadow. Another fortnight’s journey south and the weary traveler would be standing before the High Temple. But a man did not have to be not quite as careful on the streets of Emman, was not quite so afraid that he did not dare mutter about the price of ale, or the constriction of evening curfew.

The city was surrounded entirely by a smooth, white wall made of crushed sea shell and blood plaster. Maurice knew very well how carefully that wall was tended. Once he had spent the daylight hours of every fourth week mashing shell and massaging plaster into a paste used to patch any hole or crack the city watch might report .

Bliss's small troop paused before the city gates, waiting in line to be passed through.

"We'll visit the barracks first," she declared, standing high in her stirrups, trying to see over the milling crowd.

Maurice grunted. He doubted they would find any welcome in the soldiers’ quarter, especially if Bliss barreled in all venom and anxiety, demanding to see Moire.

But by the stiffness in Bliss's stance, there was no point in arguing. She’d never been one for caution, even on a good day.

"Look," Shaara said. "They've the red up, yet."

Bliss on her slow, squat pony, cursed and abandoned stirrups for the saddle. Even standing lightly on the animal's spine, she was too short.

"I can't see it."

"It's there." Maurice could just make out the crimson banner hung high above Emman's gate. "You'll glimpse it soon enough."

The red had been hanging the very first time the’d entered the city, and was still up on the day they finally left it. A call sent out to the young, a search for both initiate and soldier, the banner graced the white walls only during time of war. Maurice had supposed the draft long over. He wondered uneasily whether the red had come down at all during Bliss's self exile.

"Who are they warring with?" Shaara wondered. "If not us?"

Maurice shook his head. Bliss ignored them both.

The sun rose high in the sky and then dipped again before they faced the white gate. Ten soldiers here, and obviously far better trained then their Northern cohorts on the bridge over the River Ann. Their captain, a grizzled ex-slave, looked Bliss and her companions over from head to toe. He knew they were Northerners. He passed them through anyway. The Seat had no fear of spies.

The red banner flapped and snapped above their heads as they entered the city.

Beyond the gate a circle of hotels, brothels and three penny restaurants waited for the casual visitor and off duty soldier. The square courtyard between the buildings bustled. Here and there hawkers pushed through the crowd, singing their wares in the peculiar clipped accent that, to Maurice's ear, was ineffably Southern

They stabled their mounts in a wide building built for exactly that purpose; the Seat did not allow horse or cart into the center of his cities. The scrawny woman who walked the animals to their paddock and took Bliss's coin smelled heavily of opiate gum. She kept her gaze cast down, and spoke in a whisper.

"Nothing's changed," Maurice said, resigned, as they left the horses.

"Of course not." Bliss threw him a mocking smile. "Did you really think things would have? 'In the shadow," she continued, quoting a Temple chant, 'time is as nothing.'"

Emman's narrow cobbled streets were quiet beneath the midday sun. On either side white plaster walls rose into the sky, slit here and there with thin windows, brightened once or thrice by a revealing flash of indigo curtain. Here were the city flats, housing multiple families. The pristine façades reflected sunlight, cooling the rooms within, doubling the heat in the narrow streets. Maurice shed his cloak and loosened his tunic.

"Winter," Shaara marveled, following suit. "And it's warm. I'd forgotten."

"I hadn't," Maurice replied, and sent a prayer of thanks Trout's way.

 Emman's barracks clustered in gentle humps at the very center of the city, a squat beehive at the foot of a single, slender white tower. The tower belonged solely to the Seat. Most often the stained glass windows remained dark, the chambers beyond closed and deserted.

Bliss paused and looked up, considering the spire without expression.

"Do you suppose he's been here since Green Hill?" Shaara mused. Maurice saw the lad shiver and wondered if he remembered enough that day to be afraid.

"No doubt," Bliss said. Then she shrugged. She made as if to duck into the first barracks but then paused.

"We should have gone to the Temple first," she said. Maurice heard her teeth click together.

"You'd climb the steps and cross the threshold?" Maurice let deliberate disbelief ring. He didn't like the sudden uncertainty he read in her eyes and he wanted to shake her until she regained bluster. "Is even Moire worth such sacrifice?"

"I'd send you in," Bliss spat. "And wait in the clean air."

She stalked through a doorway so low even she had to slouch. Maurice bent after and gestured at Shaara. The boy looked reluctantly away from the Seat's spire before following.

 "Major Moire Kler," Bliss repeated for the third time, elbows on limestone desk, nearly nose to nose with the officer on the other side. "Is she here or not, man?"

"She is not." The officer, a corporal by Maurice's best guest, took visible hold of his courage. The first time Bliss spat her question, the fellow had been too irritated to reply. The second time, understanding began to dawn and he had gone mute with shock or fear.

But the officer was a man in the Seat's barracks and as such no doubt used to both fear and distasteful surprise. He rallied quickly enough and he was not going to let Bliss pass so easily.

"The Major is not available," he said, spine stiff. "If you would be so kind as to leave your name, I might send a messenger -"

"Don't be daft." Impossibly, Bliss inched her compact frame further across limestone. "I can see by your face you know who we are. In fact, I'd bet Horrid's first you've been expecting us."

Maurice had decided the same and he did not like the implication.

"Let us through, soldier." He set his hand on the desk and leaned with Bliss. "Or at least tell us where to find her."

The officer seemed unable to look away from Bliss's scowl. "She will not be back before nightfall." He swallowed but continued gamely on. "And I have orders not to let you pass."

"She still sleeps here, then, does she? In the Major's chamber?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

Maurice saw sweat bead on the officer's brow. "I'm sure I do not know, ma'am. Captain." He took a breath. "She left something, in case you…If you came."

Bliss snatched the square of paper and unfolded it with steady hands. Love notes, Maurice thought wryly, remembering Shaara's tease. But Bliss's mouth set and she tore the paper into neat scraps, linen threads scattering.

"We'll wait." She rolled her shoulders and paced once back and forth in front of the desk.

The officer released a relieved sigh. "If I can bring you anything? Meat, or tea or temple birds for the evensong?"

Maurice winced. Bliss's chin came up.

"Inside," she added. "We'll wait inside."

She brushed the corporal aside. The man quivered, hands flexing. He could decide to leap, Maurice planted himself in the way.

"She doesn't fight fair," he said, pleasantly. "And neither do we. Best just to go and fetch the Major."

 The corridor past the limestone desk was cool and, for the most part, quiet. Muffled voices and the faint boom of training drums slipped through thick walls. The beehive remained a place of shelter and secrets and lives given entirely to the Seat. Maurice felt the old sense of peace descend, and caught himself relaxing.

He could have found his way to the Major's quarters in the dark.

The heavy wooden door waited at the end of the old hall. Maurice could not help but lay his palm against the rough planks. The scars were the same; the cluster of burns where he had snuffed endless cigarettes, the crack Will's axe had cut in the lintel, and the slivered dent Bliss had left a finger span beneath the bronze latch on the night they had run.

That dent Bliss touched, lightly, a slender thumb against splinters.

"It'll be locked," she said. "Shaara?"

For once, Bliss's apprentice blanched at the challenge. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

Shaara shrugged and took his copper pins to the key hole. The latch resisted. Shaara his lip and muttered. Maurice wondered if he was imagining Moire's imminent ire. He set his hand on the boy's shoulder. Shaara twitched and shrugged him off, and the latch gave and the lock snicked open.

Maurice expected darkness. Instead, a single wick burned in Southern oil beneath an amber shade. The cell was as small as Maurice recalled. A single cot on the floor resided still against the same eastern wall but Moire had added color in the form of vibrant, dyed wool pillows and a woven blanket. An earthenware bowl waited on a wooden stool and Moire's leather wrapped dress sword rested against the wall in the farthest corner.

Shaara slipped his pins back up his sleeve and dropped crosslegged to the bare floor, resignation in the slump of his shoulders. Bliss padded carefully into the room. She touched the earthenware bowl first, regarded the lamp beneath lowered lids, and then paused to plump the pillows on the cot.

"Color," she muttered, bemused.

Maurice found himself drawn to the weapon in the corner. He touched the wrapped scabbard and then drew a finger back in surprise. Dust. Yet when he drew the blade free the metal gleamed, well oiled. That, at least, had not changed.

When he turned around Bliss had settled on the cot among the pillows, elbows on her knees, eyes on the open door.

They did not have to wait long.

They heard her before they saw her. Boot heels ringing on cobblestone, which was entirely on purpose, as Moire could be quiet and wily as Fox when the mood took her. Shaara swallowed audibly. Maurice took a breath and fell into parade rest, wishing suddenly for the protection of a dress uniform. Bliss didn't move but Maurice could see her pulse beating fast in her throat from across the room.

The clatter of Moire's haste stopped just outside the cell. A tick of silence, an unheard inhale, and their Major stepped through the door, the affronted corporal three strides behind.

Shaara jumped up, a puppet yanked by invisible strings. Maurice, unable to help himself, stepped from the edge of the room to the lad's side, rank awaiting new orders, the old habit far too deeply engrained to shake.

Bliss did not stand, as friendship or etiquette might require. Instead she took her elbows from her knees, crossed her arms on her chest and slouched more deeply into the nest of cushions. Without uttering a single word, she spoke eloquently of insolence.

And so Bliss certainly would, Maurice realized, between one slow heartbeat and the next, for his dream had spoken true.

Somehow in their absence Moire had given up her soldier's leathers for the dun priestly raiment of the Lower Temple.

[cometladyicarus-blog]

Before They Were Wardens - Solona

Of these I have written right now (Still working on Theron, Serada and Darrian of my Wardens in this set right now), Solona’s the darkest. I found this darkness fitting for a Kirkwall origin for the Human Mage origin, and it is a major point where I have refit some of the canon backstory in terms of when certain events happen due to the vague information available and my own faulty memories at times. 

There are minor characters death, though we don’t get to see the characters well enough to get to know them for himself, and it introduces an idea I’ve got in my head about some of the magic that was expanded by DA2.

Originally this story bit was me trying to imagine what being a mage originally from Kirkwall might be like for Solona Amell. Solona is also my favorite of my Wardens because, well, Arcane Warrior is awesome. This is also why her segment is the longest of the ones I’ve written, and a part could also fit into another character’s segment.

And I really wish Inquisition’s Advanced Classes were options in Origins.

“What? The tale of how Warden Natia Brosca joined the carta isn’t impressive enough for you? Well, fine. Here’s the tale of Solona Amell, now I’ve been lucky, or unlucky as it may be, to get to live where her tale starts. I’ve also had a rare chance to actually hear about these events from her herself, in a roundabout way.”

The storyteller sighed and flipped a coin. “I guess I’ll tell the truth as well as I know it, and fill in the blanks based on the Amell I met long after the events took place. But I’ve seen where she starts, and even as a youth, that place unnerved me.”

Odd things happened around her. Always have. She had a way with making the morning fires start when they were forgotten in the night and helped the servants keep warm and employed. In the summer, she always drank cool water, even when the next glass had lukewarm water. If things crashed into her, she healed quickly.

Yes, strange things, small strange things. Not important strange things. Things no one gave a second thought to because they were so small. So small, they could be easily missed.

And then she would look an adult in the eye and give a bright sky gray look that seemed to lay claim to knowledge she didn’t have. Couldn't have. Her eyes seemed to have a slight brightness that couldn't change with dimming light. Suspicion dispersed among her family’s peers when her older brother joined the Templars of Kirkwall. A Templar would know if she were … or if she were just an unsettling child.

She was going to turn ten the day after he went missing. She went to the Chantry, to the Gallows, to the Viscount's Keep to find him. No one knew he was missing until the family started looking for him. His Templar gear was stored away for the end of his shift, he left the Gallows as he did every evening.

She took his armor and sword to the Chantry. She prayed the Maker would keep her brother safe. Her mother found her in the pews reciting Trials and in the company of a pair of concerned Templar Knights. With a family as old and powerful as hers, him being kidnapped for ransom was very possible. Two Amell children going missing within Kirkwall would be disastrous.

In a moment of doubt, she pulled his armor on. Just as if he were with her in the Chantry, protecting her and Kirkwall from evil mages and helping the good ones in the armor. Her brother's brothers-in-arms removed their helmets and gave her a smile mid-chant.

She refused to go home, not until her brother was found safe. The Templars promised to keep her company in her prayers.

She stayed in the Chantry the entire day, too worried to bring herself to eat. The Sisters and Revered Mother offered what words they could and tried to coax her to at least eat some bread and drink some water. She turned down the offer of food and drink, suggesting them for the Templars with her instead.

Afternoon bled into the darkness of night. The Sisters and Grand Cleric turned in for the night long before, but still the girl sang the Chant with her Templar guards. The final bell of the day chimed to announce only mere minutes were left for the date. A mouse scurried past the Templars and the noble girl.

The doors swung open with a chill. The moans caught her and the Knights’ attention. The red firey mass moved slowly, groaning and hissing while the surface it moved on burned. She ran down the steps, armed with a book of the Chant as the Templars drew their weapons and shield.

The mass stopped just out of range.

“Little… sister?” The voice was distorted, ringing as familiar, though unplaced in identity. The mass reached around its neck and tossed a necklace towards her. “Brothers, little sister, end me.”

She walked to the necklace and stopped at the Templar's Amulet of Andraste, on the bottom it had been engraved IA. “What?” She picked it up and turned it over to see the family sigil. Her heart sank as she realized who the thing had been.

“Now, before-” He was cut off with a scream from within.

“Abomination? But he's no ma-” The shield-bearing Templar died with a red arm, blade, thing piercing his chest. His brother-in-arms was thrown by the other.

The thing that had once been her brother moved towards her. She took the dead Templar's sword into her hand, using her other hand to keep balance on the flat of the blade.

“You are not my brother.”

“Yes, rage. More.” She felt a pull on her soul as she snarled.

“No! Begone!” She pulled back, and swore she felt her brother stand with her, making the sword lighter so she could use it with one hand. A bright blue glow pulsed on the ground.

She stepped towards the thing and pierced where a neck would have been. She screamed and slammed the sword against the burning body as it broke before the blade.

The blue glow grew in size until the body was little more than gore and stain. She stepped back to wear the necklace in a foggy moment she could control her limbs. She didn’t see the blue glow fade away, or the place her brother begged for death at set itself aflame. The flames froze when there was nothing left to burn.

The sound of her heartbeat faded as she vaguely heard someone scream and someone else shout directions that became clearer with every panicked breath she took.

The Chantry sisters and Revered Mother helped the surviving Knight stand as she was wrapped into a blanket, armor of a confirmed to be dead Templar and all.

First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle Gallows walked into the Chantry to see a group of young Templars protecting someone, something, in the middle of their group as the Knight-Lieutenant tried to make them obey her orders.

“Excuse me. Sers, what happened?”

“These Knights are protecting an apostate!”

“No. We are protecting the younger sister of our own. She smited the abomination.”

“And used magic!”

“She had no idea she's a mage. We've been cancelling her magic out.”

The First Enchanter made an asking motion with his hand. The Templars parted enough to let him through, sealing the ring behind him when their Lieutenant tried to follow.

An injured Templar held the ten year old in his lap, her face still smeared with abomination blood. He noted the armor several sizes too large for her –Templar armor, she must have been the missing Templar’s sister.

“I am First Enchanter Mordiin, may I know your name, little one?”

She looked at him with the clear grey eyes he recalled a Templar's sister being accused of having as magic eyes. He looked at her face and saw Templar Amell's features in her, confirming her as the missing man’s kin. As he looked closer, he swore he could see the eyes of a Spirit looking at him through the reflection, under the swirls of mana in their color, but when he tried to look closer, only the eyes of a mortal mageling looked back.

She sniffed. “Mama and Papa will be unhappy with me again. I don’t want magic. Magic took Illo from me. And I killed him.”

He nodded at her reaction. Not an easy task for a hardened Templar, let alone a child toward a beloved sibling, to slay a demon that had once been someone she knew and loved. The girl had not been born under a kind star. “I do not believe he would have wanted to stay as he was before you did.”

“Mama and Papa will be unhappy, ashamed of me. They were so happy Illo joined the Templars, and now I’m a mage-!” She sobbed the rest that he couldn’t figure out.

“Enchanter, she used a Holy Smite on the abomination before killing it. When the seal faded, she burnt the remains and froze the flames to protect everything else. She's not an apostate. Her brother had no idea she was a mage, she had no idea. Her family won’t be kind to her, not after her aunt Leandra left with an apostate.”

He placed a hand on the scared child's head. “I know the First Enchanter of Ferelden's Circle. It's a ways away from Kirkwall, but you won’t have to see your parents be upset with you, or this Chantry where your brother died.”

She looked up as a soft green spark passed over her fingertips to the injured man. His injuries healed themselves as his leg righted. The green spark flicked out when she jerked her hands away to stare at them, as if expecting a demon to spring out of her fingers.

“Will there be nice people?”

“Knight-Commander Greagoir's a bit rough, but he means well as I remember him in his Knight-Lieutenant days here. First Enchanter Irving will be delighted to have a new student.”

She looked at the Templars protecting her and saw them nod.

“You show promise of being a great mage, but you will not pass your Harrowing if you stay here.”

She nodded and held out a hand for the mage to take. The knights broke from their formation.

The Lieutenant spoke up again. “Good, now give the girl to-“

“She's going to the Fereldan Circle. Her family would sooner have her harmed than safely taught. This tragedy needs not to be compounded when she had never used magic before.”

She looked behind her at the Templars and thought she saw one smile and wave at her before walking through the statue of Andraste. A demon or spirit, she wondered.

The three Templar Knights who started their shielding of her were sentenced to transport her to Kinloch Hold. The one who had been injured in the fight gave her Illo's pauldrons and bracers as they boarded the ship.

The ship trip was different than she thought as she tried to stay out of sight from the sailors who gave her a look she only recognized as “bad”. Two Knights stayed with her at all times to keep the sailors away from her.

She was more delighted to see land than her escorts were, as they thanked the Maker for the safe journey and swore to Andraste they would take the longer land journey back to the Free Marches.

The port city was part of a bigger group of cities and farms called a Teyrnir. She frowned and tried to learn and make sense of what she could.

“Bowf! Bo-u!”

“Mabar!” A short tailed wolf almost ran into her, stopping just shy of her face it decided to lick.

At her shriek a girl, a few years older than her, tapped at a collar around the wolf's neck. “Mabar, don’t scare the Templar girl. So sorry, Mabar just runs off and thinks everyone is her friend. Unless he gets close to her food, but still. Hello, I’m Elissa. And you're with the Templars? How awesome!”

The older girl grinned and tossed a white braid over her shoulder.

“I-I'm not a Templar, miss.”

The girl looked confused for a moment.

“I-I'm a mage going to Kinloch.”

The girl laughed. “I heard Kinloch is a good place, Templars aren’t mean to mages. At least, that's what the visiting Mages say.”

She smiled at the elder girl. “Thank you. Nice to meet both of you, but I need to find my Templar friends.”

Elissa pointed towards the Chantry. “Come on, I’ll take you, I saw them heading this way.”

The white haired girl grinned as the duo and Mabari found the three worried looking Templars. “Sorry, my dog distracted her. And then I kept talking to her and didn’t let her leave until she said she needed to find you.”

Young Amell tried to straighten her new robes as she recalled her lessons on manners. “I’m sorry, I should not have gotten distracted by the dog and should have stayed close.”

“Nah, we're the ones at fault. We should have been keeping an eye on you to make sure you didn’t get lost even when we did.”

Elissa grinned. “It was my fault, please allow me to make it up by feeding and housing you for this part of your trip.”

The Reverend Sister stopped arguing with a local Templar at the idea.

“Young Lady Cousland! You know better than to interfere with Templar and Circle business.”

The young mage looked at the other girl, who simply kept smiling.

“Yes, Sister. But should I not rectify my error as best I can by being a kind host? These four aren’t Fereldan, and I can't let the good Sers and Lady to return to their home saying Ferelden is uncivilized and rude, can I?”

“If you insist, but my lady, you should inform the Teyrn and Teyrna of your guests.”

Elissa cheered. “Yes! You have to see Castle Highever.”

As the group followed the apparent noble girl, she named off the names of the mountains to the distance.

“On really super-clear days, I swear by Andraste's feet, I can see Kinloch Hold. You’re going to love Ferelden. I mean, we have rain and dogs everywhere, but even in the rain it's beautiful here.”

At the gates, there was a small group of guards, each looking injured or more tired than the next member of the group, all of them making protesting noises as their leader just sighed and growled out the girl's name. “Lady Elissa.”

Elissa grinned and waved them off. “I'm home just fine. And I have guests! Sers Vakar, Notter, and Sanni, Serra-“

“Apprentice Amell.” She flushed as she cut off the noble, but she was not a Serra, certainly not a lady anymore. “We’re on our way to Kinloch.”

“And I insisted they should stay the night with us.”

“A mage?”

The girl's grin morphed into a frown and a straightening in her shoulder. “My guests. I will not allow you to speak a word of ill luck or intent towards them, mage or not, now or in the future.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Elissa grinned again. “Come on, I’ll show you the way. Mother won’t be happy she didn’t know a week ago, but this is better than her trying to set me up with Bann Teagan or someone else older than me. Or a baby, like, gross, right?”

“Before we knew I'm a mage, I was scared I'd be married to someone Papa’s age.”

The older girl's smile faltered. “I thought mages didn’t have to worry about marrying, ever.”

“I was a noble. Now I’m a mage.”

“I'm going to join the Shield Maidens of Andraste. Fight for justice before I have to get married- Shields have to have a number of years of service first- so I don’t have to deal with more politics and stuff for a while again.”

The trio of Templars shrugged as the girls changed subject to dogs in Ferelden.

Kinloch was a tower in the middle of a lake. She smiled at the boatman who shrugged at the trio of Templars.

“Never heard of a mageling who needed three Knights to bring her for the Circle.”

“We’re from Kirkwall. We interfered with our lieutenant’s plans, so we were sent with her to make sure she got to the Circle.”

“You three are young too.”

“We took our vows last year. With her brother.”

“Poor kid, so far from home and kin.”

“Another mage made him into a monster. Here is a kinder fate for her.”

She sat to the edge of the boat, lowering her hand into the lake water and letting it drift with the current the boat made. The water of the lake felt different than the water of the harbor back home. It felt cleaner, like she was not going to have her hand grabbed by some dead corpse wanting to drag her back under.

She looked up to her new home, and could feel how clean the air, the water, and she was certain even the tower, were. Kirkwall to compare, was truly a city of chains, the weight of the thousands dead for the greed of the men in charge, the weight of the blood.

Ferelden, as much as she’d seen it, was so huge and open, she felt small and easily ready to be lost. Ferelden was free. She could feel why Andraste fought so hard against the evils of the blood mage controls Tevinter Imperium, when She came from this realm that breathed free of the blood that choked her home.

Not that the young Solona could put her sense of freedom, cleanliness, and her religious understanding into concise words at the time.

The tower’s massive doors opened to show the approaching boat a bearded man wearing the robes of the First Enchanter.

“Welcome to Kinloch. We don’t usually get mages from outside Ferelden often, so my apologies for the rush to set up.”

She smiled at the bearded Enchanter who offered a hand out to her.

“I am First Enchanter Irving, the grumpy Templar is Knight-Commander Greagoir, and the lady to his other side is Enchanter Wynne.”

She smiled and curtseyed as her mother drilled into her for years. “Hello. My name is Solona Amell, from Kirkwall.”

“How far into your studies are you?”

She looked between her Templar friends and the people of her new home. Blushing, she rubbed at the arm guard she wore under the robes. “I didn’t know I was a mage until a month or so ago. A thing - a demon or something? - attacked the Chantry, and it used to be my brother. I killed him. My brother was a Templar, see. We didn’t know I had magic.”

The unsmiling man in Templar armor sighed. “Maker help us, you will need constant watching.”

“I didn’t make my brother into that thing! He didn’t come home after shift, we went everywhere. I went to the Chantry to ask the Maker to keep him safe.” She swallowed, running her hand along the chain. “My prayers were too late, I guess.”

“Commander, I was with her when she went to the Circle to look for her brother. I followed with her, and I was there in the Chantry when she slew the abomination.” Ser Sanni set his jaw. “I am her best witness.”

The three Templars from Kirkwall had been given orders to transfer to Kinloch's Commander Greagoir, signed by Knight-Commander Knell of Kirkwall.

Night time was the worst time for her as she transitioned to Circle life. She dreamed of the night she killed her brother. Sometimes, he helped her plunge the sword into him. Some nights, he begged her to let him go. Others she watched him transform in the Chantry. She had to place a Silence ward on herself at night to keep the others asleep.

Other apprentices found her brother’s armor pieces once and started to sabotage them before she set the group on fire and Smiting them in a rage. She stood, armor pieces in her arms, her peers on the floor in a fit. She screamed and was sent to be isolated for a few days as they recovered.

When the true crime had been revealed, she was released to begin a different training plan. She worked with the other Templars more often, working her glyphs and weapon enhancement spells to coincide with her resilience to a Smite.

As she trained, she slowly made friends with two mages, Anders and Jowan, who would often make up dream-like stories about the things they would each do when they grew up. Change the way magic was viewed, convince the Chantry to relax their strict laws, go to Orlais and speak with the Divine about the politics as they understood them. 

Often she had to drag Anders from trying to swim across the lake, swearing she was going to let the moron drown next time. And sure enough, she was dragging him back the next time, making the same oaths.

She was often found at night working on spells with Jowan, trying to tutor him on the lessons of the day. More often than not, the spells would work too well and she’d be sent to the infirmary again to keep the record for most visits to the infirmary strongly in her possession.

Eight years later, she could wield a sword and shield almost as well as any Templar. She moved with the grace of a warrior, but had to hide her weapons training when the higher tiers of the Chantry came to visit.

She asked once why she had to hide her skills.

“What you are being trained in is very close to heresy.”

“Commander?” She frowned and made sure her arm guards were fully covered.

“Knight-Enchanters are few and far between on Thedas, and for good reason.”

She nodded. “Magic is to serve man, never to rule him.”

“We are seeing if you can handle the Knight-Enchanter training. If not, then you be a very well trained battle mage who can be sent around Thedas to combat the blood mage cults or whoever the Divine deems necessary.”

“I see. Thank you, Commander.”

When the guests left, her lessons resumed. Other mages gave her a wide berth as she wore lighter pieces of Templar armor, including the very ones from Kirkwall most of the time.

“Ap-prentice Amell?” A strawberry-blonde man rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand as the other held his helmet against his chest. “The Commander and First Enchanter have decided that it’s time for your Harrowing.”

Solona Amell turned and smiled, setting aside her herbalism supplies. “Thank you, Ser Cullen.”