#❪ ⊱ — ❛ my trigger fingers would only hold your heart to break it. ❜ ┊ALISTAIRE LENNARD. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

laurelsofhighever · 5 years ago

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Chapter Rating: General Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort Chapter Summary: Revelations come in the aftermath of the attack on the Circle.

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Fifth day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

Tendrils of golden mist wove through the courtyard that enclosed the templar barracks of Kinloch Hold. Frost whorled away across the flagstones, thick as a coating of snow, silvering the summer’s cobwebs and the dainty, bone-thin ends of the birch that had been planted in the centre. As Rosslyn trudged across from the room she had been shown to the night before, a blackbird warbled in its upper branches, as if boasting of its triumph over the winter night, as if there had not been a slither of demons pressing like a boil against the skin of the world only the day before. She paused to watch it scrape its beak on the branch, her breath a thick white puff that vanished into the fog, and stuffed her hands into her armpits to keep her fingertips from being bitten. It was always so after a battle. The small things in the world returned to their normality, unconcerned for the scars left by human action, for the hollow remains of victory’s thrill through the blood.

Shaking herself, she walked on, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. The spare clothes the lay sister had left her were too thin for the weather, but she was grateful for them nonetheless. Her only other option would have been the shirt and gambeson she had worn to storm the tower, still stained with sweat and blood and ichor, and all the memories of what she had faced with it. She tried to turn her mind from it. The demon’s fantasy had been nothing more than smoke, and yet it had let her see her parents again. She had spoken to them, heard they were proud of her, seen them approve of the man she loved, and she ached so much for their arms around her again she hardly cared that it wasn’t real. And yet, when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see their faces, only heard the slick rasp of steel through flesh, a gasp, the heavy sag of a body as it crumpled to the floor.

Voices raised around the corner. She wiped her eyes, straightening into her general’s façade as footsteps approached and halted, the tail of the argument lashing with voices she recognised.

“Karyna, please –” Cullen begged.

“You said mages aren’t people,” Amell snapped. “How can you expect me to be reasonable after that – what does ‘reasonable’ even mean?”

“You saw the damage in there as well as I did, so many dead –”

“And most of them mages. My friends. They died because they chose that over becoming abominations.”

“You said yourself they would have attacked anyone who came into the tower!”

The enchanter snarled a curse. “What would you have done in their place? Greagoir was planning to slaughter them! We obey, we keep our heads down, we keep our magic locked away, and yet none of that loyalty is worth anything. We really aren’t people to you, are we?”

“It isn’t the same,” the templar stammered. “You –”

“The Right would have had us all murdered, with no reprisals. If I’d been in there, and the oh-so-valiant knight-commander had told you to strike me down, would you have done it?”

“I – that’s not fair.”

“See? You can’t even answer the question. I don’t think I want an answer.”

“Karyna!”

The mage’s footsteps didn’t slow as she hurried around the corner, blind to everything beyond her unshed tears. Rosslyn let her go. Sympathy tugged at her, remembering the drift of ash above Highever, but whatever her own misgivings about the Chantry and what she had seen of the Circle, the grief was still too present, and it was not her place to offer shelter from it. Instead, she gritted her teeth and stepped out from the shadows, ignoring the instant of panic that lit Cullen’s features crimson.

“My presence was requested in the knight-commander’s office,” she said. “Which way do I go?”

“Oh… it’s the second on the right down that corridor, Your Ladyship.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you…?”

“As you were, Lieutenant,” she huffed, already marching past him.

She arrived at the door to Greagoir’s office to find Alistair already inside, backlit by a spitting fire, leaning over a map with his weight pressing through his knuckles into the desk. The deep crease of his brows made her hesitate in the doorway. The Fade vision had seemed so real, and afterwards she had been too lost in her own thoughts to even consider the effect it might have had on him, to hear platitudes from the false stranger who had called himself his father. His skin was paler than it should be; dark circles bruised glazed, bloodshot eyes, and the gaunt twist of his mouth hollowed out his cheeks like paper.

A floorboard creaked beneath her heel. The sound startled him out of his reverie, and when he looked up, the fatigue that made her heart ache brightened into welcome, a smile all soft corners that lifted as he breathed her name.

“Good morning,” he murmured, reaching for her.

She smiled her reply as she took his hand. “It is now. How are you?”

“Tired,” he replied, shrugging. “But considering the alternatives, I’ll take it. how did you sleep?”

“Not well, if I’m honest.” She dropped her gaze, well aware of the blush stretching across her cheeks.

“That’s not surprising.”

A gentle hand rose to cup her face, and for a moment she let herself sink into the comfort, eyes closed and breath a soft huff mingling with his.

“It wasn’t just the dreams,” she said. “I missed you.” She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I kept waking up and you weren’t there.”

Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight as she buried her head against his shoulder. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry about Maric.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t realise how much I wanted his approval. All those years I thought I put it behind me, but now I just keep wondering…” he sighed. “But it was all the demon. He was never interested, not even when I left Redcliffe.”

Rosslyn’s hand curled against the back of his neck. “We can’t know why he did what he did,” she soothed. “But really, does it matter? What you made of yourself is entirely down to your merit, and nothing can change that. I’m proud of you, if that counts, and you should be proud of yourself. I couldn’t have made it out of there without you.”

“It does count,” he told her, breaking the embrace so he could look at her. “There’s nobody whose judgement I trust more.”

She leaned in, drawn by the intensity of his gaze, but remembered at the last where they were and turned to glance at the doorway. The empty corridor stared back, draughty and silent. And Alistair was there with his fingers brushed against her jaw, ducking the last few inches to distract her with a kiss.

The instant his lips touched hers, a jolt of foreign heat sank low in her belly. Her hand rose of its own volition to bring him closer, the desperation thrilling through her echoed in the flutter of the pulse beneath her fingertips. They had almost died; they had encountered horrors and monsters and walked the veil-thin line of tension to the top of that cursed tower with no room for any thought but survival – and now that tension snapped. Alistair groaned as he pushed into her mouth, as she rose on tip-toes and wrapped her arms around his neck to banish every bit of space that separated them. The movement overbalanced him. He had to throw out a hand to save them from the edge of the desk, but he never faltered. Eventually they parted, breath sharp, giggling for air, just far enough to dart back in for soft presses against every part they could reach. She never wanted to stop.

“What is it?” he murmured, ghosting another kiss across her lips.

Her hands cradled his face. “The worst thing…” She swallowed and tried again. “I keep thinking – I know it wasn’t real, but it might have been, and… I wish they could have met you.”

“Oh, love…” He pulled her in again with a swift brushed kiss to her forehead. “We’ll get through this.”

“If it ever ends.”

“Hey now,” he chided. “Where’s my indomitable warrior goddess? Everything will be –”

The echo of footsteps in the corridor interrupted him. Clearing his throat, he withdrew to a respectable distance, though his touch lingered at her hand.

“Everything will be alright,” he repeated, and dropped her hand as the door banged back against the wall.

Cailan entered, with Irminric on his heels. The king shone his usual puppyish smile as he greeted them, but Rosslyn had spent long months in his company, and knew him well enough to see the brittle nature of his resolve; his cheeks bloomed with their usual rosy colour, but his eyes were bloodshot. How long had he tossed and turned thinking about Loghain’s reach, that it extended even as far as a tower in the middle of a lake cut off from the rest of Thedas?

She knew better than to bring it up. Instead, she crossed to Irminric and wrapped him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you alive and whole, couz,” he told her. “For a moment there, I thought I’d sent you to an untimely end – Alfstanna would’ve been furious with me.”

At the sound of her old playmate’s name, Rosslyn brightened. “How is she? I heard there were twins.”

Irminric nodded. “They gave her a lot of trouble before the end. The bairns are sickly, but the healer says they’ll all make it through.”

“When this is all over, you’ll have to go back to Waking Sea and play Uncle properly,” she replied, and realised the others were waiting politely for the pleasantries to be out of the way. “But until then, what are you doing here in a war council?” She had expected Greagoir himself after the revelation that Uldred’s rebellion was triggered by outside events.

“I’ve been given a new assignment,” he told her with a shrug. “It seems the knight-commander wants someone to oversee the distribution of the supplies he’s donating to the cause, in exchange for saving everyone in the Circle.”

“You mean he’s sending you away in almost-disgrace for going against orders,” Alistair supplied with a wry tilt of an eyebrow.

“A small price for what you managed to do.”

“Just about,” Rosslyn groused.

“What’s the plan now, then?”

With the call to business, Cailan grinned and stepped up to their borrowed desk, shuffling papers away to expose the northern stretches of Ferelden on the map. Counters purloined from the knight-commander’s chess set had been laid out to represent the location of their forces, though some slipped their place in the tidying. As the king righted them, he talked. The Highever Guard with Eamon in tow was still somewhere around Lakehead, a strong enough force for a skirmish, but not for a pitched battle.

“We’ll cross to the eastern shore today and catch up with the bulk of the army,” he explained, still moving counters. “After, we should all arrive in Aeylesbide around the same time – Bann Ferrenly is expecting us. From what his scouts report, activity in the north has slowed as the cold weather has set in, and aside from a few outposts, our enemy has retreated to the strongholds already in their possession.”

Rosslyn’s heart quickened in her chest. “If we’re gathering our entire force at Aeylesbide…”

Cailan nodded to her. “We’re going to take back Highever, yes, and not a moment too soon.”

He paused to let her absorb the swell of emotion, the anticipation leaping like a deer through her veins at even the distant prospect of seeing home again. She had missed the rugged coastland, the cliffs and the sea breeze and the pastures of long grass rippling like silk in the wind. The fields would be barren now, laid bare for the first snow, and no doubt Howe had taken the dragon’s share of the harvest to bolster his own forces through the winter, leaving her people with scraps for food and nothing but rotting twigs to feed their fires. In the dream, she had returned a hero, with the sun shining, her parents proud on the steps of the keep to welcome her, the people happy and healthy and cheering her name. And that was the knife that truly made the demon’s tricks twist in her gut – even if she succeeded in taking back the city and the castle, even if she caught Howe and got her revenge, it wouldn’t bring them back; it wouldn’t make the fantasy real. A small part of her mind enjoyed the irony of the situation, that the goal for which she had yearned for almost a year was now within reach, just as she lost the stomach to face it.

I’m counting on you to see them safe, her father had told her as the dust settled over Glenlough. No matter what.

She felt the shift of weight beside her, Alistair lending her strength even though their company meant he couldn’t touch her. She exhaled a shaky breath, grateful, and turned her attention to Cailan once more. He had been waiting for her to continue.

“Your victory at South Reach has taken the last foothold away from Loghain,” he said. “And now we must cut off his retreat. The Bannorn is ours, and once the North follows suit we’ll be able to march on the capital without fear of being caught in a pincer movement. Once we’re mustered at Aeylesbide, we can finalise the details.”

“You’ll have a contingent of mages as well,” Irminric added, with a grim twist of his mouth. “We’ve nowhere to put them now until the tower is fully cleared, and with the number of templars killed we don’t have the resources to send them all to other Circles, either.”

Alistair scowled, but held his tongue. Meddling in Chantry politics was not a battle they could afford in the moment. “We may be able to finish this before the spring, if we don’t end up with a siege at Denerim,” he said instead.

Cailan frowned. “If Loghain is still a man of the people, he wouldn’t put them through that.”

“I’m afraid we cannot take that for granted,” Irminric replied. “Not if he’s become an abomination.”

“I thought only mages could become abominations?”

The knight-captain folded his arms, stroking the trimmed edge of his beard. “Only mages can summon demons from the Fade, it’s true, but once in our world the creatures may work on the minds of anyone they choose, usually someone with whom they find an affinity – an emotional connection. It’s possible Loghain’s allied magisters were the ones to perform the summoning, though whether it came before or after the Landsmeet, I cannot say.”

“It doesn’t matter for the moment,” Cailan decided. “I have faith in your abilities, Knight-Captain, but we have yet to reach Loghain before we can free him of the demon’s influence. No, first we must take Highever, and quickly.” At the questioning glances sent his way, he let the last of his cheerful façade drop into worry. “The queen has been sent there from Denerim, and we haven’t heard from her since. It’s possible he suspects she’s been aiding us.”

The implications settled over them like the fog outside, wrapping them in silence. Of them all, Rosslyn was most familiar with the aid rendered by Anora’s intelligence, regardless of her motives for betraying her father, but so far, her position had allowed her to avoid being used as a pawn. If her safety were threatened, however, Cailan would have to capitulate or risk losing the goodwill he had built up in his months in the field, and Ferelden’s entire future along with it.

Alistair was the one who broke the silence. “Why wouldn’t Loghain send her to Vigil’s Keep? That’s far less exposed if he wanted her out of his way.”

“He wouldn’t want to give Howe that much power,” Rosslyn answered in a low voice. “He’s already shown himself capable of betrayal.”

His hand fell to her arm. “Still, it’s rather convenient, don’t you think?”

“We don’t have a choice,” she answered bluntly, without looking at him. “And my people have suffered enough.” And I’ve spent too long wanting Howe’s head on a spike to back down now. “You know, Your Majesty, if you had told me this sooner, I might have outlined a strategy for you already.”

Cailan fiddled with one of the counters, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, my dear…” He pressed his tongue between his teeth, looking for the right words for whatever he wanted to say. “I would have, but I had hoped you would be persuaded to take a step back from this one.”

“Why?”

The frostiness in her tone blanketed the whole room, so even the fire seemed to dim. Cailan shrank away from it with a sigh, trying to deny the flush in his pale cheeks, and nodded to the rest of their company. Irminric obeyed the silent order and bowed out of the room with a mumbled excuse, but Alistair, sensing what was coming, stubbornly refused to take the hint.

“Brother, if you might…?”

“Your Majesty, what is this about?”

Defeated, Cailan sighed. “Some might deem it inappropriate for you to have a part in Anora’s rescue, considering the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” she asked, though her eyes had narrowed. “Anora’s presence in Highever changes nothing but our approach, and it’s my home. Would you sit in the supply lines while we took back Denerim?”

“I… no. I would not.”

“Then please don’t tell me this is some misguided act of chivalry to try and protect me from the worst of the fighting.”

“Maker, of course not!” the king cried. “My lady, you have proven yourself time and again, on the field and off. The matter is… more delicate than that.” Sighing again, he turned to pace across the confined length of the room, either gathering his thoughts or trying to work out the frustration evident in his voice. “It has become clear to me that, for the good of Ferelden, whatever existed between Anora and myself may no longer be… supportable. And so I find myself facing the possibility of a future where I am a king alone – in need of a queen.” He paused, took in her posture, cleared his throat, and dropped his gaze to the desk. “I… was hoping that, in time, you might consider being that queen.”

Her stomach turned. Despite what Alistair had said to her the other day in the meadow, and the sense it made once she knew everything Eamon had done, part of her had not believed Cailan really had plans for her. He turned that hopeful, guileless smile on her now, uneasy but not discouraged by her blank, silent shock, and stepped around the desk to take her hand in both of his. She felt the warmth of his skin, the callouses on his palms, and it was surreal.

“I had also hoped that, uh, circumstances would have allowed a more romantic proposal,” he allowed, with a self-conscious glance at Alistair.

“Your Majesty –”

“Cailan.”

She shook her head and extracted her fingers. “Your Majesty. I have no desire to be queen – I’m sorry.” Her heartbeat felt thready. “I would have always refused you… even if my heart didn’t already belong to someone else.”

Cailan blinked. “Someone else? Who?”

For a long moment, embarrassment stopped her tongue. Heat crawled across the back of her neck and pulsed behind her eyes, until she finally gathered the courage to lift her eyes to Alistair’s. He was smiling. She couldn’t help but return the expression as relief washed over her, too aware that even though they agreed they would bring their relationship into the light, the expectation had been something more controlled, planned, and definitely not straight off the back of another man’s proposal. When his fingers brushed against hers, however, she laced them together instinctually, finally remembering to breathe as his fingers squeezed their reassurance.

Cailan glanced between them, bewildered.

“If it makes you feel better we were planning to tell you,” Alistair said.

“This… well.” The king shook himself. “How long?”

They paused, unsure of the answer. For Rosslyn, at least, the love had grown so slowly, through distractions and misunderstandings and distance, and yet as she searched through her memories even that first morning, when he had stood enshrined by the dawn light and offered her his blanket and shared her breakfast, was touched with a sense of belonging too big for her to describe.

“From the beginning,” he offered, raising her hand to kiss her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

“And you’re happy?” Cailan asked.

She blinked, drawn back to the present, and smiled at him even as the revelation overwhelmed her. “Very.”

“Huh… You really are in love, aren’t you?” A puff of air blew through his cheeks, giving way to a wry chuckle at his own mortification. “Well then. In that case, little brother, you should be congratulated on winning the esteem of such a fine lady! You’ll have to tell me how you did it, eh? And you, my dear,” he added, turning to Rosslyn, “be sure he treats you as you deserve, or I may have to start another war to defend your honour.”

“As you will, Your Majesty.”

“The two of you… honestly.” He laughed again. “Who else knows of this?”

The warmth in Rosslyn’s chest cooled, feeling Alistair tense at her side. She cleared her throat. “About that – there’s… an allegation we have to make.”

“Allegation?”

“Against Arl Eamon,” Alistair supplied. “He intercepted letters between Rosslyn and me, to try and separate us.”

“Surely not…”

But Cailan listened all the same as they told the story, both what Eamon had done, and the ways he had tried to cover for himself once he was caught. It was unclear whether the initial idea was his, since King Bhelen was obviously so keen to be rid of his sister, but it was clear enough that the old arl had not acted under duress. When they finished, still leaning into each other for support, they watched as Cailan reeled back to lean his weight on the desk as if winded, his mouth pulled down at the corners and his brows knitted in a frown that added years to his face.

“Thank the Maker Teagan is with us already,” he murmured. “I will have to look into this. In the meantime…” He sighed, and fixed a smile in place. “We must continue as we are. We still have a campaign to plan, don’t we? It would be very poor sport if this one setback inconvenienced everything.” He glanced down at their joined hands and looked away, clearing his throat as he returned his attention to the map.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #alistair x cousland #cousland #king cailan #ferelden

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cassidygautixr · 7 years ago

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It’s so hard to escape the fear of failure…

LOCATION: Cassidy and Jaxon’s apartment, Salems Point TIME FRAME: 10th June, 11:43pm. NOTES: This entire para is set as the Thunder Moon reached it’s apex TW: This whole thing is a trigger. Violence. Abuse. Assault. Murder. You name it

The shifting of the moon was something that Cassidy felt and understood in ways that only her family ever would, she felt it well before a bitten or born werewolf did, and she, unlike those after her, accepted it for what it was. There was never any possibility of changing it; that much she knew, though no matter how familiar the sensation was as it invaded the very marrow of her bones it sent a shiver across her spine that was still difficult to ignore. A thousand years was long enough for her to find some reprehensible sense of acceptance that there was no breaking the curse, regardless of how much she loathed the shift. Luckily for her, she could avoid it on her worst days. For as long as she could remember, she waited it out — the ever familiar feeling in her bones that begged her to give in to instinct and the prowess of a glowing full moon, waited until she could no longer ignore it’s influence on her very physiology, and then and only then did she allow her bones to break and shatter until they molded back together and left her pawing at the ground, wrought by a single curse to bring about utter chaos, fear and death at the very points of canines that knew no mercy.

It tugged at the very edges of her resolve, even now. The Thunder moon looming ever higher in the sky and Cassidy knew that her already questionable temper would be tested just as it always was. Because something always was, wasn’t it? That was how she’d lived – already tormented by her own being, only to be pushed that little further with every coming cataclysmic event. They were never safe, no matter what anybody within the supernatural world ever claimed – even at the top of the food chain, the world didn’t excuse anyone from the harsh mistress of bad luck.

In all the years of her families misfortune, control had been little much of an issue past the first few years of their transformations. With time grew capabilities, and soon enough they took a steadfast hold on choosing when and where their bodies contorted to something only nightmares could dream up. But now? Now, with little more than a simple moon clawing at the dark scintillated abyss that stretched beyond even her eyesight in the sky above, she could feel control slipping between her fingertips as if she never had any hope of grasping it any longer. It was worrying, to say the least, and she could only wonder silently whether all the thunder moons she’d lived had been quite so trying on her self control.

Knuckles glowed white as fingers wrapped tightly around the fridge door, Cassidy having no real clue as to how long she’d stood there and simply stared at the contents, all of which she couldn’t name if she were asked to. Her heartbeat quickened at an alarming rate even for as long as she stood there, and there was no part of her that could claim the high rising moon would make any of this easier for her. Silently, in the quiet confines of her kitchen, she wished she’d swallowed her pride and asked Wren Delore to help her, or any witch for that matter. It was as if fate were testing her; the child that grew in her belly relying on Cassidy’s effort to keep herself from shifting if it were ever to survive, was already whispering in her ear begging for a chance at life. No human mother would ever understand such a hardship, of that she was sure, to know that one slip of the conscious mind could put a stop to the fluttering heartbeat that almost matched her own. There was never any delusions in her mind that this was ever going to be easy, and she’d be lying if she ever claimed for a moment that this was all she’d ever wanted, because it wasn’t. She’d never wanted this, but now that it was happening, she couldn’t do anything else other than hope she could hold out long enough to get help from a witch, it would seem, however, that the thunder moon had other ideas as it’s clawing influence twisted at her insides with every indication that Cassidy’s body – the wolf that she was, was beginning to claw for it’s own release.

Breathe.

But even that was like pulling teeth through a thickened throat and already burning lungs. It was quite possible, that she’d forgotten how detrimental the pull of a full moon was to a werewolf, how controlling it was, so much so that even certain movements no longer felt like hers. Breathe, focus on the sound of my heart, listen and feel it. Slow your heart down.. words she’d passed onto so many of those cursed after her, so many of the people she cared for, it didn’t often stop the shift, but it took away some of the pain.. How ironic to think that she’d used herself to calm any temperamental wolf down if the situation had ever called for it — Jaxon, Alistair, Bentley.. all of them brought back to earth in the split moments of their near shift by a woman that couldn’t have cared less for the world as it was, that could have damned everyone in a single breath had the moment ever called for it. How much her heart could bleed for an uncontrollable wolf in the throes of an excruciating shift. Nobody should ever have had to live like they did, like she did — nobody should ever need to be at a point in their life where they were desperate for control over something such as this.

It felt new, as if she hadn’t spent a millennium enduring all of this over and over until it no longer felt so uncomfortable, and there were scattered moments when Cassidy even thought she might have been dreaming it. As if she wasn’t here, standing in her own kitchen, that she was somewhere else comatose with her subconscious projecting memories of pain, of uncertainty and a divine type of danger threading through her veins.

Breathe.

And breathe she did, all in time with the sound of the front door being pushed open, slowly at first and by the scent alone, Cassidy could almost picture him pausing at the door, waiting as if he could feel her presence just as easily as she could. It was a comfort all it’s own as everything she’d ever found intoxicating about him flooded through her as if they were right back in that cheap motel room, Cassidy perched on the fading dresser as her legs had wrapped around him and with that thought alone, the tension eased off through her knuckles and no longer did she clench her eyes closed tightly – a fact that she hadn’t even realized she’d been doing until this point.

No longer did she tighten her grips around the metal fridge door beneath her fingertips, her knuckles soon releasing all the tension they’d built up until her touch could have been mistaken for something akin to being gentle. “– Jaxon isn’t here.” She said quietly against teeth that scraped against one another, not nearly enough traction between them to consider her jaw grit. A comment she merely made because she knew how uncomfortable her own living arrangements made Sawyer, and after the fair and Sawyer’s open threats against the young wolf, she wasn’t all that willing to take any chances with her best friends life. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Sawyer around him — but she knew his temper, his hunger and anger were fragile, the very last thing she needed was for Jaxon to be here.. For some smart mouthed comment to fall from his lips as she watched violence spark between the two.

As footsteps brought him closer, she felt the tension ease further, knots falling completely from her shoulders, even if the pit of her stomach still twisted with the rising moon. The gruff sound of a dismissive sound filled the air and she almost couldn’t help but let the once stoic look on her face twist to something almost pleasant as the corner of her lip lifted slightly despite the itching feeling that made her want to claw her skin off and shift into something that she was damned to be for all eternity. “I can’t smell whiskey….” She said definitively, remembering the scent of it so permanently etched to his skin that it was so strange for him to be without it – that and gunpowder. Strong arms that she could have died in fell over her shoulders and out of pure instinct, she lent back into his chest, even if no amount of comfort could shake the fact that she almost stiffened beneath his touch, not used to someone being so close to her during something they both knew to be dangerous. Immortality quite clearly left Sawyer King feeling more reckless than usual.

More importantly, it meant the former hunter hadn’t been drowning his new found hunger in booze and she couldn’t quite put her finger on whether she thought that was a good thing or not, but with his arms tightening their hold on her as his nose brushed over the curve of her ear, she couldn’t find it in her to finish that sentence, not while he pulled her mind from the burning anger that bubbled beneath, Cassidy already well versed in keeping this part of herself as quiet as possible, even as she felt her bones willing to break with every breath she already took. “We can’t do this darlin’…” he spoke in her ear, his voice rough in a way she wasn’t sure she’d heard before, though the southern drawl dripping from his tongue like honey. She bristled a little within his hold, her brows pulling together as she wrapped her own hands around his forearms. “Can’t do what? What are you talking about?” Her questioning sincere, though she held her tongue tight between her teeth, knowing they’d just spent two months going back and forth, the original werewolf not entirely certain she wanted to go back to that uncertainty right this fucking second. “This baby, we can’t do this..– we’re not parents.” Still, his lips brushed against her ear as if he hadn’t just used nine simple words and gone back on everything he’d said to her days earlier. Hands fell away from him and merely the mention of their child brought them to the small bump where her once flat stomach had been, the fluttering heartbeat deafening as it beat in time with those who’d think to bring it into such a world. She might have felt her heart sink a little, caught by the thinly veiled threads that reminded her she’d never been as heartless as she’d like to have been after all these years, all because of the man holding her – though she never noticed, because all too soon her fingers curled until white half moons cut into her palm from nails that drew blood. “We..– you said..” She could barely hide it, the struggle she had in finding words, in piecing together coherent sentences as a tepid rage burnt every nerve. “You’re a murderer, Cassidy. You burnt all those people alive and did nothing to stop it. You can’t be someone’s mother.” Still, his arms tightened further and before long she couldn’t have even claimed it was something out of a desperate need to hold himself together. As if she’d never felt the tension in her muscles lessen, her shoulders stiffened and a low growl, completely unintentional slipped through her lips. How many times was he planning to bring that up? How many times would he throw that in her face, even though he’d seen the guilt and how it lacerated her very skin after the night of the fire. “Fuck you.” She muttered, fists clenching tighter, waiting for him to let go of his hold on her as she knew all too well what would happen if she thought to push him off of her just as her anger spiked.

Hold it together. Just breathe…

“Any child you bring into the world will be damned from it’s first breath.” It was as if he didn’t even breathe, as if it didn’t bother him to even think of something like this, but she supposed, deep down – he’d always be a hunter, and she’d always be the one thing he could never kill. “They’ll have no hope in this world..” Cassidy thought that might have been the worst of it, until the slightest laugh brushed past her ear. Laughter, in the face of their own child. “You’ll just raise another monster.” It forced her blood to freeze over in her veins as the former growl grew in her throat, hues shifting to their cursed golden amber and had she not been able to pinpoint the smallest of sounds in the loudest of rooms, she might have missed it. The final drawl that sent her over the edge.

“You’ll just raise another monster that I’ll have to put out of it’s fuckin’ misery.”

Seconds ticked by quicker than time should have ever allowed it, everything blurred and not a single thought broke through the werewolves anger. Canines grew so quickly they bit into her own lip as she spun within his grips, though the tightening hold that seemed to never let up might have quelled the movement, Cassidy saw red far too quickly to think. Shoving him from her roughly, tearing his arms from around her so violently she heard something snap. A single sound — a single snap of bone sent a warning through her head even as her hand plunged through his stomach, no other thought other than to eliminate any kind of threat that came down on her child. A strange thought, considering who she was, but there was never any chance a werewolf could ever deny their need to protect those they loved, however few and far between they were.

Her hand slicked with blood, she saw nothing – nothing but flesh and bones, the familiar bitter scent of blood intoxicating as her own bones began to rattle in anticipation. To jostle within her frame as if they were never attached in the first place. And god how she fought it, how she fought the rage as the her hand buried the abdomen of the man she loved wrapped tightly around his spinal cord, all organs parting ways, shoved to the side as the force of her strength tore through muscle, tissue and everything in between. It was rapid, nearing something similar to cardiac arrest, the relentless beating of his heart as her strength dragged them both to the floor, Cassidy looming over him, glowing eyes and incisors that could rip through flesh and bone with such ease it was almost terrifying. Though, what little of her conscious she could hold onto even as her body threatened to shift with the coming trauma, she knew the look in his eyes, the humor that still found itself etched to his lips was more terrifying than anything she could do to him. How a man could look at the woman carrying his child with such emptiness, lined solely with a certain twisted amusement made her want to scream out, instead – she simply pulled. Bone shattered beneath her grip, his spine collapsing and severing his spinal chord. Fleeting moments left her burning fury like a cigarette, inhaling it like nothing else she’d ever tasted. Sawyer King beneath her gasping for breath that he shouldn’t have needed never as each nerve ending lay useless within his form, once crossed her mind, not until she heard the familiar sound of boots scuffing across the hardwood floor of her apartment, Cassidy, now more animalistic than she had been in months finding pause with golden eyes and sharp teeth, blood creating patterns as it trailed out over her floor. There he stood. Intact, without the death defying smirk she could all too clearly see, though every word spoken continued to ring clearly in her heard. While her anger and fury lay claim to her emotions, one thing and one thing alone left her reeling.

“— Sawyer?” It was empty, as golden hues stared right through the chest of the man now standing in the doorway of her kitchen, shock, concern and confusion washing over his features in a way that she remembered. Every crease, every line of his features an image of perfection in comparison to the twisted look she’d seen only moments before on another. But it wasn’t that – it wasn’t the look, or the way he crossed the room with a certain hesitation, nor the way he thought to kneel feet away, his hands raised in a certain surrender, it was the silence.. The white noise that accompanied every word he spoke, none of which she heard. The white noise that made up for the lack of a beating heart in his chest. The white noise that drew her right back to the body beneath her, torn flesh wedges beneath claws as the final breath within his lungs dissipated, features of the blonde hunter she’d loved beyond all measure fading to someone —- something she didn’t recognize.

Something else.

Anger. Confusion. Fury.

All mottled together to create a brand new hue of red, darker than blood yet lighter than the depths of eternity, and just as quickly as she’d stolen life from the thing impersonating Sawyer, something shifted within her, a sharp snap accompanying the breaking of her own spine. Too long had she held it off; the thousand year old werewolf reduced to nothing more than the makings of a newly bitten wolf as she lost her grip on control, her body contorting slightly to the snapped bone as a shattering scream ripped through her. It was always painful – always, but she’d learnt to control herself, thus learned to lessen the pain, but this — the fight to hold onto some semblance of control, for the baby nestled safely away within her, to keep her child alive was more than she’d ever expected it to be.

His voice echoed somewhere not too far off, her nails digging further into her own bloodied palms as she barely pulled herself from the body. If she tried, if she listened carefully enough she might have been able to work out what he was saying, but for now, through the riptide of pain, and every broken scream that gave her but a moment to reaffirm her hold on her human form, the muffled sound of a voice no longer filled with malice, doused in worry and concern pulled at the very edges of her resolve, reaching out to bring her right back down to earth

To give their child some hope of surviving the Thunder Moon

#( x . its hard to escape the fear of failure )#salemspointevent

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