#A sense of camaraderie makes it easier for her to face things

[mvriigold]

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding / jules. <3

She’s gonna die here, isn’t she?

Gazing at Connie’s face, it’s all Julie can think. 

She’s never been the brave one, not really. Julie’s surrounded herself with people all her life - her brothers, her high-school volleyball team, her friends. All close-knit groups, strong enough to make Julie feel strong, too. A skinned knee didn’t hurt as much if there was someone there to help laugh it off. That time she twisted her ankle wasn’t so bad, because Kenzie helped her limp to the nurse’s office, kept her company right until she was shooed away. There was always a silver lining to focus on, something good to outweigh the bad.

But looking at the fear on Connie’s face, Julie can’t find a glimmer of hope at all.

The other girl applies more pressure to her side, and Julie cries out, whimpers softly at the pain. She’s been trying to hold it in, sucking in sharp lungfuls of air, trying to send her mind anywhere else, but she can’t. Her cheeks feel clammy with tears: her hair plastered to her forehead, soaked through with sweat. Connie’s hands keep pressing against her side, a piece of her own ripped shirt wadded up in her palms, but the material’s already soaked through. It doesn’t matter how hard she tries, Julie just keeps on bleeding - that woman had slammed a gardening tool into her, ripped shreds of her skin away each time she wrenched it back out, and just kept going, and going. 

She can barely even look down, terrified each time that Connie’s hands will shift, and she’ll see her own guts bulging through the gore.

And worse, Julie can feel herself fading away. No matter how hard Connie tries, how desperately she works to keep her insides where they’re supposed to be, Julie can feel everything slipping. Their surroundings grow more distant, her body more heavy, her heartbeat more irregular. There’s less of her left inside herself every single minute, and she’s scared. She’s not gonna make it, is she? 

Connie won’t be able to get her out of here, not really. Not if she’s gonna get out herself. Julie’s too injured; even if they patch her up, she’ll just slow Connie down. She’ll have to leave her here, leave her behind, and one of those creeps will probably find her right as she bleeds out on the floor. 

They’ll drag her off, string her body up like a sick trophy, and she’s gonna die–

Another terrified sob wrings through her, and she reaches weakly for the other girl’s hands, grasping onto them as she curls towards her.  “Connie,” she pleads, searching for comfort, for reassurance, for anything. 

“Please – I don’t wanna die here. I don’t wanna die here, please –”

[xiii-e]

The Circle Turns.

// loading echo.exe ... //... //... // now running echo.exe. //now running extension_keep_info redaction //begin account: XIII-E deployment_state of consciousness.

A blur had settled over the past weeks- no, months. Had it been months yet? Think it through. 

They remembered the initial drop, planetfall, the hand-off with their handler for the most recent post. Salutes and polite smiles. The information from the briefing, if not the words themselves. After that, what happened after that-

Introductions. Civilian staff would have been informed of them ahead of time, field officers too, but soldiers would meet them for the first time when they were called together for a report. Stood up in front of the strike squadron they’d join for the duration of this post, talked about but never to until the officer left the room. They hadn’t been requisitioned for conversation, after all.

If XIII-E was dispatched to the field, it was because things were expected to go badly. 

But the squadron didn’t know that, weren’t told that. How was it, they were introduced? A little different every time, but close enough they could repeat the gist off the top of their head. 

Your squad has been assigned project Thirteen-E, specialised field-medical personnel. They’re trained to integrate without friction, so you don’t have to worry about team cohesion. Thirteen is here to keep you on your feet, so the job gets done. If everything goes smoothly, you should forget they’re even there.

They didn’t know why that last bit was always a part of it. Things never went smoothly. If they were likely to, they’d have been assigned to another planet. Waste of company resources otherwise.

Think. What had the reaction been, this time? The introductions seemed to bleed into each other, individual faces stark but the timeline pallid and intangible. People, names they never forgot. When was more difficult. 

Guilt. Shouldn’t it be easier to remember?

Details, that would help place things. Don’t cast back too far, just try to make sense of the timeline for this assignment. The squad they were with now, who introduced themself first?

Roberts, Eileen. Tall, thin frame, mild anaemia kept under control by regular medication. Colonial subject- it was her first tour, wasn’t it? Despite a seeming lack of experience, it’d become evident she was this squad’s leader in all but name. A grin had broken over her businesslike expression as soon as the staff officer left the room, a clap on the shoulder as she introduced herself. Her skin was warm, even through their shirt, they remembered that so clearly. They appreciated her camaraderie, but reminded her (polite smile, it reaches the eyes but not too much, warm but impersonal) the regulations on overfamiliarity with Projects. Rolled her eyes, but she listened.  Only enough to bend the rules. Bump their hand in briefing, flash conspiratorial smiles during a tactics talk that went on for far too long. What little she could get away with, toeing the line. Roberts was a professional.  

Beaux, Liam. Stood on eye level with them but didn’t meet their eyes, nervous look, cardio lagged behind the rest of the squad but he hid it well. Another colonial subject, the only other in the group, stuck close to Roberts so he came up to them second. They made him nervous- it made sense. Harrison design leant into the militaristic, imposing and heavy. They supposed it was part of why the genetic material they were created with featured such a soft face in contrast to their body; he’d relaxed a little, after some quiet conversation. That was good. They didn’t like to scare people. If they were going to do their job right, they needed enough trust they could treat field injuries without fighting their patient. 

It was important. They were only there to save lives. 

Who was it, next? Ajax, or… 

Law, Judgement. They’d had to make sure they heard it right, but really who were they to judge. Career soldier, a full citizen seeking further elevation through service, early thirties at most with a hollowed quality to the face. Looked through them most of the time, preferring only to meet their eyes when giving them a direct order. On paper, the leader of the strike team, though they followed Roberts lead more often than not. Withdrawn. Clean bill of health but, a standing order on file for a mandatory psych eval on return from the current tour of duty. The phantom of their grip around their wrist, tight and desperate. “Don’t let the new blood get themselves killed. Buck orders if you have to. Bring them home, Thirteen.” If the bruises left by their fingers faded within the hour, they didn’t have to report damage to company property. They were pretty sure it’d faded before then.  Leadership was a heavy responsibility on some people. But, Law was the most experienced officer on this squad so it fell to them by default. Roberts seemed to be picking up the slack, and they were content to follow when staff weren’t looking.

Then it had been Ajax, Darla. Citizen, not entirely green but had no more than two tours under her belt. Implanted augments to her strength and stability allowing her to take up roles with heavy weaponry and defensive units, received anti-rejection medicine once every three days to ensure everything worked as intended. Apparently, when not in the field she was a construction assistant. What was it like, to not be on duty? They didn’t ask. They shouldn’t think about it. Shook their hand with a firm grip while giving her name, asked if they’d spar with her sometime- “Good practise to match strength with one of your types, keeps me sharp.” They’d smiled (polite, warm) and promised a match if they were ever on-base and off-duty at the same time. Ajax had laughed at that, like she was in on the joke.  She might have been. It varied case to case, but they’d been told citizens familiar with Projects and the soldiers made on them could tell they were one of the newer high-control variants, just by talking to them. Maybe she’d worked alongside flashclones enough to tell they weren’t Real. Alive. A Person a candidate for true citizenship. 

Lastly… Terrace, Arlo. Short stature, pale hair too long for active service but only by an inch or so, passable so long as he had tied it up tight, citizen by virtue of birth. It was his first tour, too. He told them, rambling amidst winces while they cleaned a jagged wound out, that his parents had pushed him into it. Worked out great for his older siblings, apparently; “Though, I wasn’t expecting it to be this… intense? I guess that’s the word for it. Iris, her deployment was practically all diplomacy-”

Terrace had filled the air any time it fell still, with quiet anxious words. Keeping him calm had quickly become their major focus when nobody was hurt; he caused tension. It wasn’t his fault people became frustrated with his nervous ramblings, a hallmark of inexperience. Nonetheless, it took work to keep the team cohesive. Roberts helped, with that. People liked her, and she seemed to like them too- even Arlo at his worst.

He looked so small, laying silent in the bag. 

Think. Where had they gone wrong?

Law hadn’t been able to tell them, when they asked in the aftermath. Just shook their head and it looked like they would reach out, steady themself against XIII-E’s shoulders. Seeing it, they wanted to reach out themself. They wanted to apologise. They weren’t allowed to want things. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. told them if there was anything that could have been done, they would have done it. 

A good soldier, was what they had called them. “You lose people in the field sometimes, even if you do everything right. Roberts… she’ll learn that. You followed your directive damn well, Project Thirteen. They did good with you.”

It was an attempt to be gentle, they knew that. They had seen what grief did to people in the aftermath, and Law was trying to mitigate any impact on their state of mind. Keep company property functioning as intended. But platitudes were wasted on them; they didn’t feel, weren’t supposed to feel. Guilt was a waste of processing capacity. The facts were stark, not something to be run from; they were a medic, and someone had died on their duty. They had to do better. Somehow. 

Who else had spoken to them, when the smoke cleared? When they made it back to base, lagging behind- Roberts… Right.

She was lucky she hadn’t been sanctioned, bluntly. 

Focus. How had they gotten there, to begin with? Once XIII-E had been assigned to them, the strike force orders became their accompaniment; shuttled them around the battlefield, wherever the mud was thick with blood. Get them where they needed to be, so they could do their job. It was a standing order that functioned as designed most of the time, provided them mobility to keep as many legionnaires upright as was possible. They had the tools to make it to the injured; the squad just needed to get them there in one piece. 

But battle was chaos. It was always chaos. Nobody realised one of their number had fallen behind before the call to fall back came crackling through the coms it buzzed unpleasantly when the subdermals pushed sound through their bones, they didn’t like it. They didn’t have to like it. They weren’t supposed to have preferences and they had injured among their number that other squads had left with them, that needed to get back to a bed so the recovery process could start. So, they’d made a call. Send everyone ahead, swear to join up later. 

Andrews- no, no Andrews was months ago, Roberts had grabbed them by the hand and demanded they come back safe. With Arlo, you keep that kid alive you hear me? Then she’d been gone. 

They found Terrace, Arlo, not long after that. It never got easier. His torso was pierced with mech shrapnel in the shade of a wreckage, still breathing when they picked him out amongst the ruin, when they ran to his side but… It was a part of their design, to be strong. Medical care required breaking things sometimes, resetting bones, clearing rubble, the breach hammer was allocated for the intended purpose of breaking through any blockage keeping them from picking soldiers back up. Even they couldn’t have lifted that shard of metal out of him, a jagged edge taller than them twice over.

He was afraid, when they got there. He couldn’t see clearly, with the amount of smoke in his eyes, bloodshot and glistening under the half-light, trying to move and choking down the pain that clawed at his throat. It was likely all he saw of them before their hand found his was a moving shadow in the aftermath of combat- he flinched away as much as his injury allowed, before he heard their voice. 

What did they say? They couldn’t remember that part. It was autopilot. These people deserved someone real to care about them, in their final moments. Lip service was all they offered, ideas of peace, comfort- It was empty coming from them. Their empty heart and soulless body running on cold logic and programming, all they knew, could ever know, was the war that took their safety, their sanity, their fucking lives. All they were made for was keeping them in the fight long enough to limp to the next injury, patch them back up again and again and forget which one was which because these people blurred into a battlefield slurry- Crush it back down. No distractions, no mistakes, adhere to the directives given and crush it back down. What right did they have to grief, anyways?

He passed quietly, some time after they arrived. Bloodloss and shock. It wasn’t until his hand went cold in theirs that, quietly, they had rose to their feet and started the sombre work of breaking down the debris enough to retrieve his body.

Could they have salvaged him, if they’d been more reckless? Drawn their weapon and broken the shredded metal through him apart? Maybe… No. There was a correct answer to that question, and it was no. He was dead the second that shrapnel went through his stomach, barring a miracle. Removing the debris would only have ripped him apart further. A quiet death seemed like all they could have done for him, besides what else they’d done after; closed his eyes, picked him up out of the mud, and made the walk home back to base camp for the both of them.

And when they’d gotten there, Roberts, she… 

It was her first deployment. Nobody could blame her for the way her face crashed seeing them come back into camp with bloodstained hands, for how the second she saw shredded flesh she recoiled. Freeze response; she didn’t know what to do. Before they went into the medical station to report a KIA, she was stood like stone outside, a slow track forming through the mud still spattering her cheeks. That was what he’d deserved. Had they ever cried? For anything? For anyone? They couldn’t recall. Maybe the them this body belonged to had cried, once.

Don’t think about that. You can’t know about that.

It was when they had logged the death and returned to personnel quarters that she found them again, hands bunched in their shirt before their mouth could open, shaking anger on her tongue as she asked what the fuck happened out there. Snapped at Law, when they tried to pull her away from them. She’d tried to shove them against something, but she may as well have tried to move a brick wall. 

They often forgot how weak humans were, compared to their body. 

You were supposed to keep him safe. Accurate. Factual. The weight of her grief made it an accusation, one they didn’t have an answer to, and the grip on their shirt became a heavy thump into their chest as she stared at them, searching. 

Say something. Anything. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re still wearing his blood for christs sake how are you standing there like nothing’s wrong, don’t look at me like that-

By then, Law had grabbed her by the shoulders properly to drag her off, let her shout for a few minutes before it devolved into sobbing, before the firm grip became an arm around her shaking body. Over her shoulder, they made eye contact- it was a quiet plea. Don’t tell. They couldn’t explain how they knew that. It whispered in the quiet part of their mind, like an instinct, the instinct they should have gotten, to go back, to find Arlo before- to hell with it. They didn’t control what they saw, of the future. They weren’t even sure how they did it. That didn’t stop the guilt when it failed them communicating what they both knew Law couldn’t say aloud. The last thing Roberts needed was the bureaucratic nightmare of a sanction for taking her grief out on company property, in the aftermath of the first loss under her command.

Quietly, they had filed her indiscretion under medical stress, and moved on. 

… how many times had they done that, in the past months? Written off someone lashing out, because they were always the closest to the tragedy, always nominally responsible. They couldn’t remember. The bruises never stayed for long, Never long enough a small mercy when it came to getting soldiers back on their feet. Their directive came first. Get soldiers back in the field, fast as possible.

One by one, the squadron was dragged in for debriefing. They washed the blood off, changed their uniform. Roberts was still in the office giving her account when new orders came through, regarding their posting. The worst of it was over. They were needed somewhere else. 

Already? How long had they been there? Where were they going next? Did it matter? It would be the same thing again. The chance they’d see any of these people again was next to nothing. Armoury space was broad, and they only ever went where it was at its worst. New additions to the list. Faces, names, medical brief. Time of death

It wouldn’t take long, before the shuttlecraft came down. It wasn’t like they had much to pack. Time was short, and they wouldn’t likely have time to say goodbye to those in the sickbay they’d picked up mid-battle. They’d had the time to speak with Law, to notify the others they were being dispatched elsewhere. Beaux didn’t look at them, they were tired of this but touched his hand to their shoulder when they turned to leave. Ajax god they were so fucking tired of this shrugged it off with an observance that a medical Project was probably in high demand, so it tracked. Maybe we’ll meet again someday, she’d cracked. Or maybe I should hope we don’t, if you’re the cavalry. Ha! They felt sick. Their head hurt. Something was searing through the back of their skull, or was it? Was that a memory too? What was the difference. It was all the fucking same. They were doomed weren’t they? The circle turned, everything stayed the same, how were they meant to change the way it ended when they couldn’t remember how it began- No, no noonono crush it down, Crush it down.They could fix this. Would fix this. Had to fix this. The alternative- they didn’t want to think about it 

Good soldier. They were a good soldier. They were designed to be.

The shuttle landed. Someone in a labcoat (clone technician, they could spot it a mile away) accompanied by someone in dark fatigues and a light arm, Harrison’s logo the bruise, they’d heard someone call it not too long ago, fitting in some ways emblazoned across the breast. 

XIII-E was needed on the front. In the thick of things, where fighting was at its worst. 

Breath in, breath out. They do as ordered, step onto the ship, answer the questions posed by the tech as they strip the uniform off their body to facilitate the medical inspection they know is coming. They’ve done this before, a great many times by now. They’ll do it again, before long.

The circle turns.

// end account.

[shingekinomyfeelings]

what you really are // 2nd installment

Reiner finds that his first sexual encounter with a girl he truly cares for brings up a lot of memories and conflicted emotions. Loving a Devil is wrong, right?

warnings: none yet; explicit sex in later installments. characters are cadets here, but aged up to 19. honestly minors dni I'm so tired of y'all reading my porn just go finger paint or something

notes: listen, I've recently learned that Reiner being a tsundere man-baby is very, very funny to me

“They’re not our friends. They’re Eldian devils. I’m just gaining their trust for our advantage.”

Reiner had almost believed himself when he’d said those words to Annie, time and again. It’s easier to pretend he really means it when he’s talking about Eren, or Connie, or Sasha. He can pretend his jovial big brother routine is a mask. He can pretend he doesn’t really care about how much they look up to him, and that the sense of camaraderie is just a facade, most of the time...

But then she’d wiggled into his line of perception, somehow, little by little. Catching one another’s eyes now and then had turned into exchanging smiles, and smiles turned into shared observations, and quiet jokes, and tiny, happy waves upon seeing each other from across the mess hall. And then a feeling had appeared that really troubled him.

At first he had told himself that it wasn’t really happening: pretending that his growing curiosity about her was his merely gathering intelligence; that she was a useful pawn, or a game he was playing; that it didn’t really matter to him when he saw her physically and emotionally exhausted; that the strange, flipping feeling in his stomach the first time she’d hugged him was disgust.

When he realized he couldn’t convince himself, he tried to convince Annie and Bertholdt.

“It’s so troublesome the way she follows me around.”

“She really has a thing for me. Looks like I’ll have to play along, huh?”

“It’s kind of funny that she thinks this is real, isn’t it? It’s a little pitiful when she leans against me, I almost feel sorry for her.”

Gradually, as months passed, his attempts grew in some sort of petty desperation.

“I’ve spent so much time with her, I’ll be pissed off if nothing useful comes out of it.”

“Did you hear her joking around today? I had a hard time pretending to laugh.”

“She’s not as cute as Thomas always thinks she is.”

“She hugged me again and it almost made my skin crawl. Eldian devils really are totally different from other humans.”

“Sounds like you’ll really be relieved when she’s eaten alive on her first expedition outside the walls,” Annie had finally said one night, her voice caustic and bored. “Maybe you’ll even get to see it. But, if she survives and you’re disappointed, I can crush her in one hand for you. Touching her won’t make my skin crawl.”

Her impassive gaze when Reiner turned to her with a defensive fury only made him even angrier, and he’d stomped off into the night, aiming a splintering kick at the fence post Annie had been leaning against.

Still, he hasn’t complained to them about the girl since then.

When outright denial had failed him, Reiner had tried to simply will the girl out of his life, which had been an unmitigated disaster, because after nearly two weeks of him avoiding her gaze, excusing himself when he saw her approach, and even once or twice making a point to talk over her as if by mistake when she spoke, she went and turned it right back on him.

During training one afternoon, Annie had thrown her, far harder than she needed to. Whether it was deliberately to provoke him or out of simple meanness, Reiner wasn’t sure. She’d rolled to her feet and shaken herself off, looking at Annie with wonder.

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

Maybe neither one of them saw the way Reiner had started towards her to check on her, stopping himself short after three paces, nor the way Reiner’s face fell when he greeted her with concern after training, only to have her breeze by him as she talked to Annie as if he weren’t there.

It seemed less likely that she didn’t see him when he laughed a little too loudly at a joke she made in passing during dinner the following night at the mess hall, and he knew she saw him when he tried very hard to act casual two days later as he stepped out of a corridor at just the right moment for her to nearly collide with him, but even then she had just blinked as if he were merely a door flung open in her path, and sidestepped to walk towards Connie and Sasha with a cheerful wave.

After four days of this, he had waited to catch her leaving one of Hanji’s lectures and followed her down the hallway, while she acted like there wasn’t a huge guy trailing behind her like a dog with its tail tucked.

“Ah- listen, I just-- if I’ve done something to offend you, I--” The words had died on his lips as she turned to him in an instant, face flushed with anger, and then she’d layed into him like he was a training dummy, except that instead of with blades, she proceeded to eviscerate him verbally right there in the hallway. If he’d looked like a dog with its tail tucked beforehand, he was sure he’d looked like something a dog had chewed to pieces by the time she’d finished.

Well, maybe it wasn’t a completely unmitigated disaster, he figured later, because in that moment, acceptance of the situation had finally hit him like a brick, and he’d apologized, and stammered, and said a few things that barely made sense, and finally confessed his feelings with an utter lack of grace in the middle of the hall.

She’d looked at him with an uncomfortable stare, and then told him to get bent and walked away.

A day or two later, though, as he’d wallowed in the kind of dejected, confused misery that can only be brought on by acting like a jackass in front of one’s love interest, she’d met his gaze and greeted him tersely in passing. And then, much like before, small things like that turned into bigger things, and one day she’d kocked him to the ground during training with a technique he’d seen Annie use a thousand times, and while he was breathless in the dirt, she’d confessed her feelings, too – albiet with a degree of raw annoyance in her voice instead of an apology.

“I really wanted to tell you, right around the time you started being a dick, you know.”

“I uh... yeah, I know. I’m so sorry...” His meek voice and utterly abashed expression had made her laugh after a moment, and she’d offered her hand to help him to his feet.

“I’m not still mad about that,” she tells him with a lopsided grin, amused when he apologizes for it yet again. “That was months ago. It’s kind of funny now.”

“Uhh, glad you think so? It wasn’t one of my better moments.”

“I know, you were being so fucking stupid. But, it made me realize you weren’t as perfect as everyone thinks you are.” She laughs when he fixes her with a deep pout. “I mean that in a good way, quit making that face. You always seemed so out of reach, like someone who could only really be matched up with somebody... ideal. Like the couples you see in picture books.”

He watches her say this with what he thinks is a cool, interested expression, but his eyes are clearly asking what the hell that means. She gives a little huff of what might be amusement or mild exasperation.

“I just didn’t think you’d really be interested in someone who’s...” She trails off, suddenly unsure how she wants to finish that sentence. Reiner doesn’t wait for her to decide, though, ruffling her hair over her face with his hand, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her temple. He doesn’t say anything, just sighs very, very softly against her, and she lets him stay that way for a moment before pushing her hair out of her face and lifting a hand to gently brush the backs of her fingers along his cheekbone.

“I was kind of relieved to see you really are just a regular, flawed person like the rest of us are.”

It makes his heart flutter a bit, but for a reason he can’t quite pinpoint, it makes him sad, too...

[phsmloves]

Trivial Rival — 00: In a punch

masterlist ━ next (01)

Iseul Kang and Zack Lee being the metals and Mira Kim being the magnet. Metals are attracted by the same thing but they do not attract each other. Not until both metals started to become magnetic.

Words: 554

"Eli! Did you see the transfer in the Fashion Department?"

"They say he hit Zack Lee."

"Eli, he's good looking but you're better."

"Zack Lee lost? I don't care about fighting. But if he's good-looking, shall I ask him to be my hair model?"

"A fight in the Fashion Department?"

As the girls continued to discuss the recent fight that happened in the Fashion Department, the group was caught by surprise as a new voice joined the conversation. In unison, they gradually turned around and were met with their blonde classmate's cold gaze, a stare that made their mouths go dry.

The voice belonged to Iseul Kang, the president of the Student Council of Jae Won High School. Her presence alone was enough to send a shiver down their spines, as her power and influence were well known throughout the school. With a stern look, she stood by, silently observing the group until the conversation came to an awkward pause.

"Those bastards from Fashion never fail to hassle me."

Iseul let out a deep sigh, ruffling her long, blonde hair in frustration. She couldn't hide the stress on her face, her position as the president of the Student Council of Jae Won High School weighing heavily on her mind. Her position was always so demanding, never giving her time to breathe or relax. She had to handle so many responsibilities, from student disputes to event planning, and the constant demands of those around her left her feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. She felt like she had no escape from it all, causing her to feel trapped in a cycle of constant stress and pressure.

Even though she clearly had a lot on her shoulders, Eli and the girls couldn't help but sympathize with her. After all, there is no denying the immense pressure that comes with such a position of power, and the constant harassment from other students was certainly not making it any easier.

"But wait-!" Iseul rushed to take part in the girls surrounding the only male in their department.

"Who did you say got beaten up?"

"I-it's Zack Lee. The transfer took him down in a punch." one of the girls answered.

The Beauty Department was quiet for a minute until it was Iseul herself who broke into fits of laughter. Her classmates followed after, laughing awkwardly for it was out of pure relief that they do not need to put up with her stern demeanor.  With a few cackles and giggles, they slowly began to calm down, feeling a sense of camaraderie as they watched their president release all of her built up tension.

"Not only did he lose in one punch, but Mira must have seen the whole thing. Jeez, he's such a loser."

She shook her head, clearly amused by the situation. The blonde stood up, her left hand in her pocket, waving them goodbye with her remaining hand.

"I'll be visiting him myself and thank him for adding to my chances with Mira. I'll see you guys later."

As Iseul vanished from their sight, the girls let out a collective sigh of relief. Of course, it was Mira Kim again who broke her tough barrier. But still, they were grateful to the brunette for holding two wolves to their places.

Those wolves being Zack Lee and Iseul Kang. ㅤ

TAGLIST (open) : @dainedelions Leave a comment or send an ask to be added.

[queenofnohr]

*tapping papers against my desk like a news anchor again*

and now back to our regularly scheduled Miserere Mei content

So for today I’d like to get into Mei’s backstory but it’s uhhhhhhhhhhhh. It can be pretty triggering. As much as I’d like to keep everyone safe I....... unfortunately feel like the landscape of the internet rn sorta lends itself to people abusing content warnings to instead search for stuff they don’t like and like...... I’d rather not bring this to the attention of people it isn’t meant for who like... wouldn’t have even seen it if it wasn’t tagged

So instead I’m gonna post a pic of Slow Damage’s content warnings cuz that game is phewwwwwww and you can decide on if you want to proceed based on that (specifically choosing that game bc while not all the warnings apply, that game does cover all the content Mei’s backstory has so it should be...... adequate. hopefully.)

In any case, I talked about it before, but Mei’s whole thing is that he has the “face of the goddess” i.e. resembles Hydaelyn and is in fact the perfect vessel for Hydaelyn in a reflection where Hydaelyn is worshipped.

Normally this isn’t too much of a problem, but if a person is too desperate, they’ll start to see him as “the goddess.” Reaching for him, clinging to him, thinking he’ll be their salvation, thinking he’ll satisfy their desires......

This is in no small part why he detests other people and finds them pathetic.

And while the other party’s mental state has to do with if they’ll fall for Mei’s permanent “charm” status effect, it also must be said that the more time one spends with Mei, the more susceptible one is to thinking of him as “the goddess.”

As an aside, even if people don’t completely fall for him, this sort of charm effect makes it easier for him to get his way - the people of his reflection (or at least those who worship Hydaelyn, which is like...... yaknow, at least 95% of people) naturally feel a sense of camaraderie or are predisposed to like him, at least until he starts acting like he’s got a chip on his shoulder (and again, even then he may be easily forgiven depending on the other party’s state of mind)

In any case, this is all well and good when Mei is an adult, has his own agency, his own fists to fight for himself, but......

When he was a child. It was obviously much more of a problem.

That is.........

Things were all well and good for a time. His parents loved him, adored him. Kept him safe from people who started to look at him....... oddly. Expect too much of him. Think of him not as a child, but as a goddess.

But as time wore on, even Mei’s parents began to change...... His mother started to believe her child was holy, was an avatar of Hydaelyn, would bring salvation to people. She began to amass a following around herself with Mei as an object of worship. His father, disturbed by what he was seeing and also feeling Mei’s “pull” himself, grew paranoid and began to think of his own child as hellspawn, the snake in the garden of Eden, temptation itself, and...........

he tried to slit his own child’s throat.

Mei actually has a scar line of scale round his neck that he keeps hidden with chokers because of this incident. It is the only scale scarring he feels self-conscious about.

His mother........ saved him. If she hadn’t been there to stop it and get Mei medical attention, Mei would’ve been killed. So. He felt indebted to his mother. For saving him. For protecting him.

But......

Those feelings of debt were exploited. As the cult’s followers grew more fanatic, and Mei’s mother herself fell further into thinking her own son as someone who would “soothe mankind’s hurts and wants” and who would “appease desire in the human soul, thus breaking the wheel of samsara” she began to allow her followers to do whatever they pleased to Mei. All to satisfy whatever desire they had. All for some twisted sense of “salvation.”

As an aside to all of this, Mei has medical trauma due to the very first to exploit him being his own doctors...... As a mixed race Au Ra/Hyur who showed physical tells of being “male” in Au Ra (blue tongue, off-white scales, etc) but whose growth seemed somewhat stunted and whose body appeared “feminine” by hyur standards, he had frequent medical exams to ensure he was maturing properly. His doctor was the first to abuse him sexually, and when Mei’s mother found out, not only did she not do anything, she invited said doctor to be a part of the cult.

This was Mei’s life until he was about 15/16, wherein he ran away. He stole money from the cult’s coffers to get by on his own, and quickly began to engage in prize fighting to make a living, eventually going on to do illegal underground cage matches.

He self-studied in an effort to get into university and, in actuality, is extremely bright which is what brings us to current Mei who has just entered college and despite hating people in general, falls head over heels for Kyrie at first sight - Kyrie’s apparent immunity to his charms only serving to make Mei completely obsessed with him.

[academic-weapon]

Aggretsuko

word count: 302 words 03.22.23

I didn't expect myself to find Sanrio characters relatable, but here we are— the show's cute, but also surprisingly applicable to real life. A theme of the series (particularly in the first season) is the importance of finding healthy outlets for emotions and frustrations through the exploration of Japanese work culture, including the pressure to conform, the long hours and expectations placed on employees, and the challenges faced by women in the workforce.

Each character represents a workplace archetype with a touch of satire, and perhaps the humorous delivery makes legitimate commentary on contemporary issues an easier pill to swallow. The whole thing's rather clever: the use of cute critters in the place of humans allows the audience to distance themselves from the characters and the issues they face while still recognizing the relevance of the themes to their own lives. Sensitive topics can often be intimidating to approach and, really, what is there to fear about literal Sanrio characters?

Throughout the series, Retsuko struggles with feeling isolated and misunderstood at work. She feels unable to express herself fully and is often the target of criticism and ridicule from her colleagues. However, when she begins to share her passion for karaoke with her coworkers, she finds a newfound sense of camaraderie and acceptance. By sharing her hobby, Retsuko is able to connect with her coworkers on a deeper level, and they become more empathetic and supportive of her. I find that this highlights the importance of finding common ground with others and building relationships based on shared interests and experiences. The act of singing itself can be seen as a metaphor for self-expression and emotional release so, by sharing her singing with her coworkers, Retsuko is able to express herself more fully and find a sense of catharsis in her daily life.

[rosetintedgunman]

AU Verse Setting: The Intended Timeline

OCTOBER 12th, 19XX

Detective Lincoln's valiant confrontation with the heartless murderer of beloved actor Mark I.plier led to the killer's untimely demise, unable to face proper consequences before a court of law.

The disgraced soldier - Colonel W.illiam Jackson Barnum - was confirmed dead on the scene after receiving a fatal gunshot wound to the neck, despite attempts by the manor's cook to keep him from bleeding out. All witnesses were brought outside while waiting for the paramedics to take the body.

But in the time between them leaving, with everyone accounted for, and the paramedics arriving, the body disappeared. Despite a thorough search of the residence, it was nowhere to be seen.

JANUARY 4th, 19XX

M.arkiplier Manor, a place that had been left untouched following the actor's murder last October, was set alight in a suspected arson attack. No witnesses could confirm seeing anyone come or go. The fire was successfully contained before it could spread to the garden or nearby buildings, but it is likely the building will need to be demolished if no one is willing to undertake the costly reparations.

Firefighters at the scene confirmed the source of the fire was in a small study, where a small movie projector had been damaged by a bottle of alcohol. Nothing unusual was discovered, aside from a cracked pair of round glasses with peculiar lenses attached. The public is advised to contact the authorities if these curious spectacles sound familiar.

-

As the 'villain' of the timeline, Liam Jackson is out for revenge on those who wronged him, just like the Actor would have expected. The Manor has been dealt with. He's not too keen on long monologues and idle chitchat, but if he is neutral toward you, that's currently the closest he's able to get to liking someone, and he'll make sure to inform you about the stories that the Actor may be trying to weave.

He doesn't want connections. He doesn't want bonds. He's been working alone for YEARS in the Void prior to his escape. But deep in his core, he's a soldier, and he knows he needs to do the right thing to protect the innocent... Even if that means being the villain that is so desperately desired.

So.... If you survived this fateful weekend... How are you going to handle seeing the figure of a man you saw die?

Further guidance/headcanons, if needed, under the read-more.

-

Liam, like he did in life, bases his trust of people on those he knows. While he himself may not be able to feel that sense of loyalty or camaraderie, he knows people like Damien and the Attorney didn't actively contribute to his demise. As such, he will be neutral (which is positive, all things considered) toward them, and he will even try to offer advice while keeping you at arm's length.

However, if he meets Mark, or someone openly associated with him, his walls shoot straight up, and he will have little time for you. He will be the villain if he has to be. Shoot him, stab him, do whatever you want. Just be ready to run when you realise that won't stop him. He could block pain in life, and in death it's even easier. Even if you do kill him... He'll remember. He'll find you. :)

If he meets Celine... It will be somewhere in between this. By default (ie, not taking particular interpretations into account), he knows the relationship was loveless, and he was the fool for letting it happen on the pretence of playing along and acting like it was something that could have been genuine. In a way, his death was partially because of her.

-

The entire of his left arm is paralysed, hence the droop in his shoulder. He uses his abilities to manipulate it, but it is still limp. I will explain more if needed, but consider it more like unseen hands maneuvering a doll's arm rather than magically having a way to 'overcome' it. The movements aren't natural, almost like how one pretends to move when they act like a robot. Practice has made the movements more fluid, but a watchful eye will notice it's still slightly 'off'. He's been doing it for so long that it's habit. Unfortunately, it can still tire him out if he over-exerts himself. If you ask him about this, he will flat-out lie about it and blame the stuttering movement on the fact that he's dead. (Side note: Liam willingly confessing his arm is paralysed is a sign that he trusts you. Liam willingly not using his powers - removing the red glow - and letting the arm fall fully limp is him showing complete trust in you.)

-

He's blunt. He may insult a muse directly when making a point. I do apologise in advance for this.

-

Powers include: using doorways to teleport, use of his energy to manipulate an item (only used on his arm), the creation and use of pocket dimensions, ability to conjure knives out of thin air, unlimited bullets in his gun of choice. (note: this may be added as I've had more time to think.)

[vendettamuses]

@maximuses SAID: 🔮 -> for Bailey and Ruby!

⚔️ Tarot Readings // ACCEPTING ⚔️

TWO OF WANDS REVERSED

The Unicorn stands indecisive upon the bridge between her comfortable forests and the wider unknown world, each direction represented by blossoming saplings. The sapling to her left, where adventure awaits, grows a bit higher and taller than the other - indicating a stronger potential for growth. The intensity of the full and bright moon illuminates everything in the vicinity, encouraging the Unicorn to trust her intuition. It is clear she is torn, her gaze turned back towards all that she has ever known and loved. She is faced with a decision - to find the others, if she is brave, or to return home.

Should you find yourself hesitant to leave what you are comfortable with, or if indecision has you paralyzed, it would be prudent to re-examine your desires and ambitions to find the correct path forward. Some adjustments may be simple in nature, while others might require you to retrace your footsteps. When you consider the why of what you are doing, you will be reminded of the benefits of pushing yourself to new heights, and the correct choice will become clear.

FIVE OF COINS

A worried Lady Amalthea watches the stormy seas that mirror her own inner discomfort. Cold stone walls press in on her from all sides, forcing her into isolation. A clock looms oppressively behind the maiden, but she has her back turned to it, unaware that it could be the answer to her problems. Instead, she feels immensely pressured for time as she becomes more mortal and forgetful by the minute. Will the price she has paid be worth it?

Something very dear to you has been stolen away; your health, your wealth, your faith, or even your sense of self. It appears that there is no one you can turn to, which only amplifies the loss you have already endured. Your focus on the negative has blinded you to the positive. Swallow your pride in order to reach out to those that could help you; they are not aware of your suffering. Appreciate the good things you have in your life, rather than lamenting what you lack.

SIX OF COINS

The Cat drapes himself across Molly Grue's shoulders in a gesture of camaraderie. He has information that Molly Grue will find most valuable and, in return, the scullery maid offers food and companionship to the feline. Molly holds her hands out, palms up, balancing the equally weighted coins that float on either side of her. The Cat's paw tips one side further, demonstrating that his coveted knowledge tips the scale in his favor at this time. Their relationship is symbiotic. If he is generous now, he will be rewarded in time when he is rescued from the broken remnants of King Haggard's castle.

Generosity can be expressed in a multitude of ways, and whether you are donating to charity or volunteering your time and energy to aid others, you know that you will eventually reap what you sow. If you are on the receiving end, show gratitude to those supporting you and look for a way to repay them when possible. Eventually, the scales will balance. Whether helping someone or yourself, seek out ways that the recipient can become self-sufficient.

INTERPRETATION

The choice to come to the agency as they have was not an easy one. While both Ruby and Bailey are well-acquainted with loss and sacrifice, that did not make the concept of leaving the life they knew before any easier. For Bailey, that meant potentially putting a target on her back by seeking out new, sustainable, and ethical work that would also allow her to make sure her brother is alright. For Ruby, that meant jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire - escaping the cult using her to bring about the end of the world as she know it, and running back to the survivors of her gang who think she abandoned them.

Adjusting to this new situation is difficult and painful for the both of them. Uprooting their lives so suddenly the way they have has left them with deep feeling of frustration and loneliness. After all, they’ve lost everything to be with the people they care about. Their lives have imploded, and they are searching for any sort of comfort or reassurance that they have made the right decision coming to the agency. Little do they know that the greatest comfort they could ever ask for is in each other. They just haven’t realized it yet.

Time will see them together. It’s just a matter of them both realizing that relationships are a give and take. And both are eager to give- just one different ways. For Bailey, that means small gestures or thought like sharing snacks and spending quality time with Ruby. For Ruby, that means acts of service and the occasional chatter over small distractions they can both mutually enjoy. Neither is good with their words. Not in the way they would like to be anyhow. Sometimes one or the other feels like they could do more. But they will eventually find balance once they come to realize and accept that their hearts belong to one another.

[lustrous-dawn]

"I can't picture you being the damsel stuck in the tower, no," Zhen said, his voice warm, filled with laughter. This was what he wanted. A moment of camaraderie. A moment with… a friend. She made it clear that tonight, she wasn't sensei but a friend to him. It made things manageable for him, all the easier to fall into a sense of security and become comfortable as the tense lines receded from his features. 

"But push out of your tower? By an Arcanine?" His brows furrowed, knitting together with worry. His eyes skimmed over her. Seeing nothing out of place, he deemed it fine. "That's one hell of a way to leave." 

Then he raised an eyebrow, "You're very hopeful of my future, tea" -he paused- "Reshi. I hope to make you proud," he added with a grin. 

His gaze became sad. "I would love to let you know but I ain't keen on everyone knowing my business if you catch me. The walls have ears." With the life of luxury, there came gossip and rumors. Those envious of others with a higher status and they had a way of twisting tales he would be loathed to hear. "Another time. If it gets worse, I'll let you know," he promised. 

All the while, he quietly listened to her adventure. She had plenty of it since leaving and seeing the delight on her face, he could tell, despite it all, she was functioning and handling it pretty well. He was a tad envious of how well she was but still happy for her nonetheless. 

Now he appeared a touch nervous. Goddess of Love? His hands tightened into fists. He had no intention of falling in love without his consent. "Keep your eyes peeled then, Reshi. If I see her, I'll avoid her. I don't need my life to be any more complicated than it already is…" 

"But you? Only a tad nervous? Do you want to fall in… love?" Zhen now found himself curious. Where he was guarded about it, she seemed less so. 

Previous

@lustrous-dawn

She laughed, before she spoke once more. “I uh…I got pushed out of my tower by a rather brutish Arcanine. Ever since I’ve been slowly testing the waters. This is the furthest I’ve ventured from it, it’s rather daunting.” It was difficult to admit, yet she couldn’t say anything else.

Watching as he looked off into the crowd, she followed his gaze to a smaller Whimsicott in an equally lavish outfit like his. A soft smile spread across her lips, before both returned to the conversation at hand. It made her content to know he had a friend whom he could confide in. The goddess wanted to make sure her student was alright in the end.

“Hah! Not to worry, soon you’ll be soaring past me in skill, I just know it.” she said eagerly, before waving off her occupation quickly. “Tonight though, I’m just Reshi. No lessons or flames, just fun.”

As he answered her prior question however, she watched as his voice never finished, a scowl forming on his face. It was difficult to be a good friend when she could sense if someone was lying. It hurt knowing he wasn’t doing well, a small frown forming on her face as she listened on. “Oh Zhen…” She trailed, picking it up again quickly. “You don’t have to tell me, honest. I understand…if-“ she paused for a moment, continuing after a thought. “If you ever need my aid, don’t hesitate to ask, alright?”

Knowing he didn’t want to dwell on it too much, she answered his question. “Well, I told you I got tossed from my tower…what else?” She tapped her face as she thought.

“I found an egg, Tor is looking after it while I’m here for the evening. I met another legendary, he shocked poor Tor.” She laughed a bit, the moment being comedic know that it had passed. “Got the news about tonight, called Tor’s brothers to help make this, met a rather rude absol and some interesting legends, and now I’m here!” Recounting her most recent experiences, Reshi realized now she was being more sheltered than she intended to be. ‘Perhaps when I get back I’ll just leave the tower for awhile…’ she thought to herself.

“Not too much, however I would be careful tonight. Supposedly patrons have been falling in love with one another at random due to a goddess of love? I’m a tad nervous about it.”

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 4

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 3, Chapter 5

i have finally found the two perfect songs for this series and that’s everytime by chen & punch and talk love by k. will so go give those a listen because damn if it isn’t these two idiots.

anyways, enjoy the chapter!

Nothing is right anymore, and yet people are so quick to adapt to any sense of normalcy they can. It’s marveling to watch how, in two measly days, the refugees have quieted down and stopped fighting for food. Stopped fighting, period. Now they seek comfort in one another, a sense of camaraderie in knowing that they’ve all gone through the same thing. And holy hells are there a lot of them.

Because soon after Shiganshina was torn through because of the monster they were calling the Colossal Titan, Wall Maria itself fell. Ploughed straight through by something called the Armored Titan as though it was made of feathers. The refugees here are safe - for now - but there are countless of people who weren’t lucky enough to get behind Wall Rose, and they’re out there dying right about now. No one knows if Rose is going to hold either. No one knows anything. So with the kinsmanship comes a heavy pretense of safety, in which everyone ignores how scared they are in favor of counting themselves lucky that they get to live even a single day longer.

You’re doing what you can. Obeying orders without so much as a single complaint. Of course all rations are to be given to the refugees, so you’ve only had one eighth of a potato in the past twenty four hours, but it’s better than nothing. For once, you can’t find any fault with your situation, because no matter how terrible or hungry or scared you’re feeling, there is undoubtedly someone feeling worse.

Such as Ricky.

His mother and old sister managed to get to the boats. His father and younger sister weren’t so lucky.

The two of you had been stationed inside the base together, to watch and hand out resources to the refugees, but you’d immediately taken full responsibility and told Ricky to stay with his family. He’d pulled you into a bone-crushing hug and ran off, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Unfortunately, they’re pretty unpleasant.

Captain Erwin Smith is famed for bringing home soldiers who are still alive. That and Levi’s raw skill with his ODM gear makes you hopeful enough that he’s alive, so you try not to think of him. Frankly, it’s selfish to worry about a single person when there’s so many people at risk, so you bury the troublesome thoughts and focus on your job.

The Garrison has done a good enough job with the resources they have, but the Military Police’s presence is aggravating more than anything. They’re here to keep order, not to keep people safe, and everyone knows it. You wonder if your mother would prefer if you joined with these bastards instead of the choice you’ve made for yourself.

There you go again, being selfish. It’s always been about your life, and your absolute disdain for boredom. Out there, good people are laying down their lives. And you? You enlisted in the Training Corp as some form of self-fulfillment. It’s the first time you’re feeling this overwhelming guilt, as you realize just how ignorant your point of view is. You’ve never even so much as seen a titan, and yet you fancy yourself a soldier.

What a stupid girl you’ve been.

A tug on your uniform makes you snap out of your thoughts, and you look down to see a small girl with black hair wrapped in a scarf that’s too big on her. You blink, and try your best to smile reassuringly.

“Hey. You need something?”

The girl’s voice is quiet, soft, as though she’s trying her best not to be a bother. “They said you were giving out blankets here. May I have four of them, please?”

You nod, leaning down to check the crate by your feet. Unfortunately, you’d been swarmed by people asking for blankets just a few minutes earlier, and you’re just one short of how many the girl needs.

“I only have three left,” you begin apologetically, biting your lip, “but wait here, I’ll go check with someone else.” But you know that’ll be pointless, all the other stations have probably run out too, and if they haven’t, they’re saving for themselves. Calling them out won’t make them give it to you, that much is for sure.

Even the little girl seems to know that much. She shakes her head, taking the three blankets you offer her. “It’s alright. Three is enough. I’ll give them to the others.”

You frown. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter much. But you know that you would hardly be so selfless in the same situation. Hell, you would have wanted two blankets to yourself - these thin sheets are only going to do the bare minimum to keep people warm. The girl piques your curiosity.

“What’s your name?”

She hesitates for a second, then says, “Mikasa.”

You hum as though you’re thinking about it. “Pretty name. Who are the blankets for?”

She smiles faintly at the compliment. “My friends, Eren and Armin, and Armin’s grandpa.”

Not her parents. Your heart breaks for her. You’re not going to pry, the girl has probably seen enough, but you admire her maturity and willingness to spend the nights cold. It must take a lot to love some people so dearly that one would give up basic comfort. To risk getting sick, which, given the circumstances, may just be a death sentence. Yes, that kind of love is truly special, and you wonder if you’ll ever love someone that much.

You want to be a little selfless, too.

“Here.” You shrug off your uniform jacket, draping it over her shoulders. “I know it’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

Mikasa’s eyes widen. “But don’t you need it, ma’am?”

“Eh. They can make me another one.” You shrug. “Besides, to tell you the truth, orange isn’t really my color.”

Her eyes shine tiredly at the unexpected kindness. “Thank you.”

You watch her run off, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. One person helped, out of thousands. It shouldn’t matter - you’re probably never going to see that girl again, you wouldn’t even know if the dumb uniform would do her any good. But there’s a part of you that can rest just a bit easier now, knowing that a child won’t be completely exposed to the harsh winter coming in. If the conditions of Wall Rose are anything to go by, you know that the refugees will be put to work in the fields very soon. It’s going to be a cold season indeed.

There’s been no time to process anything, which you’re almost grateful for. If you stop to think about the effect this is going to have on the fate of humankind, you might scream. There’s too much to think about, and there may be no time to think about it if things get even worse. For now, all you can do is try to help as many people as you can.

As Grumman always tries to drill into your head, it’s about dedicating your heart.

____________________

The new base and training areas are nice. That’s about all you can say for them. Losing the old one was akin to losing your home, and you know your comrades feel the same way, considering how awkward and depressing the shift has been. It feels stupid to start training again like the world hasn’t gone to shit, but you suppose it’s more necessary now than ever.

Everyone’s usual hijinks have stopped. Ophelia doesn’t cross her eyes and make faces whenever Grumman turns his back. Gunther’s habit of making finger guns every time he successfully slices a cardboard titan’s neck has ceased to exist. Even Traute, never one for jokes, seems even more morose and serious than usual. Everyone feels the loss keenly.

Ricky’s gone silent.

You don’t know how many people everyone has lost, and the worst feeling you’ve ever experienced is the relief that you haven’t lost anyone. It’s an ugly impulsive thought, but it trumps all the others in your head. Just overwhelming, horrible comfort.

It gets even worse when the Scouts return, almost three weeks later. There’s no cheers and hollers this time. Each and every single one of them is drenched in guilt and shame along with the blood coating their capes. Titan blood evaporates, you realize with a deep shudder.

The commander carries the same pain as the rest of them. Already, there’s been whispers of Commander Erwin, murmurs that Shadis is losing his touch and a younger, more clever man is needed. You don’t see how it matters who leads - titans are fucking titans, and they certainly don’t care. There’s no tactics that will make them stop being giant man-eating monsters.

You’ve been waiting for days to see Levi, but when you finally make him out, you quickly look away. The horrifying relief blooms in your chest again, and you curse and bless the circumstances that have brought you here. So he’s alive. So the constant anxiousness that has kept you up these last few nights is soothed. So what? Not everyone is as lucky as you. Things will never, ever go back to normal. You have no right to be happy about this.

When you glance at him again, you suck in a sharp breath when you see he’s gazing right back at you. There’s no brightness in his eyes, the rare spark that you’d seen in the moments the two of you shared is long gone. It seems like it was centuries ago. He’s seen too much. They all have.

There’s a question he seems to be asking you, but you have no idea what it is. You want to walk up to him, but a heavy force keeps your feet planted right where they are. All you can do is give him a confused expression, brows furrowed. It’s not like you’re telepathic. If he wants to ask you something, he’ll have to actually ask you.

But he doesn’t. He just looks away, seemingly conflicted, and continues to follow the others. When everything around him is hell, you wonder if you’re even important enough to be worth more than a couple of seconds of his attention. Thankfully, the thought isn’t painful like you imagined it might be. In fact, it’s a bit freeing to let go of this stupid, ridiculous, pointless plan. Your grudge against the lieutenant is about the least important thing in the world right now, so insignificant that you wonder how you ever thought it was worth your time in the first place. There’s no need to make yourself feel more like the foolish, self-centered bitch that you’re realizing you are.

The only problem that comes with letting go of this plan is that you’re letting go of Levi, and it’s a serious problem that the thought gives you such an aching pang in your chest.

____________________

Stephen is gently shaking you for a good ten seconds before you snap out of it, looking at him with a bewildered expression.

“Aren’t you going to go for your walk?”

You look around. Dinner is nearly over, and a few people have already filed out to go back to their dorms. You must’ve zoned out, like you have been ever since the Scouts came back earlier today. You’ve never been so unfocused in your life, simply because you didn’t like not knowing what was happening around you. This is so unlike you, but you’re not sure what to do to stop it. A dark cloud has settled over your shoulders, and you have absolutely no idea how to get rid of it.

“Yeah.” You sigh and stand up, squeezing his hand in thanks. “Ricky went to bed already?”

Stephen nods, with a concerned frown on his face. “I know you’re worried about him, (F/N). I am, too. A lot.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to have to worry about you too.”

You wince apologetically, running a hand through your hair. “Shit, I’m really sorry. Look, I’m fine, I am. I’m just...thinking a lot lately, that’s all.”

The last thing you want is to have your friends take time out of their day to schedule an intervention for you. You’re not the one who needs it. It’s as though everything just makes you feel worse and worse - it’s just that you feel fucking useless all the time, and now you’re an emotional burden to Stephen, who just has to be sweet to everyone.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he says kindly, “just take care of yourself, okay?

“Yeah. You too.” You squeeze his hand again and then head out, beginning your aimless walk around the grounds.

The moon is shining brightly, an unwanted beacon to the despair brewing inside you. Truthfully, you’re spiralling, and you haven’t spiralled in years, not since you decided to take control of your life. There’d been no trigger then, or maybe life itself had been the trigger, and you’d holed yourself up in your room as your head spun out of control. Cheesy questions like what am i doing here and what is my purpose and am i ever going to do anything meaningful rose to your mind then, and they do again now.

Back then, you’d decided that the answer simply lied outside of Stohess. You still believe that, to an extent. Going back isn’t going to solve anything, but...what did leaving accomplish? Your desires are fulfilled, but there’s no purpose to any of this. Not when people were and still are dying out there. Is the only way forward to dedicate yourself to the noble cause of saving humanity? There mustn't be a person alive who can give themselves that goal and actually hope to achieve it.

Well, except one.

This time, you’re the one who finds him.

He’s standing by his horse, stroking the fur gently. Somehow you’ve walked all the way to the stables without realizing. You take a step back, intending to walk away, but the selfish part of you that you’re starting to loathe doesn’t let you go any further than that. You’ve missed him, so much. You’ve missed his bad attitude, his amused smiles, his tantalizing gaze. You want it back, selfishness and selflessness all be damned. Now that he’s here in front of you, it’s too hard to resist.

“Lieutenant.”

Levi looks at you, and his shoulders droop as he stares wearily. He looks like he’s aged several years, and you consider that he probably doesn’t want to see you right now.

“Sorry to disturb you.” You take a deep breath, willing your hands to stay still by your sides and stop clenching. “Were you going for a ride?”

“Yeah.” He takes in the sight of you and then lets out the slightest of sighs. “Do you want to come?”

“What?”

Never in a million years did you expect him to offer going on a horse ride with you, and never in a billion years did you expect yourself to want to accept. You’re so taken aback that it doesn’t occur to you to note the little stool he’s using to hike himself up (as though he can’t pull himself on - it’s a formality more than anything). Levi’s looking at you, waiting for an answer, hand outstretched like he’s actually trying to live up to the fucking prince charming title you’ve given him.

“Okay,” you agree softly, not really knowing what the hell else you’re supposed to do.

You take his hand and he helps you on - really unnecessary, you can get on a horse by yourself - and you swallow when you realize he’s placed you in front. If he wants, he can observe your every reaction to him, and see...well, you don’t know what he’ll see or what you’ll do, but you know it’s not anything you’re willing to show him.

He gets on behind you, an arm snaking around your waist before he instructs you to hold onto the saddle tightly.

Neither of you speak. The horse trots peacefully, never going too fast. The poor thing’s probably done enough running to last it a lifetime. You caress the fur gently as you enter the forest, the moon now cloaked by the towering trees, stealing away your capacity for sight. It’s not something you inherently mind, honestly, it feels good to just close your eyes and relax.

But deep under the guilt and midlife crisis (probably more than midlife given the world you live in), you’re still you. And you get restless easily, not to mention you’ve been craving a conversation with Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, and you don’t want to pass up the chance.

“How bad was it?”

Okay, maybe not the conversation started you should have chosen.

“Bad,” Levi answers without much hesitation, “really bad.” He releases a shaky breath and on impulse you place your hand over his, immediately feeling awkward right after. Do you grip his fingers? Pat him in a show of solidarity? You don’t know, so you don’t do anything, but you don’t remove your hand either.

After a beat, he says, “I was wrong.”

You wrack your brain about what he could be wrong about. Maybe about asking you to come with him just now. Your company hasn’t exactly been what you would call pleasant.

“About what, sir?”

When Levi responds, you feel his hot breath on your neck and you barely stop yourself from shuddering. He shouldn’t be in such close proximity to you. Doesn’t he know what he does to you when he gets this close?

“I said I wanted to see the day that smile got wiped off your face. Now that the day’s here, I wish I could take it back.”

You whip your head around, not even bothering to make sure you don’t accidentally hit him. Luckily you don’t, even though he’s not far from you at all, just a centimeter closer and the tip of your nose would touch his. In the dark, you can barely make him out, but the grey eyes that have fascinated you for so long are discernible even without any light. He’s watching you, so intently that your face burns up, and you pray to whoever’s up there that he can’t see you too well without the moonlight.

But can anyone blame you? Lieutenant Levi, the man who’d punished you for smiling, was now claiming that he missed the very smile that had made you the bane of his existence. You can’t chalk it up to his usual mood swings, because you know it’s not that. You know he’s trying to tell you something, and you’re so close to figuring it out.

You don’t even flinch when his finger curls under your chin and tilts it up just a bit so he can appreciate the view properly.

Even in the dark, you know his lips are just a mere inch away from yours. You wonder what he tastes like.

No.

You turn back around, heart pounding wildly in your chest. It’s wildly inappropriate to think about doing something like that. You can’t, not when he’s your trainer and lieutenant and humanity’s savior. Whatever this is, you have to reel it in control.

“I can’t,” you say, and then quickly clarify so he doesn’t get the wrong idea, “I can’t smile. Not when so much has happened. How can I smile when people...when they’re out there...when you and the rest of the soldiers have sacrificed everything and I’ve done nothing?”

It’s not as though you expect him to give you the most motivational speech in the world, but when he answers, “You’re going to sacrifice plenty in the future,” you feel overwhelmed with guilt, and you just want it to stop. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know your plans, your motivations, or why you’re here at all. He thinks you’re someone that you’re really, truly not.

But you’re not brave enough to tell him any of that. So you opt for the other truth, the less relevant but equally as pressing one.

“I’m not strong enough.”

“No,” Levi murmurs in agreement, “but you’re going to be.” Both his arms are curled around you, and there’s something uplifting in his tone when he says, “4 AM tomorrow, understood?”

Just like that, your goal changes.

If the lieutenant thinks that you can actually be useful, then maybe...maybe you actually can. You’ve somehow gotten in the top ten without even meaning to, so it’s not too much of a stretch to think you could be really good if you actively tried. And he’s still willing to train you - even after all that’s happened, he doesn’t consider you an added bother to his already difficult life. And you plan to value that, now. You’re going to get better, stronger, faster. No more passivity. And maybe if you do this, you can ease the guilt brewing inside before you completely drown in it.

“Yes, sir.”

Determination has risen back inside you, but a ghost of a smile only reappears on your face when you hear him yawn, something you’re one hundred percent sure you’ve never seen nor heard before.

“Are you actually sleepy, Lieutenant?” you tease quietly, “it’s not even 11 PM yet.”

“You should be happy,” he mutters, “all your efforts trying to chase away my insomnia and it’s finally worked.”

If not for the trees providing you safety in the form of the absence of light, you wouldn’t be as bold to do what you do next. Closing your eyes, you lean back and hunch down, resting your cheek against his chest. He stiffens a little at the close contact, but doesn’t say anything or push you away. You won’t kiss him, but you can allow yourself this much, just to seek comfort in the safety he provides just by being there. He’s so, so warm.

The horse rides on, and Levi keeps his arms around you and on the reigns.

Truthfully, as you listen to his heartbeat, you don’t think you’ll ever know who comforts who most tonight.

____________________

The next morning, you’re there before he is, on your fourth lap by the time he walks up. If Levi’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. He only takes his new spot on the new grounds at this new base, and watches you from afar.

Naturally, he still barks at you that your stance is sloppy when you start doing your squats, asking you snidely how many times he’s told you that you need to squat down at a ninety degree angle and just what you did in your early mathematics classes if that’s what you think ninety degrees is. He still presses you into the ground with his foot when you attempt to do a push-up without going all the way down. And he absolutely still withholds your water privileges until you’re practically dizzy from your activities.

Except this time, you have no complaints. You do what you’re ordered.

And maybe stop to give him one or two pointed glares.

When he dismisses you, you find that you’ve still got a bit of energy left. You’re certainly not sleepy.

“Will you spar with me?”

Levi raises a brow, unimpressed. “So you can get your ass handed to you again?”

“I’ve improved!” you cry out indignantly.

“Oh yeah, you’ve made great strides.” He snorts, digging his heel into the ground and raising his fists. “Okay, (L/N), give me your best shot.”

With Lieutenant Levi, the thing that matters most is the element of surprise. Last time, you went for his legs, so he’ll see that coming. You quickly scan his stance - how is it that you two have spent so much time together and you still haven’t located a single weakness of his? Not that that’s what you’re doing anymore, but it would sure be helpful in a fight. Needless to say, you need to think fast.

So before either of you can move, you cry out in pain, clutching your side. “Shit! I - I think I pulled a muscle - ow, fuck -”

Levi’s beside you in an instant, hand reaching down to inspect your stomach. Damn, you’re a better actor than you give yourself credit for. As soon as he reaches out, you grab his bicep with both your hands, plant your feet, and yank up as hard as you can.

No, you probably can’t throw him over your shoulder. But you can at least try to whirl him around you and then tackle him while he tries to regain his balance.

Well, you could if Levi didn’t twist his arm out of your grasp within a single second and grab you in a chokehold.

“Playing dirty, are we?” he whispers in your ear, “naughty girl, I should keep you here an extra hour just for that.”

Gasping for breath, you pat his elbow repeatedly in defeat. Surrender, you surrender! After holding on to lord his victory over you just a little longer, he lets you go, and you suck air into your lungs desperately.

He doesn’t make you stay any longer, but nonetheless, you certainly lose your brawl. How disappointing.

“I’ll...get you...next time…”

Levi’s lips quirk into what can be taken for a smile. “No, you won’t.”

“Yes I will!”

____________________

You lose the next time.

____________________

And the next time.

____________________

And the next.

____________________

It’s a whole two months later when Ricky laughs again.

There’s nothing funny about the situation at all - everyone is freezing their ass off in the middle of nowhere and questioning just how surviving a snowy mountain is going to improve their combat skills. No one was brave enough to ask this question before, though, so now all they can do is deal with it. The problem is that your group is definitely lost.

“Well, this is great,” Gunther groans, sinking on his knees into the snow. You wonder how he can handle the cold biting past his clothes and into his skin.

Ophelia, who’s been pessimistic since the beginning, seems to take this as her permission to sling her bag off and completely give up. “We’re going to die up here.”

You huff. “We’re not going to die, but yeah, we’re gonna lose some merit. They’ll probably send a search party by morning.”

“T-tell us, (F/N),” Gunther says in that smarmy tone of his that makes you pity his parents, “how exactly are we going to make it till morning? You got a fur coat hiding away in those custom boots?”

Ophelia snorts and you narrow your eyes at him. “If I did, I wouldn’t share it. And they’re not custom, it’s actually a very popular brand item.”

“Well, mind trading with me? All I have are these ratty ones.”

“I do mind, actually.”

Ricky hasn’t said anything, only observed your interactions with a blank expression. You let out a pained breath, filled with disdain at seeing your precious oxygen visibly. Yeah, you’ve decided you’re not a fan of the cold, not one bit. You’re already one of those people who is cold all the time, and this isn’t really helping. Apparently no one has any idea, and although Gunther was assigned team leader, you decide to step in.

“We have two options.” You hug yourself, rubbing your arms in an unsuccessful attempt to warm up. “We could try to find some shelter and stay alive till morning, or…” You sigh, not really a fan of all the work that goes into option two, but it’s still the one you’re leaning towards. “Or we get our shit together and find out how to get back to the cabin tonight.”

You’ve got something to prove, after all.

Ophelia’s teeth are chattering as she says, “W-where the h-hell will we find shelter out here?”

“Nowhere. That’s why we’re gonna go with the other idea.”

“Someone’s eager to hold onto her position,” Gunther accuses, “even if it means sacrificing her team!”

“Oh my God, who am I sacrificing? Who have I sacrificed so far? No one!”

“Yet!”

You make a rude gesture and stalk off on your own. The others call after you, but only Ricky follows, grabbing your shoulder before you misstep and tumble into the icy ground. You groan loudly, this is so not how the night was supposed to go. You have to make it back.

“You’ve changed,” Ricky says all of a sudden. “I’ve known that for a while, and I know that we all have, but you’ve done a complete turnaround. I mean…” He hesitates, considering his words carefully. You wonder if he knows that just by doing that, he’s showing that he’s changed quite a bit too. “You would have decided to give up on this by now. So what’s the deal?”

Honestly, it’s surprising that it’s taken him this long to ask. Nonetheless, these days you’re glad to hear Ricky speak at all, so anything he says is welcome. That doesn’t mean you know how to answer his question, though.

“Like you said, we’ve all changed. I just decided to…” You trail off and shiver, rubbing your hands together.

“Give a shit?”

You give him a weak smile. “Yeah.”

Ricky nods, looking satisfied enough with the answer. There’s a slight shift in his expression as he peers at you. “It’s not out of pity, right?” When you look confused, he clarifies. “Not out of pity for me. I know I don’t matter that much to you - I just mean, if you feel bad for everything that’s happened, to everyone, you shouldn’t.”

Scoffing, you glare at him, with crossed arms. “Who said you don’t matter to me?”

“Do I?” He grins, looking genuinely surprised. “Me, the outer city peasant?”

This time you allow yourself to speak without thinking. Sometimes, the moment just calls for it. “Yeah, well, we rich folk have to do some charity work sometimes.”

That’s when Ricky laughs, and oh, how you’ve missed the sound. He throws his head back, looking up to the sky like he’s praying. Snowflakes coat his cheeks, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are bright, and he’s gazing at you in the same way you’re sure he once gazed at his poor, lovely little sister who couldn’t make it long enough to see her brother step up and become a hero of humanity.

Then he grabs your arm, yanking you forward.

“Come on, twerp.” He ignores your protests that his hand is freezing. “Let’s get you off this mountain.”

____________________

Okay, Petra definitely knows that you’re trying to compete with her for the number one position. She’s just too nice to say anything, so the two of you just silently try to outdo each other in every which way. Teacher asks a question in class? Either your hand or her’s will fly up right away. Grumman walks by? Well, the two of you are saluting faster than anyone else can even ball their fist. There’s an advanced exercise at 2 PM? You both finished your exercises early and are there at 1:30.

You’re not even sure when you started competing with her, but here you are.

And to be fair, you’re neck and neck with the star student. In classes, you’re basically equal, her because she works hard and studies and you because you retain information well and can play suck up rather well. As for hand to hand combat, you pretty much top your entire Cadet Corp except maybe Traute. When people are paired up to train to steal the knife from each other, no one ever wants to partner up with you (which both hurts and is rather flattering). Yeah, in a fight, you’re pretty much secure. It’s the 3D maneuvering where Petra has you beat.

Now, you’re not bad at using your ODM gear, not by any means. She’s just a damn natural. Any maneuver that takes you five days to pull off is one she can manage in three. A part of you wishes that she actually was a horrible person - then you could at least use your dislike of her as a motivator to beat her. Alas, you’re quite fond of the other girl.

These complaints are what you find yourself telling Levi one morning, after requesting that he watch you fly through the forest. Nowadays it wasn’t entirely unusual for you to stay past 6 AM, either doing extra training or just talking to him. He’d complied, and you’d gotten gear for the both of you to use in the forest.

Seeing him in action only serves to make you even more grouchy about your own skills. Levi’s already fast enough on his feet; with the ODM gear he seems nearly invincible and you have an inkling he’s not performing to the best of his abilities just to monitor you. When you finally tire yourself out, you grumpily toss the gear off, head out into the grass, check for bugs and flop down onto your back once you’re sure it’s safe. “I don’t get it,” you moan unhappily, “why can’t I do it as well as you can?”

Levi steps in front of you, his head blocking out the rising sun. Ah, perfect. “It’s because you enjoy it too much.”

“Oh, is that your professional diagnosis?”

He sucks in a long breath, which you know translates to you’re so fucking difficult, damn shitty brat. “My professional diagnosis is that you’re a dumbass.”

“Aww, thanks, sir! But I only take medical advice from licensed professionals.”

Levi notes your position and moves out of the way to allow the sun to blind you. You wince, squinting in the sunlight, and your hand comes up to shield your poor eyes. Averting your gaze, you peer straight up. In the middle of spring, from the open grounds down below, the clouds have never looked more beautiful.

“Wanna lay down with me? It’s therapeutic. The grass feels great.” You beckon him down next to you, but he shakes his head, instead choosing to deliver a small kick to your side. You hiss - someone seriously needs to do something about the lieutenant’s violent tendencies.

“Do you think I’m doing this so you can look at the pretty sky?”

Tossing your arm over your eyes, you say, “No, you’re doing this because you’re interested in me.”

The sound that Levi lets out is so strangled that you immediately look at him, concerned. He turns away from you for a second, scoffing with his cheeks tinted slightly red, and that’s when you realize he took your statement in an entirely wrong way. You’re a bit offended nonetheless, he doesn’t have to act like it’s disgusting to even think about you in that way. People have been interested in you! It’s happened, you’re a delight! He’s just blind, that’s all.

“I meant interested in me as a subordinate.” You sit up, knees hunched to your chest. “Now that Commander Erwin is in charge, everyone knows you’re going to get promoted soon too. Get a whole squad all to yourself.” Grinning at him, you let your palms rest on the blades of grass beneath you. “Hunting for your own lieutenant, Captain Levi?”

Huh. The title rolls right off the tongue. It suits him pretty well.

He looks at you strangely for a second, before holding his hand out. As you tug yourself up, he mutters, “Please, if I was going to have a lieutenant, I’d need someone competent.”

“Well,” you drawl, not bothered, “I’m not interested anyways.” At least there, you’re being truthful. Even if the thought makes you feel ashamed.

You and him continue to bicker as you walk across the grounds to put the gear back in the shed. While you don’t exactly walk slowly, you don’t go at your fastest pace either, itching to prolong the time that the two of you share. A stark contrast to the first few weeks you trained with him, when all you could think about was going back to bed. Now, nearly a year and a half later, you’re not sleepy, you’re not angry, and you don’t hate him.

When it’s time to part ways, you pretend as though you’re studying him carefully.

“What?” Levi snaps, but there’s no bite to his bark.

“I stand by what I said earlier, about you wanting a lieutenant.” A small smirk spreads on your lips. “But I also think you just have a crush on me.”

He stares at you. A second passes. Two seconds.

Three seconds.

You burst out laughing, hitting his shoulder. “You should see your face! Did you think I was serious?”

He looks at you with his eyes narrowed crossly, only serving to make you laugh louder.

“Minx,” he finally says, shaking his head, “a fucking minx is what you are, (L/N).”

____________________

“It’s raining!”

The excitement with which you squeal those words has nearly everyone rolling their eyes, but they follow you out anyways. It’s nice of them to abandon their lunch for this momentous occasion, rain during the summertime. You feel a rush of love for your fellow cadets, specifically for the three people who are right besides you. Of course you’ve always considered Millie your best friend, but Ricky and Stephen had filled a piece of your soul that you didn’t know was empty. This is your family, and you love them.

“Stephen!” Millie’s voice comes, scolding next to you. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“He still doesn’t know what regiment he wants to join.”

“Leave him alone,” Ricky asserts, taking a swipe at her that she ducks.

“I know what I want to join,” Stephen mumbles, “I’m just not sure…”

Somehow, you know exactly what he’s considering. The rain gives you courage.

“The Scouts are wonderful.” Stephen turns to you, surprised, and you let out a giddy laugh. “They’re amazing. Brave, and heroic, and they kick ass. You’d do really well there, Stephen.”

You’re rambling, but by some miracle, Stephen takes your words to heart and makes his decision.

“Okay,” he says, with a wide smile on his face. “I’ll join the Scouts.”

Ricky coughs into his fist, something that sounds suspiciously like kiss ass. You’re too enthralled by your current environment to notice that, or Millie’s disapproving glare.

Bathing in the rain, you spin around until you’re dizzy. Droplets pour down your face, soaking your hair, your uniform, and you couldn’t be more thrilled. This, really, is what happiness is. The chance to fool around in the rainfall, to throw your hands up and feel precisely just how little of a speck you are in the vast, wide world. Slipping a hand into your bun, you let your hair down, closing your eyes as you soak up the thrill.

Everyone is chattering in groups around you. No one is mourning the lunch that has been long forgotten in the mess hall.

There’s grey eyes watching you when you open yours, a fond smile that you think he probably let slip past the tough exterior on his face. No one can resist this weather.

Maybe third time’s the charm. Even if it’s not, it doesn’t hurt to try, right?

You raise your hand and wave at him.

From the distance, still watching you closely, Levi sighs softly and then waves back.

Something you’ve never felt before bubbles up in your chest. It threatens to consume you as the others become a blur in the precipitation around you. You feel light on your feet, almost as though you’re not even touching the ground anymore. Affection? Adoration? For him?

Maybe it’s because of the stupid way he holds his teacup. Or maybe it’s the way he looks at you like you’re the funniest, most ridiculous person he’s ever met. It might be how his touch always lingers, how he’s always warm, and how he never fails to catch you when you stumble. How about that dumb cravat, why is he always wearing that?

His sarcastic quips, always ready to fire back at you. The way he brushed your tears away that time he’d found you crying. How he never pushes you to open up more than you want to, and how truthful he is. The feeling you get when he smiles or laughs at you, knowing it’s a rarity for him. His eyes, a blend of silver and charcoal that you could stare into for hours and still never get tired of.

It’s here, dancing in the summer rain, that you realize something that really should have been painfully obvious. There’s a reason you notice all these things. There’s a reason your heart is fluttering right now. There’s a reason that time has frozen, and there’s a reason you feel like you’re floating a thousand miles up in the air.

It’s because you like him. You really, really like him.

Oh, shit.

reader on her first day: wow levi’s eyes are beautiful

reader whenever levi is in front of her: damn he is so alluring

reader every time levi so much as glances at her: does he like me?

reader for two years: if levi asked me to have sex with him i would

also reader: omg i have a crush on him??? how is that possible?????

falling for a guy just because he finally waved back at you after like sixteen months is kinda weird but you do you girl.

one chapter left! :O

[dweetwise]

i’ve been kinda quiet while finishing a project over on ao3, but now i’m back with some riconti to share <3

ship: felix x ace (only implied; can be read as platonic if you wish!)

word count: 1640

Someone to Lean On

"—and I thought for sure she wouldn't pick me up! I ran straight into her after being unhooked, but she didn’t even hesitate calling my bluff. Well played, Spirit!"

Felix kept half-listening as Ace rambled on about their latest trial. They were walking back to the campfire together through the fog, having both been sacrificed by the ruthless katana-wielding killer.

It wasn't uncommon for Ace to wait around for him in the plane of nothingness if he didn't survive the trial. Felix had lost count of how many times he'd regained consciousness only to see the familiar, smiling figure calling over to him through the fog.

He wondered if Ace knew how much he appreciated the gesture. The gambler’s friendly banter was always a welcome distraction from the harrowing experience of having every fiber of his being torn to shreds and consequently be reassembled.

But this time was different. Felix could barely make out Ace's words, his own thoughts sounding deafening inside his head despite the silence of the fog. His body didn't feel like his own; it was like the Entity's claws were still twisting and turning around his insides. 

Felix’s feet dragged behind him and when they eventually came to a stop, Ace stopped right with him and patiently waited for their journey to continue. Only once Felix made no move to do so did the Argentine’s brilliant smile falter from uncertainty. 

"Felix?" Ace asked.

"I can't do it," Felix said.

According to people back at the campfire, it had been over a year since Felix was taken into this horrible realm. It felt even longer than that; with nothing in this world but means to make them suffer, Felix was starting to forget the things he used to enjoy.

"Sure you can, champ!" Ace grinned.

Felix knew Ace was trying to be encouraging. He knew he should go back to his play-act, should plaster on a fake smile and brush off his struggles as nothing more than a bad trial, like he’d done countless times before.

But he couldn’t.

"No," Felix said, a surprising determination in his voice. "You don't understand."

“What do you mean?” Ace asked.

Felix wasn’t sure how to describe it. The more he thought about this world and the absolute wrongness of it, the harder it was to pinpoint its exact cause.

He felt lightheaded and almost delirious. It was like he was in a dream; a terrible nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Nothing in this place made sense, yet all this time he had accepted it as truth. What if it was all a figment of his imagination?

"Is any of this real?" Felix asked.

Ace’s smile made way for a confused frown, and his expression was the only thing in their surroundings that looked lifelike. The unnatural fog surrounding them felt neither damp nor cold, the unending darkness somehow allowed them to see perfectly, and even though there was nothing to guide them they still knew exactly which way to go.

Felix felt his breathing pick up as he only now seemed to realize the vast emptiness of nothing they were standing in. He’d been here countless times before but never fully aware of it, and his heart was racing as he frantically looked around, feeling the terror rising in his chest—

Until a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. 

"Hey, deep breaths," Ace said, turning Felix to face him.

The touch helped to ground him and the panic started to fade as Felix looked into familiar brown eyes. Ace felt real, but how could he be sure?

"It doesn't make any sense," Felix said. "The Entity doesn’t exist. It simply can’t."

Ace said nothing. Whether he was giving Felix space to speak or thought he’d finally lost his mind, Felix didn’t know.

"What if this is just a nightmare? What if I'm going crazy—having some sort of episode from work stress, and I'm really hospitalized in an institution?" Felix said, his frantic eyes finding Ace's. "What if I'm in a coma, or—or I died, and this is all my brain shutting down? What if this isn't real?"

Felix realized he was shaking. Ace looked at him silently; like he was pondering what to say. Felix didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so serious.

Abruptly, the embarrassment hit. Felix broke eye contact and stepped back. Even if he was losing it, he didn't need to drag Ace into this—

"So what?" Ace asked.

"What?"

"If you wake up in a hospital tomorrow and realize none of this was real, what does it matter?" Ace said. "It's not gonna change that this feels real."

Felix was silent, mulling over the words.

"I think that, sometimes, it's best to just take things at face value," Ace continued. "Fucked-up things like the Entity exist? Alright. One of them yoinked us into its world for fun? Sure. Whether we like it or not, right now we're stuck here—might as well try to make the most of it."

"Don't you want answers?" Felix asked.

"What I want is to get the hell out of here," Ace huffed dryly.

Felix couldn’t remember Ace ever talking about an escape before. The gambler had always seemed surprisingly well-adjusted to their predicament, but he should have known that even the most optimistic person would be eager for the chance to find a way out of this nightmare.

"But since that's not on the table, I'll take the next best thing of living to see another day," Ace said. "And if I wake up in a real bed tomorrow and it was all a dream? Even better."

"Have you never thought about it? That this could just be a product of your mind?" Felix asked.

"Briefly, yeah," Ace said. Then he smiled. "But then I remembered how shit my imagination is. No way I would've been able to come up with something like this."

Felix huffed out a dry chuckle despite the situation.

"But it's probably easier for me," Ace said. "I know you tend to overthink things. And with the kind of year you've had? I'm kinda surprised you've adjusted so well."

Felix hadn’t thought about it that way. After the numerous panic attacks and freezing from fear in his first trials, Felix never considered himself particularly well-adjusted to his new existence. He owed most of his meager success to the people around him, always there to lend a hand and pull Felix up when he wasn't strong enough to do it himself.

And most of the time, that person had been Ace.

"I had some help," Felix said, offering a hesitant smile.

"Ah, true—almost forgot about Élodie," Ace grinned. "Must be nice, having a friend like that in a place like this."

Felix didn't have the heart to correct the assumption. Having the familiar face of a childhood friend among their teammates had no doubt been beneficial for both Felix and Élodie while they learned to survive this new world.

But it wasn't Élodie who had been by Felix's side those first months. It wasn’t her encouraging words that got through to Felix when he felt paralyzed from inaction, or her who took the time to involve him in the group when Felix was too lost in his own head to participate.

"It really makes a world of difference, having a good friend," Felix said.

Ace kept looking at him, until his face spread into a bright smile at the realization.

"Well, in that case, can I offer you some friendly advice?" Ace asked.

"Of course," Felix agreed.

"Don't get too wrapped up in the 'how's and 'why's," Ace said. "It's just gonna consume you. And…"

Felix waited as Ace paused in an unusual gesture of uncertainty.

"I'd hate to lose you," Ace said.

He was still smiling pleasantly, but his eyes betrayed his real emotion; it was the first time Felix had seen genuine fear in Ace's eyes. And it wasn't from a brutal mori or the hopelessness that they might never escape.

It was from the possibility of losing Felix.

"Alright," Felix said. "I'll try."

"It's a start," Ace said, his demeanor back to the usual playfulness. "You ready to head back?"

Felix realized he felt much calmer now than only minutes prior. There was still an uneasiness in the back of his mind due to the unspeakable horrors that haunted them on a daily basis, but he felt grounded. This wasn't just about him; no matter whether it aligned with the objective truth, this was their reality.

"I think so, yes," Felix said.

"'Atta boy," Ace said. 

Ace's hand left his shoulder, and Felix immediately missed its warmth. The moment of camaraderie they had shared was exactly what he had needed. Even Ace seemed more at ease, his smile relaxed as he fell into step beside Felix.

"By the way," Ace said conversationally. "If this is all in your head, could I request you make it a little… I don't know, less guts and gore, more flowers and booze?"

Felix chuckled. "I can try."

"Oh, and while you're at it, can you give me one of those makeovers?" Ace said. "Make me like ten years younger? I think I’d look great in brown hair—ooh, and a six pack too!"

Felix listened to Ace ramble with a smile. It would never cease to amaze him how the seemingly lighthearted man could go from joking to serious and right back to silly banter in just a few short moments. Ace was like a bolt of lightning; chaotic in nature and gone in the blink of an eye, but always managing to calm the storm in Felix’s head.

"Ace?" Felix asked, interrupting Ace still talking about his hair.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Felix said.

Ace’s smile flashed bright and warm in the darkness surrounding them.

"Anytime."

[penguinkinggames]

“Cerebos: The Crystal City” Actual Play Part II: Reconstruction

This is the second in a series of posts recounting a session of actual play from Cerebos: the Crystal City, currently crowdfunding on Kickstarter. The first part can be found here:

https://tumblr.penguinking.com/post/646498084013195264

This session was conducted on March 20th, 2021, with Matthew Dorbin as GM, and Amelia Gorman, Ashley Flanagan, Will Mendoza, and Kevin Snow playing. The events of play were recorded by Zach Welhouse.

When last we left our travelers, they’d just reached their first Stop, a city lost to the desert. Its only inhabitants are skeletons with manes and beards made of precious metals. Researchers from Inferno Heavy Industries have a great interest in these conductive skeletons, nevermind the living passengers.

The unresolved Danger from the Events on the train has made this Stop more perilous. The train Danger is reduced to 0, and the Events resolve in a way that makes sense for the story, but their impact increases the Stop Danger.

Stop Actions: Inferno Heavy Industries Outpost #7G

A Stop consists of a single round of Stop actions; each traveler will act once before the train moves on.

The Lady in Blue saunters over to the Inferno Heavy Industries scientists and learns they’re looking into a new phenomenon! When no one’s looking she Seizes an Opportunity to start nicking bone silver and supplying it to the ants. Although this raises tensions between the scientists and the ants, fewer skeletons threaten the passengers.   Initially the Lady in Blue rolls a setback, but she uses the Nick of Time trait attached to her gun to reroll one die. With a partial success, she pulls off the heist of the evening. The Stop Danger lowers to 4, but the lure of her criminal past intensifies. She gains one Momentum on her gun.  

The Lonely Seafarer approaches the danger from a more diplomatic position, badgering the lead ant with Morse questions: “Do they have a qualified Death Ray Engineer? Where did they receive their certification? I’ve never heard of the issuing institute? Try me.”   It’s a partial success. Several ants, unused to the heavy question, drop their cargo and flee. She reduces the Danger to 3, but gains one Momentum on her hat. It turns out she’s a person who is used to ordering people around. Or she’s a person with a very important hat. Either way, she’d better hold on to that hat and the authority it represents!  

Tinderling is a woman of action! While everyone else is resorting to thievery or tricks of rhetoric, she lays into a mob of electric dead with her fists and her bird bone sewing needle.   It’s another partial success. She reduces the Danger to 2, but decides to take Damage as her consequence. The skeletons don’t go down without a fight.  

The Unqualified Robot has never been in a situation like this -- at least as far as it knows! While everyone else is stealing, speaking, or swashbuckling, it rifles through its collection of face plates for an appropriate emotion. Finally, it decides on a bug-eyed expression of alarm. It waves its arms, attempting to communicate the danger posed by the skeletons to the scientists, who are now more concerned with studying the sentient ants.   Failure. The scientists ignore the robot, one of them knocking it to the ground like it’s an inconveniently placed chair. While it’s down, ants seize the opportunity to pilfer some more components. The Unqualified Robot takes its second Damage. It scrambles to recover the most important bits, but reattaches them in an inhuman configuration. Somehow this feels right, like whatever it’s becoming is more correct than what it was.

Despite the Unqualified Robot’s poor efforts, the travelers lowered the Stop’s danger enough for the night to pass uneventfully. The ants wander off with whatever they can carry while the scientists handle the remaining skeletons.

They travelers leave without consequences; however, it wasn’t a relaxing stay and they don’t get a keepsake. If they wanted to leave the worksite with a souvenir, they could have risked spending more Traits to reroll their partial successes or addressed the events plaguing the train before it stopped. Some Stops are naturally more dangerous than others, so luck (and certain Conductor abilities) also impact the outcome.

Some time later, possibly another day, the travelers enjoy lunch in the dining car, paying with Inferno Heavy Industries scrip.

Fourth Round of Train Actions

The Unqualified Robot shares a flashback with Tinderling while Tinderling eats. Tinderling had been admiring its face plates, and it was certain it had seen her rail spike before.   Back in the City by the Sea, the Unqualified Robot was unable to sell the gadgets it had been created to sell. To earn oil money it started scabbing at a factory while Tinderling marched the picket lines outside.   One day Tinderling confronts the Unqualified Robot while it’s pushing a wheelless wheelbarrow full of trash past the picket: “There has to be a better place for people like you. Or robots like you. You have better things to do than sell your soul to this company. If you have a soul? Or sell your labour!”    At this point, the Unqualified Robot only owns smiley face slides. So it smiles. Tinderling hands it a rail spike: “Throw it! Show it who’s boss!” The robot weighs the spike in its hand and uses it to scratch angry eyebrows onto its faceplate. Then it throws the spike through the factory window. In the ensuing riot, the Uncanny Robot is badly injured.   As a result of the shared flashback, Tinderling’s rail spike gains the Rabble Rouser trait. The Unqualified Robot’s expression slides gain Angry Eyebrows.

The travelers are shocked back to the present by a cheerful announcement from the conductor: “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about this. We’re just coming up on the Rail Labyrinth. Seems it’s time for my annual performance review. Worst case, I’m fired and we’re stuck in here forever and die.” The mess of competing tracks from before was nothing compared to the snarl of dead-ends, different gauges, and switchbacks the train enters.The Rail Labyrinth is a Danger 3 Event. The conductor could probably handle it on her own, but it’s going to be a bumpy ride!

The Lonesome Seafarer looks pensively through her broken spyglass to Engage the Event and sketches a few suggestions on a napkin. When it comes down to it, land navigation is like sea navigation, only easier. It’s an Inspired Success, which reduces the Danger to 1. She rushes her chart to the conductor, who’s going at her charts with specialized tools. “What is this?” the conductor asks. “It’s the way out of here!” responds the Seafarer. “Take a right, take a left!  

Tinderling is unconcerned by the Rail Labyrinth. She’s been keeping an eye on the Unqualified Robot, who’s been taking a beating. In a way, she got it into this mess, so she does what she can to repair the damage.   It’s been collecting bits of scrap to enhance its body. She offers her rail spike. It wielded the spike with conviction once; maybe now it can serve a different purpose. The bond of camaraderie is strong like steel.   Tinderling rolls an Ugly Break to give away her touchstone. She gains one Contemplation, but also gains one Momentum to her burnt match. She has to hold on to the fire and anger that set her on this path, or else all her sacrifices will have been for nothing. If she gives that away, someone will probably take it as a symbol of hope, peace, or something altogether too soft. The Unqualified Robot gains a new femur, which means it’s more human, right?  

The Lady in Blue observes the Lonesome Seafarer’s burst of action and authority. She’s like a different person when she’s giving commands! Did the spyglass help her focus? The two travelers catch eyes and the steel labyrinth flashback into one of wind and waves.   The Lonesome Seafarer is adrift without the guidance of Second Mate Scurvy. No one else in the crew will stand up to her in the helpful-but-confrontational way that Scurvy did so well. She grows harsher in her methods, challenging the crew to fight back. None do.   One awful night, she thinks she sees the ghost of Scurvy mouthing guidance. What’s that he’s saying? It’s either “Don’t mind me,” or “Come find me!” “Scurvy, that’s unhelpful!” the Lonesome Seafarer says, worrying she’s talking to a delusion. “Sorry! I’m a ghoo~oost,” Scurvy responds. The Lonesome Seafarer’s spyglass gains the Tunnel Vision trait.

Fifth Round of Train Actions

The Rail Labyrinth isn’t so bad, once everyone gets used to the sudden stops and jerks. Progress slows, so they turn to idle conversation.

Tinderling strikes up a conversation with the Lady in Blue. Something about her shabby finery suggests she may be an ally in the coming revolution. Take that burned handbag, for instance.   The Lady in Blue flashes back to when her bag was burned. She’s sitting in a car outside a bank. Alarms are going off inside and the building is on fire. Isabelle (not her real name) rushes out and tosses a handbag full of money into the car.   “Was fire part of the plan?” the Lady in Blue asks. Fire was not part of the plan. This was supposed to be a simple heist, but she escalated to arson. One of these days she’s going to get somebody killed. The next morning, Isabelle and the cash are gone. Two people died in the heist, turns out!   The empty bag gains the Score to Settle trait.

Two more flashbacks means it’s time for a new Event. Inferno Heavy Industries keeps on piling on the training exercises. The conductor alerts everyone to the newest sights: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We’re entering an area of particular geological interest. If you look out on either side, you will see the site of the second part of my performance review. We are now entering Cactortle Canyon.”

Cactortles are large, friendly beasts. Trains are a novelty and a chance to scratch their itchy backs, making Cactortle Canyon a Danger 3 event. The Rail Labyrinth is still hanging in there with Danger 1, setting the total Danger at 4.

The Unqualified Robot starts throwing junk from its bag at the cactortles. Only by divesting itself of the signs of its former life can it find new purpose. Even better, it means throwing things at wildlife that are threatening to ram the train. The Robot’s Engage an Event roll is abysmal (1 + 3), so it takes a swig from its flask and uses its Drowning Sorrows trait to upgrade to a partial success (4 +3).   This is a moment of triumph, but also one of somber self-reflection: “I’m most successful when throwing things.” The Robot gains a point of Momentum on its sack of gadgets.  

The Lady in Blue values a clean plan with no complications. She ties a rope around her body and climbs onto the train’s roof. From the raised vantage point, she’s able to see the way out of the Rail Labyrinth. She rolls a success, lowering the Rail Labyrinth’s Danger to 0.   Since the Lonesome Seafarer and the Lady in Blue both contributed to lowering the Rail Labyrinth’s Danger, one of them will receive a keepsake of the event. The GM rolls a die and the Seafarer reflects on her newfound respect for infrastructure engineers. They can be right jerks! The keepsake also provides one rank to her Navigator trait.  

The Lonesome Seafarer and the Lady in Blue are a good team. They guided the train through the Rail Labyrinth with flying colors. It’s almost like being back at sea. Something about their teamwork is familiar.   The pair share a flashback where they decide to set out for Cerebos together. The Lady in Blue may have seen someone who matched Scurvy’s description, while the Lonesome Seafarer has heard tales of the Lady in Red. It’s not so bad, traveling together.   The Lady in Blue’s hat gains the Tying up Loose Ends trait, while the Seafarer’s coat gains Old Friends Not Forgotten.

The Lady in Blue and the Lonesome Seafarer have both experienced three flashbacks. The players talk among themselves to determine which of the two stories they want to see take center stage. After some back and forth, they decide the Lady in Blue’s tale of revenge is the most compelling, so she becomes the story’s Seeker.

The other travelers weigh in on the Lady in Blue’s dilemma. Do they want to be Saints, encouraging her of the righteousness of her quest to bring an end to her sister, or are they Demons, forces of caprice and change?

The Lonesome Seafarer is a Demon: she’s not one to support the killing of a long-lost family member, as she’s been looking for one of those herself, in a manner of speaking. The Unqualified Robot is a Saint. It’s been radicalized by its journey, and violence has been more effective than words in producing optimal results. Tinderling is likewise a Saint. Sometimes people need to make hard decisions to clear ground for a worthwhile future.

From here, the journey embarks upon its final leg: the Lady in Blue has been identified as the story’s protagonist, and the others will act in their capacity as Saints and Demons to shape how her story ends. In the third and final post in this series, we’ll see what end that is!

[harringtonstudios]

best friend’s ex.

plot: he’s your best friend’s ex and you should stay away. 

A/N: i wrote this in one sitting and it’s very long <3 took some creative liberty here so imagine 2020!kells but he hasn’t made it just quite yet in the industry. this is heavily based off the song release tonight with blackbear so enjoy (maybe while listening!)

masterlist!

The circles in New York are different than the ones in Los Angeles. There’s a hint of familiarity in the New York circles, everyone seems to know each other connected by one person or a distant story of that one night the whole crowd tripped on molly. It’s dizzying, intricately knowing every single person backstage or at some club without recognizing them exactly.

You haven’t gotten used to the life, not yet acclimated with the high-fives and looks thrown your way at a party, or the nameless phone numbers crowding your text messages. It’s all new, fun and exciting and you have no one to thank but your best friend.

She’s made for this life, for the late nights and the rushes, the sticky floors and glittery lipgloss. This is her environment, where she thrives, and sometimes when you look at her in the club, necklaces shining with the overhead lights, you find it hard to connect this Domi to the one who you’ve seen crying on your bedroom floor after watching a despairing animal shelter commercial. But then she throws you a grin, crowds close, drapes her arm over your shoulder, and it just makes sense.

It’s been years of friendship, ever since you two met at freshman orientation for college. Her roommate was terrible, and more often than not, she’d be camping out on your twin-sized bed, offering you bites of her snacks in exchange for a safe haven. You both hadn’t really been into the party scene at school, too busy scrambling for reports and fibbing results for the endless lab sessions.

Domi graduated a semester early, spent an entire summer taking accelerated classes so she could go fly off to New York right before the new year started. That’s when things seemed to change. You’d been upset with her, hints of jealousy tinging in when she’d send you pictures of fancy clothes and people she was hanging out with, the nicely decorated venues she’d find herself in. She invited you to come to the city a few weeks in, buzzing on Facetime about backstage passes.

Then you were graduating yourself, packing two suitcases and jetting halfway across the country to live in the shitty apartment Domi’d been renting out with a couple of strangers. It had been hard to settle down at first, the air was different in the city and you’d had to up your resting bitch face game when you sat on the subways late at night, but before you knew it, you were enjoying the city that never sleeps, best friend right by your side.

Colson had stumbled into your life a year ago, and then been ripped out six months after. He was a up and coming musician (self-proclaimed) and had taken a chance bet on the city, moved from Cleveland with his friends and a mixtape. He was beautiful in a rugged way, angled cheekbones and lanky limbs, but Domi had taken one look and called dibs, so you tampered any attraction down.

It hadn’t taken long for them to start dating, even if Domi claimed they were just fooling around, it was clear to see that there was some level of intimacy there, a relationship itching to be formed. You’d been happy for her truly and it was easier than you’d expected to fall into a camaraderie with the guys.

Colson’s friends were funny, quick on their toes and absolutely chaotic. They fit into New York better than you did, and almost every single night, you would find yourself at their apartment, playing shitty drinking games and jamming to loud music.

Domi kept the relationship as lowkey as she could, and at some point, you would hear less and less about Colson. It didn’t really hit you then, but it was the beginning of the end in a way, and then she was walking in, eyes red and wet before yelling out the fated words, “We broke up.”

Everything you had gotten used to was suddenly taken away. You spent weeks consoling her, reminding her that she was better than this guy, stronger and that time was the only way this would heal. She begrudgingly listened, and then took your phone from you, casually blocking Colson’s number along with all his friends.

At first, you’d been mildly upset. She was the one who’d fucked up, the one who’d decided to break up with him, so why was this effecting you? It didn’t make sense, they were still your friends and you liked them more than anyone else you’d met here.

But then she’d given you her patented puppy dog eyes, and you’d dismissed it, decided that if this was what she wanted, so be it. You could stand to lose the drunken nights, your liver would thank you.

Colson Baker and his friends disappeared from your life as fast as they had appeared into it. You spent your nights cooking at home instead of going out, focused on building back your sleep schedule instead of getting drunk off your mind, and the days went by.

-

Of course, nothing lasts forever and six months later, your coworkers’ are begging you for a night out, like the old times. Everyone’s antsy for your reply, know that you haven’t been to a social function with them in ages, and you take one look at their faces before sighing and agreeing.

The entire office claps, you flip them all off before catching sight of your boss, who simply smiles and shakes his head. There’s a faint flutter in your stomach, memories rising from months ago, parties and late nights, flashes of lights and thumping music. You shrug it off, tap your pen against the desk, bring your focus back to work.

Three hours later, you’re catching the train back home. It isn’t exactly rush hour yet, you’ve gotten out a little earlier than usual, Friday evenings usually being dull at work anyway and you’re glad because there’s less people mulling around in the sticky heat of the train station.

The station doesn’t smell great, there’s a tinge of stale pee filling up the air and you discreetly move to the other side of the station, trying to get as far away from the smell as you can. New York City man.

The train pulls in, and you automatically put in your headphones, music blasting in your ears as you sidle into the train car, passing the passengers coming out. It’s relatively empty, being near the front and you thank the train gods before sliding into an orange seat near the door.

There’s a couple of guys sitting at the other end, they’re loud and boisterous, shoving each other and you give them a once-over before settling into the seat. The train moves, and you pull your purse onto your lap, patting it once before letting your eyes fall close.

The next stop comes abruptly, jolting you out of the little dreamscape you’d created. There’s a shout as the doors open and you pause your music trying to tune into what’s going on. It’s still the group of guys, but now there’s more of them and you roll your eyes at the banter drifting across the car.

The music starts up again and you lean your head back, try to get comfortable again, but it doesn’t work. There’s a weird feeling in your gut, making you uneasy but you brush it off, raise the volume until all you can feel is the dirty bass.

A minute later, someone kicks at your shoes and you open your eyes, ready to angrily scold at them until they can feel the rage across the car.

The words die in your throat. Colson Baker’s standing there in all his glory, lanky arm leaning against the metal, blonde hair puffing around his head, grin lighting up his face.

His nose is pierced now and you take it in, the way it brings out his eyes and you pause the music mumbling out, “Nose ring looks good on you.”

You bite your tongue right after, embarrassed that after months of silence that’s the first thing that falls out of your mouth. He laughs, body shaking and you’re flashed back to nights in his apartment, watching him laugh on the other couch, head thrown back.

“Thanks,” he murmurs before going, “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you answer honestly and there’s another shout from across the car, Colson turning to wave a hand.

“It’s the guys. They didn’t think it was you, but I could tell yanno,” he explains and you raise your eyebrows as he continues, “They’re all still kinda pissed you blocked us.”

The statement falls between you two, awkwardly as the train car rumbles on. You wince a little as he fake coughs to fill the empty space.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about all that man. You guys were like family,” you carefully mention, hands playing with the hair tie on your wrist.

“It’s cool. I get it, I mean we both know Domi,” he stammers out and his own hand goes to rub at his chin.

This conversation isn’t what either of you expected and you shift up in your seat, trying to change the topic at the mention of your best friend.

“So what’ve you been up to?” you ask and he smiles at the gateway question, eager to get rid of the uncomfortable energy.

“Got signed to a record label,” he murmurs and the smile that takes over your face is unreal. There’s pride blooming in your chest.

“No way!! Oh my god, congrats dude. That’s killer,” you gush out and his cheeks taint red at your words.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes meeting yours.

“I knew you’d do it. You’re immensely talented,” you continue on as the train comes to a stop.

It’s not yours but it seems to be his. The guys all shout over at him and he’s looking up and then gazing at you, caught between the two options before he makes up his mind.

He doesn’t choose you, you’re not surprised.

“I appreciate you!” he shouts out before running off the car, joining the rest of the guys on the station.

You turn in your seat and wave at them, catching a couple of glares and hesitant waves back before the car pulls away, to the next destination.

The music starts up again and you will your heart to slow down for reasons you can’t even comprehend.

-

Domi gives you a look as you rush into your room. Usually after work, you spend time in the kitchen, milling around grabbing little snacks as she cooks, but you actually have plans tonight.

It’s the first time you’re going out in months and you take a quick shower before pulling out all the old outfits you’d shoved into the back of your closet.

There’s a nice dress, black with faint traces of glitter and you eye it for a second before deciding against it. This is a fun night with the coworkers, not your insane best friend who’d always managed to get you to dress your very best.

There’s a pair of skinny jeans tossed into a dresser, and you eye the rips in it before pulling it on. It looks good, tight in all the right places and you root around for a shirt that can be just fancy enough.

There’s a nice purple one tossed in the closet, slipping off of a hanger and you grab it before pulling it on and tying it up in the front.

It’s pretty, makes you look just right and you play around with your hair before sitting down and committing to a makeup look.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re throwing your keys, a pack of gum, gloss and your phone into a small purse. It hangs off of your wrist and you take a look in the mirror before stepping out of your room.

“Where are you going?” Domi asks, her tone slightly cold.

“Night out. Coworkers invited me and I couldn’t say no,” you explain, running your hands down the jeans.

“Oh,” her face falls.

“Do I-look good?” you ask hesitantly.

“Yeah. You always do bitch,” she half-heartedly adds and you smile at her.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you say, grabbing a carrot from the countertop.

“I’ll wait up,” she smirks and you nod before heading out the door.

The club’s only a few stops away and when you swipe your metro card again, you groan at how low the funds are running. You haven’t filled it just yet, and the $1.25 flashes up at you, taunting.

“I’m poor,” you scoff at the machine and the girl swiping next to you laughs.

You get in somehow, sneakily using the swinging baby stroller door and by the time the train pulls up, you’re only running a few minutes late.

It only hits you when you sink into the familiar orange seat that you didn’t tell Domi about running into her ex. You know she doesn’t care as much about Colson now, scorchingly refers to him as that one rapper, but it’s an unspoken rule. You always tell if you run into the ex.

Your fingers tap against your phone screen, wondering if texting her is appropriate but you drop it quickly. It’s not a big deal. You’ll just let her know when you get home tonight.

The doors open, you leave and then you’re stalking towards the club doors, eyeing the long line. The bouncer is staring everyone down, and you wade up to the front. You’ve learned enough tricks in the short party lifestyle you’d had.

“I’m with the VIPs,” you flash your ID and then a $5 discreetly tucked under it. He looks you up and down, grumbles slightly before taking the money from you.

The rope opens and you smile before stepping through into the dark. It’s loud inside already, the lights contrasting the slight evening colors from outside. You look around before you spot the team and walk over to them.

“Hey!!!” they exclaim and then you’re being handed a glass, cheering the night as everyone drinks it down.

It’s tequila, stings in the back of your throat and you cough before wiping your mouth, “God, I haven’t had this in so long.”

“See that’s why we needed you out tonight,” one of them goes, checking your shoulder with theirs. You laugh before agreeing and order your drink of choice, chiming into the conversation.

It’s going so well, the night seems to be twinged with good vibes. You feel nice and loose, arm draped over your nearest friend as you two sway at the songs playing.

There’s a commotion at the door and you guys turn towards the bouncer only to see people scuffling around, pushing to get closer.

“Hey dude! I’m playing tonight. Musical guest here!!!” comes a loud voice, and it rings familiar in your head. It’s faint, digging somewhere into the back of your mind and you get on your tip-toes trying to see.

“Fuck you,” someone else spits and it echoes around the club.

The crowd splits open then, and you get a glimpse at old friends, adjusting their hats as they stalk across to the stage.

Rook’s fuming as he walks past you, and you spot the tell-tale crease on his face, the grit of his teeth. It scares you, the memory of it all after late night game losses, the way he would blow a gasket about cheating.

Slim and Baze wander behind him, they seem cooler, always are, but the anger is brimming under and you look away as they pass you.

AJ isn’t there and you guess he’s already in the club. He’s always been the sensible one, stable and ready to take control of the situation when it inevitably turns bad.

Colson’s following the rest but his eyes are on the crowd, hand going out to meet people, smiling at everyone. There’s a faint cut on his lip, blood trickling out and you want to scream at him. He comes up around to where you’re standing, and you step back, let your coworkers high five him as he passes.

He doesn’t see you, it’s better that way.

You order up another drink, ignore the whispers of the pesky rapper as they fill up the air around you. He’s well known here apparently, people aware of him in the scene. They mumble about the fights, the way he never seems to show up without a cut or bruise.

You take a shot, sip at the alcohol, smile fading as your coworker ravishes on about how good looking the musician is.

It takes about twenty minutes, and then the music shuts off. There’s a squeal of microphone feedback and everyone around you ducks, hands rushing up to cover their ears.

“Fuck,” a mumble comes across the sound system.

There’s another shuffle and your friend grabs your arm, pulling you closer to the stage. There’s already people there, milling around, clutching drinks and you try to stay on the sidelines, out of view.

“We should go closer,” he determines and then you’re being pulled forward again, swimming around in the second row.

Colson is standing front and center in all his glory. The shitty lighting makes him glow, and he looks big, energy filling him up. He pulls the mic off the stand and steps back before going, “Afternoon. We are Machine Gun Kelly.”

The name isn’t familiar. You don’t know it and quite frankly, it doesn’t place anywhere either but that’s all you get before the music starts up. It’s weird, a pace you don’t expect from him and then he’s off, singing with a grit in his voice, fingers flying across a guitar draped over his shoulder.

Everyone seems to bob along in the crowd and you do too, losing yourself in the way he sounds, the tone of his voice as he croons. The music is great, drums harsh and strong, guitar loud behind the vocals.

The set’s over quick and you’re slightly sweating by the end of it. He thanks the crowd before jumping off stage, and you immediately retreat back to the bar, anxious to steer clear of him.

Even in your drunken state of mind, it’s a bright red flashing light: Stay away from Colson. Stay away from the guys.

You switch to water for a while, try to stop your head from spinning with the lights. Everyone you came with is somewhere on the dance floor, so when an arm drapes on your shoulders, you freeze up, still facing the bar.

“Hey,” and then you’re looking up at Slim’s face, sweaty and eager.

“Slim,” you breathe out, vice in your chest loosening at the fact that it isn’t Colson. You don’t know why this is better, but it is.

“What’re you drinking?” he asks, hand going up to call over the bartender.

You don’t have the heart to say water, know that he’ll laugh and then get you a beer, so you murmur, “Get me a shot of vodka?”

His smile widens and he shouts the drink order over the counter before dropping his arm, “You sipping the hard stuff now?”

Shaking your head, you respond, “I’ve always drank the hard stuff.”

“Yeah, back when we hung out,” he slips into the banter, and your heart stops. You didn’t realize it had hurt them this bad, that months later, drunk and high off of a good show, Slim still manages to bring it up, voice tightening slightly.

“Look, I’m sorry about all that. I really am,” you start, but then he’s passing you the drink and locking arms.

“Cheers,” he says and you clink your shot glass against his, tipping it back.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out but he throws you a look.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says and then he’s shouting out, “Yo Kells!”

It clicks into place then, the Machine Gun Kelly. It’s his nickname, has been for years apparently since he was rapping in middle school hallways, but he’d always introduced himself as Colson to new friends, let them decide whether the Kells fit him or not.

You hadn’t called him Kells once, in the months of knowing him, had laughed about it a couple of times with Domi, who loved to mock it any chance she could.

“You stalking me?” Kells sleazes out, there’s already a drink in his hand, someone following him around with bright eyes.

“No,” you state, moving away from the counter. The red lights are in full effect, this could end up terribly.

“Seems like it,” he sums up, coming in closer to lean against the bar. His lip is still cut, looks swollen as he approaches you.

“You fucked up your lip,” you state, mind cursing at the lack of filter you seem to have around your best friend’s ex.

“What?” he goes, and then his fingers are rubbing at the fat lip, eyes scrunching, “Guess I did.”

“Well it was nice to see you again,” you try.

“I just got here, you leaving already?” he murmurs, brushing off the person following him.

Slim’s moved to the other end of the bar, Rook’s throwing you a glare.

“Don’t think your friends want me around,” you nod over.

He turns his head and makes some kind of motion. Rook drops his eye contact, head going to duck at the bar. Slim smiles.

“They don’t know what’s good for them,” he mumbles, head turning back. His fingers tap at the bar, and there’s a beer appearing. He smiles at the bartender.

“I’m good for them?” you scoff, there’s a hint of bitterness at your tone, but it’s not directed exactly at them. It isn’t their fault.

“Always have been. The good influence when we would try and do stupid shit,” he says thoughtfully. He’s almost as drunk as you, eyes slightly red.

You laugh at that, “You’re always doing stupid shit. Great set by the way, impressed the fuck out of me.”

“You didn’t expect it?” he says as if you were supposed to have known all his songs by heart.

“I haven’t heard any of your music,” you honestly reply.

“Not even the mixtapes?” he seems shocked.

“No, Domi never sent them to me and you all just assumed so,” you stop yourself, falling into dangerous territory.

At the name drop of his ex, he winces a little, “God she was a fucking head-case.”

“Hey that’s my best friend you’re talking about,” you shout a little too loud. You catch Slim slamming a hand onto Rook’s shoulder. The air becomes stifled.

“Sorry,” Colson offers, taking a long, pointed sip.

You sigh, “Don’t be. She can be a little much sometimes. I’m sorry for how it all ended.”

“You should hang with us tonight,” he calmly says, switching the subject. Your breath catches in your throat.

“I don’t know-“ you start.

He cuts you off, “I get it. If you want, we’ll be here for a while. Find us.”

That’s all you get and then he’s walking towards the gang, slipping into the crowd. You drop your head onto the shell covered bar, groaning out.

-

The night dwindles down, your coworkers trickle out, slamming messy kisses on your face before walking out. You’re left by yourself soon enough and there’s a pulsing in your head, matching the music vibrating under your shoes.

It doesn’t take long to decide. You want to hang out with Colson and them, with Machine Gun Kelly. It’s a bad idea, you can tell before you’ve even fully determined it, but it’s as if fate’s lined everything up for you. It’s gonna happen.

You push away the nagging thoughts, wander around the club trying to find someone, coming up empty. Everyone seems to have left and you roll your eyes before stepping out yourself. Maybe fate doesn’t want this to happen.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you spot Rook across the street, blunt in hand. He hasn’t seen you, looking down at his shoes but you know him well and if he’s around it means the others are close by.

You brace yourself, work up some form of courage and walk over. He looks up at the sound and there’s immediate dislike flashing across his face.

Out of everyone, Rook’s been the most temperamental. You’d thought it was going to be Colson at first glance, but were quickly proven wrong by his friend, by the harshness of his demeanor at times. He doesn’t hide his feelings, and while you respect that, you’re also intimidated by his posturing.

“Hey Rook,” you mumble.

“Y/N,” he bluntly states.

“How have you been?” you try, but immediately know it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Cut the shit. What’d you want?” he bites out, eyes hard.

“Was wondering if I could catch a ride with you guys?” you question. 

AJ usually drives them around, his black van large enough for the gang, and his self control strong enough to stay sober. You don’t know if it’s changed since the last time everyone hung out, but you’re hoping it hasn’t for the sake of your almost empty metrocard.

“Why’d you think we drove here?” he’s shrugs, giving you a hard time, and you shake your head wondering if your pride is worth this.

“Never mind dude,” you turn around but then he’s groaning behind you.

“Yeah we’ll take you back home. Kells’ kill me if I let you walk around here drunk. C’mon,” he says and you try to hide your smile as you follow him.

He takes a few more hits before tossing his blunt to the ground, and you’re glad he hasn’t offered you any. It would be too forgiving of him, too close to what you all used to be, and you wouldn’t know what to do if it came to that. Domi would kill you, hell she’d kill you if she knew you were getting into a car with them right now.

He stops in front of the familiar van, opens the door with force and everyone’s shouting inside, clambering over each other. You almost smile at the chaos, the familiarity of it all.

“Y/N!” Colson’s shouting and you do smile then. He slumps over long limbs and comes over to the door, reaching his hand out to you.

“You coming with us?” he asks and you nod before Rook mutters, “She needs a ride home.”

Colson purses his lips before looking back over at you, hand still outstretched, “Yeah, c’mon in. AJ got you.”

It’s late, later than you should be out and there’s a reminder that Domi’s waiting for you back home, wants to hear about your night. Your resolve flickers the minute his hand wraps around yours.

He tugs you in the van, and you follow, stepping in before they all scatter around, making enough space. There’s another girl with them, someone you don’t remember meeting or knowing but she smiles at you and curls into Rook’s side.

The music in the van is almost as loud as in the club, filling up the space. You wonder, not for the first time, how AJ drives like this, how he casually sings along, fist bumping the rest of the guys after a song.

Before you know it, there’s a blunt being passed around. Colson skips you on the first round, and you try not to let it hurt, remind yourself that you’ve stung them harder than this, hurt them worse.

He leans into your space after handing it off, whispers, “You still don’t smoke right?”

There’s a painful twist in your stomach at his question. When you all first met, you wouldn’t smoke blunts with them, hesitant about the strain and Domi’s eyes on you. She hated weed, despised the smell and would always remind you of that fact before you’d all spend the night out.

After the breakup, she’d loosened up on that, didn’t care if you smoked out on the fire escape, and sometimes even joined in, it was weird. Weirder than the fact that Colson somehow remembered all this months later.

“I do,” you whispered back, licking your lips, “smoke I mean.”

“Oh,” he softly says and then the blunt’s coming back around. He barely takes a hit before handing it off to you, pushing your hand slightly with his fist.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smoking it in. It’s strong, brings an immediate rush. You close your eyes.

When you open them, Colson’s too close to you. The red lights flash hard in your head and then the car’s stopping in front of their building.

You don’t even hesitate, “Is it wrong if I come up with you?”

His eyes look into yours, it’s quiet enough that you feel the weight of your statement sink in. This is bad, so bad.

He doesn’t say anything but everyone around you is moving, pulling off instruments and slamming doors. He carefully takes your hand, pulls the blunt out from your other one.

“AJ, we’re gonna chill for a while,” he says, towards the front seat, giving him the blunt. There’s a hum and then he’s opening the door, pulling you out just as he’d pulled you in.

For a second, you hesitate and then you’re falling into him. His arm wraps around your hips, pulls you back up on the sidewalk.

“You okay?” his voice is quiet, the world still moves around you both but it feels like you’re the only two people who matter.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Wanna go home?” he says, and the words hit you for a second before you shake your head.

“No, this is cool,” you tongue out.

You’re both walking into the building then, satisfied with your answers. The manager gives you a once over at the front desk but that’s all before Colson’s thumbing the elevator button.

“What about everyone else?” you murmur.

He looks at them unloading the van and lets out a laugh, fingers tightening slightly against yours as he shakes, “They’re gonna be busy a while.”

You laugh back, try to tamper down the feeling of seeing him full-body laugh for the second time that day. The elevator dings and you step in, he follows.

It’s the same damn elevator as it was six months ago, but there’s something different in the air right now. It’s staticky, thrumming through you and it feels like you’re stumbling right on the edge of something.

The doors close, it’s just you and him. The feeling gets stronger, his fingers loosen against yours. You grip harder and he looks up straight into your eyes.

The door dings open again and he huffs a little, “Forgot to click the button.”

You smile but it feels thin. Your brain is flashing wrong, flashing red, screaming Domi’s name, but your heart is racing, pounding against your chest.

You screw your eyes shut.

He hits the button, the elevator starts going and you step closer to him. His back is against the elevator wall and there’s a calm look on his face, but you can tell he’s nervous, can feel it in the clamminess of his palm where it’s sticking to yours.

“I’m going to kiss you,” you blurt and you don’t even have time to regret the words before he’s pushing into you, lips finding yours within seconds.

They’re warm and softer than you expected. He lets out a groan as you kiss back, and you’re reminded of his cut, the swollen lip he’s sporting now. You move back, rest your forehead against his.

“Sorry, your lip,” you attempt to explain, but he shakes his head, forehead sliding across yours, twisting it.

“I like it,” he mumbles and you smile before kissing him again, feeling his arm wrap around you, pull you closer.

It’s the first time you’ve kissed him, he’s strictly off limits, a forbidden idea, but it feels like everything has suddenly fallen into place. The warning signs dissolve into bursts of serotonin as he makes little sounds, pressed up with your mouth.

The door dings open. You break apart and step out. Is kiss drunk a thing, or are you losing your mind? He grins at you, pulls your joined hands up for a soft kiss brushing on your knuckles.

Your heart flutters right then. If you’re losing your mind, you’re glad it’s with him. Dealing with the aftermath is something you’ll do later, so you push all thoughts of Domi and her complications aside and follow him straight into his apartment, consequences be damned.

-

taglist:  @iamdorka @no-shxt-sherl @bakerkells @findingmyths @rosegoldrichie​ @mayaslifeinabox​ @itjustkindahappenedreally @hnbtx @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​ @sophroniaa​ @enchantedamusedslightlyconfused​ @calum-defense-squad​

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

                         A Story in Spring : Renewal {1/3} 

"I have a proposition for you."

The walls of the fallen seraph's humble hut had so far been something of a passive comfort, yet Lithirill found no sense of ease.  Her host, and fellow Tel'lmaltath could certainly tell, eyeing her with some hint of concern, slowly rising to his full height, turning to face her once the fire had suitably caught. "Go on."

The encouraging mannerism was commonplace in their interactions thus far, but it didn't do much to make her desirous of speaking her mind, as images played in her head of all she had been plotting in secret, only thinking to bring the matter to him when she -knew- beyond a doubt she could -achieve- her goals. "It is a...personal matter, to you specifically.  I hesitate to even ask, truthfully." At that notion, her company raised  a sculpted brow. How he might've read her words differed from what she seemed to mean by her body language; a normally stood straight, confident woman now half hunched and barely maintaining eye contact.  He simply watched, resting a hand along his hip. It was the only prompt to continue she was going to get. "...Right.  -Arkt-.  I will speak plainly." even then she hesitated, a sigh accompanying an expression of complete honesty, "...I want to reconstruct your wings. I would see you fly again."  

There weren't many things reality could offer him that still surprised, but that had done it, the gentle carefulness in her tone most of all. It wasn't just an offer, but a plea. Arkt's gaze fell to his floorboards, called back to the moment she had seen the tattered remnants, and the conversation that followed where he learned much and more about the individual he chose to champion. Her perseverance in the face of impossible odds had ensured his second chance at freedom from past mistakes, yet here she was still giving. It was not debt fueling her either, but desire, leading him to a thought forgotten sensation; confoundment.

Lithirill only fidgeted in the quiet, narrowing her eyes in passive calculation, half braced for some kind of impact. It took him some several moments to recover, clearing his throat. The ever-present ache at his back he'd still struggled with flared up. Even to this day, the injury pained him, centuries "dead" had been his only reprieve.

"You are firmly familiar with the reasons I lost them in the first place..." he began, watching his company instinctively tense, ready for rejection; instead he would give her a question, "Knowing that, I must ask -why-? To what end would you go to such efforts?" Asked with genuine curiosity, over any manner of accusation; he suspected her of nothing.

Lithirill nodded, crossing her arms and easing her weight onto one leg. "History was one among a few reasons I have debated asking. As for why, well. I feel there are certain wrongs afflicted to those I’ve come to care for, and it is within my power to unravel those wrongs.”

Arkt watched her carefully crafted mask slipping, the woman ever at odds with herself. He wondered if there would ever be a time where she did not engage in the practice, and simply felt at home in his company.

"As you did with Arantheal?"  he questioned, curious to see if he could keep her at that boundary.

Lithirill puzzled over the question for a moment, pondering if it was harmless comparison or an accusation. Foolish to think it the latter, knowing Arkt had no history of resisting her intent.

"...Yes. As I did -for- Narathzul." She corrected, offering a sideways nod and a shrug, "Know I don't need an answer -today-. I only wanted you to know that the idea lingered in mind long enough to...plan for.”

Ultimately, Arkt was touched. Shock still kept a whirlwind of emotions at bay at the mere hint of taking to the skies again, permitting the warmth of the smile behind his veil to only grow as he watched her. She was not having so easy a time, clearly having wrestled with herself on the matter for awhile.

"Is this what has kept you from your usual visits of late?" he wondered, gesturing with a hand in a motion pushing down from his midsection;  'Relax.' he said silently.

Her eyes followed his hand, flicking up to his face like the lash of a serpent's tongue before she took in a breath and let it out, chuckling to herself.  

"In part. Alongside the politicking and the visits somewhere warmer. Thoughts?"

He sighed through his nose as he partly answered with the considering tilt of his head and a prolonged shutting of his eyes, continuing to chew on the notion.

"Too many to rightly voice in a manner composed or remotely understandable. Would you mind returning to Castle Darlan for the moment? I'll have an answer for you come the evening."

"Of course.~"

The professional manner in which she pulled herself together and turned from him showed a wall climbing between them that he had no patience for, the old seraph chuckling when she moved to open the door.

"Lithirill."  

She twitched, shoulders bunching as her fingers fumbled at the doorknob, before she straightened again and smiled a familiar, shy curve over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up a touch when she saw he’d pulled down his veil.

"Yes?"  

"...Thank you."  he spoke, genuine appreciation clear in his expression.

A hint of color, and the wall scattered; his only goal in the moment. She departed with an amused, "See you soon.", quickly on her way.

                                                   ~~~ As promised, Arkt had arrived that evening, uncharacteristically anxious, but Lithirill could hardly blame him. She could not imagine the weight of what her offer truly meant to him.

In times long gone, the loss of his wings, however deeply traumatic, had served a purpose; symbols had power, as much in their creation as their destruction and his fall signaled the end of an era where the Lightborn could rule without fear of repercussion. Yet now that all his battles were over, and this new life lay before him...

It was not long before the old seraph was waxing poetic, teetering back and forth in his words, as was his way. He all but danced between every sentence- whilst Lithirill only offered more wine when his glass neared empty. She refused to rush him in coming to a decision, simply enjoying his company, equal parts devilishly curious and genuinely empathetic.

Such camaraderie came to it's end at the dawn of the following day, Arkt admitting in the quiet of the morning fog that he accepted her offer; even with her many warnings of risk and pain, he had seen firsthand what she was capable of; he knew he was in good hands, even if a fair few of her achievements were with his shadowed aid.

Two weeks had passed since he agreed to her offer, wasting no time in getting started. The first bout had been the hardest thus far- having not yet known just how -much- it took to render a seraph numb, and having the unfortunate task of plucking the feathers he still had. A meticulous, painful, unexpectedly bloody process...but it was safer to start with a clean slate than try to rebuild all that was under them when half the limb had been shorn down to bare bone.

Trippling the dosages from there made things much easier, at least for Arkt. His struggle was not with pain in the familiar sense now, it came instead from a nameless sensation;  the agonizingly slow return of what should never be, able to sense every -tiny- thread of what was lost reconnect. It was as torturous as it was euphoric, and it could only be overcome by sheer force of will.

Tonight would be no different. Lithirill had learned his tells after a few sessions. When in the throes of her spell work, she could spare little attention for observance, but awareness returned as she dialed back, murmuring gentle nothings mostly for her own comfort; though it signaled to Arkt he could stop taking such measured breaths.

The touch of the Sea crept away like the retreating tide, Arkt opening hazy eyes, idly stretching his fingers.  He knew well enough not to move until his companion told him to do so, watching her over his shoulder. There was a slight notion of fear that kept him from immediately looking upon his wings, naked and ghastly as they were. He only had eyes for Lithirill's face, noting the knitted brow and how she clicked her tongue when observing progress, pondering how to proceed.

"I'd hoped to have had bone completely covered by now..." she lamented, drawing again the magicked circles that held his wings in subtle regeneration between sessions, "I've underestimated how deeply the burns go. I should’ve-”

"You need not fret, Lithirill."  Arkt spoke up, a look of assurance crossing fair features, "This shall take as long as it will take, and you have plenty to grapple with without adding the unnecessary elements of haste and worry.~"

"...Perhaps. Still, I don't savor putting you through further pain I could have avoided." she spoke idly, glad he could not feel it as she undid the slings above, gently moving the humble beginnings to rest on cushions whilst she worked tension from developing musculature.

"We went into this knowing it would be difficult. We will endure." he replied, his tone as much an attempt to comfort as it was a statement of fact; she was far too deep in it now to safely -stop-.  "Which for you to manage, requires heady use of those flasks behind you, as I recall."

It was a gentle, but earnest jab to not neglect her own health whilst taking care of him. She might have been Tel'lmaltath, but healing at -this- level for such prolonged bouts tested the limits of even legendary resolves, and Arkt did not fancy the idea of a Shadow God turned Oorbaya.

Satisfied with her ministrations, she sighed and nodded, letting her hand trail down his back as she turned and gingerly stepped away to pluck a flask of Ambrosia from a stockpile. The edges of a smirk tugged at his lips as she made a show of drinking half the vial like it didn't taste awful, raising both brows at him in a silent 'satisfied?'.

"...-Thank- you." he muttered, humming a chuckle, "Do not lose sight of your own well being in concern for me. I must stress, we have nothing but time."

Lithirill tilted her head at him as her eyelids drooped, well accustomed now to the odd heated popping in her ears as the Ambrosia did its work, blanketing the red pressure in her head and quieting the skittering under her skin.

"-Now- whose fretting?" she teased, setting down the flask so she could help him to stand, not letting his wings droop as she supported them from the base, "I don't intend to go hurrying into the arms of the Blue Death, I promise. Come now.~"

Twas a short jaunt to the spare bedroom within her personal quarters, Arkt leading the way and Lithirill matching his steps. The seraph counted his blessings that his pride could not be so easily wounded as she settled his wings into yet another set of slings, these ones arranged to allow them to safely hang whilst he rested. He knew -she- worried about such mental troubles, but he was far too old and that much more taken by fascination in all she insisted upon doing for him to care for foolish things like shame.

"Tell me something, Lithirill." he said, eyes on her as she arranged the vials that would help him sleep, and come the morn, ease his pain,  "What do you suppose I'm meant to do in return for all of this?"  

The question was laced with an undertone of playfulness that reminded her of when the seraph had taken an almost catty tone in Arktwend, all but making -gossip- of the infatuation between those who'd brought Narathzul into the world. She could only raise a brow at him in plain curiosity, willfully stepping into whatever trap this might have been.

"That is hardly a matter to burden the likely recipient, don't you think?  Or am I -supposed- to be reading between some manner of line here?" The teasingly scrutinizing gaze she leveled upon him was nothing to the coy look he gave her beneath the messy strands of his hair, the two locked in a quiet contest before she relented; as she always did where he was concerned. "...ponder and plot all you like, my friend. But hold to that patience you've assured me with. I would say it is early yet to be planning anything more than recovery."  she offered.

Arkt sighed through his nose at that, uncapping the cork to her sleeping drought and drinking it down with a quick chaser of water. Her answer was as good as any. Ponder and plot indeed then.

"Fair enough. Rest well, when you find it."  he bid gently, offering only a smile. For a would be God according to most's definition, who had seen millennia pass and returned even from -death-, he seemed to be handling the life of a crippled patient quite well.

Lithirill could only take that profound patience and trust in her ability to heart; ensure no matter her doubts that she'd finish the job.

She returned the evening farewell and meandered to her own bed, falling upon it like a stone. All too swiftly would the sun rise, and the pair would be again until their great task of renewal was complete.   Lithirill could only hope she'd be done by Spring.

                                                   ~Fin~

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: Stains and Apologies

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Without breaking eye contact with Fjord, Yasha reaches over her shoulder again and this time pulls Molly out from behind her with a hand fisted in the collar of his coat. His heeled boots leave the scuffed wooden floor as she shakes him, gentle and chastising - dangling from her grip, he looks like nothing more than a naughty kitten. “Molly, you shouldn’t mess with people’s things.”

Molly pouts. “Yash, come on, it was funny!”

“You know what happens when you do that.”

And, just like that, oh so satisfyingly, Molly’s entire demeanor shifts - his eyes spring wide, tail twitching agitatedly to match. “Oh. Oh - no, hey, that’s not-”

Wordcount: 2302

A/N: Shoutout to @ticklishnonsense who’s been absolutely killing me with their switch!Molly content lately, and @eldritchtickles who requested lee!Molly fully half a year ago, i’m so sorry for the delay 🤦‍♀️

Fjord’s not going to kill Molly.

He can appreciate that it looks like he’s going to kill him, the way he’s currently sprinting with one hand brandishing his sword and the other grasping for a purple tail just out of his reach, but he’s not. Really.

He’s just going to Blink onto him, tackle him to the floor, and rub his face into whatever muck’s been sloughed off the bootsoles of the inn’s latest patrons until he apologizes.

Molly ducks through the nearest doorway, coat and horn jewelry flaring in a jangling arc behind him as he pivots. Fjord slams a hand into the already-splintering beam of the frame and skids after him. If he can just get a bead on where his insane roommate is going to be in the next six seconds -

His attempt at foresight is instantly thwarted as he comes up short - literally, his head smacks off a leather bracer as he’s forcibly stopped by someone a good head taller than him. He stumbles back, pulling his sword to his chest in an unfortunately belated attempt not to stab anyone, and looks up.

Yasha looms before him with one arm raised protectively, looking blessedly un-gouged. Her expression as she reaches over her shoulder for the hilt of her own sword almost makes him wish that wasn’t the case. “Are you going to put that away?”

“Put away - oh.” His sword vanishes with a spray of salt. “That was. Ahem. For transportation.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” The lilting voice comes from further in the room, and it only takes a second past that to see the edges of Molly’s coat peeking out from his human shield.

Fjord attempts to scowl at him through Yasha’s chest. “Well, maybe now that we’re both in one place I can ask you what in Dwendal’s name you did that for.”

Molly becomes slightly more visible as Yasha turns to him. “Oh… Molly, what did you do?”

There’s a distinct lack of the guilty silence that Fjord thinks the situation deserves. “I,” Molly says, completely confident, “gave him him a gift-”

Fjord scoffs. “He stole the soap I keep in my pack and replaced it-”

“With better soap-”

Yasha’s gaze has been flicking between the two of them, and Fjord waits until it swings back his way before holding his hands out indignantly. “Is that what you’d call this?”

All three of them stare at his hands. He doesn’t mind the flowery scent - the sea breeze has scoured his nostrils enough that he’s beyond caring what he smells like most days.

The purple streaks staining his hands and forearms are a bit more offensive.

Yasha reaches out slowly to try and scrub some of it off with her thumb. Molly just snickers, waving his own fully purple hand out at Fjord. “To be fair, there’s no way I could have known that would happen.”

Without breaking eye contact with Fjord, Yasha reaches over her shoulder again and this time pulls Molly out from behind her with a hand fisted in the collar of his coat. His heeled boots leave the scuffed wooden floor as she shakes him, gentle and chastising - dangling from her grip, he looks like nothing more than a naughty kitten. “Molly, you shouldn’t mess with people’s things.”

Molly pouts. “Yash, come on, it was funny!”

“You know what happens when you do that.”

And, just like that, oh so satisfyingly, Molly’s entire demeanor shifts - his eyes spring wide, tail twitching agitatedly to match. “Oh. Oh - no, hey, that’s not-”

The tips of his boots press towards the floor in a transparent attempt to get some leverage, but Yasha just huffs and scoops the entirety of his lanky form into her arms. “Here,” she tells Fjord bluntly over his protests, turning to one of the beds, “I’ll show you how we used to punish him at the circus.”

Fjord feels the heat of his anger sour instantly at the prospect of someone being punished on his behalf; it leaves a chalky taste in his mouth not unlike the leftover dust when he’s done filing. He catches Yasha’s eye before she can look back at Molly, holds up his hands. “Hey, let’s just take a minute here - now I’m not thrilled about this, but maybe we’re all a little too tense. We can talk it out like adults - there’s no need for punishment, right, Molly?”

His attempt at placation hits dead silence as Yasha swivels to regard him fully, Molly twisting in her arms to do the same. They stare.

Fjord stupidly wonders if he’s going to get punished now, and then, belatedly, he connects the dots - head on, it’s much easier to see how loose her grip on him is, to intuit the rote familiarity of Molly’s bickering.

He’s still learning what that kind of easy, endlessly warm camaraderie looks like. Hard to do, when he’s never had it before.

He opens his mouth warily, praying that he can turn the bitter invective on his tongue into some kind of apology before it comes out. Luckily, Molly beats him to it with a fit of giddy laughter that has him slumped halfway over Yasha’s bicep.

“What a gentleman! See, Yasha, I can’t help myself - it’s impossible not to mess with him.”

Yasha winces. It’s that more than anything else that has Fjord chuckling along, lowering his hands and shaking his head. “All right, I take it back, do whatever you want with him.”

“Hey!”

Yasha’s forehead unfurrows, and in one smooth movement she drops Molly on the nearest mattress with his tail arcing behind. He starts to get back up, no doubt eager to keep talking, but Yasha just reaches between his horns to grab the back of his neck and gently but firmly shoves him face-first into cotton sheets. “He squirms a lot,” she says, almost apologetically.

“Uh… what?”

“Hold on.” She pulls away the bunched fabric of coat and shirt to expose a strip of purple skin that bares the shallow outline of ribs and the smooth dip of Molly’s back, gently fluttering her fingers over the edge of a tattooed flourish, and instantly her explanation starts to make sense.

“Mmphhh! Hm, heh-” Molly tries to roll onto his exposed side, but that just pushes Yasha’s hand further up his back to tickle along the side of his spine. “Okay, okahahay, I - oh, that’s enough - nahaha!”

“His back is a good spot,” Yasha instructs, and Fjord nods numbly along. Her fingers stray down to Molly’s side, squeezing lightly into the shivering softness just under his ribcage, and no matter how Molly struggles and whines between bursts of snickering there’s not a thing on earth he can do to stop her.

Fjord blinks. There’s this weird swooping sensation in his belly, watching how little ability Molly has to fight back - he can barely even lift his head, though he doesn’t seem to be struggling to breathe. “Are you just going to do that till he apologizes?”

“No. I do this until,” Yasha pauses, lips pulling flat as she considers, “until he gets… floppier. Less bratty,” she enunciates to Molly, and curls her fingers just below the small of his back until a muffled shriek works its way out of the bedsheets his face is buried in. “When that’s done he’ll apologize on his own.”

“Ah,” Fjord nods again. He’s confused as fuck-all, but it’s hard not to smile watching Yasha make mock-contemplative noises that have Molly’s tail twitching anxiously in response against her knees. Judging by the frantic laughter as she makes a claw of her hand and goes after his ribs, he’s right to be worried.

It’s crazy, but oddly charming. Par for the course with their weird little group.

“You can join in if you want,” Yasha tells him. She’s not smiling back at him, but something in her multicolored gaze looks a little softer upon registering his tacit approval. “It’s faster that way.”

Molly currently looks to be trying to burrow straight through the mattress, anchored only by Yasha’s nails hooking under the back of his jaw, and Fjord feels a little bad for him.

Then, glancing down, he catches sight of the purple streaks on his fingers again.

He clears his throat. “Yeah? Any suggestions?”

Yasha shifts slightly to let him closer to the bed. “Get one of his arms and tickle under it. Gently.”

Fjord sets his jaw and goes to tow one of Molly’s arms out from where he’s wrapped it tightly against his belly. Molly, naturally, is unsupportive of his endeavors.

“Nooo - ha! - give that bahahack!” He almost twists free, too, but Yasha tickles his back again and that renders him flailingly incoherent long enough for Fjord to properly pin his forearm to the mattress.

Molly manages to peek out at him, the singular red eye that’s visible glinting with half-shed tears. Yasha’s stopped tickling for the moment to let him catch his breath in frantic heaves of air, but Fjord can see a glimpse of fang in the blissed-out grin he’s still sporting, a happy flush high on cheeks half hidden by hair and curling horns.

“You done?” he asks, just in case.

Molly sniffles in another breath. “Your hands look lovely, dear.”

Fjord raises an eyebrow and pokes him in the armpit, settling in on the floor and resting his chin on the mattress to better meet his gaze. Molly squeaks, eye squeezing shut as his grin jolts wider. “Now that’s uncalled for, isn’t it?”

Molly’s tongue flickers out at him, mocking. “Do what you have to.”

Fjord just pokes him again, wiggling his finger a little this time, and feels Molly’s bicep tense in his hold as a flurry of giggles erupts. He waits patiently for the giggles to calm, for Molly’s arm to twitch again - this time, with impatience. “Oh? What are we doing again?”

His eye cracks open, looking Fjord over, and then springs wide in horror. “Yasha,” he whines, trying and failing to squirm away from Fjord’s amusement.

Yasha sounds pretty amused herself. “Yes, Molly?”

“This isn’t how it works!”

Yasha mulls this over. “I think this is the best it’s ever worked, actually.”

Realizing that he’s going to get no help from that quarter, Molly huffs and makes a heroic attempt to struggle upright under their hands. “Okay, fine, clearly we’re done here - hngh!”

He’s barely gotten his elbow to budge before Fjord is worrying at his armpit with a single fingertip, sending shivers through his entire body that bring him right back down with a frustrated yelp. “Are we?”

It’s terribly hard not to break his faux-clueless tone and laugh. He’s never seen Molly embarrassed before, especially at the threat of not being tickled to death. But here he is, flushed all the way to the back of his neck, the dark purple blush standing out against Yasha’s pale fingers. That alone feels like enough recompense for the whole incident, so he sighs indulgently and lifts his chin to look over at Yasha. “Yeah, alright, let’s get him.”

Yasha takes her hand off Molly’s neck, letting him bolt up the instant before she shoves both hands under his shirt and Fjord starts tickling his armpit in earnest.He faceplants back onto the bed, curling up as best he can. “AH - hahaHA! Nahaha, hah - notthehehere, fuck-” Fjord glances over to see Yasha’s knuckles bulging through the fabric over his shoulder blades and grins, tickling up along the tops of Molly’s deltoids to bump knuckles with her.

Molly laughs and laughs and laughs, occasionally jerking his head up to reveal a dizzingly bright grin, and as his hysterics eventually trail off into helpless wheezing he lies completely limp and more than a little sweaty in tangled sheets. Fjord, shaking out his hands before they can cramp up, contemplates fetching some soap to throw at him. He settles for rolling Molly over and flicking him gently in the forehead.

Molly springs up suddenly, forcing him to step back, and completely ignores him to scrabble for purchase on Yasha’s arms. Fjord watches the both of them tug and rearrange until Molly is curled up half in Yasha’s lap, her making an extremely halfhearted attempt to smooth his mussed hair.

That bitter feeling inches back in, just a little, and he starts to turn for the door on instinct.

Then, eyes still bleary with tears of laughter, Molly looks straight at him. “Well, that was interesting.”

Fjord meets his gaze. “We’ll call it even,” he says, “provided you don’t touch my stuff again. Didn’t we literally just do this with Nott?”

“Even…” Molly muses. “Sure.” His fangs make a sudden reappearance, the crown jewels of a mischievously evil grin. “Until I find out where you’re ticklish, at least.”

Fjord wills himself not to take a step back. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

Molly and Yasha look at him with two completely different expressions that somehow manage to contain the exact same level of smugness. “It’s kind of a cycle,” Yasha admits. “He used to hide behind the tents and jump out at me, and then I’d have to do it all over again.”

The swooping sensation is back in full force, and the only thought that helps him force down a nervous smile is knowing it will expose the nubs of his tusks. “I…” He nods as calmly as he can at Molly. “I’ll be keeping an eye out, then.”

Molly says nothing, just keeps grinning implacably, but the edge of Yasha’s mouth quirks up in a soft smile. “Good.”

Fjord gestures hastily to indicate some kind of goodbye and takes his leave before Molly can start doing any investigating. Crazy, totally weird, but that feeling-

He’s halfway back to his room before he realizes that he never got an apology.

[morganaseren]

Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU

So because there seemed to be interest in the idea, I decided to expand on the second prompt on this list of AUs I made for Bethany and my Niamh Cousland.

Since Bethany is a Circle Mage in Niamh’s canon verse, I really wanted to experiment with Bethany in one of her other potential routes We don’t talk about the ones where she died not long after escaping Lothering or down in the Deep Roads. Like, what are you talking about? Lalala~ and see if I could work together a happier ending than what the games canonically gave her.

Like most of the AUs I’ve already written about though, this is just a snippet into the verse, so it’s not as polished as I’d like it to be, and the pacing isn’t on par with my main fic. However, there are still 50+ pages for your reading pleasure! Depending on reader interest, I’ll be more than happy to write more about this or other AUs once OtSttCA is completed.

Disclaimer: Any section written in present tense beneath the Read More contains notes or scenes that I’ve yet to expand upon properly.

CliffNotes version of what goes on:

This whole thing takes place sometime after Bethany becomes a Grey Warden and continues on through the years-long breaks between the Acts of DA2. The epilogue will be set sometime after the Trespasser DLC is completed.

Niamh is the Grey Warden who Morrigan chooses to do the Dark Ritual with, and through the obvious use of magic, Kieran is conceived. Because of this, Niamh’s sister Saoirse escapes her otherwise canonical death and gets to be happily married to Leliana.

Because of their mutual respect for one another, and the fact that Niamh went through the trouble of finding Morrigan through the events of the Witch Hunt DLC (she was worried about her friend and their son), she and Morrigan remain in close contact and co-parent Kieran together. Their relationship is often mistaken as a romantic one though.

Bethany eventually falls in love with Niamh over the years, but because she believes the other woman is in a relationship with Morrigan, she keeps her feelings to herself. As such, this is obviously going to be a slow burn romance much like OtSttCA.

Bethany only confesses (albeit by accident) when Niamh nearly dies during a darkspawn ambush when the two woman accidentally find themselves trapped down in the Deep Roads.

There’s a romantic kiss out in the rain along with a semi-NSFW scene later on, which explains why the Read More is in place beyond the fact that this is already super long despite the fact that it’s unfinished...

They both go off in search of the cure to The Calling not long after the Kirkwall Rebellion, and they both eventually get married sometime after the Trespasser DLC with Divine Victoria (spoilers: it’s Leliana) officiating their wedding.

Interested so far? Click below to read more!

“You’re originally from Ferelden, no?” Stroud asked, drawing Bethany’s attention from where she’d been listlessly staring at the cobblestones as they walked away from Amaranthine’s sea port.

The city itself seemed to be thriving with fishmongers and traders of all kinds rattling off their wares to passersby. Save for the workers carrying about lumber and other building materials, one might not have even believed that Amaranthine had suffered its fair share of woes during the onset of the Fifth Blight or the consequent, mysterious darkspawn attack upon its walls nearly a year later. Still, the denizens of the arling were ever a hearty people. For whatever hardship befell them, they continued to persevere. 

She supposed she couldn’t bring herself to be too surprised by that.

The Storm Coast had spawned some of Thedas’ most fearsome raiders once upon a time, and they had proven the bane of Orlais in the rebellion that had spanned over half an Age. For the empire’s trespass upon their freedom, they had fought back with a ruthlessness that matched the raging waves of the sea that was as much a home to them as the land. In the face of such an unsympathetic enemy, they depended on one another to see themselves and each other through to another day. Such faith eventually earned them the liberation they had long sought against Orlais.

Bethany could still see evidence of such camaraderie in the way the people greeted one another so whole-heartedly, stopping to make conversation or help with the transportation of wares. It was such interaction that she’d miss in all the time she’d been away.

Kirkwall had lacked such sincere enthusiasm.

Still, in the two years since she’d left it, she was finally back home, but Bethany knew it was yet another decision she hadn’t had a say in. She hadn’t agreed to returning to Ferelden any more than she had agreed to becoming a Grey Warden. Her jaw clenched, remembering how her sister had simply handed her over to them even when faced with the proposition that they’d likely never see one another again.

Was it really so easy for you to leave me behind, Sister? she thought bitterly, and perhaps upon sensing her melancholy, Stroud changed the subject.

“I realize it seems a rather abrupt choice in returning you here, but what I seek is far too dangerous for someone so new to our way of life to accompany me with,” he explained. “I’m meeting with the Warden-Commander of the Fereldan branch so that I might share some information in the event that things go awry. Their group is smaller than the ones seen across Thedas, but no one can deny their efficiency.” Stroud spared a small chuckle at that. “A bit like your sister and her crew, I suppose; I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable in such a setting.”

It had been a thoughtful suggestion; Bethany knew that. Still, she couldn’t help but sigh. She had always felt that the individuals whom had made up her little social circle were more Emrys’ friends than they had ever been hers. Her older sister had the type of presence to draw anyone to her with her rakish charm and absolute battle prowess.

…which was the exact opposite of her.

As an apostate, it was far easier to stay out of trouble by being unobtrusive. If she gave the Templars no reason to suspect her, she wouldn’t be taken away from her family and the quiet life she had always known. Yet, for all her trouble—and for all her desperation to abide by the rules of a society that had long hated mages like her—she had found herself alone anyway.

Bethany sighed as she looked down at the blues and silvers of the brigandine and tabard of her outfit that signified her status as a Grey Warden. Even with her staff openly displayed across her back, she supposed she no longer had to fear being turned into the authorities. Save for a few curious glances, no one so much as batted an eye at them.

She wasn’t entirely convinced this new life was better than the one she’d left. She could have dealt with the ever-present uncertainty in Kirkwall and the endless, interpersonal squabbles of their ragtag group than spending the remainder of her years surrounded by strangers and fighting darkspawn.

But the choice wasn’t hers to make.

Very little ever was.

---

“So that’s Velanna. She took over as Archivist for our branch when the Warden-Constable was promoted to her current position by our Commander,” Nathaniel said as he took Bethany and Stroud through a tour of Vigil’s Keep since the fortress’ respective Warden-Commander and Warden-Constable were currently out on business.

Their latest stop was a library filled with seemingly endless rows of bookshelves and even more that lined the walls of the chamber that consisted of three separate levels. It was impressive, and Bethany was half-convinced she could have spent an Age in this room alone and never be able to read the entirety of its collection.

At Nathaniel’s commentary, she spared a cursory glance at the woman writing intently at one of the tables furthest away from them, paying little mind to her audience. As was typical of most elves, Velanna was a slight woman. Her hair was a shade of blonde so pale that it was nearly white, but there was a surliness in her pensive expression that gave Bethany pause. It was something that suggested the other woman didn’t welcome the company of others easily, and she seemed to have been proven right by Nathaniel’s words.

“Don’t mind her if she’s a bit standoffish at first. Velanna’s usually that way with everyone until she starts warming up to them,” he assured.

“Oh?”

“Yes. She didn’t really like humans all that much to begin with—hardly a surprise considering how terrible some of them were toward her former clan. Truthfully, I think the only people she really respects are our commanding officers—the Constable mostly though.” He spared a soft chuckle at that. “Granted, the Warden-Commander could lead a damn army from one side of Thedas to the other, but only her sister has the type of negotiation skills that could somehow end up with a High Dragon allied with a sheep of all things.”

“Probably a good thing,” said Varel—the Keep’s seneschal. There was amusement in his dark eyes as he stroked his beard, which had long grown grey with age. “Actually succeeding in getting the Warden-Constable angry is a terrifying sight to behold.”

“Please don’t remind me; I still have nightmares from our first meeting…” Nathaniel muttered with a shudder.

Bethany found that curious, but before she could begin to question him, she saw how he blinked at further movement inside the library. She followed his gaze to see that a dark-haired, dwarven woman had entered through one of the side entrances, carrying two, steaming mugs. One had been set before Velanna, who whispered something quietly, but both of Bethany’s brows rose when she saw how the elf’s cheeks quickly reddened by the kiss that had been pressed to them by her latest visitor.

“Ah. And that’s Sigrun there—another one of those few, honored individuals who Velanna won’t immediately snap at,” Nathaniel remarked humorously.

The tour then continued elsewhere with the party entering the Mess Hall. While neat and tidy, it would have otherwise been unremarkable were it not for the lone dwarf snoring loudly atop one of the tables—an empty cask by his side. Bethany and Stroud shared bemused glances while Varel only cursed next to them, running a weary hand down his face.

“I told you we needed better locks for the cellar if we’re to keep Oghren away from the wine stores,” Nathaniel deadpanned.

Oghren grumbled nonsensically in his sleep before promptly rolling off the table and right onto the floor, loudly overturning more than a few chairs in the process. Despite the fall, he continued to doze away, and his snoring only seemed to grow in volume. They then watched as the poor seneschal wearily hauled the dwarf back to his quarters before he could cause another incident in front of their guests.

“…well, that was Oghren,” Nathaniel muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a weary sigh. “Quite the interesting fellow, that one. With him, you’ve pretty much met every Warden in the Keep save for—”

He was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hallway.

“I told you that I’m more than capable of walking on my own!” protested a feminine voice, irritation evident within it.

“Says the woman who was nearly side-swiped off a cliff by an ogre,” came the deeper timbre of another woman’s amused reply.

Unlike Nathaniel or herself, the latest arrivals didn’t seem to bear the typical, Fereldan accent or even Stroud’s Orlesian one from what she could tell. Bethany could hear how some of the vowels lilted somewhat as they spoke.

“It didn’t really give me any choice in the matter,” was the dry response. “It was either stand before its charge or risk the family in the wagon being swept over the edge instead.”

“I was hardly questioning your bravery, Sister. The people in that caravan certainly wouldn’t, but perhaps leave the more death-defying stunts to those of us with the armor to handle it, hm? I shudder to think what our brother or Aunt Eithne (writer’s note: pronounced Eth-Nah) would say once they find out about this...”

“Perhaps that you were lazing about while I was doing all the work as per usual.”

“Hey!”

Two women appeared in the doorway of the Mess Hall then, and Bethany was startled to find that one of them rivaled her older sister in both height and size. She was a warrior through and through if the impressive greatsword over her shoulder and her overall physique was any indication. Her mane of hair was the color of pale wheat, the length of which was held in a braid that trailed down half her back, and her eyes were a deep, stormy grey. The woman she was carrying—her sister, according to their conversation—was much slighter in comparison.

Rather than sharing in the warrior’s blonde-haired looks, hers was a stark, raven-black. The loose curls trailed to roughly chin-length with a longer fringe that covered one of her eyes—the color a whisper of smoke than the darker grey her sister had. The woman’s arms were also crossed over her chest as she regarded her sister—deeply-unimpressed—before her features cleared at the sight of their visitors.

“Ah. Stroud. Glad to see you and your companion made it across the Waking Sea safely. We weren’t expecting you both for at least another day, or we’d have sent an escort to meet you at the port.”

“No need for the trouble. The winds were kind during our voyage, Warden-Constable,” he said before tilting his head in concern. “Although it appears we’ve arrived too late to help you both. Has the darkspawn presence been more troubling as of late?”

The warrior whom Bethany deduced to be the Warden-Commander merely snorted. “They’re not as plentiful as they were a year ago thankfully. With Niamh’s and Velanna’s respective magic, our branch here has slowly been sealing any access tunnels we’ve come across, but our enemy may just be as awful as vermin with how they manage to reappear in other areas.”

“The incidents have been isolated so far as we can tell, but they’re capable of disrupting travel all the same. On that note…” The Constable trailed off as she turned her gaze toward the Warden who had been showing them about the Keep. “Nathaniel, we have guests from the caravan mentioned earlier. As it’s getting rather late, Saoirse and I decided it was best not to press our luck by letting them travel so soon after the darkspawn attack. Could you and Varel direct them to the guest quarters? We’ll arrange an escort for them to Amaranthine first thing in the morning.”

He pressed a fist over his heart respectfully as he bowed his head. “Of course.”

“Wonderful. Now—”

“Now we get you back to your quarters so that we can tend to your injuries,” her sister interrupted, cheerily grinning when it led to the other woman scowling outright, as if she had been reminded of her current position.

“And I’m more than capable of walking there on my own. Put me down!”

“And risk you further injuring yourself? What type of sister would I be if I were to allow that to happen? Now then!” The Commander directed a smile Bethany’s way, and she jerked in place at the sudden attention. “You’re the latest to join our Order, aren’t you? Stroud mentioned you were a mage. I don’t suppose you know any healing magic, do you?”

“Oh.” Bethany blinked. “Um, well, yes. I have some experience with it.” She had tended to her sister’s and their friends’ injuries often enough back in Kirkwall.

“Excellent. Would you mind tending to Niamh here as best as you can while I go find Velanna? I’m pretty sure my sister fractured a few ribs in that fight earlier.” She chuckled. “And don’t worry if she gives you any trouble; she has a history of being a terrible patient,” she added, earning a pained grunt for her troubles when the woman in question elbowed her sharply in the chest.

---

And before Bethany knew it, she found herself alone with the Warden-Constable in her quarters.

She was trying not to blush at the sight of the woman reclined against the propped pillows at the headboard of the bed. Modesty didn’t seem to be an issue for the other mage. Without another word, she had undressed—with a few occasional winces here and there as the movement pulled at her injuries—and was now bare from the waist up, save for the bindings around her breasts.

Bethany couldn’t help her own wince when she saw the livid bruising that covered the right side of the woman’s torso. It almost looked like the trunk of a tree had been slammed against it if the abrasions and bits of bark embedded into the cuts were any indication.

And she kept insisting to try and walk on her own with an injury like this? she thought in absolute disbelief before delicately pressing the tips of her fingers against the bruise. Despite being as gentle as possible, it still drew a sharp hiss from the Warden-Constable, and Bethany jerked her head up to see the other woman’s clearly pained visage.

“Sorry!”

“No, it needs to be done. Keep going,” she insisted even as pale eyes closed themselves to focus on breathing in and out evenly—albeit with some difficulty.

With permission given, Bethany laid her hand out over the woman’s side, drawing her magic out with a silvery-blue light. From there, she began sounding out the extent of the Warden-Constable’s injuries by feeling where it burned hottest beneath her palm—an indication of how bad the damage was. There was always a tickling sensation that spread out to her fingertips whenever she gently coaxed broken bones back into place. It was akin to puzzle pieces slowly sliding back together before she could encourage them to heal, and she waited for the pulsing waves around them to fade into a dull echo before focusing on the next fractured bone.

As for the bruised muscles surrounding them, they were far easier to deal with. Bethany poured magic beneath the skin in gradual increments—droplets of rain spilling into a cup one by one—until she felt the burning heat simmer down to a more bearable ache. She continued the process, slowly sliding her hand along the woman’s side until the patchwork of blues and blacks which had covered its expanse faded into a yellowish tinge and the superficial cuts had closed themselves. Bethany pulled away then with a satisfied smile.

“What song was that?”

Bethany blinked, turning her gaze up to see silvery eyes staring at her curiously. “Hm?”

“You were humming something while you were healing me.”

“Oh.” She felt heat gathering along her cheeks at the revelation. “It’s an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me. When my father first taught me healing magic, I used to hold my breath while I was performing the spell, but as you can imagine, it’s not a very sound idea unless you want both an unconscious healer and patient.” Embarrassed laughter spilled out of her then as she brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “After a time, I learned that humming a few songs was useful in reminding me to breathe.”

“I see.” The Warden-Constable smiled, looking a great deal more relaxed as she reclined further against the headboard. “Well, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The Warden-Commander walked in then with Velanna in tow, and the warrior seemed surprised to see her sister still in bed. “Did you actually manage to get her to stay there the entire time?” she asked incredulously.

Bethany blinked in confusion at that since her patient had otherwise been well-behaved. As it was, she could only nod tentatively, causing the other woman to grin openly.

“Hah! Well done! I didn’t expect Stroud to send me someone who could cow her into submission.”

The Warden-Constable’s eyes narrowed then. “It was not my hearing that was damaged in that fight, Saoirse. You would do well to not make such comments before me,” she deadpanned, and despite the threat, it only drew hearty laughter from her sister, who soon drew her attention back to Bethany.

“Stroud said your name was Hawke, right?”

She shifted uncomfortably, having grown too used to her surname being used to refer to Emrys, but she nodded all the same. “I’d prefer just to be called Bethany if that’s alright.”

“Ah. Understandable. Can’t tell you how many times my sister and I both answered ‘yes’ in the same room whenever someone called out for a Warden Cousland.” She smiled. “In any case, welcome to the Fereldan branch of the Grey Wardens, Bethany. We’re glad to have you with us.”

---

After that, Bethany settles into Vigil’s Keep.

She sends letters home every now and then, but they’re usually only addressed to her mother. They’re never really long—just enough to let her know that she’s alive and well. Although Bethany realizes it’s a petty thing, she doesn’t ask about Emrys or send her anything for that matter. She’s still angry and resentful that her older sister managed to escape their adventure down into the Deep Roads unscathed while she got cheated out a future, leaving her to a life of killing darkspawn until the Calling finally takes her into the abyss of death. 

Melancholy is ever her constant companion, but eventually, she gets paired with Niamh for missions, who teaches her much about their duties as Wardens over the months, which takes them all around Ferelden. They deal with darkspawn sightings and document areas where they’ve sealed off underground routes into the Deep Roads with earth-based magic, hopefully preventing them from returning so regularly to bother nearby provinces.

As partners, they slowly become closer.

---

"Do you regret it?" Bethany asked one night as they sat by the campfire, watching as Niamh effortlessly flicked a hand to control the size of it just as a strong wind passed beneath the rocky overhang they'd taken shelter under. "Being a Grey Warden, I mean?"

Niamh paused, giving the matter some thought. "There are worse things to be, I suppose." She shrugged. "For a time, I hated the idea of being a mage because it took me away from my family. However, my being a Grey Warden was likely the only thing that saved me from being slaughtered with the rest of them when Howe plotted his coup. It likely also saved me from dying at the hands of my colleagues in Kinloch Hold when one of the Senior Enchanters overthrew it with blood magic and his followers.” She looked over at Bethany then. "Truthfully, I enjoy being able to see more of the world than through the cage the Chantry kept me in. I like the experience of being a part of it even in the moments that people dislike most."

Niamh held a hand out past the edge of the overhang, casually catching droplets of rain in her palm. Bethany watched as a slow smile spread across her features at the sound of another crash of thunder, and she couldn’t help how her own heart seemed to quicken upon seeing that serene expression.

"Our lives are more finite than they ever were," Bethany said distractedly, knowing all Wardens had only a few decades at most after their Joining.

"They are," she conceded. "That’s why I intend to make the most of it." Niamh's expression then turned sheepish as she turned back toward her. "I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t the answer you were looking for, was it?"

"No," she admitted, but as mellow as the other woman was, she was hardly surprised. Niamh had a way of remaining positive despite everything else life seemed to throw at them. Bethany smiled in spite of herself. "It was an honest one though. Thank you."

---

Every day is always an interesting adventure.

If not darkspawn, they deal with brigands out on the road or aid people across the countryside. To Bethany’s surprise, their help is openly requested sometimes when they reach a new town or village. Following the Blight, the utter bravery of the Grey Wardens had earned them Ferelden’s deepest respect. Thus, despite the fact they’re two mages traveling about, their regalia draws easy admiration and conversation alike.

It’s admittedly an odd feeling to have as a mage: to be wanted.

Bethany slowly grows to enjoy it though, especially when she can help with her magic so openly without being reviled for it.

Sometimes the jobs asked of them are simple enough: deal with a band of thieves, rid the area of rabid animals encroaching too close to farmland, helping out with some odds and ends around the village, etc.

Given that Niamh is a veteran of the Fifth Blight, Bethany also ends up learning a lot of survival skills from her during their travels together. She’s endlessly amazed by how the other mage utilizes her magic in combat and with other tasks such as hunting or fishing.

Bethany’s understandably shocked when she realizes that Niamh knows how to shapeshift, often scouting the skies as a raven to search for any nearby danger or roaming the wilderness as a sleek-looking, black wolf to hunt for game. It’s an unexpected revelation, especially since the other woman admitted to having been a part of the Circle most of her life before being recruited as a Warden.

She’s never met another mage so intriguing.

While Anders had been a benevolent healer, offering his skills to those most in need, it was his restless anger—an almost blind righteousness—over the plight of mages that gave Bethany pause.

Merrill was sweet in comparison, of course, and Bethany never minded talking with her even if there were the occasional cultural gaps that led to amusing misunderstandings at times. Still, the other woman held an interest in blood magic that Bethany wasn’t entirely certain she was comfortable with. After all, she had grown up hearing about the dangers of such magic from the Chantry. Then again, Andrastian religion also denounced who she was as a person as well, which was depressing in its own right…

While Niamh’s aptitude for elemental magic alone is impressive, Bethany is certain the woman’s shapeshifting draws upon some form of ancient or arcane magic—something well outside of the Circle’s teachings. It draws her curiosity endlessly. As such, Bethany asks her about the skill one day. Niamh just smiles, idly toying with the wooden ring that sits on a cord of black leather around her neck, revealing that a former companion taught it to her.

And that’s how Bethany learns about Morrigan.

---

“What?” Bethany exclaimed when Saoirse revealed how she was able to survive the slaying of the Archdemon. “You’re telling me that she and Niamh were able to…” She trailed off, trying to fight the blush burning across her face as her mind began imagining the possibilities of how such a conception was possible.

“You know, I thought to ask Niamh the technicalities of it once, but given she’s my baby sister—and obviously lacks the essential, uh, tool for the matter—I just decided it was best not to pry,” Saoirse answered dryly. She idly waved her hand about. “I don’t care to learn about her intimate life any more than she cares to know about mine,” she added before the corner of her mouth lifted into a lazy grin. “But for all intents and purposes, Kieran is my nephew, and Morrigan’s very much family now despite her protests to the contrary.”

“And he has the soul of an Old God?” she asked quietly as she turned to look at Kieran and the two women who were his parents.

Oghren had heard of their latest visitors and was—

Bethany squinted in confusion.

He was doing some type of weird jig in front of the baby, who was currently in Morrigan’s arms. Unfortunately, the erratic, uncoordinated nature of it did nothing to amuse him or his mother. Seemingly uncomfortable by the sight, Kieran gave an unhappy whine before reaching out toward Niamh, little fingers grasping repeatedly in her direction. Morrigan transferred him easily into the other woman’s arms when it was clear she wouldn’t mind holding him, allowing her to dryly berate the dwarf while Niamh comforted their son.

“So Morrigan says, yes,” the warrior answered with a shrug. “I originally turned down her ritual because I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting an innocent life to such a fate, but I can’t be mad at the result. I still have Leliana because of it, and I can see how much Niamh adores both Kieran and Morrigan.” Her smile softened. “She has a piece of the happiness that I always wanted for her—something Niamh felt she could never find in this world, terrible as it is for mages at times.”

Bethany couldn’t help but agree at the latter sentiment.

Looking at the three of them, they certainly did seem like a happy family. Still, Bethany couldn’t help but feel some small pang of envy. While she had discovered that Niamh could draw just about anyone into easy conversation with her, she was rather private about her personal life. It wasn’t until recently that Bethany discovered she was even in a relationship—let alone one involving another woman. She had no issue with the idea or with Morrigan for that matter. The other mage was well-matched with Niamh on the basis of intrigue alone, but…

Bethany bit her lip.

After all those long months together with Niamh, she couldn’t help but feel—

Bethany nearly swallowed her tongue when she realized sharp, golden eyes were staring at her over Niamh’s head—as if somehow reading her thoughts. Morrigan was tall for a woman of Fereldan origin, but not nearly as much as Saoirse. With her dark hair and pale skin, she was as bewitching as she was powerful—her magical aura a fount of seemingly endless, wild energy. Bethany almost felt like prey beneath the other woman’s gaze, and she averted her own nervously.

Thankfully, Morrigan made no comment about it, but Bethany did wince when she heard her suggest turning into bed early to Niamh. She and Kieran had arrived relatively late in the day after all, so they were no doubt tired from their travels. Niamh gave no objections, and they soon headed off to the woman’s personal quarters.

Bethany sighed soundlessly.

She was no stranger to infatuation. Her attraction to Leliana back in Lothering was a testament to that fact. Granted, it was also somehow deeply ironic that her commanding officer was now married to the same lay sister who had since gone on to become the Left Hand of Divine Justinia.

Sometimes she couldn’t help but think the Maker enjoyed toying with her in subtle, annoying ways. In any case, like with any other infatuation, she would just have to wait for the one she had on Niamh to run its course.

It couldn’t last forever after all.

---

Spoilers: it does.

---

During one of her occasional visits, Morrigan left Kieran temporarily in the care of Niamh to follow up on a magical lead involving some of her arcane research. As they weren’t needed outside of Vigil’s Keep for anything, Bethany also got to watch over him as well, and as she did, she brought up a question that she had long been curious over.

"You said you started the ritual with Morrigan when you were already a Warden, weren't you? I thought Wardens became barren after the Joining though?"

"Hm. That's the assumption, yes," Niamh said as she idly waved a stuffed griffon over Kieran, delighting the baby instantly as they laid on the floor together. "I’d been a Warden for a little over a year at that point. Perhaps it was still soon enough that infertility hadn’t affected me yet, or the spell did something to compensate for it."

Bethany just nodded as she looked over at the two of them. "I see bits of you in him."

"Do you?"

"Yes," she admitted easily enough. "There's his sweet nature, the way he seems far too clever for his own good at times, and how his eyes light up whenever he smiles or laughs."

Niamh chuckled, flattered over the assessment. "Morrigan and I are always arguing about it. I see more of her than me in him, but then she retorts that he’s retained my love of sweets and just about every known creature in existence." Her smile widened when tiny, grasping hands finally succeeded in pulling down the stuffed griffon in her hands, and Kieran wasted little time in snuggling the toy to his chest with a pleased hum.

"Do you regret not being able to see him whenever you wish?"

"Sometimes," Niamh answered, "but Morrigan’s mother…" She trailed off with a frown even as she ran a hand affectionately through her son’s hair. "She’s powerful, and she’s hurt her before. I can understand her caution. I’m willing to go years at a time without seeing them if it means they’re safe."

---

Morrigan eventually returns, and she takes Kieran with her to hide and do magical stuff as Empress Celene’s Arcane Advisor in Orlais as per canon.

Several months pass.

Although Niamh had professed to understanding the need for her little family’s relocation, the distance means that visits from them are now few and far in between. Bethany can see how much the other woman misses them and how she worries about their safety. She often catches Niamh distractedly playing with the ring on her necklace, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

As if anticipating that, Morrigan does send letters to Niamh every now and then, and Niamh’s entire expression lights up every time she receives them, learning how the other woman and Kieran are fairing in Orlais along with how their son continues to grow by leaps and bounds.

She cannot fault the happiness Niamh has found with Morrigan, but it also serves as a constant reminder of what life will never offer to Bethany.

Eventually, it gets to a point where Bethany grows resentful of their relationship because her own feelings for Niamh are just so strong by then. It causes her to lash out at Niamh one night in camp, angry with how calm and positive she always is despite knowing they all have a death sentence over their heads.

---

"What world do you live in that you see it through such an idyllic lens?! You can wax poetic about this life all you like! I never asked for this! I never asked for the darkspawn to steal what little I had from life only to be made the gatekeeper against the very things I despise most in this world!"

And Niamh was quiet for the longest time, having stopped mid-sentence over Bethany's sudden tirade. As the silence continued to drift over their camp, so too does a veil of sudden cold air, and Bethany realized far too late that she’d crossed a line with the other woman.

"No one does, really," Niamh admitted at last, the warmth gone from her voice. "Save for Saoirse and my brother, I lost most of my family, but the terrible thing was that it wasn’t even darkspawn that killed them or even the Blight. It was just one man’s petty greed for what he felt was owed to him. He pretended to be my family’s ally for decades, and under the cover of night, he used his men to slaughter nearly the entirety of my bloodline. My parents, my sister-in-law, my nephew… He was only eight when it happened, you see. Oren wanted to a warrior like my siblings. He was trying to defend his mother with one of those wooden swords young boys tend to play with, but against the likes of Howe’s men...”  She clenched her jaw. “They gutted him just like everyone else."

Another pause stifled the air between them even as Bethany stared at Niamh, horrified.

"Darkspawn are terrible, yes, but they’re not always as terrible as people," Niamh said, eyes narrowing as she looked into the fire. "We can be so far worse. If I'm at all patient, it's because I try to be kind in a world that offers so little of it. I want to believe it can be better than it was before. I want this to be a better place for our people, but I also want to ensure that tragedies like that never happen again. That the people caught in the middle—victims of simple circumstance—don’t have so suffer. If it means I must be a Grey Warden in addition to a mage, then I accept it. To do otherwise damns them as much as me."

With that, Niamh then gracefully rose to her feet and headed back to her own tent, leaving Bethany alone at the campfire.

The rest of their journey back to Vigil’s Keep passed without much conversation between them despite Bethany’s attempts. Niamh only said enough to give a suitable answer, but she never offered anything more beyond it. A vault door had seemed to close behind the cool grey of the eyes that had long enraptured her, offering little warmth. It was clear Bethany was no longer privy to the other woman’s innermost thoughts and feelings

Niamh wasn’t petty, however.

She still hunted when necessary so they didn’t starve, and as was long part of their agreement together, Bethany continued to cook whatever game she caught. Other than that, however, Niamh offered no friendly greetings in the morning when they woke or any words that allowed her to wander off peacefully into the Fade as she slept.

Bethany didn’t realize just how much she’d miss them.

---

When they finally return to Vigil's Keep, Saoirse is confused by how quiet and despondent her sister seems to be. Given how amiable Niamh normally is, she has a right to be concerned.

She pulls Bethany aside one night to ask what happened since they normally get along so well, but Bethany and Niamh haven't even spoken a word to one another since their return.

Bethany ruefully explains the situation, but she doesn't reveal the actual reason why she lashed out to begin with. As such, Saoirse just assumes it was just the usual stress of being a Grey Warden.

---

"Ah. It happens to the best of us, really. Here." Saoirse handed Bethany a tin box. Something Orlesian, according to the script on it. "Leliana’s currently away on business in Val Royeaux, but she sends care packages out to me whenever she can. This one's for Niamh though. It's tea," she explained with a laugh. "She loves this stuff more than anyone else I know."

Bethany still felt badly over the situation however.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Oh, Niamh’s too well-mannered to outright ignore someone,” Saoirse insisted with a brief snort. “If anything, she becomes more… Well. ‘Distantly-polite’ as my wife would describe it. Besides, I have it on good authority that she never turns down a good cup of tea.” A lazy, conspiratorial grin played on her lips then. “Especially if there’s a spoonful or two of honey in it.”

That eventually culminated in Bethany making tea for Niamh that evening, who had been locked away in her office as of late. Bethany was still nervous despite receiving permission to enter the room, allowing her to face the woman who she hadn’t seen in nearly a fortnight. Concern grew within her when she saw the shadows beneath Niamh’s eyes—a familiar indication that she had been working far too hard. She watched as Niamh struggled to blink the exhaustion from her eyes as she regarded her, but she otherwise said nothing, simply waiting to hear what Bethany required of her.

“I’m sorry," Bethany said at last, contrition clear in her voice. "This isn’t the life I would have wanted for myself, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when you were merely trying to help.” She held out the still-steaming mug of tea in her hands—the very thing Saoirse had convinced her would make for a suitable peace offering. “Here,” she offered with a tentative smile. “If you’re going to be working through the night again, you should at least drink something.”

For a time, Bethany believed the other woman was just going to remain silent. It would have been well-deserved given how terribly she behaved the other week, but then Niamh reached out to gently take the mug from her.

"Thank you," she said at last, the ice slowly melting behind those wintry eyes, and as they did, Bethany could feel the vice around her heart gradually unhinge itself in relief.

---

Things pretty much go back to normal between them.

Niamh and Bethany are back on the road again, especially after several reports of wandering darkspawn near the outskirts of a town.

As expected, however, Bethany's longing toward Niamh is still there—constant as an evening star. Even with the taint of death coursing through them, Niamh’s aura emanates with so much life—like a forest in winter, cool and refreshing with the scent of pine buried beneath its depths, waiting to burst into spring’s lively greenery with just the barest spark of magic.

It fascinates her.

She often wonders if such single-minded focus is a side effect of the Joining other than the enhanced physical strength and the ability to sense darkspawn. She feels a hunger that is never sated, a thirst that is never parched, and also…

Amber eyes wander over to where Niamh is disrobing to bathe in the nearby river, and she catches sight of the elegant play of muscles along her back before she studiously turns her gaze away. She feels the way her face burns even as she feels something else stir in her veins.

---

While still traveling, they get attacked by some hapless bandits, and while the two women aren't hurt, they manage to lose one of their tents to a stray grenade.

They end up sleeping in the remaining tent together, but it’s small, and they huddle together inside it for warmth against the pouring rain outside.

Bethany is surprised when she unexpectedly wakes up in Niamh’s arms—one is around her waist, and the other is curled behind her shoulders—which pull her closer in sleep. Sometimes she’s amazed at just how warm the other woman is, and although she knows she should pull away to avoid any awkward conversations in the morning, she can’t bring herself to do so. This is probably as close as she’ll ever get to the intimacy she desires with Niamh, and while the moment won’t last forever, it’ll be one more memory she can cherish—something no one else can ever steal from her.

Idly, Bethany listens to the rain outside—now a gentle pattering instead of the rage of a growing storm—falling against the material of the tent, and the sound is so rhythmic that she begins to doze off again.

---

Sometime after that, they receive a letter from Stroud, who requests their assistance with a matter out in the Free Marches. Saoirse stays behind to oversee things at Vigil’s Keep, which leaves Niamh and Bethany to travel across the Waking Sea with Nathaniel as additional support.

They arrive in Kirkwall several days before the qunari invasion begins in full, but not long after they do, Nathaniel’s reconnaissance around the city reveals something terrible:

Bethany’s mother was murdered.

Bethany is understandably upset, but Niamh and Nathaniel do their best to comfort her. They end up holding a small wake in honor of Leandra.

By the time they manage to rendezvous with Stroud, the qunari invasion has already begun, and they’re caught in the middle of it, leading to the Wardens running into Emrys Hawke and her companions.

Emrys obviously wants to talk to her little sister, but Bethany is resistant to the idea since her emotions are still riding high with the news of their mother’s death and the ever-present resentment regarding how she was made into a Warden without her say so on the matter.

Niamh recognizes Bethany’s tension and politely tells Emrys to leave the matter be for the time being. There is little point in having a conversation if one half of the party isn’t ready to have it after all.

Running on adrenaline, the warrior objects and tries to push her out of the way, but Bethany retaliates immediately on Niamh’s behalf. She presses her hand against her sister's chestplate and essentially shoves her back several steps, momentarily forgetting her Warden strength. Both Hawkes seem surprised by the ease in which she can do that.

---

“Bethany?” Emrys uttered in confusion, especially as her sister outright glared at her.

"You do not accost Warden-Constable Cousland that way!"

“Wait… ‘Cousland?’” Emrys looked over to the woman in question, taking in the obvious staff situated across her back. A wolf’s head ornament adorned the top of the weapon in exquisitely-sculpted silverite, and her eyes slowly widened in realization, remembering tales of the mage who could bend the very heavens to her whims. “Wait, you’re the Storm Wolf of Ferelden? Sister to the Hero of Ferelden?”

The woman merely gave a long-suffering sigh in response. “I suppose I was being too optimistic in assuming Leliana’s tales would’ve lost their weight this far past Ferelden’s borders…”

---

Despite the chaos ravaging itself across Kirkwall, the Wardens can’t stay to help. As such, they’re not there to see the end of the invasion. It isn’t until Bethany returns to Ferelden with the others that she receives a letter from Varric, saying that Emrys nearly died in her duel against the Arishok.

While Varric takes the time to mention that Emrys is recovering, and that her bravery led to her becoming Kirkwall’s Champion, the idea that Bethany had nearly lost the very last member of her family is so shocking that she's left inconsolable one night.

---

"I was such an absolute wretch to her before we left, and she nearly died afterward!” she wept when Niamh came to check on her in her room. “She’ll never forgive me!"

The other woman’s eyes are sympathetic as she held her in her arms. "Don’t be so sure."

"How can you say that?" Bethany demanded as she looked up at her, eyes red and swollen with grief.

"I’ve seen the way you talk about her, Bethany. The memories stir up more than just hurt within you,” she explained. “They light your eyes up with joy in remembrance of them. I’m sure she misses you and wishes things had gone differently. She wouldn’t have bothered sending all these letters to you otherwise over the years.

"My siblings did the same when I was still in Kinloch Hold, where I often wondered if my family had forgotten all about me. There were times I feared my being a mage would have meant their love for me would have gone away, but it didn’t. I received letters from them all the time—sometimes over the most asinine things like Saoirse’s warhound tossing bits of her armor into the pig pen." Niamh rolled her eyes, but Bethany could see the fondness in her gaze before they refocused on her.

"Your sister has asked for nothing in return even in the times where you never sent word back. I won’t tell you how to resolve this. You were right in saying that no one truly asks for this life, but I believe she only had the best of intentions when she entrusted your safety to Stroud. Trust in that if nothing else, and if you still find the matter wanting, tell her so." Something sad and brittle lingered on the smile she shared with her. "The what-ifs hurt more than the reality of things at times. No one deserves that."

---

Niamh helps to cheer Bethany up over the course of several weeks.

They’re off in a nearby town, investigating more sightings of darkspawn, and Niamh goes downstairs to pay the innkeeper for breakfast while Bethany packs up some of her belongings to continue their journey. When she reaches for her staff, she blinks, startled to find an ice flower blossoming on the end of it. She stares in surprise at the door the other woman had left through because there’s no way someone else could have done this.

It's almost like something out of a scene from one of those romantic tales Leliana used to tell her back in Lothering. She had thought them nonsense at first—that surely no one actually did such sweet things in real life—but now…

Bethany gently brushes her fingers over the beautifully-conjured petals and leaves, feeling the cool aura radiating from them.

Now she’s not so sure.

---

During their travels, they’re ambushed by darkspawn, and in the middle of the fighting, the ground manages to crumble beneath both women’s feet. The fall is long and painful as they slide down an old mine shaft, and soon they find themselves down in the Deep Roads. Unfortunately, it's an area they haven't charted yet, so they have no idea where they even are.

They have rations from the last time Niamh hunted and smoked some game, but they know it won't last forever. They can feel the press of darkspawn everywhere against their senses, and it's difficult to get any real bearing down in the tunnels because of it. The ambushes are sporadic throughout the days as they try to find their way back to the surface. They have taken to sleeping in brief shifts so they’re not caught unaware.

One fight lags on long enough that they have to retreat, but their enemies lead them right into the lair of a broodmother.

Bethany has never seen something so hideous in all her life, but when she turns briefly to Niamh, she’s disquieted to find the other woman looks more terrified than she's ever seen her. She barely has time to think over that before the darkspawn attack them again, but now they have the broodmother and her various tentacles to dodge as well.

The fight rages on for quite awhile, long enough that Bethany voices the thought they might never see Vigil's Keep again.

---

“No.”

"Niamh—"

"No!" she repeated firmly, glaring as she lashed out with an arm, incinerating an advancing line of darkspawn to their right. "I am getting you out of here! I swear it!"

You.

Not us.

What are you planning, Niamh? Bethany couldn't help but think worriedly.

Then she felt the sudden rush of magic—causing Bethany to almost stumble in place at the overwhelming sensation—as Niamh’s aura manifested itself more tangibly in an array of colors. Blinding arcs of lightning and lines of roaring flames raced across her form, and Bethany could see her own breath forming in rapid, exhausted puffs as the temperature inside the entire cavern seemed to drop even as the stone walls rattled ominously from the breadth of absolute magic being conjured.

The power of it was soon unleashed as Niamh slammed her staff end into the ground, allowing countless rays of energy to simply explode from her body. They radiated out like spectral hands of vengeance, and the cries of the darkspawn were nearly drowned out entirely as utter destruction rained down upon them. Each blast hit like deafening peals of thunder, and the echoes of them spanned for several long heartbeats, leaving Bethany’s ears ringing even after everything eventually fell silent.

As the dust and debris finally settled from the turbulent winds, she could see the other mage leaning heavily upon her staff, utterly exhausted. Each breath she took seemed to be a laborious effort, but Bethany watched as those eyes remained keenly alert to their surroundings, waiting to see if any of the darkspawn she had laid waste to would try and attack them again. They both tensed upon hearing the low, wailing groan of pain, and they looked to the far side of the cavern to see the broodmother still alive—albeit barely.

While already repulsive, it was now a macabre mass of flesh, bleeding sluggishly from the wounds inflicted by Niamh’s attack. Bloated skin bore severe burn marks, and entire chunks of flesh were missing. One of the broodmother’s arms had been severed completely, but the heat from one of the elemental attacks had unintentionally cauterized the fat stump even if Bethany grimaced upon seeing the pink-tinged bone that still protruded from it. The broodmother’s entire form seemed to slump back with what they assumed was her final breath, but then the sudden sound of earth breaking behind them alerted them far too late to a final danger.

Bethany turned her head just in time to see a lashing tentacle sprout from the ground, and her mind barely registered the sight of it before she heard the frantic call of her name along with warm hands pressing against her side.

"Bethany!"

As if time had slowed itself, she watched in horror as Niamh pushed her out of the tentacle’s swooping path, but in doing so, the other woman took the brunt of the attack entirely. Niamh was sent flying into one of the naturally-formed pillars of the cavern, impacting it hard enough that it broke at its center, raining rubble down upon the mage resting eerily still at its base until she was buried beneath it.

Bethany’s eyes remained fixed on the sight even as she shakily rose to her hands and knees. An overwhelming sense of disbelief overtook when her longtime partner didn't emerge at all out of the stone pile. In fact, there's a terrifying lack of anything in that direction.

Nothing of the taint in Niamh's blood.

No sound.

No magic.

Just... nothing.

Distantly, she could hear the half-dying moans of the broodmother somewhere beyond her peripheral vision. Although Bethany was all too aware of how dangerous her current situation still was, all she could feel was a staggering rush of absolute rage building inside her. It seemed to grow with every beat of her heart until she could hear it pounding inside her ears—a drumming sound of accusation over the fact that she had been powerless to help someone dear to her yet again.

It was her anger that gave birth to the sudden burst of power—whether a second wind or simply a dying gasp, she didn’t immediately know—but Bethany whirled to face the grotesque beast, magic already gathering within her hands. With an infuriated cry, she pressed her palms out, and she felt the immense displacement of air around her immediately as she summoned enough force magic to take up almost the entire space of the cavern. The pressure of it proved too much against the broodmother, and Bethany watched impassively as its enormous body was flung toward the far wall with enough violence that it was reduced to a grisly splatter of darkened blood, pulverized bone, and putrid meat.

With its death, Bethany felt the presence of darkspawn waiting beyond the cavern retreat even further, as if afraid of tempting her fury. Safe from any immediate threats, however, she wasted little time in rushing over to where she last saw Niamh. She used her hands and magic to try and dig her out beneath the rubble, but when she found her, fear took hold of her immediately when she realized the other woman wasn’t breathing anymore. Desperately, Bethany tried to use her healing magic in an attempt revive her, but to her utter dismay, the chest beneath her hands remained impossibly still.

“Oh, no…” she breathed. “No. No! You can’t be dead! Niamh, get up!”

But her cry fell on deaf ears.

Despite her best efforts, no matter how much healing she tried to force through the other woman’s veins, Niamh didn’t respond. As each minute continued to pass by in silence, Bethany began to wonder what she’d have to tell Morrigan if she ever made it back to the surface, let alone the little boy with Niamh’s kind smile. It would be such a terrible thing, she knew, informing them the woman they loved died trying to save her.

Just like everyone that ever entered her life.

Leaving before she even got the chance to give her goodbyes.

Bethany withdrew her healing magic and began conjuring lightning beneath her hands instead—the same way Niamh had taught her once upon a time—desperate for anything that could attempt to shock some life back into the other woman. Niamh’s body jolted with each burst of power, head lolling about along the dirt, but she still remained impossibly beyond Bethany’s reach—perhaps now wandering past the Fade and into the Maker’s embrace.

At the thought, her anguish soon gave way to anger.

“Damn you, you selfish wretch!” she shouted as she pressed her hand over the woman’s sternum with another pulse of electricity. “I never asked you to try and save my life! You don’t get to do this to me! You don’t get to just leave me here when I never had to chance to tell you everything! Not when you don’t even know I love y—”

Just as she went to jolt the other woman again, Bethany felt a hand firmly wrapping itself around her wrist.

Shocked, she looked up toward Niamh's face, especially as she heard a very weak cough. The other mage hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she saw how the still blue-tinged lips began to move—too soft for her to hear anything. Bethany lowered her head to listen more closely and soon heard a quiet question.

"...are you alright?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and fresh tears began to fill Bethany's eyes again in spite of herself.

Even after everything they had both suffered through, Niamh's first concern had still been solely for her.

With a shaky breath, she carefully curled herself up against Niamh’s form, crying silently even as she rested her hand against the other woman's stomach to continue and apply weak, healing magic.

That was how the other Wardens found them later.

"There they are."

Bethany didn’t pick her head up off the floor, but there was little mistaking Morrigan's distinct voice. Saoirse’s own followed soon after.

"I owe you my thanks for this, Morrigan."

“Thank your sister; I would not have been able to find her were she still not wearing the ring I gave her years ago.”

A weary chuckled greeted the mage’s words. “Ever the sentimental woman, my little sister…”

The sound of heavy footsteps treading closer caused Bethany to look up, and she could see Saoirse kneeling down next to them. The warrior’s face was worn with stress, but there was nothing but relief in her eyes as she saw them both together. "It appears I owe you my thanks as well, Bethany." She jerked her head up then, shouting out an order. "Get a litter for them now!"

"But I'm not nearly as injured," Bethany protested, drawing her hand away from Niamh’s body self-consciously, especially when Morrigan appeared and began to take over healing and stabilizing the woman’s condition with fresh magic.

"No," Saoirse admitted even as her lips lifted up into a tired smile. "But you and I both know what a terrible patient my sister is. I’ll be depending on you to make sure she behaves herself if she wakes up during our trek back to Vigil’s Keep.” She gently clapped a hand over Bethany’s shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you a debt.”

“Warden-Commander—”

“No. Niamh and I have lost enough in our lives. It would have hurt me to lose her as well.”

---

Niamh remains unconscious for several days as she recovers back at Vigil's Keep.

Bethany and Morrigan basically take turns looking after her.

Despite the other woman’s position as a member of Orlais’ Imperial Court, it seemed Morrigan returned to Ferelden after receiving a frantic letter from Saoirse, saying that Niamh and Bethany had been missing for several days following a routine mission.

As mentioned in the previous section, Morrigan gave Niamh a ring, which would allow her to find her were she ever in danger. It proved especially useful when Niamh and the other Wardens were imprisoned in Fort Drakon, where Saoirse essentially put her foot in her mouth and ruined their attempt to sneak Queen Anora out of the estate she had been held captive in.

I believe the ring is only canonically available if a player is in a romance with Morrigan. However, I’m headcanoning that because she held Niamh in such high esteem, she gave it to her anyway.

Kieran is also present at Vigil’s Keep because there’s no way Morrigan was leaving him behind in Orlais. He’s about five years old at this point, and he’s grown to inherit both his mothers’ looks. A crown of dark, loose curls sits atop his head much like Niamh’s, and he even fashions a forelock like hers, which hangs in front of his right eye. His gaze is a piercing shade of gold reminiscent to Morrigan’s own. As a possessor of an Old God Soul, he’s also begun to speak cryptically at times, which is understandably jarring to those around him.

Bethany happens upon one such conversation by accident, and she immediately pauses in the doorway when she sees Morrigan and Kieran standing at Niamh’s bedside.

“Sire was caught within the paths of the Fade, Mother. She heard the voices of old ghosts calling to her, but she didn’t follow them.”

Morrigan indulgently runs a hand through her son’s hair. “Indeed; she did not.”

“She missed them though, but she still returned to us.”

“Of course. Why would she desire an eternity without you?” she asked with a fond smile, causing Kieran to giggle.

“That’s not why, Mother! Not completely.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She would have missed the Sunshine too much. She’s been following her warmth for years. It would have hurt her to be without it.”

Kieran’s words pull at Bethany oddly, but she soon pushes them out of her mind and quietly walks away, feeling too much like an intruder upon the small family.

Thankfully, Niamh regains consciousness not long afterward, and everyone is understandably relieved by this news.

As per usual, however, Niamh proves herself to be an exceedingly stubborn patient, but perhaps wanting to set a better example for Kieran after her near-death experience, she remains in bed for the duration of her recovery. The other woman doesn’t seem to mind too much, especially given that her son continues to keep her company, telling her of the various odd things he’s seen around Orlais and the even odder people.

After several weeks under Morrigan’s watchful eye, the witch begrudgingly says that Niamh's okay to begin light duty around the Keep, relieving the other mage immensely. She goes out herb-gathering, an excuse just to get out of the fortress, and Bethany volunteers to go with her.

Things are quiet between them for a time as they begin picking up elfroot to place in the shared basket between them. Their conversations as of late haven't been of anything too substantial. A good thing, Bethany thinks, considering her feelings for her and how close she’d been to revealing them. Soon, however, they're caught in the middle of a light rain shower, and Bethany says they should head back. She begins to lead their way out of the forest when Niamh’s words stop her in her tracks.

---

"I was waiting for you to say it again, you know."

Bethany looked over her shoulder in surprise to still see Niamh standing in the middle of the clearing, her gaze expectant. “What?” she asked nervously.

"When I nearly died, I heard you say something… significant to me,” she revealed, causing Bethany’s heart to pound as she stared at her in disbelief. “However, when I recovered and you never repeated those words again, I thought it might have been little more than a fever dream of mine." Niamh's smile turned sad then when Bethany said nothing else to her words. "Perhaps it was after all... I’m sorry. I’ve made this rather awkward then, haven’t I?” She took a few steps closer, reaching toward the basket of herbs Bethany still held in her hands. “Here, let me—”

But Bethany just let it drop to the ground before she reached out to grab the collar of Niamh’s cloak. The other woman seemed taken aback, but before she can even begin voicing a question, Bethany pulled her forward to kiss her desperately in the rain, swallowing her gasp of surprise.

As far as first kisses went, it was a touch awkward as their teeth clicked together, lips mashed between them. Bethany felt a moment of panic as Niamh pulled back, but before the urge to run away in mortification could overtake her, a warm palm pressed itself against the back of her neck, keeping her in place. There was the brush of knuckles as they ran along her jaw, and Bethany was just able to catch the silver of Niamh’s eyes before all thought fled from her mind upon feeling the soft press of the other woman’s mouth on hers.

Bethany followed into the easy guidance being offered, and they both soon settled into a comfortable rhythm that sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. She felt light-headed with giddy delight, and her hands reached out to hold onto Niamh’s hips, helping to ground herself there, as their kiss continued. There was a soft sound as Niamh sighed contentedly into her mouth, as if she had been waiting just as long for this moment between them.

The thought seemed almost too impossible to comprehend, especially when she knew Niamh was committed to someone else. As such, Bethany pulled away first despite the sound of protest it caused. Despite her resolve, Bethany was reluctant to pull away from Niamh entirely, so she settled for gently leaning her forehead against the other mage as they panted quietly in the rain.

"I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly, practically speaking the words against Niamh’s lips. "It wasn't my intention to interfere with your relationship with Morrigan."

As close as they were, there was little mistaking the clear confusion in the eyes across from hers. "'With Morrigan?'" Niamh repeated. "What does she have anything to do with us?"

"But… I thought—” Her brows drew together in consternation. “Aren’t you both together?"

"What? No," Niamh answered, almost amused by the idea. "When we laid together for the ritual, it was an agreement of mutual benefit meant only for that night. She's not—Well." An exhale of breath escaped her in the form of laughter. "Morrigan's admitted she's not interested in women—or anyone, really—in quite that way, but none of the male Wardens with us at the time dared to lay with her even if it meant sparing us all from death. She trusted me, and I her. I consider Morrigan one of my dearest friends, and we share Kieran together as a result of that night, yes, but we are certainly not bound together as others seem to believe."

And Niamh’s answer suddenly changed everything.

What Bethany had been feeling, what was now possible between her and Niamh...

She couldn’t help but smile as she finally realized she could have a bit of the happiness she’d always wanted for herself.

---

So everyone knows that they’re a couple after that.

Niamh becomes more overt in the romantic things she does for her—the very same things Bethany had thought were the woman simply being thoughtful. She finds out that Niamh had apparently been interested in her for awhile and had actually been ready to confess her feelings a few years ago, but their first argument, where Bethany had accused her of being too idealistic, had stemmed the thought immediately.

Niamh had been understandably heartbroken by the words, which was why she’d had been so despondent for weeks following the incident, believing Bethany had no romantic interest in her whatsoever. The apology in her office later had restored their friendship, and while Niamh had been disappointed it likely would never evolve into anything more beyond that, she was still determined to be a good friend to her if nothing else. 

Bethany’s completely exasperated at the idea that they could have been together long before now, but she realizes it was likely better this way.

She had needed time to get over her anger and resentment regarding her life as a Warden.

She needed time to get past her guilt and the complicated thoughts regarding herself and her faith.

And she needed time to grow into herself and discover who she was as a person.

She’s grateful that Niamh’s been so kind and patient over the years, and Bethany finds great joy in the new facet of their relationship together.

They’ve kissed and been involved in heavy makeout sessions around Vigil’s Keep—much to the exasperation of their colleagues—but barring the incident that led to Kieran’s conception, Niamh’s been celibate for years, and canonical dialogue in DA2 reveals that Bethany’s pretty much a virgin. As such, she’s understandably very shy and nervous about the whole thing. However, she knew every part of her would be in good hands with Niamh when they finally reached that point.

Their first time together takes place several months after their first kiss, where Niamh tries her utmost to make it a memorable thing for them. She takes Bethany to a grove they frequent together outside of Vigil’s Keep for a midnight picnic. The moon is full, and the skies are clear, revealing an endless sea of stars. Little fireflies dance over the surface of the lake while they sit on the grass along its shore.

It’s a casual reminder that for all their hardship, life goes on and finds a way through a magic all of its own.

They stargaze for and handfeed each other little bits of food in between kisses, but soon things start getting a little more heated. Niamh gently tugs Bethany onto her lap, who follows willingly, settling her knees on either side of the woman’s hips. Bethany takes some initiative of her own, pushing at Niamh’s chest slowly until she lowers herself against the grass, and then…

---

Bethany’s breath caught in her throat upon seeing Niamh’s features haloed by the soft glow of the little fireflies. Normally pale eyes had darkened at their edges with both pleasure and interest as she regarded her, leaving Bethany flushed, especially as she realized she doesn’t quite know what to do from there on out.

Perhaps having sensed that, Niamh reached up to gently run a thumb along the corner of her mouth, and Bethany barely resisted the urge to press her lips against the pad in a kiss as slim fingers then went to cup her cheek gently.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Niamh reassured as she brushed a few strands of Bethany’s hair behind an ear. “I quite like kissing you.”

But Bethany did want to.

She knew Niamh had more experience with sexual intimacy, and she worried she couldn’t be able to compare against the woman’s past paramours. There was no expectation in those starlit eyes however. Niamh was as relaxed as she had been when they first started, and Bethany knew she would have been more than content to lay with her beneath the stars if that was all she desired. She was always considerate with her feelings, never pressing her to do more than she was ready.

Thus, Bethany knew Niamh would be patient with her during their first time together.

“If I asked, would you show me what to do?” she whispered tentatively, and she watched as the corners of those lips turned up into soft smile.

“Always,” Niamh answered, gently tugging Bethany’s hand toward the buckle holding the front of her leather and steel-riveted brigandine closed. “Here. Help me out of this first please.” 

From there, Bethany quickly realized it all wasn’t quite as simple as the tawdry novels Isabela used to loan her made it out to be. Nothing really prepared for the warmth of the flesh beneath her fingertips as she gradually disrobed her lover of the layers that made up their Warden regalia. Fortune favored the bold, she knew, and she experimented by pressing kisses against skin as more was revealed to her. She smiled against Niamh’s sternum—pleased—when she heard the exceedingly rare quiver in her voice.

As promised, however, the other woman continued to give suggestions on what types of touches would best give pleasure, but she also allowed Bethany to set the pace of whatever she felt most comfortable with. With each encouraging whisper against her ear, each caress and rock of her hand became more confident. When Niamh shuddered beneath her for the first time—the barest hint of magic curling against her own—as she reached her peak, Bethany was convinced that she had never felt more triumphant.

And she didn’t think she had ever felt so unfettered when Niamh later returned the favor by kissing a line of fire down her bare body. Those mist-grey eyes never left her own gaze though. Bethany had long known how attentive the other mage could be. As their lead tactician, there was always a studious quality in how she approached anything set before her.

Feeling the full magnitude of that attention focused solely upon her, however, was another matter entirely. Niamh stared at her as if she had hung the very moon and the infinite tapestry of stars into the night sky. It was like she was her very reason for drawing breath, and the thought of that brought forth a stunning wash of emotions over her as she saw the clear reverence in those eyes—so much so that she couldn’t help the tears beading themselves across her lashes nor her soft, surprised exhale of laughter when Niamh leaned up to gently kiss them away.

It was only when she assured her lover that she was ready to continue that Niamh returned to her exploration. The woman was committed to learning every part of her, gauging every physical response—the touches that made her moan breathlessly or sigh in contentment with the press of lips against her skin—before reacting accordingly. She felt that dedication most vividly as a warm mouth settled between her thighs and began working itself thoroughly there.

Bethany couldn’t help but break eye contact with Niamh as she threw her head back against the cool grass, lost to the new but pleasant sensations coursing their way through her body. Her hips seemed to move of their own volition, especially as the almost overwhelming heat of a tongue pressed itself flat and lapped languidly at her.

After a time, it felt like she was freefalling, and she blindly reached out toward Niamh. One hand sank itself easily into the tousled waves of raven-black hair, but with the other, Bethany found slim fingers gently intertwining themselves with her own. There was strength and reassurance within the warmth of that grasp—a steady tether to ground her—even as Niamh continued with her ministrations, quickly unraveling the foundations of her world.

Were you the answer this entire time?

Were you the one whom my heart was always waiting for?

Bethany found her answer just as her climax crested over her.

---

The next scene takes place several months after Niamh’s and Bethany’s first time together but just before the Kirkwall Rebellion.

Niamh heads over to Amaranthine to see her aunt, Eithne Mac Eanraig, since she's the Arlessa there.

Now, here’s where I’m veering off from canon.

Per the events of Awakening, the Warden ends up becoming the Warden-Commander, and for their services during the Fifth Blight, Vigil’s Keep along with the entire arling of Amaranthine was given to the Grey Wardens. The fortress and the territory originally belonged to the Howes, but after Rendon Howe’s betrayal, all titles and properties were stripped away from them. As such, the Warden-Commander would also become the Arl or Arlessa of Amaranthine.

Per my headcanon though, Saoirse felt that she couldn’t tend to both her duties as a Warden while also ruling over the arling. Thus, she suggests to King Alistair to let her aunt oversee it instead.

While Eithne is technically my own creation, it was canonical that Eleanor had three siblings prior to marrying Bryce Cousland. All the children of Bann Fearcher Mac Eanraig—also known as the Storm Giant—were exceedingly skilled raiders although Eleanor was the most infamous of them. Still, I headcanon that Eithne’s own prowess allowed her to take over as head of the family and their impressive fleet after her father’s death sometime before the events of DAO.

I also headcanon that the Mac Eanraigs and their fleet proved instrumental during the Fifth Blight, allowing desperately-needed supplies to travel to the country without fear of them being intercepted by pirates. When the reconstruction of Ferelden began in full following the defeat of the Archdemon, Eithne opted to expand the services of her family’s fleet, offering to escort any incoming and also outgoing cargo ships. This allowed trade to flourish in Ferelden since the threat of piracy was reduced greatly against the might of the former raiding family and their respective crews. With goods being consistently transported and received, it led to the otherwise pricey import and export tariffs being lowered significantly.

It expanded the influence of the Mac Eanraigs considerably to say the least, and while they were of minor nobility compared to the Couslands, the family was already well-respected for their long connection to the Storm Coast and their role in the Fereldan Rebellion as well as the Fifth Blight.

As such, no objection was given by Ferelden’s Bannorn when the Mac Eanraigs were consequently raised further in nobility by the decree of King Alistair and Queen Anora, allowing Eithne to officially be named Arlessa to the city of Amaranthine.

---

"Aunt Eithne," Niamh began, walking into her office, "may I have access to the castle's forge?"

The older woman was sat behind her desk, looking through various reports when she glanced up at her. Kind, weathered features warmed instantly. "Ah, there's my wee Storm Pup," she said as she rose to her feet to meet her. "You know you’re welcome to anything within the castle, lass. I take it that blacksmith of yours is being stubborn at Vigil’s Keep again?"

As per usual, Niamh found herself looking up at her aunt as she rounded the edge of her desk. While her late mother Eleanor had been roughly her own size, the Mac Eanraigs as a whole towered over most people with their intimidating height and broad-shouldered frames—traits that Fergus and also Saoirse inherited as they grew into adulthood. In her youth, Niamh remembered that her Aunt Eithne had also possessed her mother’s pale blonde hair, but it had since turned silver with age and was now kept in a neat braid that dangled in front of her right shoulder. She imagined that Saoirse would likely resemble their aunt greatly in looks over the next few decades.

…provided they find a cure against the Calling first, of course.

Morrigan’s arcane research had turned up several possibilities, but the latest one she’d found seemed especially promising. Still, Niamh put the thought from her mind momentarily to answer her aunt’s question.

"You and I both know Master Wade won’t allow anyone to go near his forge. He’d pout for weeks on end before we could convince him to resume work again,” she said dryly before shrugging. “Just as well, I suppose. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. What I have in mind is more of a personal project."

Dark grey eyes blinked. "Oh?" she intoned curiously.

"It's... Well." Niamh shifted from foot to foot, a tad nervous to put her thoughts into words. "I'm making matching torcs for Bethany and I, so—oof!"

No sooner after she had stated her purpose did Niamh unexpectedly found herself drawn up into a crushing hug by her aunt, who lifted her clear off her feet with the force of it.

"Haha!" Eithne crowed with delighted laughter as she twirled her about. "Wait until I tell your uncles about this! Why, it’s been ages since we’ve had a wedding in the family!"

"We had one a year ago for Fergus and Olithia," Niamh corrected hoarsely as she tried to wriggle out of her aunt's grip to little avail. Corded muscles built over a lifetime at sea ensured the woman’s strength was nigh unbreakable. "And there was another for Saoirse and Leliana before that."

"Details, wee niece, details," she brushed aside when she placed Niamh back on her feet again, placing large hands over each of her shoulders with a grin. "Honestly, I was half-convinced my ashes would be scattered across the sea before I saw my last niece be married off! Dermot!" she called out loudly beyond the walls of office to her second-in-command, leaving Niamh wincing from the sheer volume of it. "Break out the casks! We’re celebrating tonight!"

Niamh merely sighed, somehow glad that Bethany was currently away from Vigil’s Keep with Nathaniel to tend to a matter out in another seaside province. There was no way she’d be able to surprise her with a proposal otherwise.

---

Bethany didn't know what to really expect when Niamh took her out to their favored grove, but then she was offered a… necklace of some sort. It was thick and sturdy but exquisitely-crafted. It formed an incomplete circle, but there was no clasp holding both ends together. As she took the necklace into her own hands, she found there was a certain pliability to it as she stretched the space between the twin, silverite wolf heads open a bit more.

"I spent weeks getting the details just right," Niamh admitted. "The hardest part was finding the perfect bits of citrine to match your eyes," she added, pointing to the small, gemstone orbs held in the maw of each wolf.

"You made this for me?" Bethany asked, awed.

"Yes. It’s a custom from the maternal side of my family. They’re generally gifted to those of status or individuals who have achieved great deeds. The more bands woven together designate one's importance." Niamh's expression turned somewhat sheepish then. "I don't think it needs to be said that I think highly of you."

Bethany looked at the thick braiding and saw that there were at least five bands wound together in a cord and then welded together.

"I..." Niamh wet her lips briefly, as if caught beneath sudden nervousness. "I realize marriage is usually just a matter of settling titles and heirs, but I believe you know by now that my family tends to eschew commonly-held norms. As such, I would consider it a great honor if you were to become my wife. As for anything official—a wedding for instance—we needn't concern ourselves with it right away. Not if you don't wish to certainly." Silver-colored eyes rolled themselves. "Honestly, my family uses any type of excuse available to throw a celebration. They’ll likely still drink the night away, knowing that I’ve finally settled down with someone."

Bethany couldn’t help but laugh at that. "They were that invested, were they?"

"Before you, they had a tendency to think I was more married to my duty within the Order, and I can’t say that were not wrong in thinking so."

"And that’s changed?"

"Well... I was managing day by day as well as any of our comrades, but I won’t lie in saying that there came a point when you were all I could ever think about in the many moments in between."

It was… quite the confession.

In an instant, all the stories her mother had ever told her of romance paled in comparison to this moment.

"Yes," Bethany said at last, watching as the ghostly-grey eyes across from her widened, but there was little hiding the hope building within their depths.

"Yes?"

"Yes to the—" She stumbled a bit over the word. "—torcs, you said?” Bethany asked in clarification, earning her a nod along with a very relieved sigh. “I don’t want a ceremony.” She bit her lip as she stared down at the thickly-braided necklace. “At least not just yet, but I like the idea of the promise these contain.”

“You would like to have your sister here when the time comes,” Niamh deduced understandingly. “Very well.”

“You can wait?”

A very warm smile burnished beautiful features that she had long fallen in love with so many years ago. “A Chuisle Mo Chroí,” she began, voicing an endearment that never ceased to make her heart flutter, “for you, I would gladly wait a thousand Ages and more.” (Writer’s note: A Chuisle Mo Chroí is phonetically pronounced Ah Khush-lah Muh Kree and means “Pulse of My Heart.”)

The words earned her a heartfelt kiss of gratitude. If Niamh noticed Bethany was trembling, she said nothing of it. In fact, they both had little to say at all as they slowly lowered themselves to the grass and surrendered themselves to the night and the promise of everyday thereafter.

---

The Kirkwall Rebellion still happens in this verse, and because Saoirse's busy butting heads with the higher-ups at Weisshaupt, she sends word to Niamh, asking her to go to Kirkwall to provide Leliana backup if things get bad. Bethany is concerned as well about the well-being of her sister Emrys, and she asks to go with her. Niamh, of course, can't really deny her anything, so they both take the fastest ship across the Waking Sea.

---

"There you are," Bethany declared when she managed to come across her sister and her companions despite the chaos around them. She settled her staff over her back, walking through the tangle of defeated Templars around her to meet them. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I'd almost feared you were dead."

Emrys hadn’t expected Bethany’s presence in the city, but she’s beyond elated to see her. At her words, the warrior merely preened. "As if they'd be able to best me. And, uh, what’s this about 'we?'" Emrys asked, confused. “Did you bring the other Wardens with you?”

“Just one.”

As if attuned to her thoughts, Niamh made her entrance then by Fadestepping through a handful of Templars—who had arrived on scene as backup—freezing them in their tracks. She and Bethany had momentarily split up to try and cover more ground in search of Emrys.

Bethany arched a brow at her sister while gesturing toward her lover with an emphatic wave. "You remember Warden-Constable Cousland, don’t you?"

Emrys had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as she recalled their last meeting, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she regarded Niamh. "Oh. Yes. Uh, about the last time we met—"

But Niamh seemed amused more than anything, waving aside the apology graciously. “Bygones, Champion. No need to worry yourself about the past. My sister’s a warrior as well; I’ve fared worse on the rare occasion."

"In any case, Sister, if you need help, we’ll gladly give it."

“Really?”

“Yes. I…” Bethany swept a bit of hair behind her ear nervously, but as Niamh settled alongside her, offering her wordless support, she continued on. “I wanted to apologize for what happened down in the Deep Roads and for how we parted the last time I was here. You saved my life, but I couldn’t see past my own anger back then. I’m sorry,” she whispered, contrite. “I should have said it long before now. You’re all I have left of our family, so if you need help against the Templars, say the word.”

Emrys looked beyond thrilled at the prospect of having her at her side again. “I’m certainly not going to turn away help now of all times, but…” She shot a look of confusion over toward Niamh. “I thought Wardens weren’t to involve themselves in political matters?"

The other mage merely sighed. “While true, that follows a line of policy that my sister and I strenuously object to, especially given the matter involved here. She and I will deal with the leadership at Weisshaupt later if need be." Slim shoulder shrugged themselves then. "Of course, even if my sister-in-law weren't nearby, Bethany wanted to help, and that was good enough reason for me to be here."

Emrys’ dark brows rose at the claim, and she immediately turned a searching gaze over toward Bethany, who couldn’t help but turn her own away, flushing somewhat.

"Yes… Niamh and I are a bit of a package deal these days."

Unfortunately, the minor shift in movement allowed for something else to be revealed, and Isabela took notice of it immediately as her eyes darted toward the area of her neck just beneath the collar of her uniform.

“Wait… is that a torc?" she asked, brows raising, impressed.

“A what?" Emrys asked, flustered, especially when she saw the matching one that Niamh was also wearing.

“It's a little bit of tradition from my mother’s side of the family,” Niamh explained. “They’re beautifully-crafted pieces of jewelry, but they can be as symbolic as rings, especially in the ceremonial sense."

"'Rings?'" Emrys parroted with a choke. “‘Ceremon—’” The warrior paled instantly as she realized the implication, shakily pressing her hand against a nearby wall to steady herself when she began swaying in place. “Oh, Maker’s breath… I think—I need a moment,” she murmured, and Bethany watched—concerned—when Emrys practically folded in over herself, working to catch a breath. After a time, Emrys’ comically-wide blue eyes turned over to Niamh. “You’re married to my baby sister?"

"Engaged, technically," Niamh answered, blinking owlishly at her reaction. “I proposed to her before we left Ferelden."

---

Annnnd then Saoirse shows up because she got worried about Leliana, and she and Emrys get along like peas in a pod. They’re exceedingly competitive with one another though...

---

“Hah!” Saoirse crowed, grinning smugly at Emrys as she rested the flat of her greatsword along her shoulder. “Is that the best Kirkwall’s Champion can do? I managed to neatly cleave my opponent in half.”

Emrys merely scowled, matching pace with Saoirse as they marched toward The Gallows. “Only because I helped! Besides, that strike wouldn’t have held against him if he had a shield as well!”

“Yes, it would have!”

“Lies!” Emrys scoffed. “It would have been caught halfway through the shield before you would have been able to reach his armor!“

“Not with the proper leverage it wouldn’t have!”

As they argued heatedly about sword techniques, Niamh and Bethany shared a long-suffering glance with one another before moving on ahead of their respective sisters.

“Warriors…”

“Indeed.”

---

Eventually, this all culminates in that huge battle at the end of DA2, where Meredith is defeated. As per canon, it becomes clear that it’s no longer safe for Emrys and her companions to remain within the city without eventually facing possible repercussions from the Chantry. As such, they begin scattering to the winds not long after the end of the rebellion.

---

"You could come with us, you know," Emrys suggested.

Bethany looked over to where her sister stood next to Isabela, ready to board the ship that would take them to Antiva. Emrys’ expression was almost painfully hopeful, but Bethany knew it wasn't meant to be. Although she had resented it once upon a time, she had a duty to the Wardens, and she would not easily abandon it. She said as much to her sister.

"No. Niamh currently seeks a cure that affects the lives of every Warden."

"A cure for the Calling?” she asked, surprised. “Is that even possible?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. She is easily the cleverest person I’ve ever met though. If there is a solution, she will be the most likely one to find it, and I will not stand to be apart from her."

"I see.” Emrys rubbed the back of her neck, shoulders slumping somewhat. “So… this is goodbye again."

It was admittedly a bittersweet feeling, knowing that this had been the first time in years they had seen one another and it would likely be several more yet before they would meet again.

"For now,” she answered quietly. “You have your life, Sister, and now…" She glanced over at Niamh, who was talking to the captain of a ship heading back to lands far to the west—ones that had never been touched by the Blight, according to Morrigan. “I have mine.”

Emrys followed her gaze. “You seem happier."

"I am."

“That’s all I ever wanted for you, you know? Just to know that you were happy.”

“I know that now." Her smile turned more genuine as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around Emrys, hugging her for all she was worth. "I wish the same upon you always. Safe travels to you and Isabela, Sister."

---

And as mentioned in the bullet points up above, they spend several years traveling abroad. Some days are harder than others as they meet their fair share of challenges, but Niamh and Bethany support each endlessly through it all.

They both return to Ferelden several years after the Trepasser DLC when they’ve found a cure for the Calling. With the taint purged from their bodies, they’re guaranteed the long life that would have otherwise been denied to them. As such, Niamh and Bethany finally get married—torcs gleaming bright—as Leliana as Divine Victoria officiates the wedding.

---

And that’s pretty much it.

I have about 20 pages of random scenes I’ve yet to elaborate on for this AU, including one for the huge battle at the end of DA2, so while I don’t see it as being nearly as long as OtSttCA, it’ll likely make for quite the lengthy read when I finally get a chance to work on it properly.

Still, if this verse interests you, leave me a like, a comment, or just swing by my inbox to tell me your thoughts! Until next time, readers! Take care!