#I mean her blood is poison canonically and it might very well explode but like. she’s fine.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Had a dream featuring Catalina Tabris last night. She and the Awakening gang (including Anders) were hunting darkspawn in the Deep Roads in Veilguard-era, where they found another darkspawn magister a la the Architect/Corypheus. This one was immediately hostile so of course there was a lot of fighting, during which point we got to see that Cata’s blood…exploded. Like she could explode it. She got hurt and her blood spilled on the ground and then she could make it explode. Power of Blood abilities from Soldier’s Peak going extra crazy over here, her blood is poison and now it explodes.

And then I think she got eaten by the darkspawn magister. How big was this thing that it could swallow her whole. I don’t know but it did. The rest of the crew was forced to retreat and they ended up making it the whole way back to wherever Alistair was and they had to tell him that Cata was dead. But then she turned up like a day later, a bit worse for wear, just like “yeah my blood exploded the darkspawn from the inside out.” How did she survive that? Unclear. But she did.

[cuerue]

for the dragon age ask game: Taerel: ess7, lif9, par7, cod1,10, daI2,6,14,15

essentials:

7) How do they dress in their downtime, while fighting, in formal settings, etc.?

He likes to stick to dalish clothing, meaning leather armor with lots of green and no boots for his usual fighting outfit, since it works well for forests. Casual is very basic, simple shirt, pants, and maybe some belts to hold at least one dagger. I like to think that he complained to Vivienne once that he is so tired of wearing what humans consider fancy to all of the official functions, and she ordered a bunch of still very fancy materials from the elven crafters and helped him find a tailor who would make something that he was more used to.

life:

9) What do they do with their free time? Do they have any vices?

Before Inquisition, he liked to explore around camp for any exciting plants he hasn’t seen before, especially since they moved around quite a lot. Preferably poisonous ones. Wasn’t really an option in Skyhold, so instead he took to gardening during what little free time he had. He also likes to tinker and carve little things from wood, so he bonded with Dagna and Blackwall over those.

party:

7) How did their relationship progress? If they’re a canon romance option, is their story different from the way the game presents it?

It was different in a way that it was a lot slower to get romantic in my canon. Tho also I think I might have speedrun a bunch of Iron Bull stuff bc of all the dragon murder in-game. But yeah, it started off as a purely physical thing early on, and then it was a lot of Taerel playing chicken after realizing that “friends with benefits” might not be enough for him, and also praying to all the gods that Bull doesn’t know any elvhen after accidentally letting some terms of endearment slip past. But yeah, they only got together after the Well of Sorrows in my canon.

codex:

1) How do they feel about Mages and magic, including things like abominations?

Weirdly enough, with my other character for this worldstate also being mages, he’s still the most chill about magic out of the three. Marian has some hangs up that have been drilled into her in the Circle, and Tristan is a certified blood magic and spirits/demons hater, but he just has a philosophy of “it’s just another tool”. His twin sister is a mage and while many in the clan assumed that he will be jealous, he wasn’t in the slightest. So what if Lianna can explode things? So can he, if he mixes the right stuff together. He doesn’t like blood magic the way the Tevinter mages do it obviously, but it’s less “they are using blood for magic” and more of how they are getting that blood.

10) Are there any animals they have a particular love or hatred for?

He’s a bit of a horse girl. Well, halla girl I guess? But he likes horses too.

dragon age: inquisition:

2) What was their reason for attending the Conclave?

Pretty much the reason stated in-game: to spy on the results of the conclave, and figure out how its resolution will affect their clan. He was perfect for the job, being sneaky, intelligent, and curious.

6) How did they behave at the Winter Palace? Who did they support in the political scheming?

He hated the Winter Palace so much. He managed to maintain the calm demeanor throughout but the way nobles and guards alike treated him and elven servants has tested his patience. At the same time, the sneaking around segments were great for him because that’s exactly the kind of thing he was trained to do. Also, he had some background on what exactly Celene has done past what the game gives you, being a spy and all, so the second he found an opportunity to get rid of her while also giving Briala power through Gaspard? He has never enjoyed finding blackmail on someone more.

14) Who became Divine? Did your Inquisitor care about this outcome?

Leliana, and he did care about it a lot. He was very good friends with Vivienne but he wanted more radical change.

15) Did your Inquisitor disband the Inquisition? Did they declare they would kill Solas, or redeem him?

He disbanded the Inquisition, and declared that he would kill Solas. Solas has actually lost *a lot* of goodwill with him with the Trespasser revelations. He was cordial but not exactly friendly with Solas before, and gave him a benefit of the doubt because he thought that maybe he was a city elf who had bad experiences with other Dalish clans before. But if being betrayed with plans to tear the Veil down, and losing his arm in the process was not enough, Solas also revealed that he was not just an ancient elf but also Fen’Harel?? He hated him so much at the moment, because Taerel has spoke so many times about the struggle of keeping their culture alive and recovering how it would be good to recover parts of their language, and the whole time Solas knew those things and didn’t think it would be worth sharing. Taerel risked everything with the Well of Sorrows to have just a little bit of their history back, and Solas just kept his mouth shut because they were not his people and he would sacrifice them all to bring his people back. So yeah, that egg is getting stabbed, poisoned, etc, when Taerel gets him.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

There's gotta be some butterflies somewhere - Sam/Deena - Fear Street (2021)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson Characters: Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Canon Related, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon Lesbian Character, Getting Together, First Love, Best Friends, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff and Humor Words: 1645

There is a fine line between being two teenage best friends and being an old married couple... At least, that's the case with Sam and Deena.

or, Sam and Deena have been in a relationship forever and absolutely everyone knows... except for them.

It happens all the time.

Josh is the first one to notice, because Sam started sleeping over at their house a little too often, always staying in Deena’s room. In the mornings, Deena would stand by the open door, car keys in her hand and she would wear an expression of frustration and call out “Sam! Come on, we’re going to be late! Why do you take so long to get ready?”

Then Sam would walk out of the bathroom, all ready to go. She would place a kiss on Deena’s cheek, immediately soothing the other girl’s temper, and she’d reply, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I have to make breakfast by myself because otherwise you’d poison us.” Deena would try to protest, but her smile gave her away.

Josh would look away from the scene and quietly follow them to the car, saying nothing about it.

At school, it was more of the same.

Heather approached Deena before class started and invited her to a party. Deena replied, “I’m not sure, I think Sam has a thing on Friday. But I always tell her she needs to relax more, you know? We’ll try to make it.”

The other girl blinked slowly, considered inviting them to her aunt’s babyshower instead, something more their style, but decided to drop the subject.

It happened to Sam too, but she never thought twice about it. Other students would approach her in the hallways and tell her, “Hey, have you seen Deena?” “Hey, can you give this to Deena?” “Can you tell Deena band practice was canceled?” On one occasion even one of the teachers approached her to tell her, “You should get Deena to work a little harder on her assignments, I’m sure she would listen to you.” Never mind that she didn’t even share that many classes with Deena. People made assumptions, she just… didn’t know, apparently.

When they were going out with their friends it was more of the same story.

They were all in line to buy movie tickets, Deena started frantically checking her pockets. “Sam, have you seen my wallet?” She wondered distractedly.

In response, Sam silently opened her bag and pulled out Deena’s wallet for her, which she had previously agreed to carry in her bag. It was something that happened very often. Kate and Simon exchanged a knowing look every single time.

When Deena was driving, it was more obvious than ever.

“Did you get lost?” Sam asked her. “Did you get lost in your own hometown, Deena?”

“I swear they changed the signs!”

“It’s Shadyside Deena, our grandparents saw those old signs.”

“We’re not lost,” Deena insisted.

“Pull over,” Sam instructed her, “We have to ask for directions.”

“Are you crazy? I know where I’m going!”

Then they would turn the car around when they caught sight of the Sunnyvale sign, with Kate and Simon sitting in the back of the car laughing the entire time.

Even when nobody was watching, Sam and Deena’s dynamic was unchanged.

Before going out for a party, Sam arrived earlier to Deena’s house. “We’re going to miss that show I like on History Channel,” Sam complained.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Deena kissed her cheek and added, “But what do I wear?” Silently, Sam picked a good outfit for Deena, who watched her with an easy smile on her face. “Hey, don’t forget your dentist appointment on Monday,” Deena said while getting dressed.

“Right,” Sam sighed, “That cavity is going to kill me. Did you see it?”

“Of course. It’s gross,” Deena replied without hesitation or judgment. “Do you think it’s going to rain today?”

“It’s not supposed to,” Sam shrugged, “But… you never know, there might be nine clouds today.”

Sam’s words immediately caused Deena to burst out laughing, and she couldn’t help but join in. None of their friends understood their million little inside jokes, and sometimes not even they could remember the origins of the joke, but they still laughed until they cried.

There were so many little things too. Sam asking Kate to take her shopping because she was having dinner with Deena’s dad. Deena knowing the answer to what is Sam’s blood type. Sam having a key to the Johnson’s house and occasionally being there even before her friends arrived. Then there were silly, stupid things. Deena being upset an entire morning after Sam didn’t laugh at one of her jokes. Sam burning Deena’s breakfast a little when she was mad at her. Kate and Simon having to intervene because Sam and Deena hadn’t spoken in a day because they had a disagreement about adopting a dog or a cat. That’s without even mentioning what they did in their free time. Josh wasn’t unfamiliar to seeing Sam planting flowers on their garden while Deena mowed the lawn. And Kate Simon didn’t let them live down the day they skipped a party because they had to “run errands.” 

Eventually, one more Valentine’s day arrived, and everyone was forcibly reminded that they were all still hormonal teenagers in their last year of high school. During lunch, Sam and Deena arrived, sat down on the same spots as always, never interchanging their seats, but occasionally exchanging their food, and greeted their friends.

“So, what are we going to do for Valentine’s Day,” Sam asked her friends.

Simon genuinely laughed at the question. “Oh, you know I love you, ladies, but I’m out,” he replied.

“Boring,” Deena said. She threw a balled up napkin at him and turned toward Kate. “What about you? Or are you going to ditch us too?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” Kate grinned, “Not in the mood to third wheel this year.”

Sam and Deena frowned a little, but decided not to overthink it. “But we always do something together,” Sam complained. She pouted a litte, Deena looked at her adoringly, and the other two rolled their eyes. The usual.

“Yeah, but that was before the two of you started dating,” Simon pointed out. “How long has it been now?”

There was a long, tense silence. For the first time, Sam and Deena couldn’t look at each other. While Sam turned tomato red in the face, Deena gripped her fork with a little too much strength. “What?” she scoffed. “We’re not… I mean, we… we’re not dating,” she said, stuttering uncharacteristically the entire time.

“Come on,” Kate rolled her eyes. “It’s been years, hasn’t it? Don’t bother hiding it from us. I’m almost offended right now.”

Sam took a deep breath, and straightened a little, she was visibly freaking out a little. “Guys, it’s true we are not… uh, you know… we aren’t… not like that,” she whispered.

Simon laughed again. “Oh really? So you guys act like an old married couple just for fun?” Kate laughed along with him, and they barely noticed when Deena took Sam’s hand and practically dragged her out of the cafeteria, dropping her hand along the way because somehow it didn’t feel like the most natural thing in the world anymore.

Finally, the two girls made it to the girls bathroom and started pacing along the small space.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Sam repeated again and again. “How? Why? Since when? Us?”

“Did you know about this?” Deena asked her. “Did they ever tell you something?”

“Yes, Deena, of course they did, I just wanted to embarrass you this entire time,” Sam replied and crossed her arms.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Deena rolled her eyes.

For a moment, they just stood still and quiet. But when they finally looked at each other, their laughter just exploded. The situation was entirely too funny not to laugh about it together. Instinctively, they drifted closer, Sam placed a hand on Deena’s shoulder and they shook with laughter for another minute until they calmed down.

“Oh my God, were we seriously arguing about this?” Deena asked. She noticed Sam’s eyes had watered with all their laughter, so she reached out to delicately wipe a small tear away. She kept her hand on Sam’s cheek.

“Apparently,” Sam sighed. Despite her initial panic, once she found herself alone with Deena again, she was at home.

In contrast, Deena was feeling her heart beating a little faster than usual. “Are we an old married couple?” She asked Sam with a playful smile.

Sam hesitated. Something in her eyes had changed, and Deena was acutely aware of it. “Well, we aren’t old and married,” Sam replied slowly.

“Are we a couple?” Deena asked her, she was noticeably breathless, but Sam heard her perfectly.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied honestly. She was leaning her head to the side a little, making the most of the contact they were sharing.

Deena nodded. Her thumb was instinctively caressing Sam’s cheek. She took a step closer to the other girl. “Is that something you would like?” Deena whispered.

“I mean,” Sam took a deep breath, “I like what we are right now…”

“But?”

This was the moment. Everything could change. For better or for worse. But they trusted each other and they knew each other well enough to hope for the best. So, Sam licked her lips, looked down, and reached out with her fingers for Deena’s belt loops. Then she tugged her a little closer and looked back up at Deena.

“Don’t you ever… think about… kissing me?”

Deen felt her heart skip a beat, and all the air leave her lungs. She moved even closer to Sam, their bodies colliding in a completely new way. She moved her other hand to gently hold Sam’s face between her hands. “All the time,” she finally replied in a whisper before leaning forward and finally kissing Sam.

Kate entered the bathroom twenty minutes later, and found Sam and Deena making out against one of the sinks. Nobody ever believed they hadn’t been dating already.

[wellhalesbells]

fic help

i recently finished a fic project that got well out of hand and i’m having trouble jumping to my next.  since this last wasn’t sterek, or even tw, i would very much like to scarper back there but i cannot seem to settle on a project that does it for me (or, well, they kind of all do it for me, hence the problem).  

if you have the time and inclination and want to help me choose, i would very much appreciate it!

1. 

He opens his eyes to sharp sunlight, rays that’ve had time to hone themselves, coalesce, and start stabbing at strategic places in the apartment.  Like the backs of Derek’s eyelids.  The comforter around him is rumpled up, bunched in places from a restless sleeper.  Which he isn’t.  He frowns before it comes back to him.

Laura’s bed.

Stiles.

He’d woken up earlier in the pitch black with Stiles’ forehead pressed into the valley between his shoulder blades, breath a warm and reliable puff through his thin t-shirt, his hand clenched on the hill of Derek’s bicep, snagging him, pulling him back against him.

Derek hadn’t brushed him off.  Though it had given him a moment’s pause, strange without the swell of breasts between them, fingers digging and pulling him close to an unmistakably masculine chest.  But only a moment’s; he’d been asleep again minutes later.

He scrubs at the rough brillo on his jaw, the scent of coffee finally breaking through the haze of exhaustion.  He swings his legs out, toes flexing on the warm floorboards, and squints out the window at the brilliant day.  “Rain finally stopped,” he says, voice scratchy and breath foul.

[notes: a total au set in new york. laura’s been murdered and stiles was laura and derek’s emissary, though never that close to the grumpy younger brother. now they have to work together to find out who killed her, while coming to terms with the fact that the piece that made them work is gone.]

2.

“You’re letting demons possess you.”  It should come out scolding, furious, but Derek is too numb from the revelation.  Too willing to be wrong, to believe he’s misunderstood Stiles’ meaning.

Stiles squints, that slow roll and stretch of his muscles shifting his weight, clenching and unclenching his fingers on his forearms, an absentminded exploration of his regular capabilities now he was back in control of them.  “Can we really call it a ‘possession’ when I’m calling more shots than they do?  I advertise like an Air BnB and run the place like Alcatraz.  If I enjoy the power bump of my fire rose, well, isn’t that just a reward for doing the dirty work?  It’s all win-win on this side of the negotiating table.”

[notes: this is wholly because of the exchange between stiles and a recently met liam in canon, when stiles explains he was possessed by an evil spirit, and liam asks, “what are you now?” and stiles says, “better,” instead of ‘human.’ and i had a ‘well, well, welllll’ moment.]

3.

After a week or so, his mail’s transmuted from warm air and a spattering of dirt into a flyer for a pizza place roughly five miles away and an offer for a credit card.  He walks back up, the stairs offering a little less protestation, papers gripped tight in his hand and slips through the half-open door, rolling it closed behind him.

The heartbeat that knocks against his eardrums is sudden and unbalancing.

His head whips up, fangs dropping.

“Total cry for help, didn’t need a warrant.”  Gloved hands with bare fingers walk up the underside of a dried, brown leaf and the sick-sweet scent of decay slides into one of freshness and health.  The fern blossoms above the scratch of blunt fingernails along spidery veins.  Green belches out, overflows from the small clay pot.

[notes: um, definitely a derek returning to beacon hills fic and an uber powerful stiles, beyond that... ??? but i can make it a thing, heh ;)]

4.

Stiles rubs the pads of his fingers together, wiping the sticky residue off on his jeans.  Goes back in with his teeth.  A piece of electrical tape from the handle of his bat tears away.  It’s lost some of its adhesive but it’ll work for his purposes.  He catches the call before the last of ‘Good Old Days’ can fade out.

“‘Sup, Growls?”

A disappointed whuff of breath greets him.  “Your camera’s blocked because—?”  Scott cuts him off before he can even attempt a reply.  “Injured, lying, or underground?”

“You know one day I’ll score that entire trifecta and then?  Then I’m going to Disney World.”  Scott doesn’t bite and Stiles sighs.  “Busted it chasing those lady-hyena-things.  On the upside, I’m only one phone away from filling up my punch card.”

[notes: a harder, living-away-from-beacon-hills-after-he-and-derek-broke-up stiles in this and hunting down supes on his own, because he’s reckless and terrifying and an emotional landmine waiting to explode.]

5.

“No.  No, no.  Hey, no.  I see what you’re doing over there and I don’t ap—”  The stack of books leans too far and cascades down the front of the dresser, hits his floor, and explodes in every direction.  “What did I just say?”

His door whaps open, knob meet wall, and Scott stands there with a baking sheet held aloft in his hands.  “We don’t have renter’s insurance,” he offers, swinging it wildly in front of him.

“You say that as you put a knob-sized hole in my wall?”

Scott opens his eyes, which he’s scrunched closed as he pendulumed the baking supplies around.  He frowns at the flung door.  His stance goes from ‘making cookies my bitch’ to ‘depressed egg.’  “In my defense, I assumed we were being robbed.”

Stiles pats his head now that the baking sheet is no longer a weapon.  “And you also thought the robber would be compassionate enough not to rob us if he knew we don’t have renter’s insurance.”

[notes: i have literally no clue, i don’t remember the impetus for this AT ALL but i could definitely work with it, lol.]

6.

Stiles had finally arrived home for the holiday break, two days after he’d initially promised and with a half-hearted, what-can-you-do sort of shrug that offered little by way of explanation or excuse, and he’d flung himself out of the Jeep with his arms uncovered.  Derek had frowned hard seeing it for the first time.

He’s still frowning now.

Galaxy black ink bands both of Stiles’ wrists like delicate bracelets and creeps up his forearms in curving, flowing lines that vary in size and width.  It might look something like seaweed dancing in an underwater current if not for the fact that, well — Derek glances down at his own bare forearms —

If not for the fact that it looks like pain.  Pain the way he knows it, secondhand and agonizing.  Pain that is tarry black anguish glutting his veins and poisoning his blood.

He’s not going to analyze why Stiles would choose to etch that into his skin.

Mostly because he doesn’t need to.

Derek knows what the nogitsune did to him, and he knows Stiles hasn’t come close to putting that behind him, or done much to try to.

[notes: long after stiles has contented himself with being the token human of the pack, his spark manifests, unfortunately not... well and doubly unfortunately, long after deaton has left town. scott will only accept one emissary now so stiles has to try to figure out how to properly become one.  it’s not going well, and not only because no one can seem to figure out why his spark ‘works’ the way it does but also because, after the nogitsune, power hardly rests easy on stiles’ shoulders.]

7.

It’s really fucking with his head how much Derek’s whole creature-of-the-night thing isn’t jiving with his sleeping-until-noon existence.

And it’s not just that Derek can’t seem to grasp that Stiles’ skin is a living record.  That when there’s the clear afterimage of a mouth on his neck, he and his dad have to valiantly pretend neither one of them notice it for the next week.  It’s not just that though.  It’s also—

Stiles has secrets.  He likes them.  Collects them.  It’s a comfort thing, a control thing maybe.  Sometimes they’re big, sometimes they’re not, but they’re always his.   Theories, actions, thoughts, things of his own that will only ever be his.  

Except.

Except he doesn’t have secrets, not anymore, not around a fucking werewolf.  Derek can smell them through his pores, hear him chasing them down from across a crowded room, cock his head and listen to the lie in his pulse.  There’s nothing sacred anymore, nothing private, and Stiles can’t anymore.

[notes: okay, it’s just... i never see this? and, being honest, i could not date a friggin’ werewolf. i’m not even a secret person as much as i just enjoy being alone and you would have to make sustained EFFORT to be alone - you’d have to go farther, mask whatever you did if you didn’t want it known, have someone who wouldn’t ask why or what you were doing (which is just like when people ask me NOW what i’m doing and i don’t want to say ‘writing explicit gay sex, thanks for asking, mom’).  i’m not on board. i could totes see stiles not being on board and, of course, he’d rather magic a ‘solution’ than have a conversation, my dumb little dummy. this one would definitely need the most work since i would probably rewrite everything i’ve already got, it just doesn’t... gel well.]

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Life at The Ancestral Manor”

Summary: Griffin wanted to share her future with Valtor but in agreeing to give him her life she also agreed to give it to the way things happen in his home of tradition that his mothers are making sure will be upheld. Can she hope that relationship will be allowed to grow and develop when she needs to put her everything into surviving each day they try to make her something that she’s not?

Mentions of death, murder, self-mutilation, arson, cults, coma, physical and emotional abuse, parental abuse, sex, sex toys, not consented to stop of birth control, alcohol abuse, cooking deer meat in detail (which was oddly disgusting to me so...) and strong language. Also, there are mentions of Bloom x Darkar and Bloom's portrayal isn't very flattering although it is just a reimagined version of the events in canon (plus, a few details that weren't there).

I had the mighty need to see Griffin and Valtor living with the Ancestral Witches for some reason the other day and I set out to write it. Well, this is what came of it. A lot of super fucked up stuff because it is the Ancestral Witches. Also, it is super long again because, of course, it is.

"That was delicious, Griffin," Valtor praised as he wiped his mouth with his napkin after he was done with his French toast.

Griffin smiled at him gently as she was careful not to let any venom seep out of her and poison him. "I'm glad you liked it." At least he appreciated all of her efforts. She was an early bird but that didn't make her love the fact that she had to rush to the kitchen and get started on breakfast instead of curling up into Valtor's side and greeting him with a kiss when he woke up. Of course, she didn't have to when there were people she could fall back on to do it for her but that meant never being allowed in the kitchen again and she'd fought too hard to earn her own agency of choice to let that happen.

"It certainly exceeds a number of other meals I've had," Belladonna said, her voice smooth like the surface of ice under your fingertips and just as cold, killing the compliment before it could even turn into such.

Griffin forced the smile to keep stretching her facial muscles when her mother-in-law's golden eyes found hers despite the discomfort that caused her. That was as much as she could hope to get from the woman who killed animals in cold blood for fun and had taught Valtor to do it, too. Or rather it was all she hoped there would be to her condescension.

"Rather simple, but we all have to resign to the limitations when you have to do it all yourself," Belladonna continued, making Griffin let the breath she was holding out of her nose as slowly and inconspicuously as she let her own pride slip out of her hands and shatter on the floor without even a sound to mourn its pitiful end. She couldn't make a scene at breakfast. It would just ruin her whole day when they made it their mission to make it hell. "I don't understand why you insist on doing it when the help is right here to do it for you but it is your choice and we all respect that," Belladonna kept stuffing ice cubes in her heart to make it freeze over like her own and have water flowing in her veins instead of blood. Even all the tea in the world couldn't warm her now and it was just Valtor's warm presence at her side that kept her from dying in the embrace of the hypothermia that was her mother-in-law's weapon of choice.

"I enjoy it, Mother Belladonna," Griffin said, her voice cutting lines in the thin ice separating her from the freezing water below that she was skating on. She could let her righteous anger sharpen her as much as she wanted as she tried to cling on to everything she loved and not let it sink in the cold indifference that was being forced on her but there was no escape from her frozen prison when Belladonna was taking away all of her sources of joy with ease as the fight was on her territory.

She couldn't help but catch Lysslis' smile of belittlement when it was designed to draw her attention to her and get in her head where it would start taking apart who she was to make space for who they wanted her to be. She'd need all that luck Zarathustra had wished her when she and Ediltrude had learned the three witches were to be her mothers-in-law. Having to force herself to cook every day because she would lose her kitchen privileges otherwise was draining every spark of happiness she was getting from the activity already but she wouldn't let them win. It had barely been half a year after she and Valtor had gotten married in the dead of winter and she still had more fight in her even if the heat of summer was not helping when she was home from school and trapped in their killer company.

"Simplicity is trending right now so if anything, Griffin is just staying up-to date, mother," Valtor took her side–quite literally as they were sitting opposite of his mothers at the long table in the dining room–and she would kiss him if she could. Currently though, she couldn't even catch his hand under the tablecloth since his mothers were watching them restlessly like the stars never stopped looking over all of the planets and they would see it instantly which would just pose a problem to the two of them as the three old hags didn't approve of witnessing displays of affection.

They didn't approve of affection in general and had only taken her as a daughter-in-law after DNA tests that had confirmed a child of hers and Valtor's would have an excellent genetic makeup making her nauseous in the process as they'd erased her humanity with one quick swipe over her being. The tests and the fact that she had golden eyes like all the other women of the Ancestral Manor. She'd literally been picked for her body and it had felt like she'd entered medieval times instead of her new life as Valtor's bride. But if anything, it had only stated loudly how much she loved him to go through all of that and be with him. Even his mothers had looked impressed by her determination and hadn't even allowed themselves to insinuate she was a gold-digger.

"Of course, she is," Tharma said, her voice crackling like static like it always did. She always felt like she was about to explode and Griffin was pretty sure that it was like that because that was exactly what was happening. The woman–Griffin would only truly believe any one of them was human when she saw their corpses since none of them seemed to have aged for the past twenty-five years which might have just traumatized Valtor more with the promise of their curse hanging over his head for an undetermined amount of time–didn't even have the proverbial short fuse and could self-detonate on the spot if it weren't for her sisters to keep her collected with their icy gazes and creeping terror. "That is what has kept this family afloat for centuries and every member needs to keep to it." Meaning that they would throw her out the moment she couldn't catch up with their impossible standards.

"Yes, mother," Valtor said, the response automatic at this point but that didn't seem to upset any of his mothers. It seemed to please them rather–nothing better than turning your child into a robot keeping to your every command–and win Valtor and her the opportunity to focus on each other for the time being. "What are you doing today?" Valtor asked, pulling her away from the dreadful reality of their presence and into what was left of her own life, of their life.

He always cared and stopped to ask how she was doing even when his mothers had already piled two hundred other more pressing things on his shoulders. Although, in their eyes everything was more pressing than love and it was a joke when that included "the family reputation" when they didn't even have a definition of family. And if they did, it was distorted by all the shards of cold that were the only remains of their souls.

"Ediltrude and Zarathustra are coming over so... trying to stay sober would be a good start," she said, doing her damnedest to keep her eyes on him and not on the warped reflections of them that his mothers' gazes were when they shared the same eye color but the emotions that came through in the gold were vastly different.

She hated herself for slipping into the anxiousness their presence loaded her with like she was nothing more than yet another weapon they could yield to hurt him like they'd done their whole life by turning what he loved against him and making him hate it. They would interfere anyway so she had to make the most of it and focus on him. Him and what the day had to offer once she managed to free herself from the net of their scrutiny.

"You know how hard it is to refuse Ediltrude to drink with her." Valtor and Ediltrude had hit it off that first Christmas and she'd never gotten to meet his mothers at the appointed Christmas dinner which had given her one last holiday free of their presence but there'd been retribution from them towards Valtor that had kept him from seeing her as well. "Even when it's eleven a.m." That wasn't going to be her saving grace either and she could only hope for a miracle to keep the alcohol away from her and Ediltrude away from it.

"I'm sorry, dear," or a curse, "but you're going to have to reschedule," Lysslis grabbed at the chance to ruin her plans so viciously that it was bleeding toxic glue on her to get her stuck in the place they wanted her, in their own garden of misery they'd personally grown just for her in some sort of sick gift that did everything for them and nothing for her. Nothing good that was. "Today will not be possible," Lysslis said and Griffin was surprised she'd given her the opportunity to speak a few sentences before she'd let her own tongue slither out. But of course, that way it was Griffin's words that ripped into her when she'd allowed herself to believe she could have something her way in the home from hell.

"I thought you didn't have any urgent work today, Mother Lysslis," Griffin let herself play dumb when she'd double checked with their personal assistant. Mandragora was an oversized pest that completely deserved her name when she started screeching the moment someone who wasn't her bosses poked her the wrong way–or any way, really–but she wouldn't allow herself to lie to her if it concerned her and her mothers-in-law's dealings did since they insisted on holding all their meetings at the mansion as if offices didn't exist. But apparently they weren't too old to retire but were too old to work outside the mansion.

"Exactly," Belladonna said and Griffin could only hate herself for how helpless she was against the way her blood froze at a single word from the woman. "There will be nothing to distract us from the presence of your mismatched friends," she said and Griffin couldn't even draw in all the breath she needed when the ice needles of Belladonna's gaze on her would poke holes in her lungs if she allowed them to expand past their normal movements. "I will never understand how someone with your poise and grace can stand to be around people who are so... unrefined."

The trap clicked closed, holding both her heart and her tongue and threatening to pluck them out if she dared let them run free but she couldn't just keep sitting obediently like a dog while Belladonna threw insults of her friends in her face like they were treats she'd deserved for good behavior. She had to stand up for herself and her friendship.

"That's okay," she let the honey drip from her lips sweet like a topping they'd all hopefully choke on to go with her steely gaze that would've cut through anyone else but only had the ice of Belladonna's biting back into it in a warning that was more a red flag rather than a courtesy even if her rage was already burning white hot and Griffin hadn't even started. "You're busy figuring out so many other things. We've got this one covered for you, Mother Belladonna," Griffin said, looking right into the molten abyss that her mother-in-law's eyes were as if it wasn't absolutely suicidal and wouldn't doom her to a terribly agonizing death. But she needed to let her know just what she meant with that.

Belladonna had just sisters and a son she'd done her best to break and mold according to her own vision while Griffin had the twins who were her sisters in everything but blood and her husband she loved enough to accept even as he came packaged with three sociopaths because that was what love was. But of course, there was no way for Belladonna to know that when all her friends were fake and the best she could hope for after her own husband's death–or murder–were the business partners who only stayed in contact with her out of obligation. She was sure no one would stick around which just posed the question how genuine any sisterhood between her mothers-in-law was. And they could all hear it echoing loudly around them even if Belladonna would love to crush it under a block of ice just like she'd handle her.

"Speaking of meetings," Lysslis saved her–not before Belladonna made it clear that had Griffin been anyone else other than Valtor's wife, she would've stuffed her in the fridge and served her in small pieces at her annual reception celebrating the foundation of the family business year after year so the guests would be infected with her agony for life even if they wouldn't know it–although they definitely weren't speaking of meetings but rather of a killing match at this point but Griffin wasn't quick to relax before she learned the price of the little miracle she'd let her have. "I will have you inviting your mother to come shopping with us next Saturday," she was quick to inform her what suffering she'd traded her current predicament for and her tone was so casual as she knew she'd set it up perfectly to make Griffin sacrifice what little time she actually got to spend with Valtor in the name of an activity she hated even when she was with her friends. Of course, she'd pick Saturday even when they could go shopping literally any other day of the week.

"Of course, Mother Lysslis," she agreed so readily that it made her sick of her own pretense. Or rather the lack of such when she knew she didn't have any other choice but to leave herself at Lysslis' hands now since Belladonna was still mad at her and Tharma was normally angry on a good day and neither of them would hold back Lysslis' wrath was Griffin to unleash it. All she had left was to hope she'd manage to stand her ground while going around stores that were far off from the plane of existence of a high school teacher since they'd let up a bit on trying to dictate her choice of clothes after the preventive measures she'd taken in regards to that. "If I may ask who "us" includes so that my invitation will be the most accurate version of itself?" Griffin prodded carefully even when she knew that kind of sneakiness would never work with Lysslis.

"The three of us, you and your mother, of course," Lysslis said, the metallic rays of her mind piercing through Griffin's heart easily when it was so softened by the hope she'd let fill it that she'd only have to stand straight under the burden of Lysslis' cunning and manipulations.

Great. It was bad enough when she was being buried under all the insecurities Lysslis managed to dig out without even damaging her manicured nails in any way to get her to bend to her will. Having all three of them against her when they made her head spin with how fast they had her in and out of different outfits was a battle she wasn't sure she'd be able to win even with her mother by her side.

History was more Valtor's area of expertise but she could find herself in need of turning to it and making it repeat. They'd left her alone the previous time when she'd set the wardrobe on fire–all the clothes they'd bought that afternoon had been lost by the time Mike had arrived with his firemen and she'd only mourned the money that had been wasted instead of going towards something productive–and they hadn't tried to order her around directly after that. They'd instead taken a stealthier approach, mostly leaving Lysslis to handle her by fishing out her fears with her teeth hidden behind the warpaint that her blood red lipstick was.

She used them to decorate her attitude of supremacy while she decorated Griffin however she wanted to when the shadows she'd grown in her mind were twisting and turning it as they tried to snap it in half and Griffin was too busy trying to free herself from them to have any energy left to spare on keeping Lysslis out of her head as well. There was no way she could handle all three of them when they sank their claws in her and tried to rip her apart to stuff the pieces of her in whatever clothes they deemed appropriate. So another arson might be due. Even if the only reason Tharma hadn't slapped her for endangering the mansion had been that Valtor had stepped in front of her and gotten slapped himself.

Despite their constant verbal abuse and mind games, they'd never allowed themselves physical violence before that. And after it, too, as Tharma had spent the next week suspended in her room and the glaring empty space on Belladonna's right had somehow only reinforced the idea that she was an all-powerful monster not to be messed with. The lack of reaction on Valtor's part towards the bruise forming on his cheek had been what had made her break down in their bedroom, though, and lament her choice until he'd picked her up and carried her to the bed where he'd told her to never stop defending her agency when it wasn't her that was hurting him. It had never been. And she'd worn his fierce love of her like her armor against Lysslis' attempts to convince her that it was all her fault.

It had worked that time. She could only hope it would work again even if that left her heart too malleable and easy to manipulate.

"It would be nice to spend some time with her," Lysslis said and Griffin would have been afraid of how easily the lie dripped from her lips if she weren't used to it. In fact, assuming that everything that came out of her mouth was a lie was the best way to deal with Lysslis and avoid falling for her traps. It might have been unfair if it weren't true ninety-nine percent of the time and the fact that even Tharma and Belladonna were mindful of her and double checked her story when she'd done something on her own just confirmed that. "We haven't seen good old Emalyn in so long," Lysslis shook her head as if in regret. And perhaps it was.

Perhaps it was regret that they had to socialize with a lowly middle class retired nursery teacher. Emalyn was everything that they weren't and knowing Griffin carried her genes was only looked over because the DNA tests overrode it in importance by proving that those were the perfect genes to combine with Valtor's and somehow that made Griffin's genetic makeup desirable all of a sudden.

And to call her mother old as if they weren't ancient even though they didn't look the part? That was an insult Griffin would never swallow if her mom hadn't warned her not to get into fights with her mothers-in-law on her behalf after they'd made a remark about taking all the expenses on the wedding since, apparently, Emalyn and that dead husband of hers were no good to even pay for their daughter's wedding–which had been far bigger and much more expensive than Griffin had ever wanted it to be but she'd had no say on the matter as they'd insisted that a new marriage in the family had to be a public affair–and Griffin had been ready to rip they heads off. Emalyn had stopped her, though, and reminded her that it would only hurt herself and Valtor and her mom could never want that for them which had proven that she was the only mother either of them had despite allegedly having four.

Griffin mirrored that smile Lysslis gave guests when she wanted them to know that all that they were was met with contempt. She'd learned how to reflect it even if some of the effect was lost when she could never hope to have been capable of pulling it off without seeing it first. "I'm sure she shares the sentiment." She most certainly did considering the depth of the resentment thriving in the shade of the words.

"Now that that's settled," Tharma stepped in and drew her attention away from where Lysslis looked proud that Griffin had picked something up from her instead of being offended, "we can talk about dinner."

"Is there anything special you would like for dinner, Mother Tharma?" Griffin asked, her stomach trying to do a somersault that would send all of the food she'd just ingested back up her throat to make space for whatever Tharma would want of her now but Griffin held it back. She couldn't let them now she got sick whenever they made their requests that ranged from mildly offensive through awful to horrendous. Especially when she was sure they suspected. She couldn't give them the confirmation herself.

"Valtor will have some good news for us tonight so I thought we should celebrate," Tharma said and Griffin did her best not to clutch at her fork since she was pretty sure she would snap it in half even if it was solid stainless steel. Which was exactly the same reason that she didn't try to catch Valtor's hand to help him drain off some of the pressure Tharma had just piled on his shoulders if there hadn't been enough of that already. "And a special occasion calls for a special meal, doesn't it?" Tharma asked as if they were kindergartners whose brains hadn't developed enough yet to make a simple connection if it weren't pointed out to them. And also to let the dread set deep inside Griffin's body when she'd most certainly have her cooking some animal they had caught.

"You know that Argulus is our best client so you need to be at the top of your game," Belladonna reminded Valtor as if he hadn't been working at the company ever since he'd turned eighteen. By now he would have most certainly learned that even if his mind weren't as sharp as the diamonds they were selling but she just had to nag as if Valtor hadn't renegotiated contract terms with Argulus before. They were practically friends and even if loyalties weren't really a thing in their business, she was sure that Argulus would at least try to resolve any potential issue before going elsewhere for his precious diamonds.

"Yes, mother," Valtor agreed, his tone snappy when his patience was starting to give way under their distrust in him even after they'd stolen his youth and replaced it with preparations to become the head of the business and he'd been doing the job for years. "I always am." Valtor seemed to have had the exact same thought and she wanted to smile at them sharing a mind but that would be misplaced and would most certainly get stained by his mothers' intolerance of their happiness if they saw it. And they would.

"Hardly true half of the time," Lysslis was quick to cut off his unexpected bout of confidence like it was a flower she'd decided to pluck off for decoration of her table. Except she didn't like flowers and it had been completely unnecessary, not to mention far heavier a crime when it was her own son she'd hurt. But of course, she only cared about that in a backwards fashion where she was prouder when the damage she'd done was bigger.

Griffin had to do something since she couldn't watch him like that. He already looked like a sunflower that had withered prematurely and she needed to stop them before they could do more damage. Even if it meant drawing their attention to herself.

"I can cook his favorite-"

"Roast leg of venison," Tharma interrupted her before she could even suggest that she did something her husband would enjoy even if the dinner was supposed to celebrate his success and the order was clear in the tone that allowed no objections. Not that she could have any–as much as she hated to admit it–since they certainly knew their game better than she did. She wouldn't be caught dead going near the stuff if they weren't making her. "Sliced venison tongue salad as an appetizer and venison liver crème caramel for dessert will complete the menu to perfection," Tharma said, looking at her like she expected her to throw up on the spot. Which, frankly, sounded like an appealing option.

"Yes, of course, Mother Tharma," Griffin agreed as she did her best to hold in her disgust–especially when it came to the dessert idea–but she might have started turning green since Tharma looked pleased. Though, that might have been how quickly she'd relented when she knew she didn't have an alternative. She rarely had any other option but to do as they wished. As if they were giving her the occasional treat for being such a well-trained lapdog and if the cooking adventures that awaited her hadn't made her sick already, then that thought was certainly helping.

"Valtor, don't forget there's also a delivery coming in today," Tharma turned to him, a look of warning striking him to remind him it was all very secretive and had to remain that way. Which was why the deliveries were made directly to Valtor's office and personally to him instead of to the house where either the personnel or a random guest could get their hands on the forbidden knowledge of what was in Tharma's box. Well, the deliveries were for all the three witches.

"Don't worry, mother, your products are in good hands," Valtor allowed himself the indiscretion which to Griffin was amusing but Tharma didn't seem to appreciate the threat of having the insides of her words exposed even if it was too late for that. Valtor had already told Griffin it was their ozone cosmetics that were proving to be the fountain of their youth. That and the countless souls they chewed on slowly year after year and consumed the energy of everyone around them to sustain themselves. The perfect crime indeed. "Have I ever forgotten before?" Valtor asked and she had to catch his hand to let him know she was proud of his continuing bravery after they chewed into him every time he displayed it. She couldn't care less that they'd notice. Let them see.

"Of course not, Valtor," Tharma seemed to agree which meant that there was more. "You'd never fail to listen when I remind you." There it was. And of course, she'd steal everything he deserved the credit for. They weren't just energy vampires. They sucked out entire lives and they'd been doing that to Valtor under the guise of raising him ever since he'd been born.

"Go now," Belladonna urged, her gaze cutting into the space between the two of them to indicate that she was in a rush to separate them. Heaven forbid they actually got to enjoy any of their time together when they weren't locked in their own bedroom.

"Yes, mother," Valtor didn't try to protest since it would only get them both snowed in under an avalanche of critiques and he wanted to save them from that. "Have a nice day," he barely spared at his mothers before turning to her. "Goodbye, Griffin," he said as he made sure to catch her gaze and let her know how much he loved her since saying it out loud would only draw the dirt of their disapproval to it. "Make the best of the day," he said since he knew very well that she much preferred to be at work instead of stuck at home with his mothers all day–he'd been through that hell and knew it even better than she did–and kissed her cheek, his lips letting so much tenderness soak into her skin even though the contact was brief.

"Have a nice day yourself," Griffin wished as she squeezed his hand. She knew how much he overworked himself when she was the one massaging all the stress out of his stiff muscles every evening while his mothers were resting all their burden on his shoulders.

"Well, now it will be," Valtor squeezed back to let her know he'd gotten the message. "Even if it doesn't want to," he said before letting go.

Griffin smiled at the optimism that needed just a ray of encouragement to come out from under the years of trauma and bad experiences his so called family had buried it under and completely on purpose at that. But they hadn't managed to smother it in all the cold they'd given him instead of oxygen. It was still there and she was ready to shine on it with all of her love to see it grow and reach for the cosmos since it was strong enough to do that. Especially with her faith in him to support it.

"You should start on dinner, Griffin," Belladonna said, her cold breath making the surface of Griffin's eyes freeze over to keep the sight of Valtor's retreating back out of them and it sent chills down her spine.

"Of course, Mother Belladonna," Griffin agreed and quickly slipped out of her chair and towards the kitchen. She didn't have to object when she was perfectly content with finally being out of their sight as their eyes were like molten lava just waiting to erupt and swallow her to bury her in a cage of obsidian. Even the nightmare waiting for her in the kitchen was a better option than that.

Once in the kitchen–that was suspiciously empty even though there was always personnel in there but, of course, they wouldn't let her have any help when they'd set out to torture her–Griffin made it her first order of business to pull a deer leg out of one of the freezers. They should have probably been kept in a different space altogether considering there were a lot of them–and all were full of hunting game–but her mothers-in-law liked to keep their trophies nearby. And in this particular instance it made her job easier since she only had to get the meat to the table where she could leave it to thaw while she looked for recipes.

She was no expert on cooking meat and the one time she'd cooked deer meat, all three old hags had complained it was overcooked and stiff. She could ask them on how she was supposed to cook what they wanted but after the humiliating experience of having them lecturing her about it the previous time even though they hadn't cooked a thing in their lives and the kitchen was her territory but they'd still trumped her when they knew how well cooked venison was supposed to look and taste, she would sooner die than let them coach her again. Which would still happen if she didn't pull the three-course dinner off so she needed to do her research. Fortunately, that was when the internet came to her rescue.

Of course, they'd give her tasks that would send all of her day to hell. The total time she'd need for all the dishes if she decided to cook them separately was about nine hours which would still leave it ready in time for dinner but would make her unwilling to set foot in the kitchen ever again which would mean that they'd won. So multitasking it was.

That would have been much easier if she was actually acquainted with cooking any of those dishes and also didn't prefer to cut out their tongues and cook them instead of the deer tongues she was left with even though they still made for a better company than her mothers-in-law. Not to mention that the leg she'd gotten was too big for the recipe she'd found and she needed to switch it with a smaller one. At least the kitchen was well stocked so she had the ramekins she needed for the crème caramel. Products and utensils were not the problem, really. No, what was the problem was that it was all set up against her.

The crème caramel was the cherry on top truly since they knew desserts were her pride and specialty and were doing their best to turn that against her. Succeeding, too, unlike her who wasn't even given the chance to come out of that fight victorious since, apparently, the liver for the crème should have been soaked in milk from the previous evening. They were setting her up for failure and she was starting to lose it long before she'd made it to any of the actual cooking.

She considered calling her mom but that would definitely fall under procrastinating. Especially when she went on a long rant about how unfair all of it was even though she'd known it would be like that when she'd said "I do" to Valtor. Besides, there was enough time to call her after she was done with that cooking disaster to proceed to the shopping disaster that was showing on the horizon like an antipode to the sunrise she loved dearly.

She had to call the twins to tell them not to come and, hopefully, convince them to stay on the phone with her and keep her company while she cooked even if distractions could prove to be counterproductive. It was the only way for her to handle what was supposed to be one of her favorite activities and she could only count on their love for her to override the fact that she was going to wake them up at least an hour earlier before they would get up now that it was summer vacation. But she needed them to keep her sane like they'd done when her father had died.

Griffin shook her head to make the horrifying memories drop out of it and shatter against the floor as she called Zarathustra. It was the lesser evil since she was probably awake but still doing her best to catch a wink of sleep anyway and could spare Ediltrude the early awakening and Griffin her sister's wrath for the aforementioned crime.

She held her breath as the phone rang and it was yet another reminder that her dear mothers-in-law were killing her but she pushed the thought down to suffocate instead of her. The universe seemed merciful at least in that regard as Zarathustra picked up and even though the call ended up waking Ediltrude, they both agreed to stay on the phone with her and talk since their meeting was so rudely canceled.

"They really denied us access to the sacred ground?" Zarathustra asked, her disbelief far too real considering she knew how the three witches operated but that just made Griffin love her more and be that much more grateful that her friends were so genuine and never made her wonder whether they truly liked her or were just faking it. She could count on them to take up any problem with her they had to her and it was the most comforting thought at the moment. "That is so disgustingly privileged." Zarathustra scoffed and Griffin could practically hear the disdain forming curses in her head over the speaker phone.

"Believe me, I know," Griffin huffed. "This is my home, too, and I should be able to invite my closest people here," she said, still somewhat surprised that she could think of the mansion as home when she hated so much about it. But it was Valtor's home, the only home he'd ever known, and he'd told her that her presence made it livelier when there were more plants around and the aroma of oregano tea and cookies was luring towards the kitchen. She wanted to be where he was and be his home, and have him be hers, too. "But no, our friendship will sully their décor, I suppose," Griffin said, nearly grateful for the rage over their treatment of her relationships as it would help her get through the meat. Quite literally since she needed to make holes in the leg for the garlic cloves.

"Griff, they're just trying not to go broke since they'll need to restock their liquor cabinet after me and trust me, that shit is expensive as hell," Ediltrude joked, trying to brighten her mood since she could most certainly feel the energy vibrating and brewing inside her even through the phone.

It was enough to scald a normal person but there was no one who fit the description around since her friends were on the other end of the line–and also disaster personified so they were safe on all accounts–the personnel was gone and her mothers-in-law were ancient demons Valtor's father had somehow managed to summon from hell. Most certainly by mistake or ignorance. Nobody would want to be married to a monster like any one of them as Lysslis' husband had proven as he'd filed for divorce just a week after the wedding.

"They're the ones who are way too much expenses on my life," Griffin said as she impaled the meat with the knife. No point in stalling. She had to get to it if she didn't want to be kitchen bound all day like some modern version of Cinderella. Only it was the evil mother-in-law and her sisters against her. Not that that made the fight any easier for her. Quite the opposite, in fact, and all she had left to do was stab the meat with her outrage like she'd completely lost her mind to it. She probably looked like a psychopath so, again, good thing that no one was around. She was pretty sure her mothers-in-law would leap at the chance to have her drugged on her prescribed meds if she gave them a reason to think she needed a psychiatrist.

"Are you sure you should talk like that while in their kitchen?" Zarathustra asked and made her want to scream since she knew how fierce both of the twins were. If they were scared of the witches, then she had to be, too. And she was, but she really didn't appreciate being reminded of that when she had to share living quarters with them. It left her feeling like fish out of water in her own home. Especially when she knew they were well aware of her hatred of them and returned it but still tolerated her when she was the wife they'd needed to buy their son anyway.

"It's my kitchen, Zara," she did her best to cushion her voice as she snapped. It wasn't her friend's fault. No one was at fault except for Belladonna and her sisters. "After Valtor and I got married, we got ownership of the mansion, remember?" Griffin said, trying to convince herself more than anything else.

The mansion could be hers on paper but it still bowed to them completely and so did she when she was more a part of the interior rather than a human being with her own mind and right to making choices. She wouldn't truly be the Mistress of the Ancestral Manor until they were gone even if Belladonna had officially passed the title down to her and despite herself, she wanted to be. She wanted to be if that meant that they would be free of them. Maybe then she could even have a child when she was free of the terror of what they would do with it. Perhaps even a girl and not the obligatory boy to continue the family lineage and find himself a housewife to take care of the precious mansion passed down from generation to generation and binding every next one in its old-fashioned and offensive traditions. Once they were gone, she could set her own rules. If she'd manage to outlive them and the stress they were burying her under as it was far more than six feet on top of her at this point and it'd barely been half a year since the wedding.

"I hate to break it to you, sister, but you're still under their reign," Ediltrude said as she'd sensed her thoughts and was trying to keep her grounded which was not just useful but necessary considering the fight that awaited her but right now it felt good to be in a fantasy. In a world she'd made up where she could have a daughter with beautiful golden eyes that were just that. Beautiful eyes and not a sign that she bore the makings of a Mistress of the Ancestral Manor, a wife. She would be the heiress and own the place. She would be the one who could bring the change the mansion needed and drag it out of the past to forge her own future, one that wouldn't be owned by a breathless, soulless house and the old witches it had made.

"Yes, that was a clause in the contract," Griffin said to grasp at tangible things and the legalities of their deal were the most palpable thing she could think of when they left her with the presence of her mothers-in-law which would last for heaven knew how long. Though, hell would probably be more in place in that sentence. "We have to take care of them until death finally manages to pry life out of their claws." There were chills running through her that weren't coming from the cold meat in her hands when she wasn't sure if even death was stronger than her enemies. And that was a very disturbing thought considering it had taken her father away when he'd always been the most secure heart in her life. "So for the next 30-40 years." Or so she hoped. She could just pray it wouldn't be more even if she weren't religious. She'd never been, and her encounter with her now mothers-in-law had only solidified that position.

"Aren't they, like, ancient?" Ediltrude asked, the pages of her magazine rustling when she probably used it to demonstrate her confusion in a grand, dramatic gesture. And here Griffin had sworn to be careful not to end up with another drama queen as a friend after Ediltrude and Hagen–and herself, too, but that did not go into the current train of thought–only to find herself married to one.

"Yeah. They can't be under seventy at this point even if their magical cosmetics take off twenty years," Zarathustra joined her sister and Griffin was grateful that they were doing their best to provide some comfort but she knew it wasn't up to them when the three witches were in the picture and the cosmetics weren't the only magic at play there. Good diet–despite their passion for hunting, they were careful with the cholesterol that could prove to be the one gun to end them if they didn't control it which, of course, they did very closely–and eating souls were giving splendid results so far. Well, splendid for them.

"Oh, they are," Griffin said, her knife almost flying out of her hand at her own theatrics. "They are seventy-three. At least Belladonna is and I'm still not quite sure whether they're triplets or not." They never disclosed anything personal but that had come out during the transfer of the mansion to the only result of terrifying her all the more when she'd learned she'd been far off in her guess of the woman's age. "But I'm not really sure they're mortal," Griffin confessed and it was so much scarier to hear the thought out loud even if it had been plaguing her mind since she'd learned their age.

Really, they didn't look older than fifty despite their white hair that Griffin could think of at least two purposes for. One, make them look like apparitions to increase the natural terror they awoke in whoever was standing in front of them and two, clash with their painted faces and nails and their designer clothes to tell you they were of age but still had far more class and beauty than you could ever dream of. And it worked on both accounts leaving you with the need to scream but you had to mute yourself somehow because that would just give them more life power and would hand victory to them.

Ediltrude laughed. "Come on, Griffin. The women may be vicious witches – I mean, reindeer meat? Who even eats that nowadays? And knowing that they caught it themselves... Oh, wow, okay." Griffin heard her moving in the armchair she was sitting in, the leather one that definitely did not fit with the rest of the interior of their living room but they both loved and she knew why when she'd found herself dozing off in it more than once since it was that comfortable. "I am starting to see your point," Ediltrude said in that voice that was slightly slowed down from her normal speed of speaking when her mind was racing. "How the fuck are they still hunting at that age?" she asked when she finally did the math that threw you for a loop when it ended in an infinity symbol that stood for their eternal life.

"I'm telling you," Griffin sighed. "They're not human," she said, any thought of stabbing them with the knife she was holding dying out when she wasn't sure she wanted to murder her own hope that they would be the ones to die some day. She wouldn't be able to handle the result of her experiment and the consequences of it. Even if they didn't do anything to her for the attempt on their lives. They would've already done it with the knowledge that it hadn't been an attempt at all when they weren't mortal.

"Well, Lysslis did have a violent reaction to Ediltrude's cat," Zarathustra said as she tried to prove to her that there was fear in her mothers-in-law, too. And it would have worked if the reason for that hadn't been that the cat had snatched a photo album out of Lysslis' bedroom. The way she'd looked around had suggested she was hiding it from her sisters and Griffin supposed that was because it was full of old pictures.

Lysslis wasn't the sentimental type even if she managed to look the part but she certainly was one to keep dirt on her sisters which made Griffin suspect that the album was old and contained evidence from their youth. Evidence that could support the rumors that the three of them had made their way into the manor with deception by having gold injected in their irises which had left them blind and in need of lenses that replaced their lost sight by sending electrical impulses to the brain with the coded visual information.

She wouldn't have trouble believing it at all. She'd seen their ambition taking lives–literally–and was sure that it went as far as mutilating themselves as well. Everything for the metaphorical crown.

That, of course, did not help convince her that they were people and only did the opposite instead even if it brought them down a little on account of them not having all the characteristics of a Mistress of the Ancestral Manor but that hardly mattered when they'd proved that they were the most fearsome women to ever have that title. And Lysslis was cold-blooded enough to keep proof of their monstrosities against her sisters, though that did hint that she was afraid of them. But on the other hand, who wouldn't be? Even monsters could fear other monsters. Especially when they were the same as them.

"Though, they were looking at the snakes like they were moving belts," Zarathustra said like they'd shared the same inner musings when Griffin knew that hadn't been the case. The twins had insisted that it wasn't possible when she'd told them what claims were going around when it came to her mothers-in-law.

"Hush, my babies are still traumatized," Ediltrude scolded which wasn't unexpected since she'd forbidden the topic after she'd had both snakes wrapped around her like they were trying to suffocate her which hadn't really been their intention and had hidden their heads under her hands. They'd gotten scared when they'd felt the thoughts the three old hags would've loved to make true and that only Griffin and the twins had been standing in the way of. As if Ediltrude would ever let anyone hurt her snakes. She would sooner kill than let anyone lay a hand on them or on her sister and that was one thing Griffin could always guarantee no matter who Ediltrude was facing.

"She's cuddling the snakes, isn't she?" Griffin asked as she already had a mental image that she was sure was absolutely precise. It was the other typical characteristic of that leather armchair as it was the usual place where the snakes liked to lounge. Especially if Ediltrude was there–or Zarathustra or Griffin, really–and they could climb all over her.

"Yep. I have a completely insane sister," Zarathustra said and Griffin could see her shaking her head at the sight of Ediltrude cooing at the snakes and stroking them. It was an odd image but one that Griffin was used to by now and had found herself replicating even if she hadn't liked Ediltrude's very idea of pets when she'd had to room with them from the get-go in their college dorm. They'd grown on her, though, and she'd found herself happy to feel them slithering over her the first time the twins had visited the mansion and Ediltrude had thought it appropriate to bring them with her to cheer Griffin up. It had even worked as the snakes had seemed like absolute angels compared to the three she now lived with when she knew the ones curling into her wouldn't hurt her.

"Oh, shut up, Miss I'll-just-go-and-join-a-cult," Ediltrude threw at her sister and almost made Griffin rub at her temples before she remembered she'd just been touching the deer meat and that was definitely ill-advised. She couldn't help the impulse when a fight between the twins was brewing, though, and them focusing on each other was definitely the first and only sign of that as their squabbles only needed so much to kick into motion.

"We agreed to never bring that up again," Zarathustra screeched angrily and Griffin could imagine the way her whole body was moving forward, ready for a fight. Something both twins were always prepared for which made for an explosive atmosphere. Something she'd gotten her fair share of when they'd been roommates. "It was a mistake, okay? You of all people should know enough about that," Zarathustra kept it up and Ediltrude would bite the bait and start harping on, too, in a second and she would lose them to their argument. She had to do something.

"Come on, you two, break it off!" Griffin cried out and it was more desperate rather than authoritative but that was all she could manage at the present time. "I need you to keep me company through this hell of a day, not send each other to hell," she said when she knew that would get them back to her. They were good friends even if they crossed the line sometimes with their teases that went from mischievous straight to cruel faster than a rally car accelerated.

She was picking up Valtor's car figures of speech which was just another thing they would prod into if they knew so she had to be careful not to give herself away.

"Sorry, Griffin," both twins chimed in at the same time which she was sure left them glaring at each other but they kept to the truce she'd called and she was grateful to have their support when there was not much of anything else keeping her focused and stopping her from melting into a puddle of self-pity under the judgment of her mothers-in-law's golden eyes that she could see in her mind perfectly now that they'd taken the time to so helpfully engrave it there.

Dinner took about all day despite her decision to work on the dishes parallel to each other and she ate lunch in the kitchen like she was their servant but that was not correct. She was more of a slave, really, and she was getting tempted to start looking into ways to get away with poisoning them, the only thing that was stopping her being that that wasn't her. Her parents hadn't raised a murderess and she wouldn't let her alleged new mothers make her something that she wasn't, make her like them.

There were rumors that Belladonna had killed her husband for cheating on her which Griffin knew weren't true as much as she hated admitting it. Belladonna certainly wouldn't have tolerated cheating despite how cold and uninviting she was–which was fair enough since that didn't give anyone a pass for cheating–but that was a problem she would have resolved before it had even become such and far more delicately, for certain. A little bromine in his drinks every day and there was nothing to worry about which might have been just the perfect solution from another point of view as well but that was none of Griffin's business and she really didn't need, nor want to go there.

No, what had most certainly seen the three sisters–she was sure Lysslis and Tharma were in on it and might have even helped–committing murder had been the fact that they'd wanted to raise Valtor a certain way and getting rid of his father had been necessary to make sure he wouldn't interfere with that. Which had probably also been the reason behind Valtor's grandmother "falling" off the balcony in the light of day. If they hadn't posed a threat on Belladonna's plans for Valtor's upbringing they probably would've still been alive–her husband at least–and following her agenda just like everyone else was.

Remembering she was one hundred percent certified living with murderesses was not helping her relax when the exhaustion was flaming in her muscles so she dragged herself over to the library to pick a good book to crash on the couch in there with. It was the one place that she adored in the mansion–other than her and Valtor's bedroom–even if Lysslis was often there herself.

There were so many books gracing the shelves with their elegance and knowledge or countless worlds waiting to be explored and it was the richest room in the mansion. It was a dream come true to have a library that size and Griffin took all the chances she got to enjoy it.

She found a book of poetry that seemed to predate even her mothers-in-law–and that was magical in a whole another way as it was proof that they hadn't been there from the start so maybe they wouldn't make it to the end either–and curled up in its embrace. The words were caressing her tenderly–especially when she imagined them in the context of her and Valtor's love–and managed to unwrap some of the day's tension from around her to let her get more comfortable. Almost to the point where she'd fall asleep but that thought was ran over by the sound of Valtor's car pulling over at the driveway.

She laid the book down on the table carefully, letting herself lose the page as all that mattered was finding her way out of the room as soon as possible, and ran down the stairs to greet him. They usually didn't let her do that when they held her hostage in the living room and watched her like she was the wild game they were hunting that day. They didn't want her going out in the rain–concerned about how any potential illnesses would reflect on her ability to bear children, no doubt–but it rained so often over the mansion that she was starting to hate it when she couldn't do any gardening even if it'd used to be a relaxing sound to read a good book to while sipping tea which, really, made perfect sense as a lot of things weren't at all as enjoyable as they'd used to be.

She got the upper hand that evening as she rushed to the door before they could block her way as they came from the study. It was supposed to be Valtor's nowadays but they had no qualms about coming and going as they pleased and rummaging through the documents. They'd even spoiled the surprise when he'd reserved a quiet villa at the seaside for them since they hadn't been able to spoil the vacation itself. At least not to the point to which they'd wanted to.

Sarah stepped out of her way and rather enthusiastically, too, instead of with fear like she avoided the old witches that still acted like they were her bosses when she was officially working for her and Valtor now. It could also have something to do with the fact that she was getting starry eyed at the sight of her and Valtor together as she seemed genuinely happy about them–though, that could be because they treated her as a human and not just as the help–and even congratulated them on their happiness every time she found the occasion.

Griffin opened the door and was met with a bouquet of white gently greeting her eyes as if Valtor had known she would be the one to meet him this time. It must have been some powerful intuitive cue since that was a rarity and he couldn't have predicted it any other way.

"For the woman of my heart," Valtor said as he grinned at her and handed her the gardenias.

She could feel their sweet scent reaching her even when her fingers hadn't even caressed the blossoms yet. It wafted through the air to encapsulate her in itself and entered her brain to pull forward memories of all the previous times he'd brought her flowers–not just gardenias–that were just as exquisite as the bouquet itself.

Griffin took the flowers from him and stepped away to let him in. "Kept safe and sound," she noted as she felt the plastic container that was undoubtedly full of water under her fingers. It was like a small plastic vase hidden under the bouquet wrap to keep the flowers fresh.

"Vanessa knows what she's doing," Valtor said as he took off his coat and let Sarah put it away.

"She certainly does." Unlike that daughter of hers. "And you do, too," Griffin praised as deserved. He'd learned her tastes–though, Vanessa probably knew just as well and would have had him covered anyway–and knew just how to make her day which she really appreciated after the day she'd had. "Come here, man of my heart," she said as she pulled him towards herself, careful not to damage the flowers after he'd found the time in his busy schedule to get them for her.

Her lips were on his and his body pressed into her finally felt like she'd come home after she'd been kept on edge all day like only his mothers could do to her when they shook her sense of self to the very core and made her doubt everything she was and knew. Everything except Valtor and her love for him. That always came out victorious regardless of what schemes they were running–and they'd done their best to separate them by pushing various ghosts of the past in their way until they'd realized that their futures were entangled together and there was no one who could do anything about it–and she trusted she could draw strength from it any time.

Valtor did, too, as he let himself sink into the kiss and pull her deeper in as well when their tongues were dancing together like they sometimes did in the privacy of their bedroom where it was just the two of them in the universe and the rhythm of the music that wrapped around them to keep the happiness of those moments safe and protected. His hands were on her waist and holding her close to him like he always did. It was the most reassuring thing to know he wanted her with him always. Especially when she wanted the same.

She wanted to be with him, for as long as the stars would shine on them when they climbed on the roof at night to watch them. She knew their love would be endless like the string of words of the countless books in the mansion's library was. The two of them had a long road ahead that nothing could block even when they were bound to returning to the manor no matter how far they'd managed to get during their latest car ride but it still felt like home when she was with him.

"Somehow that didn't sound too sincere," Valtor murmured when they parted even if the words weren't supported by the ecstatic beating of his heart under her palm. "I might need more convincing," he cupped her cheek, the softness of the touch begging to have more added to it and she couldn't refuse even if she'd wanted to. And she could never get mad at him just because he was looking for excuses to draw her into another kiss even if he didn't need them when she would give him all the love and all the tenderness he wanted. It was something she wanted to do with her life and nothing could make her doubt that no matter how many slippery slopes she had to climb to get to him.

Griffin leaned in again but she'd barely felt his lips against hers when Belladonna's voice made for a crack between them and shoved an entire replica of Antarctica in it forcing her to pull as far away from the cold as possible which left space between her and Valtor as well.

"If you're going to have sex tonight, at least do keep it down," she said, her voice even like it was gliding on a solid foundation of ice and not their private and intimate experiences but that couldn't phase Griffin anymore. "You make more noise than a gathering at the patio," Belladonna added her finishing touch of humiliation, the burning gold of her eyes scorching at Griffin's skin when she looked at her to let her know that one was directed exclusively towards her.

"I guess it's time to use that ball gag you bought for me," Griffin said as she turned her head towards Valtor but let her gaze seep towards her mother-in-law out of the corner of her eye. Hopefully, she'd drown in the lack of shame in it.

It had felt like she'd been engulfed in flames the first time she'd gotten reprimanded about her loudness by her witches-in-law which had coincidentally been about the wedding night since she and Valtor hadn't even gotten a proper honeymoon on pretext that it wasn't the season for holidays–as if there weren't a ton of places where it'd been sizzling hot at the time–and the manor needed to get acquainted with its new Mistress which wouldn't have been a problem if they'd let her move in before the wedding but they'd insisted that that wasn't possible since she wasn't an official part of the family yet. She'd felt like a criminal caught red-handed and it had left such a profound acrid taste in her mouth that she hadn't been able to eat until they'd forced her to because she needed to stay healthy.

She'd been throwing up most of the first week of her married life and had thrashed in bed in the midst of her nightmares–not just because of the severe meddling in their private affairs, but also because of the control they were trying to exercise over every aspect of her life while giving the illusion they were passing everything in her hands only to overwhelm her more with the care for the household and make her beg for their help–instead of sleeping serenely in Valtor's embrace. They'd both ended up sleep deprived and exhausted in the middle of the work week and she'd sworn she'd never let them get to her head like that again. She'd play their game if that was what they wanted and she was going to win it.

"It would seem so," Valtor said, his arm snaking around her waist to keep her close when that gave him not just courage, but safety. Quite literally since he'd admitted to her that they hadn't allowed themselves to be as cruel to him after they'd learned she was a part of the picture as they'd been before that. Probably because they didn't want her to know about the monstrosities they'd committed against him before that and she hated to think of his suffering so she didn't when she knew he didn't want to talk about it either. She would gladly listen if he wanted to talk, though. So far he hadn't but she was there for him if and when he decided to share. "If we can't soundproof the bedroom," Valtor noted and it was a clear accusation or at least retaliation despite how casually it was thrown out there. They'd raised him in their image, after all, and deserved their own venom spat in their faces so that it would leave his system and free him of itself when it could never be useful for anything except paralyzing him in its drops like an insect caught in amber.

"The mansion needs to remain authentic, Valtor," Lysslis said, her words far closer to a hiss than she normally allowed them to get. But it was no wonder considering how touchy a subject change was when applied to the manor.

Lysslis–and her sisters, too–were hellbent on keeping the house as it was which she was sure had nothing to do with the fact that all of the previous owners had only done the necessary construction work to preserve the visage of the building and had avoided altering it in any way. They were just using the pretext of that to keep the manor the soulless home that it was and keep all of its inhabitants trapped in that paradox. It was just their hunger for control and power masked as care which was their trademark but that didn't make it any less grotesque.

"And it would be much easier to put up with the noise if it were an occasional occurrence but you two insist on fucking like rabbits," Tharma said, not missing a chance to stab at their active sex life to kill it.

She seemed to have difficulty getting over that time she'd walked in on them having sex in Valtor's office but it was her own damn fault for not knocking and barging in like she owned the place when she never had, all the decisions she'd ever made for the company falling over it through the channel of Belladonna's temporary reign while Valtor still hadn't been of age. She'd been absolutely scandalized and Griffin suspected that it had something to do with the fact that Valtor would forfeit work to have carnal fun which just added to Tharma's incomprehension, she was sure, since the woman was the only one of the three sisters who had never been married, and she'd been furious that they'd put her in a position in which she didn't have the upper hand when she was so hopelessly lost.

"We've raised you to be a lion, Valtor," Belladonna said and Griffin was surprised by the precision of the comparison when Valtor was the alleged king of the world but it was the lionesses that had made him who knew how to hunt and set the rules of the game. He was nothing but an oversized kitten on a leash in his mother's lap. "The least you can do is make sure the company and the family name get their next heir if you insist on imitating street cats," Belladonna didn't let the opportunity to express her own disdain with their priorities slip through her fingers that could be nothing short of ice cold when that was what her heart was.

"Thank you, Sarah," Griffin took the time to show her gratefulness for having her flowers removed from the scene–especially when she saw how quick Sarah was to make her escape and it was completely understandable that she didn't want to get caught in the upcoming storm–because she was sure they wouldn't handle the intensity of the argument that was about to plow into them. And even if they could, she didn't want to stain them with the ugliness of her reality when they were meant to brighten the bedroom with their beauty and weave a fantasy of another life around her with their sweet scent. "Contraceptives do tend to prevent pregnancy," she said as she turned her gaze on Belladonna now that the bouquet wasn't threatened with withering away under her fierce attacks towards every part of Griffin's life when she tried to bend it to her will.

"Perhaps you should rethink taking them," Belladonna said and the wording was all wrong when it wasn't a suggestion. It was an order at best and a threat at worst and Griffin had learned enough by now to know that it didn't matter which option it was as she had to be scared of both and of the way one would inevitably turn into the other if she let it.

"Perhaps you should rethink whatever horrid idea just started forming in your head." She could practically hear the thoughts in Belladonna's mind moving slowly but surely like an iceberg waiting to sink her tiny boat when it broke it in pieces upon collision. "If you switch out my pills and get me pregnant without my consent, I swear to you you won't see even the outside of this house ever again and I won't give a single fuck about the goddamn contract," Griffin spat out, clutching tightly at Valtor as all she had left to do was pray that she'd made herself clear enough, pray that she'd scared the monsters because she didn't know of another weak place of theirs that she could hit and it would be the end of her if she'd failed.

"Well, if that child has your character, it will at least be worth the wait," Belladonna said, letting her know she'd won the fight and she could breathe freely. For now. Hopefully, even until she herself decided to go through giving birth. "Not so much if it's like Valtor who never dared stand up to us."

She looked at him as if her words weren't piercing deep enough and she needed to hammer them in his heart through his eyes so that she could break them, too, and make him unable to see anything beautiful in the world ever again. She was just being a fucking bitch now since she knew damn well they'd abused him into obedience every time he'd tried to exhibit something else and Griffin would gladly remind her that but Valtor's grip tightening on her waist stopped her.

"Argulus and I did strike the deal, mother," Valtor said, his voice firm as if his eyes weren't trying to bleed tears when Belladonna's words had cut deep into his soul. He still cared about her approval which was masochistic and practically suicidal when he would never get anything but freezing water on his enthusiasm about any activity of his that just made it sizzle out and the steam carried away a part of his soul with it. It was painful to watch the best proof that Belladonna did not love him, did not know what love was at all, since she could see what she was doing to him and there was no reaction from her.

Not a normal one at least since she observed him like he was an experiment and she was waiting to see how long he'd need to crack under the crushing lack of praise from her.

Now that she was married to him, Griffin was a guinea pig, too, serving as a test subject to see how much you could break someone by torturing the love of their life, the only thing holding her in place was Valtor's arm around her when she knew she was his support just like he was hers. She could help with his burden and he could help with hers when they chose to carry them together and didn't do it because they were forced to.

"Excellent," Tharma said, the word like a whiplash echoing around them when it was so out of place. "Then all of your wife's work won't have to go to the garbage," she said, making Griffin nauseous even though she was used to the irresponsible waste of resources that the manor was a home to.

She had absolutely no doubt that they would've thrown out the dinner they had her cooking all day in the case of failure to punish both Valtor and her and then would've nagged at them about the meat they'd had to sacrifice when hunt was becoming harder throughout the years. Yet, they always came back proud of the murders that never dwindled in number just like they only used their old age when it was in their interest.

"He and his wife will be coming to dinner tomorrow evening," Valtor ignored the remark when it couldn't possibly ruin his mood more than it had already been but his words made Griffin's head snap towards him.

"Valtor, Faragonda and Hagen are coming tomorrow," she reminded gently as she didn't mean to scold him even if she felt near tears herself. There was no way she'd be allowed to have her "unrefined" friends over when there was a semi-business dinner going on and so instead of having people she loved over she would have to stand the company of another rich-and-proud-of-it couple in her home which she was used to by now as there was someone over for dinner at least twice a week but in this particular instance she was even less thrilled about the company.

"I'm sorry, Griffin," Valtor said as he looked at her, the ice of his eyes begging for her forgiveness which she would've granted far easier if she weren't struck in place by the lightning bolt that the realization that her gardenias were an apology and not a romantic gesture was. "You know Argulus insists on sealing the deal with a dinner and they'll be out of town for the next two weeks."

Of course, they would be. Bloom was probably flying to cloud nine at the idea of another expensive vacation. Or rather was carried there by Argulus who was a slave to her every whim which was the least he could do after taking her away from her family and changing her until she wasn't herself anymore. Though, it was arguable how much you could be changed without your own agreement and that had left Vanessa and Mike blaming themselves for not giving her a better life, for not giving her the life that Marion and Oritel would have sponsored had they been alive to raise their own daughter.

Griffin was sure they were turning in their graves thanks to the spoiled brat Bloom had become after she'd met Argulus who'd revealed her origins to her and had made her pursue the family fortune until she'd finally taken her claim over it just a month after the two had gotten married which was a bit of a coincidence too suspicious to be one to everyone with half a brain but, unfortunately, one half of Bloom's had been full of her newly found funds and the other one of her husband so that hadn't registered. And while that was a good enough excuse in that particular instance, it did nothing to justify the fact she'd stopped visiting Daphne at the hospital and had left Mike and Vanessa help her fight through the coma she'd been sent in by a reckless motorcyclist that had hit her on her way out of Argulus' office after a fight with him about her sister.

Griffin couldn't believe that was the same girl she'd held in her arms when she'd still been a teenager herself but Marion had trusted her enough to let her hold her baby. The future had seemed so bright before the coordinated attack meant to take out the entire family that had left the two girls orphans instead but at least they'd found their way to a loving home only for Bloom to turn away from that because of that vulture that her husband was.

The only thing that had Griffin keeping her mouth shut was that she'd only met Valtor through his connection to Argulus and her connection to Bloom. That and the fact that she didn't want to upset Mike and Vanessa who would inevitably hear Bloom's complaints were Griffin to say anything which left her begrudgingly accepting that she had to go through that dinner the next evening. Really, the only worst thing would have been having to stand Diaspro and all of her greatness now that she was doing whatever she wanted with all of Erendor and Samara's fortune after Bloom left Sky and he was led right back into the trap of Diaspro's arms around his neck.

"This can't wait," Valtor said, his voice quiet but it was the apologetic tone that pricked her all over like it was trying to see where she'd bleed from first. He was terrified of her reaction when the memories of his mothers' outbursts were playing in his mind and she hated the fact that she'd given him a reason to make the connection when she herself had quite the temper and enough pettiness to go for revenge instead of resolving the conflict.

"You'll just have to cancel your appointment, honey," Lysslis said, staining yet another pet name with her venom. She knew damn well Griffin would never be able to stand Valtor calling her any of the ones she'd used. And she'd used them all. She'd made sure there wasn't something special that only he would call her and he'd have to resort to her name which everyone else used as well. Lysslis thought she could diminish their bond like that but her name would always sound differently coming from Valtor's mouth when all of his love for her was woven in it. None of his mothers could ever sully that.

"We'll have to plan the menu so the help can get to it right away tomorrow morning," Tharma said to remind her that her cooking was good enough for her common-folk friends and even the three Mistresses of the Ancestral Manor were resigning to it to fulfill her wishes but her meals weren't refined enough for their high society guests. And after she'd spent all day cooking their requested dinner. It was crossing the line which would mean something if there were any lines for the three of them.

"Let me play you something, Griffin," Valtor caught her hand and held all of her anger as if it was his doing and his responsibility. His eyes were begging her forgiveness and she couldn't take that away from him when they'd already taken everything from both of them. It wasn't his fault her plans were abolished yet again. She'd known that business always came first even when he didn't want it to and he just wanted to make things right for her which she appreciated but didn't want to burden the notes with his guilt which would undoubtedly warp the melody.

"I would love to hear anything you have for me," Griffin made sure to emphasize the last word and was happy to see it reached his heart and he read into it, his shoulders falling out of the stiff embrace of the stress that had been wrapped around them to leave him able to play the piano with all of his skill and that was an ocean she could float in forever.

They headed towards the living room, still entangled as they were when they pushed past his mothers who, surprisingly, did not try to object but followed them there. Of course, they wouldn't let them have a private moment anywhere outside their own bedroom even when they had to plan the dinner the following evening.

Belladonna looked at her as she was settling down next to her sisters to tell her what she'd heard many times echoing in her head after the woman's gaze shouted it inside her brain. You chose to be the next wife of the Ancestral Manor.

But she hadn't. She'd only ever wanted to be Valtor's hence why she was next to him on the bench in front of the piano even if she had no business there since business had nothing to do with their relationship much to her mothers-in-law's chagrin. And if letting the manor and the three witches that controlled it claim as much of her time as they could get their claws into was the only way to spend the rest of her life with him, then she was ready to pay the price. Because she didn't even want to try to imagine a life without him. She could do it, she knew. But it wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be a life. Just existence.

She laid her head down on Valtor's shoulder knowing that he wouldn't mind. And nobody was asking his mothers, the sounds of the piano shutting them up when even they didn't allow themselves to interrupt art when it was engraved all over the manor and was practically a part of it. And their love was the purest form of art as they kept weaving it together despite all the sharpness in its way as the melody proved when it filled the emptiness of the mansion around them and drowned out any scorn coming from his mothers to let them grow together despite all attempts of his mothers to turn them into something they weren't. They were in love and that was their home.

[austenpoppy]

A review of "The Wonderful Won-Won" chapter 4 (part 1 because I'm a fangirl)

@hillnerd I said I would do it after my exams to take the time to say all I wanted to say and so do justice to your work, so here I am ! I always keep my promises. But Tumblr would not let me reblog this particular chapter, that's why I had to do a separate post.

Edit : I have seen your post about your father. I send you my best regards and all the hugs. I know it is hard. Love you. I know it's not much but I hope it will cheer you up a bit.

So if you want to find the chapter I'm talking about, go see Hillnerd's blog or follow this link : https://m.fanfiction.net/u/666390/

I recommend you all the other fics written by Hillnerd, they're fantastic.

So... yeah, my reaction to your chapter when I read it for the first time...

OH MY GOD ! OH MY GOD ! OH MY GOD ! Oh mon Dieu !

I'm smiling, a huge grin on my face even if nobody can see it because I'm alone, in my student room, at 2am and I'm too lazy to revise. I'm squealing on my bed, my face is tear-strained because I cried, and I feel very emotional. I swear, my heart swelled at least twice its size !

This is definitely one of my favorite chapters in fanfiction ever.

Let's go back in time to see what happened :

"The brain's tentacles were ripping him to shreds and reality was warping around him as an unsteady pulse echoed in his ears. Spiders the size of houses walked over him while their young devoured his limbs, leaving him unable to move. Powerful convulsions constricted his chest and air bellowed over his shredded lungs. All he could feel was pain, a tangible darkness, and the sensation of being drowned, but backwards?"

It feels so realistic. You got all the sensations of being in great pain yet being unable to move. I especially love "the unsteady beat in his ears". The spider anecdote makes me shudder. How awful !

"The only real thing he could think about, besides the pain, was her. What was her name again?"

Oh man, Hermione is on his mind and in his heart at all time, even in his darkest hour. She's the only thing that can take his mind off pain *eyes water*

The convulsions struck again and again. He longed to be able to lose himself in the darkness, but something kept tethering him to the unimaginable pain. He was drowning again, and his limbs were back, stiff as lead.

No no no my Ronnie is suffering so much he wants to black out, and what if the darkness meant death ? How come this is totally canon ? How come I enjoy this ?

If he could only say her name one time, maybe all of this would end? It almost seemed like an answer to a riddle. He just couldn't think what the riddle was or what the name was he should say. It was like trying to hold a fist full of sand, with each grain slipping through his fingers until he only had a few grains left.

Argh, my little Romione heart. Touché. He tries to hold on to her, the key to happiness, the light in the dark, the fire of comfort.

"How long was he—"

It's nothing really. A tiny sentence. But the fact that the person who said it was unable to finish it is just so perfect, so moving - as if the idea of Ron suffering was unthinkable. *eyes water again*

Why could he not control his body?

Oh god, I know this frustration. Your writing is so moving, you are able to convey so much feelings in the simplest sentences.

Ron did as he was told, even though the light was so bright he could feel it throbbing in time with his heartbeat. A loud ringing tone pulsed in his ears, high and sharp.

I can feel exactly what he is speaking about.

"Can I… Can I touch him?" his Mum ask Pomfrey, sounding teary.

Aaaaaaaah you got me again. The hesitation in her voice when she probably wants nothing more, when she probably craves to touch him... That's it, my vision is blurry, I need to take a tissue (fortunately there's a box on my bedside table)

Ron tried to form a word, any word, to say to his mother, but as soon as he could so much as rasp a coughing fit took him. It rattled and tore through him unlike any cough he'd ever had before. Dark red blood exploded from his lungs and splattered the matron's apron. His lungs rattled as cough after cough shook his chest and tore through his throat.

I just felt a pain in my heart. A pang. It's so heartwrenching to see him suffer like this.

Ron had to concentrate, but was able to barely wiggle them and they felt whole enough.

Oh Ron, how can you make me laugh in a moment like this ?

He tried to wipe the back of his arm across his mouth, but his arm just wouldn't move off the bed, lamely twitching at his side. A slimy trail of sputum and blood oozed out of his mouth, but Pomfrey wiped it away with a handkerchief.

All is in the details. I'm picturing Ron, unable to move, his eyes open and unfocus, a trail of blood flowing from his mouth that he can't even wipe and MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT.

"We love you, sweet boy. We love you so much,"

Yes ! Give him love ! All the love ! I love you too Ron !

Ron began to panic as he tried again and again to make words. He couldn't. Tears came to his eyes and he started to breathe hard.

Nooo he can't speak my poor little Ronnie he must be so afraid and nooo he has tears in his eyes, my heart felt another pang why are you so good at this ?! That's it, I need a pause because I am actually crying. I am sniffing in my bed, tears have rolled off my cheeks and dampered the mattress. Damn you !

Ron tried desperately to say yes, but all that came out what a strange sound similar to the ghoul that lived in his attic. He tried to nod his head but it wouldn't do what he said and just barely moved to the wrong direction. What was wrong with him? He was trapped. Trapped in his own body unable to say or do anything!

I just want to hug you so much Ron. I can't but I really, really want to. That's one of the worst things in the world, being conscious but not being able to do anything.

"You are alright. What you are experiencing is temporary. You will be able to speak later. Maybe in a few hours. This is not permanent. The part of your brain that forms speech is injured, but will be healed - probably by the time you wake up tomorrow. You will regain movement in your body as well, but that might take longer before it's completely healed. Do you understand, Ron?"

You are such a good healer Mrs Pomfrey. And you need a raise.

"The bleeding will continue on and off again the next few days."

How come people think that the Bezoar erased every consequence possible of the poison ? Ron did not spend so much time in the infirmary for nothing !

"Hermione was here?" Ron asked, trying to sit up as quickly as he could. Instead his head rose off the pillow a few centimeters and he weakly collapsed back onto the bed. He gave another attempt to sit up, but the Matron of the hospital wing made it impossible to succeed.

He seems so surprised it is awful but so sweet. The fact that he tried to sit up twice pulled at my heartstrings.

"Did Hermione seem upset?" Ron blurted before realizing it was Pomfrey he was asking.

God the sweetheart somebody helps me !

Your heart stopped, and you weren't breathing for a few minutes, so it might take a bit for your memory to be back to normal.

HIS HEART STOPPED ! HE WAS NOT BREATHING ! OH MY FUCKING ALLMIGHTY GOD !

What happened? Why am I in the hospital? Who visited? Who poisoned me? Will I be ok? Was Hermione here? Where are everyone? Was Hermione upset? Is everyone else ok? Where's Harry? When can I leave? Will I be able to play quidditch? What potions do I have to take? Where is Hermione? Should there be all this blood? Are you sure this is normal? When will I be able to walk again? How am I going to the bathroom? Did anyone but my parents see me when I couldn't talk? When will I be able to sit up on my own? Why can't I use my hands? Do I still have to do my homework? Can't I drink more water than that? When can I eat? Can Hermione visit me again?

Oh. My. God. My heart swelled. I am once again crying thank you very much my bed is now full of dirty tissues. But like, this list is one of the sweetest and most heartbreaking things ever. I need to squeal. So I put my phone aside and do just that (which means rolling in my bed, laughing and probably looking like a maniac). "Did anyone but my parents see me when I couldn't talk ?". How perfectly insecuringly Ron that is (yes I invent words and no I don't care) ? "Is everybody else okay ?" . Man you just got poisoned, you are in unberable pain and you still ask for everybody else ? You're just so... so caring and I love you ! "Can Hermione visit me again ?" God the sweetest of sweethearts 2.

He coughed and felt some blood beginning to make its way down his throat. 

Somebody do something ! My little Ronnie ! Bad, bad Draco !

How could one person look so perfect and make him feel magically better?

He's so in loooove. That's why I love Romione : the raw love and painful need for each other.

 Well, better besides the feeling that he was choking on blood and couldn't fight off a possessed scrambled egg if he had to.

How dare you make me laugh again ? A possessed scrambled egg *snorts loudly*... I'm laughing through my watery eyes...

...he couldn't help but smile.

That's my sweetest of sweethearts Ron 3. He is in pain yet he smiles because the person he loves most is there and he's my little sun.

Last thing he wanted was the sight of bloody teeth sending Hermione away.

*snorts again* *then feels her heart pang again because it's an horribly sad piece of humor*

Ron could vaguely recall reading something about a poisoning, so nodded, hoping that would leave him alone with Hermione.

*shakes her head and smiles* That's so Ron. He just wants to be with the people he cares about.

"You're really here," Ron smiled hopefully. He thought he'd never have Hermione to himself again. She was biting her lip with worry, but she was there. She was beautiful, though a bit paler than usual. Was she in the hospital wing because she was injured? "How are you feeling?"

FOR F*CKS'S SAKE ! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME ! SH*T ! I NEED ANOTHER TISSUE ! AND I AM NOT HALFWAY THROUGH THE CHAPTER ! P*tain de b*rdel de m*rde ! It is so incredibly perfect and moving and Romione-y. The fact that Ron does not believe his eyes that she cares for him, that he smiles hopefully, that he thinks he would never be with her again, the fact that Hermione is biting her lip but does not say anything, and the selflessness of Ron who as usual does not think about himself at all but worries about his loved ones even though he just got poisoned...

"Better, now that you're awake."

My Romione heart swelled again.

Her hand gently made its way into his, sending a thrill through him like the first time he'd ever ridden a broom. He tried to squeeze it hard back, partly to ground himself that this was real, and partly to let her know something of how happy he was to see her, but all he could manage was a limp clammy hold. She didn't say anything to him, simply putting another hand on top of his one weak one.

I am at a loss for words. I am just so emotional. This image of them together is exactly why I love Romione so much. It is very poignant and moving.

"So… I kind of lied. I don't entirely remember what's been going on… I just wanted to see you," Ron said quietly.

At this point I just want to cherish this chapter forever and I definitely need another box of tissues, so I stand up and go search it. It's the "quietly" that actually killed me : picturing Ron, searching Hermione's eyes, whispering this to her is so sweet.

"Oh shit! Please don't leave. I'm so glad you're here. It's fine… I can catch up on this crap later."

He is so emotionally open I just... Hermione, cherish this boy.

He honestly didn't care if he sounded pathetic or desperate. She was the one thing he could hold on to when time was bending, and he wasn't sure of what was real and not.

My Romione heart does not thank you for the emotional roller-coster.

"I'm not going anywhere,"

Aaaah Hermione you pulled at my heartstrings. No, not you too ! I have enough heart pangs with Ron thanks !

"Sorry I'm so stupid right now. I just can't seem to keep a hold of things in my mind for long."

There self-depreciating Ron goes again... Like, am I hallucinating, or is he actually apologizing for not being well after having been poisoned ?? #Rontheboywhoapologizesforeverything

"You're far from stupid," Hermione said with her trademark scowl, and he grinned at that. "You were nearly killed. You had anoxia, where your brain didn't get enough oxygen. It's literal brain damage."

Yes, Hermione ! Tell him he's great ! Prevent him from being self-depreciating ! I love it so much when people let their appreciation of him shine through ! And she's so cute when she gets so anxious and worried that she has to ramble about facts, explain things and expose her knowledge !

He almost laughed at being brain damaged, but tears began to pool in her eyes.

Again so perfectly Romione-y. Ron sees the funny side of things, or the sadly funny side of things when he gets self-depreciating, and Hermione cries because she saw all the implications.

If it weren't for magic you might not be able to remember anything ever again, or talk, or move, and could have been mentally infirm the rest of your life. It wouldn't have been temporary. You'd not be yourself and I just — I just can't stand the thought that-that someone as alive and as - as wonderful as you could ever be struck down and unable to be yourself and I was so so afraid I was going to lose you and the last things I ever said to you were-were horrible, and I just —"

Oh my Romione. And my eyes are watering again. She's so devastated at the idea of a tetraplegic or diminished Ron, and I am too, that's the wrongest thing ever in fanfiction; and she's using the world "alive" to describe Ron and that fits him so well, and she feels so guilty that's awful even if it pleases me a little (I hate it so much when in fanfiction Hermione "accepts" to forgive Ron for Lavender. 😒)

"Oh, Hermione, don't—" he said while weakly raising his arms as high as he could so she'd come into them. 

My HEART ! YOU STABBED ME ! I NEED A F*CKING TISSUE AGAIN HE'S SO CARING AND SWEET !

~ Squealing time interruption ~

Hermione needed facts and figures to comfort her. "Hey, according to this parchment, I'm going to be ok, right?"

He knows exactly what to say to makes her feel better and that's instinctive. That's my Ron and I love him.

She gave a great wet sniff and nodded, though she looked even paler than before.

They're so terribly cute together. Hug her Ron, my girl needs it badly !

He'd have to humiliate himself a bit to get her to laugh, but it would be worth it.

So you are once again going to be very self-sacrificing, okay Ron, but what are you talking about ? How could you...

"And apparently there are some spells in place, so we don't have to worry I'll wet myself in the bed, even though I'm so mentally infirm," he said with a conspiratorial grin.

*jaw drops, eyes water (my fucking god I really am a mess and I look like I just had a heartbreak but okay), heart swells with enough Ron-love to fill a swimming pool*

~ squealing time interruption ~

Okay, I'm extremely moved and that's for a very personal reason. I have had 16 general anaesthesias in my life, yet I have always refused, even when I was seven, to use bedpans to... you know, because I am so proud; I hate admitting weakness and that felt so degrading, even if it's totally normal; so for Ron to humiliate himself like that just to make Hermione laugh is quite extraordinary and extremely selfless. I would never have done that.

End of part 1

[forbidden-celestia-lore]

so what's the haunted house then

well, thank you for asking, person who was definitely not sending this ask from their work computer!

first, bit of backstory: off the tail end of some Wizard Shenanigans, we followed a rider from the Whispering way to this tiny little fishing village, which has been experiencing a bit of Bad Luck for the last few months. The mayor personally welcomed us, hiring us to figure out what the fuck is up with the local church, one of a sea god, supposedly. We (read: Thela) broke into investigated this church, found… some headless bodies, a chest that smells like fish, some freaky ass carvings, a bloody altar, slugs that posses you and make your head explode (remember this one), and a giant spell casting crab monster. Suprise! it’s a cult. We go in the next day at noon like the chumps we are and get ambushed, killing a bunch of the priest/cultists, and finding some more Loot. We tell the mayor, and he tells us that the head priest disappeared into the woods a few days ago, heading off to some mansion thing. We want our money, and we may as well finish the job, so we pack up and follow. 

Got all that? Great. 

So we’re heading out to this random house in the woods, right, and my idea is that the head priest is part of the Whispering Way, cause we found the rider we were following headless in the slug room (don’t ASK me how that works), and that he was going out with a bunch of local contacts or smth to do Secret Plotting. So we get there, actually we haven’t really even “gotten” there yet, as the map hadn’t even been drawn when my dad asks us for a perception check, which we all of course fail. Or we think we’ve failed, because all he tells us is that we see a ripple on the nearby lake, putting us all on edge. A fitting start!

So we’re at this house, and I don’t think we’ve ever entered through the front door in our lives, which means that we pick the wing closest to the path we came in on and sneak up to it. I’m pretty sure my dad was internally screaming (or laughing, depending) at this point, because when we got in (undetected I might add!) and kinda sorta relaxed, and Jafar sat on the fucking couch a SWARM OF TICKS POURED OUT OF THE FUCKING COUCH. TICKS. So Celestia screams (literally, I had her do that canonically, would have totally ruined our stealth had there been anyone around to care) and runs out of the room, ducks through the first doorway she sees and immediately starts changing into her cultist disguise, in case someone did hear her and is coming. Thela climbs into the air using her immovable rods, Obezyana and Krono (who were by the door) run back outside after setting Jafar, who is now covered in ticks, on fire. And then from outside they do it again. And maybe one more time I’m not sure, but fire was the only thing we had that would hurt those ticks, until Obezyana had the legit bright idea to use color spray, which stuns every critter in a certain area. My dad was gracious enough to let him warn Thela, so she wasn’t affected, but the ticks were STUNNED and we LEFT as quickly as we could.

We regrouped in the main entry hall, Celestia now in her Whispering Way garb, and decided to look at the second wing before going into the main hall. All that was in that wing was an old storage room, where a fight of some sort had taken place recently, and we found a box that used to have a statue in it (the statue had been stolen from a museum, and we’d had to prove it wasn’t the beast Simon who stole it, but the Whispering Way, so we Knew they were here). We also found a horse! Clearly the horse the Whispering Way agent had ridden, but they’d been there for a few days without food or water or anything. We fed it, watered it, and made our way to the main hall. 

On the map, the house was drawn as one big circle in the middle, representing the main hall, with two rectangles coming off of it at a little more than a 90* angle. It turns out that the house was constructed this way because the main support beams for the central structure were a fucking druid circle, creepy ass alter included. We actually found a secret compartment on the Cursed Altar that had a Big seed in it, which we did Not touch. At which point and actual literal Giant came through a door on the other side of the hall and asked us what we were doing. I, being the diplomat of the group, told everyone to shut up and pretended I was supposed to be there, can’t you see I’m part of your cult (which I wasn’t but I didn’t know that)? This sufficiently confused the giant, letting us march past him, except then we had to act like we knew what we were doing which meant that we went through the first door we saw, and of course it was the one with the Head Priest behind it. Thankfully he was merely a pathetic spellcaster (I say, a spellcaster), so we were able to subdue him in two rounds and render him unconscious in like, three. Except!!! Surprise!!!!! He’d been possessed by one of the slugs!!!! And his fucking head exploded into tentacles!!!! Celestia screamed and scrambled backward. Thela jumped. Obezyana took a step backward. Jafar screamed and tried to shove them back into his fucking neck.

We may have panicked a little.

Eventually (and surprisingly quickly) by doing the combat equivalent of hitting him over the head with a baseball bat and screaming we were able to kill whatever the Fuck he’d become, except!!! Another surprise!!!!! He exploded AGAIN!!!!! This time into more slugs!!!!!! Six of them!!!!!!! What fun!!!!!!! Kill me!!!!!!

Turns out arrows work really well on those bastards, which is great because it meant that Obezyana was able to shoot like three all at once while Jafar smashed another one or two, but three of them slimed away out the open window into the woods.

“OH NO YOU FUCKING DON’T” said Obezyana, leaping over the balcony railing and running off into the woods after them, the speedy bastards. 

“Let’s burn this place to the ground” said Thela thoughtfully. “Great idea but let’s loot if first” said Celestia, greedily. “NO” said literally everyone, smartly. “But MONEY” said Celestia with her singular braincell, running off down the hall and opening the first door she found.

Now TO BE FAIR, she didn’t like, fling it open. She may be careless and greedy, but she’s not stupid. Good thing too, cause behind that door was a library, half collapsed and rotted away, inhabited by a pair of bloodthirsty ghosts! Thela had wanted to leave, but once she knew there were undead there she was obligated to at least try and help them leave, for Pharasma reasons. So she stayed behind with Jafar while Celestia was like “OKAY GREAT LET’S KNOCK THIS HOUSE OUT AS FAST AS POSSIBLE I’LL JUST RUN AHEAD” and powerwalked into the next room. 

The room right next to the Ghost library was actually an empty bedroom, excepting a cradle and a mobile made of seashells hanging above it. There was no draft, but when she had to roll a perception check and it moved when Celestia opened the door. She didn’t go in. 

The room after THAT was actually more of a fancy hallway, with a desk in the middle of it, looking away from some stunning views from the floor to ceiling windows behind it. THIS time Celestia actually did good on her perception check, and she was able to notice (and identify!) the yellow powder covering the desk as a type of mold that fucking EXPLODES into a POISONOUS CLOUD when disturbed!! Because what ELSE would this house have!! NORMAL dangers??? don’t be ridiculous (still tried to open it tho)

But after deciding aGIANST that, she went to the door at the other end of the hall room, because Celestia’s completionism knows no bounds. This entire time, Thela and Jafar had been dealing with the ghosts, and I don’t remember their bit very well? I think I wasn’t paying attention (or it was literally happening concurrently with my little adventure, whoops), but the gist of it was that the ghosts were Not up for conversation and FLEW at the pair of them, and Thela slammed the door in their faces and walked quickly on over to Celestia. So when Celestia opened the door at the other end of the hall, which will now be referred to as The Bedroom Door, Thela was there too, to help her out! Which was good! For reasons to be explained!

Behind The Bedroom Door was, well, a bedroom obviously, but it was. Hm. Literally cursed? It was dark, with a large, blood stained bed, and the ornate carving of a ship on a storm tossed sea above it carved into, just, cut to pieces. Someone had carved “THE PACT HAS BEEN BROKEN” into this fuckin ruined bed in this ruined house, and I think Celestia could see… things. The shadows were moving, or wrong, or something, but it meant that she did NOT want to go in. Thela, however, could be convinced by loot, and since she has a stupid high stealth snuck into the room to try and get into the attic. 

So part of the fun of Pathfinder, or any ttrpg really, is that not only do you get to roleplay, you get to act and see what the Universe thinks of your decision. So when Thela rolled very, very high, it really added to the experiance that my dad (the DM) sighed with relief before describing the room. +31 stealth! I’ve got the second highest at +16! Sage rolled REALLY HIGH! SIGHED with RELIEF!! 

The, things, that had such a high perception, were… not, dogs. They were large, shadowy, quadrupedal, with long, long thin legs and mouths full of teeth. Glowing eyes. And when you looked at them, you could feel your mind… twisting. Thela had to roll stealth again. A little farther into the room. Then she noticed that they weren’t… they were completely visible (well. no. they never were.) but they weren’t standing in the room. She could see them as if there was nothing in the way, but they were also very clearly standing outside of the second story bedroom. She signed this to Celestia (they both know sign), succeeded her final stealth check and BOOKED IT upstairs and away from the not-dogs. (here’s a drawing I did of them, if you’d like to look)

Celestia went downstairs, while Thela went upstairs to the attic. She found a book up there! Called smth like Non Euclidean Geometry. Written in Abysmal. Fun!

She also found the smashed corpse of a Whispering Way cultist, in a crater, and realized it must have been dropped from a very high height, which didn’t make sense considering there was only open sky above her oh my god what the fuck is that. SURPRISE!! I GIANT FUCKING FLYING BIRD DRAGON REPTILE GRIFFIN BUT NOT THING!!! IT REGULARLY EATS ELEPHANTS AS LIGHT SNACKS!!! AND OBEZYANA IS OUTSIDE!!!!!

anyway I’m gonna add the next bit in a reblog because this is getting long and tumblr doesn’t let me save this as a draft so this is all on my clipboard, making me nervous.

[ladylilithprime]

All numbers divisible by 3, 5, or 7?

Ugh, math at three in the morning? XP

3: What season finale was your favorite/least favorite?

Hm. I really can’t pick a favorite, simply because every season finale is either bittersweet or very obviously leading Somewhere Bad. For the complexity, I’d have to say Swan Song is the leader, just barely edging out “Do You Believe In Miracles”. Least favorite is definitely season twelve, if only because it felt so sloppy and kind of rushed.

5: Which episode makes you cry the most?

I actually can’t answer that as I still haven’t seen all of the episodes, and my reasons for crying vary between gutpunch and rage, so… I dunno. We’ll see.

6: Which episode was the funniest to you?

Hands down, 6.9, “Clap Your Hands If You Believe”! XD

7: What’s your opinion on Megstiel?

Probably my favorite canon pairing for Castiel, and I’m sorry we didn’t get to see that explored more in the show.

9: Which episode title do you think is the funniest?

Tough choice there! I think I’m going to go with “Are You There, God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester”. Sorry, Dean-o, Margaret you are not.

10: What’s your opinion on Garth?

Answered that one!

12: Who is your favorite angel?

Castiel, though Gabriel is a close second!

14: What’s your opinion on Wincest?

You do know they’re brothers, right? ^_~ In all honesty, I can see it about as well as any ship for either brother, but I have to be in a certain mood for it and it needs to be handled with the utmost consent on both sides.

15: What’s your opinion on Lisa? (And Ben, if you want)

Lisa could have been great, both as a character and for Dean. I think the biggest problem was that she and Dean alway seemed to come together when they both needed different things from each other, and when Dean tried to be what Lisa was looking for it kept rubbing up against the fact that what he needed most wasn’t her. Both she and Ben were badly harmed, not by Dean being in their lives, but by his inability to be wholly in their lives because part of him was still on the road and in the Hunt, and by his repeating Mary’s mistake of “living normal” meaning no protections against the baddies he knew damn well were out there and would happily come a’calling for their pound of Winchester flesh, which he also knew could happen considering Adam Milligan lost his life to ghouls who wanted revenge on John Winchester for his killing their parent. Erasing her memory was a dick move and will in no way protect her from anything because sometimes it doesn’t matter what a person knows or feels for someone else, but what the bad guys think they know or feel– or know the first person feels for them. Overall, two great characters who were poorly handled by “plot”.

18: Do you have a favorite Dick (Roman) joke?

Probably a line from @rodiniaorzetalthepenquin ‘s fic Out Of Purgatory, “After you and Cas disappeared in a shower of exploding Dick….” (Go read it, it’s great!) Although Sam’s line about Dean using his computer for “More anime, or are you strictly into Dick now?” is priceless canon material. XD

20: Who do you ship Sam with?

Consent! (Also Castiel, Dean, Gabriel, Michael, Chuck, Anna, Max Banes…. XD Yeah, I think it would be easier to list who all I don’t ship Sam with. ^_^U)

21: What’s your opinion on Destiel?

Thanks, I hate it. No, really, you want to hear an unpopular opinion? Destiel in canon makes as much sense as the Joker and Harley Quinn, and is just as abusive and unhealthy. Harley should go be with Poison Ivy and Castiel should go be with Sam and leave the Joker to laugh at his own bad jokes somewhere he can’t hurt them anymore. Could it work? Maybe if Dean got a shitton of real, actual therapy and pulled his head out of his ass, or in an AU scenario, but as far as canon goes? Their friendship is already unhealthy enough and you want to add sex into it? (And let’s face it, most Destiel shippers do.) Thank you, please exit to the left, goodbye! (It takes a really careful handling and really fucking great writing to get me to read it, and you had better be bribing me with something amazing if you want me to write it.)

24: Do you read smutty fanfiction?

Not as much as I might if there were more of the pairings I want to read. As it is, the fics for my preferred pairings usually lend themselves more to plot than porn, with some notable exceptions.

25: Do you think Destiel will become canon in season 9? (Regardless of whether you want it to or not)

I really don’t. Oh, they’ll throw in some teasing here and there, but it would take the series ending for good before Dean, Castiel, OR Sam gets a canon relationship they can keep.

27: Which episode is the scariest to you? (Horror-movie type scary)

“The Benders”. As Dean put it, “Monsters I get. People are crazy.”

28: What’s your opinion on Sabriel?

I like it a whole lot better than Destiel, which really makes it frustrating considering how many times that pairing is used to “pair the spares” and give Destiel writers a couple of shipping cheerleaders. That said, there are Issues with the pairing itself that stem from canon, “Mystery Spot” in particular. Healthy communication and closure, or even just serious canon divergence is necessary for this ship to sail strong, but it can be done and done well! The frustration is still just as strong whenever it’s handled poorly or Sam’s very real and valid trauma is brushed aside or ignored. They both deserve better than haphazard narrative.

30: Do you have any friends off of the internet that watch Supernatural?

Sure do! At least three that I know of, including @jupiterjames , and probably a few more who don’t talk to me about it because they know why I didn’t go near Supernatural for years.

33: Do you like AU fanfics?

Sure! I usually have to be in a certain mood for them, and there are some AU scenarios I just can’t get on board with, but that’s a matter of personal preference just like any other aspect of fanfic.

35: What’s your opinion of Samifer?

Creepy and terrifying and an absolutely brilliant job of acting by Jared, both in “The End” and in “Swan Song”. (I would not ship them in a box, I would not ship them wearing socks, I would not ship them here or there– I WOULD NOT SHIP THEM ANYWHERE!!)

36: If you have an OTP, at what point did you start shipping it?

From the first moment I realized that it was possible to ship them, I have shipped Sastiel.

39: Which actor would you most like to meet in real life?

I’m told that Jared’s hugs are not to be passed up if given the opportunity, but in all honesty I want to meet Felicia Day.

40: If you could be any character on the show, would you want to? If so, whom? If not, why?

Answered that one!

42: What is your opinion on Sastiel?

You found my OTP! (Hey, you know me!)

45: What’s your favorite moment from any of the gag reels?

Answered that one!

48: What’s an unpopular ship you have?

If by unpopular you mean I ship I have that just really doesn’t have a lot of content, probably Samichael or Sam/Chuck.

49: What’s your opinion on Wincestiel?

Dean needs so much therapy…. ~is jabbed in the ribs~ Uh, I mean, yes! I ship that! It’s actually tied with Casabriel for my OT3.

50: Can you dig Elvis?

Leave the poor man to his rest, huh?

51: Do you listen to Carry On Wayward Son even when you’re not just watching a finale?

Sure, it comes on the radio plenty of times.

54: Do you think Sam should have completed the Trials?

Honestly, that’s a difficult one to answer. On the one hand, it’s entirely possible that closing the Gates of Hell would have been another “Nice Job Breaking It, Hero” moment this series is so fond of, creating a backup of damned souls with nowhere to go like we saw happen with Heaven, and it’s a popular theory that the two sets of Trials would mirror each other. However, I actually don’t think that the spell Metatron used to close Heaven’s Gates was even close to the real Heaven Trials, nor would it be in any way the same as the one for closing Hell’s Gates. We won’t know for sure, because Sam didn’t finish them, but Metatron’s spell ejected all the angels. Pretty sure Kevin would have seen if the Trials to close Hell were going to eject all the demons, considering he was banking heavily on all the demons being locked away so he could go home and not have to worry about Crowley and his demons breathing down his neck. That said, the Demon Trials were definitely taking their toll on Sam, but it’s all speculation as to whether that was because the Trials were killing him because that was the Trials, or because Sam’s demon blood was reacting badly to the influx of Power, or what. That’s up to fanfic authors to explore, but since canon didn’t take us in that direction we’ll probably never know.

55: How long would you survive as a hunter?

I’d do well enough, provided I wasn’t a victim of unfriendly fire, ie other hunters coming after me because they’re extremist assholes. I’d do better as part of the support system, running a hunters’ bar/restaurant and information network and phone tree.

56: What’s your opinion on Calthazar?

Balthazar deserved better than to be stabbed in the back by a Hell-corrupted Castiel.

57: Do you have a Netflix account? If so, what’s your username and password? Wait a second, just the first part.

I have no idea what the family Netflix username is since I’m usually not… using it? At all? Because my kids take over the television to watch Paw Patrol and Bubble Guppies and Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood?

60: If you could change just one thing about the series, what would it be?

Fire BuckLemming.

63: What’s your opinion on Sam/Crowley?

I could see it happening, maybe. Crowley certainly respects Sam. The problem is that after Ruby and the continuous Sam-shaming over her that Dean/fandom does, Sam is really not keen to get involved with another demon like that, especially not after some of the things Crowley’s done to Sam and to people Sam cares about. Work with him as a wary ally, yes, but a relationship? Highly doubtful outside of AUs.

65: What’s your favorite (or at least a memorable) pop culture reference that has been made on the show?

Dean calling Sam “Velma”, particularly after Scoobynatural where we got canon Salma. Jinkies! XD

66: Just a random confession you have regarding the show/Asker makes up their own question.

I most likely would have continued to not watch this show if I hadn’t been drawn in by the fanfic first, and indeed actually started watching the show so I wouldn’t be breaking my own rules of not writing fanfic for a fandom for which I haven’t seen the source material when I inevitably gave in to the plot bunnies nipping at my vulnerable brain.

[crispychrissy]

Counting Bodies

Summary: After losing an innocent, Dean goes on a rampage and Sam is the only one who can stop him. Characters: MOC!Dean, Sam, Hailey (OFC) Word Count: 2036 Warnings: Canon SPN violence, angst, non-graphic description of torture, few curse words, Dean being kind of a dick to Sam A/N: This is a song fic based on Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums by A Perfect Circle. I heard it and it instantly reminded me of Dean when he had the Mark of Cain. This was beta’d by the lovely @queen-of-deans-booty, thank you! Song lyrics are in italics. Gif made by me.

Another chick, another monster. Dean’s thoughts were racing as he barricaded the door of this woman’s bedroom with her dresser while Sam was pouring salt in a circle on the floor at the foot of her bed. Of course she didn’t know that the leather bracelet she purchased at the local pawn shop came with a nasty ghost tethered to it. Cursed objects are never fun to track down, but luckily for her, the pawn shop kept detailed records.

The boys had done their research and found out that the ghost haunting the bracelet was pushed out of a window by an angry lover when she told him she didn’t want to see him anymore. Every person who had the bracelet since then was pushed out a window to their death.

Sam maneuvered her inside the circle of salt and firmly told her to stay put and stay away from the windows. She was sobbing, her body shaking with fear, as the brothers moved around to secure the room from the ghost wreaking havoc on her house. Once he was finished moving the dresser, Dean glanced back at the terrified woman shifting back and forth on her feet inside the salt circle.

Don't fret precious, I'm here Step away from the window, go back to sleep Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils See, they don't give a fuck about you like I do

“I’m Dean, that’s my brother Sam. You’re Hailey, right?” He asked, trying to offer her as much comfort as possible. She nodded in response as a sob escaped her lips.

“You’re gonna be alright, you’re safe. We’re going to protect you and take care of this ghost so you can get back to your life,” Dean said as he moved toward her.

Hailey’s eyes went wide as a figure of a woman in mid-nineteenth century clothing appeared behind Dean. Her eyes were sunken and her lips were stained black and smeared in blood that dribbled down her chin. With a flick of her wrist, she sent Sam flying into the wall with a hard thud before his body slumped to the ground.

Dean spun around and readied his shotgun, firing once and causing the ghost to dissipate in a plume of grey mist. A few seconds past until they all heard a faint cracking noise coming from behind them. The window in Hailey’s bedroom was covered in frost, cracking under the intense cold.

“Crap,” Dean muttered under his breath before turning to Hailey. “The bracelet. Where’s the bracelet?”

Hailey pointed to the nightstand next to her bed at the leather charm bracelet resting in a ceramic dish. Dean began to walk toward the nightstand right as the window cracked and shattered, letting in a quick gust of wind that blew away some of the salt in the ring around Hailey.

Dean grabbed the bracelet and flipped open his lighter, trying to light it. The ghost materialized a few inches in front of Hailey, making her instinctively take a step backward. Dean was focused on his lighter and the moment he looked up, he saw Hailey flying through the air toward the window. She screamed as she passed through the windowsill and down to the street below, landing with a sickening thud on the pavement four stories below.

“No!” Dean yelled as he finally was able to light his lighter, burning the bracelet and igniting the ghost until she disappeared with a screech in a burst of flames. Dean stormed over to where Sam was slumped over and kneeled down, patting Sam’s cheek gently.

“Sammy, wake up.” He patted his cheek again before Sam groaned and blinked his eyes open.

“Dean? What happened?” Sam asked rubbing the back of his head before grimacing at the blood on his fingers when he pulled his hand away.

“I couldn’t get my damn lighter to light. The freaking ghost showed up and broke the window and the salt line. She’s dead,” Dean growled. He could feel the throbbing on his arm from the Mark of Cain and the intense anger and blood vengeance bubbling up under his skin.

“It’s not your fault, Dean. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Sam tried to reassure and calm his brother.

“I told her she would be safe, Sam! And now she’s splattered across the pavement outside because I couldn’t get my fucking lighter to light,” Dean yelled, overcome by the anger coursing through his veins.

“Dean, relax. You burned the bracelet, so the ghost is gone. I’m sad we couldn’t save her, but it’s not your fault,” Sam placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, trying to ground him and pull him back from whatever headspace he was in.

Dean shook off Sam’s hand and stood up, violently shoving the dresser away from the doorway to the bedroom, knocking it over and causing drawers to fly out and slide across the floor.

“Dean, calm down,” Sam said, carefully standing up and approaching his brother.

“No. Screw you, Sam. If you didn’t get knocked out, you could have saved her. You made me a liar. I promised her I would protect her. You were supposed to be my backup and you failed. Again. Stay the hell away from me, Sam. I don’t need you anymore,” Dean growled at his brother before slamming open the bedroom door and heading toward the front of the apartment, knocking over a few objects on the way.

Count lies like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep Count lies like sheeps, like sheeps, like sheeps, like sheeps, like sheeps, like sheeps.

Sam shook his head and followed after his brother. He knew the Mark of Cain was still affecting Dean, even after he was cured of being a demon. It was like Dean was a briefcase of C4 with a very short fuse that could explode at any moment, decimating anyone and everyone close to him.

Sam reached the bottom of the stairwell and ducked around to the back door where the Impala was parked to avoid the plethora of police and EMT’s that had begun to show up at the scene. He opened the back door and rushed out to the street just fast enough to catch the soft red glow of the Impala’s tail lights disappear around the corner.

“Dean!” Sam yelled as he began to jog after his brother, but gave up after only a few steps. “Dammit.”

Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dean’s number, only to hear his ringtone coming from a cluster of garbage cans on the side of the road next to where the Impala was parked. He moved one of the bins away and saw Dean’s cell phone on the ground with a cracked screen, still ringing with Sam’s name appearing on the screen.

Sam hung up his phone and picked up Dean’s phone. He needed to find his brother before he did something he might not have the chance to regret, but without his cell phone, he had no way of tracking him. Sam sighed a heavy sigh and tapped a few times on his phone, hitting the green call button next to one of the contacts.

“Hey, Jody. We might have a problem,” he said as he walked toward the main road to steal a car.

It took a four days for Jody to get a call about the APB they put out on the Impala, leading Sam to a town called Penrose that was just outside Pueblo, Colorado. Sam had been getting calls from other hunters as well that Dean was taking over their cases and flying solo. If the reports he got were correct, he’d taken on three vamp nests, two ghosts, and a pack of ghouls all alone. Dean was on a rampage and Sam was the only one that could stop it.

The last hunter he spoke to, Amanda, said she found the nest that Dean had cleared when he took over her case. All the bodies were covered in deep cuts and gashes, showing signs of torture. She sent Sam a picture of the amount of blood that was spread across the barn and it almost made him sick. There were six bodies visible in the photo, and they all showed signs of slices and cuts along their limbs and torsos, aside from the severed heads.

Count bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums Count bodies like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep

Sam drove around Penrose until he found the Impala parked down the road from a trailer park on the west part of town. Sam stopped the beat up sedan he acquired back when Dean left him, and pulled out his machete and pistol. He was unsure of what he would be walking in to, but was glad that he had a chance to stop at the bunker before coming here.

He could hear grunting and shouting coming from the middle area of the trailer park, making Sam break out into a sprint once he recognized Dean’s voice. Sam ran up just as Dean was pushed backwards out of the doorway of one of the trailers, landing flat on his back in the dirt. A vampire leapt out of the doorway after him and tackled Dean down, trying to bite at his neck.

Sam rushed toward Dean and kicked the vampire off of him before jumping forward and bringing his machete down on the vampire’s neck, severing his head with a single swing. Dean huffed in disapproval and stood up, brushing the dust off his arms. Sam looked around, noticing there were four dead vampires including the one he just killed, and they all showed signs of the same torture that he saw in the picture Amanda sent him.

“Dean, have you completely gone off the deep end? I’ve been looking for you for FOUR days. Have you lost your mind?” Sam stepped towards his brother, ready to act if Dean decided to run.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sammy. I feel great! I don’t need you anymore,” Dean shooed his hands toward Sam. “Go on, go back to the bunker and become a Man of Letters. You keep your nose buried in a book while I’m out here killing what needs to be killed.”

“Dean, the Mark is doing things to you. You’re not a demon anymore but that rage is still there,” Sam took a step toward Dean and sheathed his machete. “I understand you need to keep it in check when we go on hunts, but you are borderline suicidal right now. You’re torturing vamps, and taking over cases; you need to stop and let me help you, Dean.”

Dean scoffed, “I’m getting the answers I need about nearby vamp nests so I can do my job, Sam. You know, the one you failed to do when you’re unconscious all the time? God, you’re turning into Garth, now-”

Sam spun his hips and landed a solid punch to Dean’s jaw, sending the older Winchester backwards and crashing down to the ground, out cold.

“Sorry, Dean,” Sam said, picking up his unconscious brother and dragging him back to where the Impala was parked.

“Yeah, Cas. He’s getting worse. Anything you can find. Thanks, man,” Sam said before he tapped his phone and ended the call. He stepped back inside the doorway to the dungeon and eyed Dean’s slumped over form that was tied to the chair in the middle of the room. He let out a heavy sigh as his mind flashed back to when he was curing Dean when he was a demon.

“If you won’t save yourself then I’m going to have to do it for you,” Sam spoke, even though he knew his brother couldn’t hear him.

I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices, son They're one in the same I must isolate you Isolate and save you from yourself

Tagging some friends! @katymacsupernatural @sofreddie @revwinchester @growningupgeek @winchesterprincessbride

[lethesomething]

On sexuality in the BNHA universe

This is the part where I go Full Nerd on you guys. (also where I finally admit to overthinking literally every fictional universe). In case the title isn't obvious, a lot of this will be on the nsfw side, and there's also quite a lot of speculation. Under a cut to protect the innocent.

So. One of the more common jokes about BNHA is that Bakugou Katsuki, the boy with the nitroglycerin sweat, is so very angry because he can't relieve tension the traditional way, through masturbating (in case things... explode). It's an observation that doesn't take into account how emotionally stunted mister Explodo Kills is (causing part of his aggression), but at the same time, it makes a lot of sense. It's basically a riff on one of the consequences of having a quirk that turns your sweat explosive. So obviously I'm going to take that joke and turn it into an overanalysis of a fictional world.

The ideal form is still fairly classic

In the BnHA universe, heroes have pretty much taken the place of our models, actors and musicians. They're superstars and role models. As such, they help shape the world view of society. Now, the first female hero we see in BnHA, is Mount Lady.

She's a conventionally attractive woman in a skin tight suit who is introduced to us butt-first, in a move that is a direct callback to American superhero comics (and the kind of poses that the Hawkeye Initiative spoofs). Over the course of several appearances, Mount Lady uses her looks and wiles to get free shit, be it food or (presumably) lucrative marketing contracts for shampoo commercials. The idea here, then, is that Mount Lady is a bit of a sex symbol, and that she is aware of her sex appeal, using it to her advantage. You see this with other female heroes (who, I realize, have been designed for a typical Shonen Jump audience). There’s Midnight, who definitely uses her sexuality in her heroing, but there’s also Bubble Girl's underboob and the Dragon Hero's old school qipao dress. These heroes exude and adhere to a certain traditional feminine form. To put it bluntly: they're hot.

At the same time, a lot of the men do the same thing. Several of the main heroes, not the least of which being All Might, are of the buff, bara variety. Big muscular men with necks and biceps wider than their heads. Endeavour is like that, as is the Blood King and Deathgoro.

These heroes very much embody an ideal that is close to comic books, and also close to that of most societies today, where ideal women are lean, with big boobs and butts, and ideal men are buff. These are the traditional sex symbols that people like Mineta are obsessed with.

And then things get complicated

But this is also a universe where people like Tokoyami exist. A large amount of heroes and future heroes have some kind of animal head. Several of these, too, are role models. There's Centipeder, Orka and the snake headed Habuko Mongoose. And that's not even getting into more exotic ones, like Cementoss, Thirteen or Kurogiri (the villain's smokey bartender).

In other words: this is a universe in which it is very obvious that the classic ideal human form is not attainable for everyone. Going further, this is also a universe where traditional human sexuality will not work for everyone. Tokoyami, awesome as he is, can not kiss (he can, and should, be kissed, and often, but that's beside the point here). Cementoss appears to have hands that are blocky and cement-like, making them far from ideal for sensual massages. Kurogiri... Does Kurogiri even have a body beside that metal ring thing? How would that bastard reproduce?

This means that with the onset of quirks, sexuality in the BnHA society would have gotten progressively more complex. It's one thing to fuck a glowing person with horns, it's another altogether to try and make babies with someone that's made of slime. This is a personal headcanon, but I do feel that such an evolution would make society much more accepting (right after the part where they try to burn all the people with quirks at the stake). Like, the first kid with horns or bat wings at school probably had a Really Difficult time, but a generation later, this sort of thing would be normal. Bluntly put: it's hard to shame someone for a furry kink, if they're literally married to a hero called Hound Dog. Incidentally, I assume this would also mean LGBT+ people would have an easier time being accepted. The hero team Pussycats has a canon trans member, for instance. And like all pro heroes, he probably functions as a role model. In a world where some people can disintegrate others by touch, sexuality and gender identity are literally just another trait by which to find your own identity. Being judged for it seems stupid, especially if you consider the inherent dangers posed by these new genetic mutations.

Let's enter TMI land

So back to the Bakugou joke. If you think about it, this is a legitimate issue. Several people's quirks are dangerous when not completely controlled. Kirishima famously got his facial scar when he was three and rubbed his eye, at the same time that his quirk first manifested. Now imagine the dangers of being a hormonal teen with an acid quirk (Mina) or, well, nitroglycerin sweat (Bakugou) and trying to navigate your budding sexuality.

There is, currently, in our real world, a rare condition called 'sperm allergy'. For a heterosexual woman, it means having sex can be itchy,painful and altogether unpleasant. Now extrapolate that to a world with quirks. Bakugou's mother has glycerin sweat. Glycerin allergy is a thing that exists. What if you're allergic to the down in Tokoyami's feathers? What about sensitivity to cats? Shellfish allergy? What if, through some extremely unfortunate chain of events, you're an ice woman forced to have sex with a man that is literally on fire (and is also just... one of the worst human beings alive).

If you think a little bit too hard about it, finding a suitable partner in the BnHA world is an extremely complex concept. Finding someone that is sexually compatible is already hard work in our world, but it becomes exponentially more difficult if you have to factor in things like frog tongues. It really wouldn't surprise me if there were some very specialised dating sites in this universe.

Oh the TMI gets so much worse

If I've learned anything from my exploits on the web, it's that the sex industry is one of the more... creative industries. And in a world where finding a partner is, for some people, a dangerous and complicated quest, you bet your ass that the sex industry is thriving. Also? Super specialised. I don't doubt for a second that this universe has certain professionals who chose that career specifically because of the quirk they have. Just off the top of my head: Enlarging body parts? Check. Hardening quirk? Check. Resistance to poison/fire/acid/whatever? Double check cause they're the exact clients who can't go elsewhere. It probably goes even further when you include certain kinks. Furries (again) come to mind.

And, I mean, anyone familiar with anime is probably already aware of the... possibilities of something like Suneater's tentacles (you hear that rushing sound? That's the sound of furious fingers writing Tamaki centered fanfic).

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 30 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence; unpopular characterisation of an NPC Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Absolution

Rory shook her head stubbornly. "There's nothing to talk about."

Beside her, Cullen nodded easily, not pushing for words. "All right," he conceded, reaching to pour himself a drink from the jug. He cupped it in both hands, staring into space as he waited.

The silence dragged on, neither one of them speaking. Outside, there was only the sound of the wind against the shutters; inside, the occasional crackling pop from the logs on the fire. Rory glared at the cup in her hands, hating this helpless feeling in the face of the anger roiling inside her. She couldn't remember feeling like this, not since her brother had died. Then, it had lasted a full year; this agitated, restless temper that soured her mood and made her all but impossible to live with. She'd thought she had grown out of it, let it go, but no ... it was still there, festering in her soul, biding its time with destructive patience for the chance to explode once again.

"Why does it matter?" she burst out, when the silence became too much to bear. "What I believe in has no bearing on whether or not I am good at my job! I don't force my opinions on anyone - why should it make any difference whether I believe in the Maker or not?"

"It shouldn't matter," Cullen said in a mild tone. "But religion is central to our lives, to the lives of all the races. Many people don't understand how someone can choose not to believe."

"And are you one of them?" Rory demanded, wishing she didn't sound so aggressive. "Does this somehow make me less in your eyes?"

"Only if my belief lessens me in yours," he told her, speaking carefully. It seemed as though he didn't want to prod that temper into a true explosion.

"When have I ever shown disrespect for anyone's beliefs?" she exclaimed, hurt that such an idea would even cross his mind. "It's not my place to say what you should believe in; it's not anyone's place to decide anything for you. Faith, real faith, is a gift, and it's one I was never given. My parents poisoned the whole concept for me - they used their faith against me when I doubted. You know what they told me when I left? That I was condemned in the eyes of their god, and deserved to live a miserable life alone for turning my back on him."

"That isn't faith," he said quietly. "Not true faith. No one who truly believes in the Maker would ever say such a thing. He gave us the means to think for ourselves; doubts are a natural consequence of that."

"And religion is supposed to help you overcome those doubts with structure and compassion," she answered heatedly. "Not beat you with duty until you'll say anything to make it stop. I was thirteen when my little brother died because of a religious practice ... and it was my fault."

"Rory ..." Cullen's hand covered her own as her anger showed itself, not in harsh words and temper, but in a sudden flood of guilty tears.

"It's true, it was my fault," she insisted, sniffing violently as she wiped away the first fall of those tears with a rough hand. "I'm the reason he got hurt at all. He wanted to play, and I just wanted him to leave me alone. I pushed him, and he fell onto some broken glass. And three days later, he was dead."

Cullen said nothing, somehow sensing that she needed to say it all. That was why he had brought her out here, why he had pulled Fabian from his duties in the pilgrims' camp for the night. She had been holding onto this for too long. She needed someone to listen.

"I begged them to take him to a doctor," she went on blindly. "It wasn't like they couldn't afford to get him the best care money could buy, but no, they were sure it was God's will, and that Lorcan's fate had already been decided. So I prayed. I prayed so hard; I cried and I begged; I promised to be better, if only my little brother would get well again. And instead, I watched him die, all because I wanted an hour to myself. You know, they didn't even cry? It was divine will, they said. He was obviously born just to die that way. What kind of god does that?"

"No god I know of," he murmured, both hands now enveloping her one. She couldn't bear to look at him, afraid of seeing pity in his eyes.

"I loved my little brother," she told him, saying it aloud for the first time in years. "And instead of letting me grieve, their priest told us to live as though he'd never existed. They got rid of everything, because their religion demanded it. I was punished any time I mentioned him. According to that priest, I was wicked for not accepting the truth as he saw it. I hate that I tried to forget him. I hate that I was so desperate for their approval that I tried so hard to wipe that little boy from my mind. But I couldn't do it. In the end, I wouldn't do it. And they threw me out." She drew in a sharp breath, dashing at the salt water dripping from her chin. "So no, I don't believe in God, or the Maker, or whatever name you want to give it. I believe in what I can see and touch, I believe in people. And I'm still being punished for killing my little brother."

"No." Cullen's denial was swift and absolute. "Rory, no. You didn't kill him. You were barely more than a child, hardly responsible for yourself, let alone anyone else. Your mistake did not kill him. Unreasoning belief killed him, and you have paid too great a price for it."

"I'm still paying," she pointed out bitterly. "Because I don't believe, because I don't bow to the Chantry, I'm a target. If I had lied and pretended, Giselle couldn't have done that to me."

His jaw set angrily. "She would have found another way to attack you," he said darkly. "For whatever reason, she believes herself deserving of authority here. Caring for the sick and injured - they are an easy target for someone who wants to build a power-base from their gratitude."

"That's not why I do this," she began, but he cut her off quickly.

"I know," he assured her, lifting one hand to wrap his arm about her waist, holding her close as they sat together. "I understand better why you are a healer; how you have become so good at it. It has very little to do with yourself, and all to do with preventing the past from repeating itself. Your reasons are noble. Hers, I believe, are not."

"She might honestly think she could do a better job than me," Rory offered, wondering why, after all that, she was trying to defend a woman who had dragged the darkest part of her past out for her own satisfaction.

"She might, but she's wrong," Cullen told her firmly. "She wants influence within the Inquisition - not for the Chantry, but for herself. Like Madame De Fer, she has placed herself to gain power, but unlike Madame, she will not admit to it. Mother Giselle is typical of many who populate the Chantry's ranks - priests and sisters who are the reason I do not believe in the Chantry any longer."

Her head reared back from his shoulder, shocked to hear him say that. Throughout everything he had endured, Cullen's faith had always seemed so central to his being, the one constant in his painful lifetime. He smiled faintly at the look on her face.

"I believe in the Maker," he said in a gentle tone. "I believe in Andraste. But I do not believe the Chantry truly represents them any longer. It is too political, too power-hungry, too judgmental. It has been decades since the Chantry truly cared for the poor and oppressed. I have no faith in the organization, nor the institutions it has founded. My faith, my belief, is for the Maker and His Bride."

"But you go to the services," she countered in confusion. "You sing the Chant, I've seen you."

"I do," he agreed quietly, one soft hand wiping the drying tears from her face. "The services are familiar. They offer me a structure I have known since childhood. Even at my darkest, I attended the Chantry; I recited the Chant of Light. The quiet such times offer is a comfort to me. The Chant itself gives me a way to voice my prayers when the words will not come. But I no longer confess my sins to anyone but the Maker; I see no reason to defer to a priesthood that has lost sight of its original purpose." Her face dry, he leaned close to kiss the tip of her nose. "I understand you better than you might think. And I will not allow the Chantry to hurt you again."

Relief flooded through her as she looked into his eyes. He doesn't mind. He doesn't think I'm a monster for not having faith. "I'm sorry I shut the door in your face," she apologized suddenly.

He chuckled lightly. "The mood you were in, I count myself fortunate that you didn't throw anything at me," he answered, glad to see her smile weakly.

"I've never told anyone that story," she confessed in a soft voice. "Not even Ria. She had her own problems."

"Then Ria wasn't your sister?" he asked, though his tone suggested he had already suspected this. Ria was always in the stories of her past, but she had never referred to the woman as her sister.

Rory shook her head, hoping he wouldn't mind that everyone's assumption had been wrong. "Not by blood," she told him, feeling a weight lift from her heart with these confessions. She had to hold so much to her chest, it felt good to give voice to at least some of her hidden secrets. "She was my best friend ... the only real family I've ever had. We were both alone and broken when we met, but it was like I'd known her all my life. A little like how I feel with you."

"She would have carried you through the village on her shoulder to make you calm down, would she?" His question brimmed with amusement as he considered this - Ria had been several inches shorter than Rory.

She snorted with laughter. "No, Ria would probably have told me to snap out of it," she admitted in a rueful tone. "She wasn't good with temper tantrums."

"The implication being that I am?" he asked a little incredulously.

"Well, I'm not angry any more," she pointed out, wiping her nose with one awkward hand. She sighed resignedly. "Things aren't going to be very comfortable in the Chantry for a while, are they?"

Cullen smiled his hidden smile, gently stroking an escaped strand of red hair from her face. "She won't bother you again," he promised her faithfully. "Leliana will have seen to that. You belong to us, sweeting. We protect our own."

He gathered her into his arms then, letting her bury her face in the soft fur of his mantle as she nuzzled into him. Whatever she had done to deserve the loyalty and understanding of these people, she hoped she never lost it. She'd been alone once, abandoned by the people who should have loved her. She never wanted to feel so isolated again. The Inquisition - Evy, Rylen, Kaaras, Cullen - they were her family now. And no misguided priest was going to destroy that for her. Not again.