#again. Balthazar complained.

[maegalkarven]

Also funny how while Ketheric is my least favorite villain from the Dead Three Chosen, he def is the one I respect the most.

Orin and Gortash are just problem children with behavior issues and delusions of grandeur. Ketheric tho? He just wanted his daughter back.

[bumbarded]

hit 100 hrs on bg3 last night only to fuck up the nightsong quest and kill shart so now i have to reload like two hours worth of content KMSing.......

[galedekarios]

your tags on my ea gale clip sum up really well something i've been thinking about for a while now! even on full release, it seems to me like a big part of the hate gale gets stems from people's insecurity; he kind of disrupts this power fantasy some people seem to desire where they have to be the most cool and capable person on the team. gale is more knowledgeable than the player about certain magic-related things, was very powerful before being tadpoled, has a close association with a goddess, etc. and he isn't exactly humble or shy about boasting about his magic skills. so then a lot of people instantly get defensive over their own character's capabilities and dislike him because of that. that's what i think, anyway.

i couldn't agree more, really!

it's strange to see just how much larian has toned down this aspect of gale from early access to full release to the point of changing his introduction scene entirely from being extremely capable and saving himself to being a damsel in distress (with the added bonus of adding in even more options to kill him than there were in early access, which is yet another can of worms entirely imo, esp considering that they removed a perfectly valid rp option for a certain companion on a certain beach).

i'm not saying i don't like the new introduction scene. i do! it's sweet, it's very cute, but it's also very, very different and i think we can make a fair assumption as to why it was changed.

it doesn't seem to have helped much tho because even now people have an issue with the fact that a wizard prodigy, graduate of blackstaff academy, mentee of elminster, archwizard of waterdeep and (ex) chosen of mystra knows more about magic and other related academic pursuits than they do/their player character does.

be it asking them if they're versed in magic, which is still clearly done to suss out if he found someone capable of dealing with the orb, or the amount of times i've seen people either peacock or complain about the cleansing of the ritual circle in balthazar's room.

again, it's just so weird to me, personally, considering gale makes it clear that dealing with such dark magic was his bread and butter as a chosen. it's natural he would see himself as most qualified to ensure it's safely rendered inert.

it's not bratty, it's not arrogant, it's not bullying, it's not talking down to you or your character.

it's simply a fact.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

hello, your datamining posts are fascinating! i was wondering if you came across any info on the other thorm family members and exactly how they're related to each other?

Hi, and thank you! Glad you're enjoying the posts. Here's another excessively long one, because I love contemplating the disaster that is the Thorm family.

To start with, a quote from Isobel that isn't in the game anymore, from when you could have a conversation with her post-abduction and post-tadpoling:

I grew up in the village below here. A place built by Thorms, with aunties and uncles and cousins down every laneway.

So there was a whole lot of them. And it sure did rub some people wrong that the Thorms had the cushiest jobs around Reithwin. Sadly, on the matter of the Thorms' actual family tree, the answer is going to be disappointing, I'm afraid. I haven't found anything much about them that isn't in the game, and the game itself stays vague. (Bonus: writing this up when I've just gone through Act 2 in my honour mode run so this is nicely fresh in my mind.)

The Thorms are but collectors: collectors of coin, glory, blood, and more yet.

The only relationship that is explicitly defined is that Malus Thorm is Ketheric Thorm's uncle, as the head surgeon bemoans his displeasure with his nephew and the way he seems to favour now-openly-practicing necromancer Balthazar in the Tissue and Organ Register.

As for Thisobald, the one I, along with I imagine most other people, am most curious about - not much luck with EA stuff. A model for the "Brewer" shows up mid-2021, as seen in this datamining thread (note also the "Necromancer" who is very recognisably our gross ol' pal Balthazar). That's about it. There's files in the current game that explicitly describe him as Ketheric's son in the meta info bits, which have no reason to be untrue:

In Town in Act 2 we meet the Brewer that is son of Ketheric and shadow-curse mutated. This one is played when we defeat him. The brewer was once an ordinary person, but has been twisted by the shadowcurse and is now a huge, bloated monstrosity. He speaks in fragments, and is menacing but with an air of melancholy. He wants to drink until he forgets everything, and would like to bring everyone into oblivion with him.

As does he himself, beyond all those "Father Ketheric" references that I've seen explained as a potential title for a religious figurehead:

Son of Thorm. Sot of Sword Coast. I am Thorm. My father's tower grazed the new moon. Yours means zero, nothing, naught.

So yeah, a real head-scratcher, that one. Unacknowledged/mistreated bastard son before Melodia is something I've seen suggested, which might work. But then, he's very adamant and proud and pretty open about being a Thorm. If you choose to tell him about the owlbear mother as one of the tales to impress him, he only offers this:

[SUCCESS] Mothers. Commiserations. This place is my mother. Its teats are copper. Its milk is barrel-aged. [FAIL] We all have owlbear mothers. Mine was a lush. Unimpressive.

So was his mother an unnamed local drunkard, or is he speaking metaphorically again? Isobel, I am begging. Please explain.

What we do know is that they were all three alive and contemporaneous with Isobel's death and Ketheric's war (much love to the BG3 Wiki for having pretty much all of the in-game book/documents graciously transcribed, btw), and are in fact not ancient Thorms raised during Ketheric's Myrkul days and his "desecrating my family's mausoleum" phase, as I've seen theorised.

Gerringothe was banned from the Waning Moon (SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE DID). She was also in her secret logbook complaining about Ketheric's brewing war ruining her profits.

Malus is interesting - he has the big, extra-pointy elf ears (and so does Thisobald?) and he seems to be really old. Reithwin Necrology has him listed as the head surgeon in 986 DR, which is a little over 500 years before the events of the game take place, and so about 400 years before Ketheric's fall. Interestingly, the document lists the casualties of a battle between Dark Justiciars, Selûnites, and even a druid. I wonder if this might be a conflict taking place during the original Sharran occupation of Grymforge, which lasted for 800 years - and perhaps this is how Ketheric came to know of its existence. We also get to hear about some of Malus' atrocities thanks to sister Anna Lidwin, a tragic figure in her own right.

The Waning Moon: Consignments, written by Thisobald, is an extra spicy bit of text, talking about the entire family, and the way they operated before it all became an open conflict:

The ale she fed me was poisoned - and by my own hand! My truth serum was all too effective. I professed the lot: the poisoned drinks, Malus' 'treatments', the interrogations - all of it. She means to reveal our 'schemes' to the Baldur's Gate authorities. Unless, of course, I grace her palm with more gold than Gerringothe could muster. Father would have my head if he knew - or worse yet, donate me to Malus.

The document concludes with this very, very interesting bit:

The Harpers came too close - they poisoned Father Ketheric himself, yet he professes no ill effects. Malus insists it a fluke. Doctor he may be, but he is no less a fool for it: Father has achieved that of which I can only dream: immortality. I have long suspected. I can guess Father's purpose, but I cannot fathom the means.

If you beat all of the checks while drinking with Thisobald a century later, it turns out he did find out the means after all (and Ketheric was aware, threatening him into silence):

Player: What can you tell me about Ketheric? Thisobald Thorm: Father. Father is father. Eternal, invincible, forever, except not. Player: What do you mean? How can I defeat Ketheric? Thisobald Thorm: No, must not, can not, will not mention her. You want father's personal mysterious - (secret) - secret. No, not, never! Father said, ordered, commanded. Don't say it, don't say it! The cage. Her cage. Talk and… perish, die, buried. Buried in Thorm tomb. Father told me. I can't perish - no, nay, neither. Too strong, too…

After all, he does describe himself as a collector of "that which holds the most value: information".

Going back to Early Access, the quests leading to lifting the shadow curse evolved a lot, with one iteration being you needing to find "anchors" for the curse. Madeline (now of He-Who-Was quest fame) was a long-dead Harper and the sister of another Harper character called Callie you could meet. She died fighting Ketheric and, disillusioned with the Harpers as an organisation, hated that she'd inspired her sister to become a Harper too.

Madeline? But she died back in Ketheric's day. Madeline. Her name was Madeline. And she died fighting Ketheric with her last breath. But that's not enough is it? Madeline didn't want Callie to be a Harper. Nothing. What you saw was the truth. Madeline died hating the Harpers - and her darling sister Callie has no idea. Indeed. Madeline died realising she was just a name on a tally, and she hated the Harpers for it. Indeed. Madeline died hating both the Harpers and herself - for she led Callie down the same path.

She - or a keepsake of hers, her Harper pin - was one of the anchors for the shadow curse. You could also "witness her last moments" somehow, which I assume grew into the post-mortem "trial" we have in the game now.

The darkness emanating from that... it must be an anchor for the curse. What, I know not, but it torments this Harper. The memento is the key - the anchor. Do you have the fortitude to retrieve it? This Harper's soul is trapped in an endless cycle of pain, fear and regret. Her soul is trapped here - and a memento she gave you is doing it. If you give me that pin I'll put her soul to rest. I promise. But I don't know you. And I'm not gonna trust you with Madeline's Harper pin. So be a good egg, and bugger off.

It seems you'd do something like this several times. Isobel and Halsin were the main NPCs involved here - you'd find the anchors, and then presumably one of them would do something with them.

I've been studying the curse ever since, searching for answers. Trying to restore the damage my father has wrought upon this land. My life is devoted to unravelling the torment Ketheric inflicted on this land. So please, find the anchors, and bring them to me. I spent years researching the curse, trying to put an end to it. Nothing has worked - yet. The Shadowfell itself pours through this place, but there is no single portal or anchor. Ketheric was a brilliant general, but not a mage. He must have anchored this corruption and opened a path for Shar. This cursed land is ripe with grief and regret. Find the dead filled with such agony - find what anchors them here. The anchors would be infused with Shar's blessing, concealed where the curse of the Shadowfell is strongest. |Please do. For now, focus on finding the anchors, it's the only way we can understand the curse.| These are both anchors. Yet I believe there must be more. Bring back another anchor, and I will tell you.

You would progress after gathering all the anchors, and learn that you needed the "blood of a Thorm":

Yes! The anchors alone are not enough to end the curse. We need blood from the Thorm family line. That makes sense. A Thorm is the one who made it. How do I get the blood of a Thorm? By bleeding Ketheric. The rest of his family... is long dead.

I bring all of this up because at one point the anchors became the "Bones of Contention", and "the Thorms" were what was sustaining the curse. This is also where we get the full trio of "Distillery boss", "Hospital boss", and "Tollhouse boss", who you'd need to defeat to get the bones. A great writeup of this version of the quest, highlighting Halsin's part in it, can be found here in a post by @merrinla. And as you can see in the post we once again have Isobel on research duty. These are from Patch 6:

How do the Thorms sustain the shadows? [NEEDS FLAG]

Interestingly enough, that line survives to release, and is now answered by Thisobald during the drinking game with "the spirit of the land".

|Please do. Come back to me after the night, hopefully I'll be done researching the bones you brought me.| |We know about the bones and we know we need the blood of a Thorm...|

I also found these tidbits that seem to imply a "sacrifice Isobel" option was at least something that you could discuss in the game:

But you have all the bones. Can't we end the curse at Moonrise? Does that mean your death could end the curse? Perhaps. I fear my sacrifice alone may not be enough. / It's possible I may have to sacrifice myself. But this is my father's crime.

Funnily enough, behaviour scripts for Aylin and Isobel that are still in the game include references to the bones, such as:

[Nightsong] "Stand with Isobel while she's researching the Bones of Contention"

receivedBonesFlag = Flag([[SCL_ShadowCurse_Event_GiveBonesToIsobel_26c0ec08-561f-411f-9053-458341c6a7e9]]) finishedResearchFlag = Flag([[SCL_ShadowCurse_Event_BonesResearchProgressed_91936c5f-a3f6-741a-3f1f-ac956ee649f5]])

But I haven't found much beyond that.

And with that, I'll conclude this giant word soup. Hope it was at least slightly interesting!

[archduchessgortash]

Let's talk about the Clasped Book...

The Astral Plane/Astral Sea, where Vlaakith kept the Mysterious Artifact (Astral Prism), and the Experiment on Cruor (not pictured). Here's a link, though...

Also realistic timeframes for completion of Act 1 and Act 2 up to reaching Moonrise Towers to even find the book. (This part turned into a semi-walkthrough for Act 1).

Incoming timeline theories and possible clarification to fix this weird inconsistency...

The Clasped Book implies that roughly a tenday has passed since a tadpoled Durge left Moonrise Towers on the Nautiloid. I don't think that this timeline for Durge's departure is feasible. In order for it to work, we have to speedrun the first two acts, and assume that the time required to complete the mission to steal the Astral Prism was negligible.

Let's start with the Astral Sea, where Vlaakith's stronghold was located. You can NOT spend weeks or months on the astral plane and have no time pass on the prime material plane. It will feel as though little time has passed to you, as essentially your own internal clock is going in slow-motion while you are there. However, on your home plane, time is chugging along as usual. If you spent 30 years in the Astral, then pop back into the Prime, you won't have aged at all, but your friends at home will have spent all those years without you, aging accordingly.

Time spent in the Astral cannot account for this short time frame. It, in fact, makes it even less likely to be correct, as the lack of time's impact on those in the Astral might cause them to take longer to complete tasks. At the very least, we need to appreciate that any time spent in the Astral, has also passed on Toril.

Knowing the location of Vlaakith's stronghold doesn't mean it will only take five minutes for the strike team to steal the Astral Prism. Realistically, there would be recon and planning prior to the assault, especially with the Emperor running the mission. Even controlled by an elder brain, illithid are cunning. We could assume all recon was done before Durge was moved there, which is possible. We would still need at least a day for the mission itself. The day of our escape, which starts on the Nautiloid, we land on the riverbank, and it's still daylight out. Thus the heist did not happen on that day.

In order for the Clasped Book to be accurate, we have exactly nine days to get through Act 1 and arrive at Moonrise Towers to search Balthazar's quarters.

How long does it take to get to Moonrise Towers in a non-speedrun game?

Day 1: [Post-Nautiloid] When we wake up, we've probably already blown our spell slots or other long-rest rechargeable class-specific limitations. What makes the most sense is to collect our nearby followers (Shart, Astarion & Gale), fight the brains, then long rest before continuing. We could push on, relying on our newfound companions to carry us, but most players I know don't do that. We long rest, listen to our new friends worry and complain, and now have eight days to make the timeline work.

Day 2: We clear those nearby ruins and meet everyone's favorite death god turned camp comic relief, Withers 'No' Boneman. We may or may not notice Lae'zel tucked away, cozy in her cage, but if we do, we snatch up our adorable grinch and rest again, because once more, we are out of spell slots or bardic inspiration, etc. More complaining and concerns, Lae'zel is glowering at our back constantly now, but we have seven days to make that book not a liar.

Day 3: We approach the grove and a fight breaks out. Cue Wyll's campy superhero entrance and our biggest fight so far. A little strategy ensures we win with no casualties. We save a slightly ungrateful tiefling from a bugbear, possibly kick an innocent if cranky squirrel, stop a fight or punch one or more of the humanoids involved, then head further in. Finally, we can sell all this junk... We meet Rolan [I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight playing in our heads], convince him to stay or buzz off (how could you?), then recruit Wyll. We chat up anyone who will talk to us, deal with Sazza, meet a blacksmith and a hilarious old lady who is totally NOT a hag, let Lae'zel domme a tiefling, get robbed by some kids, then watch a guy turn into a bear. We meet Volo, steal an amulet from a different bear, stop Khaga from becoming a child murderer (hopefully), learn some stuff about Shart and talk to a healer who promptly tries to kill us... unless we promise to drink poison before we turn. After five-finger discounting some sus documents, we realize we should rest again, but we'll just look around the grove a bit more. Should be safe enough, right? We take the path to the left and poof! A devil pops up. As if the day can't get weirder, we wander around, find a dead boar and Astarion acts even more sus than usual. We take our rest after that, then let a hangry, fanged twunk bite us or we stake him. Luckily for us that amulet we stole from the bear can clear our Bloodless debuff. Six days left.

Day 4: We meet Alfira (be nice to her or else!), follow the singing and save a kid from harpies. Then we loot and get Mol to give us back our stuff, but she wants us to steal the idol. It's worth doing, but not right away, so we leave the grove and head toward the Blighted Village. We meet a True Soul and get his tadpole, or not. Then we deal with an owlbear in a cave. Get more Shart lore. For Durges, the bridge is your trigger for a certain event related to your plot. We talk our way into the village, save the best deep gnome in the known universe from his plight, slap around or intimidate goblins, maybe con a few ogres, interrupt some coitus, and explore a secret door or two. Also, Gale needs to nom a necklace or something to stave off sploding. We are probably out of spells again after fighting the undead in the Alchemist's basement. We're definitely out if we failed to talk our way in and had to fight. Also Shart probably wants to talk after finding stuff. Durges might want to KO a certain bard if they want her to appear in Act 2, but then we rest again. Five days left.

Day 5: Everyone is giving our Durges the side eye, but... Spiders in the well! Spiders in the well! Toast the Matriarch and her kids, then loot thoroughly. Give a vampire a book to beat Cazador to death with. Now we either pop into the Sunlit Wetlands (Swamp) to find dirt on Khaga, or head to the goblin camp. I usually save the swamp for later, to keep buying potions from Ethel at the grove. We can also detour and grab Karlach, take out the phony paladins and talk to Scratch at this point, and I'd recommend it. Lot of looting, too. Don't forget to feed your wizard. I usually avoid the gnolls for a little bit. We talk our way into the goblin camp, then have the Astral Prism related cutscene (hello, handsome, younger man 🤔), which we know means we should rest, or we will miss story points. So that's what we do. Because we play RPGs for story. When devs link story progression to resting, their timelines are at the mercy of their players. Rest, meet Mizora, then our dream visitor, realize we are not going to be mind flayers in like 2 days, phew! Four days left to validate Balthazar's concept of time...

Day 6: We deal with the owlbear cub if he's still around (he better be, you monsters), distract an incompetent bard, find out that the goblins kidnapped a Duke, maybe bite off a goblin's toe if we want to fight the whole camp now, or steal his ring instead, chat up more gobbos, looting carefully as we go. We enter the temple, take or don't take the brand, then follow Priestess Gut and we either submit and get saved by Korilla or we beat down an old goblin lady who has a crush on Gortash (no, not me). We can work our magic to save the guy from being thrown in the spider pit if we are quick and clever enough. Then we save Volo, meet everyone's favorite BDSM boytoy Abdirak, free the overzealous lad on the rack and get his info. We con Dror Ragzlin, but don't talk to Minty yet unless you're taking her down permanently here. We can free Halsin and ask him to wait. Since a lot of this isn't combat, we can finish a bunch in one day. Once we go check out Waukeen's Rest, we have to save everyone from the fire without leaving the area or they die, and we will have gnolls to fight and Zhents to save if we approach from the fast-travel point near the paladins. Once that's all done, we will need to rest again. This leaves us with three days.

Day 7: We pop over to the swamp and grab the dirt on Khaga, then confront her and the Shadow Druids. I like keeping her alive so I can listen to Halsin yell at her when he's back. Next, we go back into the goblin camp and either begin the slow process of purging the place to fully free Halsin, or we tell Minthara about the grove. I like telling Minthara, then betraying her when she arrives so all the tieflings get to participate in defending the grove (you can KO her here to allow for Act 2 recruitment). An Elixir of Vigilance, Haste potions and Dimension Door scrolls will help focus down the spiders before they can hop the gates. I managed the battle with no casualties on Balanced difficulty. Telling Minthara means we have to rest again for progression. 2 days remain.

Day 8: We save the grove, Halsin shows up, we can talk to everyone, and tonight we have a party to attend. We can carefully steal the idol now under the cover of a darkness scroll, arrow or spell. We can run around and do a few more things, like mop up the rest of the goblin camp, and we do, but we want our party! So we rest, give Mol the idol, get lots of conversations, time with our LI, and now we have 1 day left...

Day 9: Auntie Ethel and the Underdark. If she doesn't take all your limited, rest-dependent resources, the minotaurs or the spectator will. Not to mention the hook horrors, the bulette, and the hostile Duergar if you side with the Myconids. And don't forget the Arcane Tower... We also get to meet the only illithid that is better alive than dead. [Sorry, Empy, I hate your face] So we need to rest again before we go to the Grymforge, leaving us out of days...

Finishing the Grymforge and entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands (if we want to get yelled at and wait to do the Crèche until right before the Gauntlet of Shar) could be done in one day if we beelined to Moonrise Towers, but we would miss so much story doing that... and possibly get more npcs we like killed in the process. It wouldn't make sense to me at all to do that.

To finish everything, I think we would need at least 5 more days before even entering Act 2. I know we need a few rests in the Shadow-Cursed Lands to progress follower storylines, too. For my characters, we are usually in Moonrise Towers by late Eleint, meaning 20-30 long rests have been done since day 1 of the game. I did a few extras to 'clear the queue' to ensure I didn't miss story scenes, but still... more than a tenday.

The answer? Longer than 9 days.

So, how do we explain the dates?

It is my thinking that Durge was gone on the Nautiloid for much longer than one day, and that completing the game up to Moonrise Towers takes any reasonable, non-speedrunning player more than nine long rests.

I suspect the intention of the dates is to indicate that Durge was shipped out on the nautiloid a tenday before the first in-game day: the 20th of Eleasis, 1492, meaning they left on the 10th. Since we can technically get to the book on the first day if we speedrun, this seems the most likely explanation.

So when did Durge get attacked?

Yet another debatable timeline point...

Experiment on Cruor begins with a journal entry dated the 3rd of Nightal (irl December). There's no year in the entries. Context tells us this is Orin's log regarding the arrival of her butler and leads us to believe it is written after she attacked Durge. Baldur's Gate 3 starts on the 20th of Eleasis (irl August) in the Year of Three Ships Sailing 1492 DR. Ergo, Orin's log must have been written in 1491 or possibly earlier. This source is the reason most of us place Durge's disappearance no later than the first couple of days in Nightal 1491.

Our supposition is that Orin received her butler after she became Bhaal's Chosen. Dialogue with Sceleritas in-game seems to imply this as well (can't find a clip, sorry).

However, it seems that Durge had Sceleritas with them prior to becoming Bhaal's Chosen, given that the obsequious imp was present during the events of Blood in Baldur's Gate, which took place in 1477.

Torlin Silvershield became Bhaal's Chosen around 1482, following the Murder Lord's resurrection (when the last two of the original Bhaalspawn conceived while Bhaal was trapped in a mortal form were slain). Thayans snatched Silvershield and turned him into a wight sometime after that.

While many other gods have multiple chosen at the same time, Bhaal doesn't seem to do that. Orin had to challenge or in some other way defeat Durge in order to become the new Chosen. Thus, Durge probably wasn't the Chosen at the time of Blood in Baldur's Gate. They likely assumed the mantle in 1482 or later. And yet, Sceleritas was with them.

It is possible that Durge is just special, being Bhaal's favored offspring, and was given their butler before becoming the Chosen.

I went down this particular rabbit hole for devil's advocating the option of invalidating before Nightal 1491 as the time of disappearance. Not to fit any particular headcanon. It just occurred to me. It's possible that Orin might have received her butler when she became a contender for Chosen, not immediately following nonconsensually lobotomizing her bloodkin. This could mean that Durge may have been gone for a much longer or a much shorter period of time.

But what about the line: mind-mangled bloodkin?

Doesn't that prove the journal came after?

Only if you want it to. Orin greatly disapproves of Durge. She could easily have considered them mentally unsound prior to the attack. Because of the way the rest of the journal is worded, it's easy to assume she's already the Chosen at this point, but she doesn't necessarily have to be. She could be postulating on the future. For that reason, if someone wants to think Durge hasn't been gone as long as most of the fandom agrees they were, there's no definitive in-game proof that they're wrong.

Anyhoo... there's wiggle room even in-canon if y'all want your Durges to have only been missing for a few months, instead of nearly the full gestational period of a fetus.

[crossdressingdeath]

Kressa Bonedaughter: Wait... By the Bone Lord, it's you! Kressa Bonedaughter: I thought I'd never see you again... Kressa Bonedaughter: I wanted to keep you for myself but they shipped you away. Kyvir: Keep me? What did you do to me? Kressa Bonedaughter: You talk? And you are aware? How is that possible? Kressa Bonedaughter: Oh, but what an arresting voice you have! Kressa Bonedaughter: You're not supposed to be here, special one. That's not right. But I don't want to damage you. Kressa Bonedaughter: You were my very first, after all. I learnt everything about the parasites from you. Kressa Bonedaughter: I remember finding you close to death, beaten black and blue on the floor of this sanctum. It must have been a few hours after the tadpole was placed in your skull. Kressa Bonedaughter: How you got here was a total mystery, but I stitched you up just enough to keep you alive, then placed you within your crib. Kressa Bonedaughter: I kept you as mine until you were needed by our superiors. Kressa Bonedaughter: We had such a close bond. I opened you up endlessly with my scalpels, and got lost in your insides. Kyvir: Ketheric needed me? For what? Kressa Bonedaughter: The most important work, the nature of which I only heard whispers of. Kressa Bonedaughter: Truthfully, I'm not surprised to see you found your way back here all by yourself. I always knew you were clever. Kressa Bonedaughter: It has never been the same with another... All the other victims who come here just meekly obey. You thrashed, you fought, you were indomitable. Kressa Bonedaughter: But as special as you are, you shouldn't be swanning around here, acting as if free will is yours again. Kressa Bonedaughter: We're going to kill you, sweet one. But I promise I will stay with you afterwards. Kressa Bonedaughter: Lashers... bring this one back to my table! And prepare my knives for a long night of experiments!

Well. I found Kressa. Kind of wish I hadn't found Kressa. On all levels except physical Kyvir is currently hiding behind Astarion going "What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck". I need an adult! An adultier adult! The way she talks to Durge is just so creepy! Please tell me all she did was vivisections...

Anyway, the general ick factor of how Kressa talks to Durge aside. So that journal from Balthazar complaining about Kressa's distraction was definitely about Durge, nice to have that confirmation. And it's interesting that she's surprised to learn that they can talk and are aware; I guess they were really messed up, but it's still interesting that the woman who fixed them up didn't expect them to be capable of speech. I wonder, did she overestimate how badly they were actually hurt or did someone else heal them later?

Also, Durge was her first? I assume other people were making thralls and True Souls before her given Durge had a tadpole before she got her hands on them, but it's still fun that Kressa's first was such an odd one. Hell of a starting point. So they got imprisoned and tadpoled, managed to break out, and then immediately got grabbed by Kressa? It seems like this really was Durge's horrible, very bad, no good day.

(And it feels important to mention that in the fight against her Astarion actually got the killing blow. Big "No one touches my lover" energy, it was excellent.)

[cas-coding]

ALL RIGHTY SO!! I think I'm gonna start with the soulmate tats AU <3

Like I said in the Google doc, this AU is in a society that, for the majority, doesn't take kindly to people with more than one soulmate tattoo. It's sorta like an undercurrent that isn't completely obvious everywhere, with lots of passive aggressive bullshit direct towards those sorts of individuals, but depending on the crowd, you can have people who will completely accept them, people who will basically put on a witch hunt for them, and people in between. Most people are in between to varying degrees.

Dean grew up with a father who hated him for his tattoos. When he was very young, John wasn't so open on this hatred, due to Mary still being alive and protecting Dean as much as she could. Still, Dean realized at about four years old that his father hated him and thought something was wrong with him because of his two tattoos. After Mary died, there was nobody to protect Dean anymore (except for Bobby, but Bobby wasn't there all the time, so he could only do so much), and John treated him horribly. Always asked Dean why he couldn't be like Sam, his perfect little brother with one soulmate. Sam hated John for treating Dean like this, but Dean just took it all, thought maybe there was something wrong with him, like John always said. The only person Dean could count on besides Sam and Bobby was Benny, who had been his best friend since preschool.

Cas grew up with a very absent father and four older brothers, two of them who definitely didn't love him who made sure he knew that, and two who did very much love him who made sure he knew that. With their father always locked away in his study doing his best to write his novels, Cas was left in the care of his older brothers: Michael, Luke (Lucifer), Gabriel, and Balthazar. Michael and Luke, the oldest, didn't like Cas and couldn't be bothered with him, really. Gabriel and Balthazar raised Cas, and though this wasn't ideal, Cas didn't really complain, because he knew his brothers were doing their best. Cas had his tattoos on his ankle, and always wore long pants, so it took Michael and Luke revealing the fact that Cas had two soulmates before anyone really knew. After that, most of his school shunned him, and he grew up with only Meg (a girl in his class who had no tattoo) as his friend.

Jaime grew up with a way more accepting family. They never told him he was a freak for having two soulmates rather than one. He only ever realized he was different from most when he entered school, and kids told him what their families thought about people with two soulmates. His family reassured him that he wasn't any of the things those kids' families said he was, and he took their word for it. As he got older, he was sometimes bullied for it, but he had a family and friends who were there for him, so he definitely had the best childhood out of him, Dean, and Cas. Jaime's best friends are Caroline, the local biologist in the making who can and will deck anybody who is an asshole to her or her friends, and Garth, a kid who is a bit of a blabbermouth but he means well and is really sweet.

Plot-wise, I don't actually have a lot for this AU. I thought I had more already planned out but apparently I don't. What I do have is that John moves himself and his sons around a lot, and when Dean is 17, John packs them up and moves them to Denver. Dean is upset because they had just gotten back to Lawrence not too long before, and he was now going to be further away from Benny and Bobby again. At least they had never been to Denver before, so Dean could have a fresh start there and hide his tattoos so no one knew he had two, rather than one.

What he's surprised to find is that having no/2+ soulmates is a lot more accepted here than most of the places he has been. It's a bit obvious John didn't know this before moving there, because he is surprised and disgruntled about it, comes home at night ranting about all these progressive idiots are accepting something blatantly when they shouldn't. Dean really hates this, because he knows John does this on purpose to rile him up, and all he can do is grit his teeth together until his jaw hurts.

Jaime and Dean meet when a local school asshole is pushing Dean around for being new, and Jaime comes up with his baseball bat and threatens the bully until they leave. Dean is a little disgruntled, saying he could've handled it himself, and Jaime replies that Dean can do it for him next time before disappearing into the growing crowd of people. Dean realizes only too late that he didn't say thank you or catch the name of the guy, and sighs to himself. Who knew if he'd ever even meet up with the guy again to say thanks for the help.

They do, not too long after, and they learn each other's names, and have quite different reactions of the revelation that they were soulmates. Jaime is shocked but elated, having previously thought he'd have to travel around before finding at least one of his soulmates. Dean, however, is sort of resentful, because he had not wanted to meet his soulmates due to the fact they were the reason his father hated him. He knew this was unfair, but he wanted somebody to blame, and he wasn't quite ready to blame John himself.

They end up being friends though, because Jaime is too persistent and is like "c'mon, we can at least be friends, right??" and Dean's like "I guess", plus Sam is like "you've been waiting your whole life for this, don't let it slip away now" and Jaime's best friend, Caroline, might or might not have threatened to beat Dean up if he broke Jaime's heart, and Dean could believe it; Caroline was pretty scary.

I don't know how they meet Cas, but I'm thinking it happens when they're all in their 20s, so they're all moved out of their parents' places and adjusting to that in varying degrees. Maybe Dean and Jaime go on a road trip to try finding Cas? I think that might be a cool idea.

That's about it!! You can answer this publicly, I'm cool with it :)

screaming giggling kicking my legs look i am not a big fan of ocs. however,,, however. this? this is wholesome shit. stays true to the general absolutely horrifying yet diverse trauma of the different characters. also for some reason i am now OBSESSED with garth and jaime being friends. fucking love garth. im so not normal about this au because omg... its almost like it addresses an actual world problem...

this is going to send me on a rant about why people are so fucking obsessed with monogamy and will they just shut the fuck up. me personally? im a meg type if you read me,, flying solo for the rest of my life,,, and im not typically on the receiving end of very passionate monogamist's comments about how it's weird to have a different number of partners than just one, but ooooh,, when i read meg was bullied for having no soulmate,,,, my little acearo heart started pumping. god i love meg. love to see it. thank you for the diversity and for sharing bestie. lmk if you want me to take this post down bc we bared our souls to each other and i think this is like the internet version of whatever the fuck dean and cas do with their eyes in canon

[thebadtimewolf]

anyway... how about david's suit? love the agatha christie callback fit.

everyone complaing about uk us time shift for dw and im just like: yall they did this in 2011 with 11 and 12th dr eras during orphan black/killing eve. like a double feature. this isnt new or just sudden us pandering. they did this before and yall were excited for that. yall hyped it up as a good thing that they should do and then complained that they moved to sundays. it went from Thursdays/Fridays to saturdays for years in the us getting uk content if we were lucky at all.

they been did this. they did this for sci fi to having bbc america and netflix and then to amc for some reason and now its disney+/hulu. its not a new method. they been pandered to american audiences and airtimes since toxic by britney spears came out of a jukebox. and rtd always liked when ppl complained about it then just like now except doing nothing to stop it then and now.

this👏🏾 isnt 👏🏾sudden👏🏾 this👏🏾 was 👏🏾planned👏🏾 this👏🏾 always 👏🏾happens WHEN BBC AIRS TO AMERICAN AUDIENCES💅🏾✨️👏🏾same software different case👏🏾✨️💅🏾

whats not clicking because they planned this since being human and broadchurch and skins and shameless and miranda and ghosts and house of cards and balthazar and the good doctor and masked singer and x factor and comic relief/red nose day got 🇺🇲americanized🇺🇲 for years and they will keep doing it. they do it for uk shows they do it for international soap/historical dramas and they'll do it again. and we will eat it up every time. all those that complain will eat it up every time. all those that like it will eat it up every time. and the creators will like hate comments every time. yall been doing this complaining shit before tumblr existed, since 2003. shut up with the 'pandering' because that needs to be on the word shelf too with yall too.

did we all not watch the netflix show criminal because the multi international police drama was CALLING US OUT IN PLAIN SIGHT. and what did we do. we - say it with me class - we ate it up every time and we will do it again.

we are getting a two parter out the fucking gate WE GOT ESSENTIALLY A FOUR PARTER CHRISTMAS SPECIAL AND FOLLOWING THAT: A TWO PARTER FIRST AND SECOND EP SAME DAY DROP WE NEVER HAD THAT. EVER. with books FOLLOWING RIGHT AFTER IT? COMICS RIGHT IMMEDIATELY BEFORE???

complain about that. gush about that. not the same shit they had been doing since blues clues was announced when i was some months nearly a year or two years old. pls. damn.

[italwayshadtobeyou]

It's "Clap Your Hands" again, for me. Don't get me wrong, though, "Appointment in Samarra" ain't chopped liver. It does a good job of rendering the ensouled characters sympathetic without downplaying their hypocrisy: Dean won't let a traffic accident happen in front of him, but he will let Death cause some unknown person's death by disrupting the natural order; Bobby talks a good game about family, but isn't willing to sacrifice himself so Sam will an un-crippled body to return to.

Balthazar's anti-ensoulment spell bugged me the first time I watched it, since 1) bloodlines do matter in the SPNverse; 2) we never hear of parricides losing their soul for their crimes; and 3) why would an angel even bother to learn this stuff? Then I realized that he it would probably tickle him pink to see Sam kill Bobby. Soulless Sam isn't dumb, but he is desperate, and has nothing to lose.

I'm not a fan of Death's vagueness when giving Dean instructions in this episode. "Keep digging" at something to do with souls? Ooookay. In season 5, Death struck me as a no-nonsense kind of guy, so I'd expect him to either tell Dean more or not rely on Dean at all. Still, I can't complain to much about seeing Julian Richings as Death.

"Appointment in Samarra" isn't as delightful as "Clap Your Hands," but perhaps it couldn't be, while shouldering so much of the season's arc. (IMO, the Purgatory plot should've kicked in at least 4 episodes earlier... but then we would've had less time for detours like "Clap Your Hands.") It's still an enjoyable episode that helps move the plot forward and sets up the return of regular!Sam.

Supernatural Battle of the Episodes!

Clap Your Hands comes away a winner in a good match against Caged Heat! How will it fair coming up on the 2nd half of season 6? Let's find out!

Who's up next Chuck?

Chuck: Well Miss Jacki, it looks like we ha e Appointment in Samarra - Dean makes a deal with Death to do his job for a day to win back Sam's soul. Meanwhile, Sam goes to great lengths to remain Soulless!

[interrogatethecat]

‘Tis (Not) the Season

word count: 1.6k

a little fluffy roommate au for the holiday season. the rest is under the cut with the tag list or on ao3!

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la la! ‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la—“

Cas pulled his pillow over his head.

“—la la la la la la! Don we now our gay apparel—“

Cas was going to kill someone. His roommate, probably.

“Dean,” he said tightly, “for the sake of your health, I highly suggest that you stop singing.”

Dean just grinned at him. “C’mon, Cas, you heard me!”

“Unfortunately,” Cas grumbled.

“‘Tis the season!” Dean said.

“It’s fucking November,” Cas pointed out.

“But it snowed!” Dean insisted, like that meant something.

Stupid midwesterners. Stupid Cas for deciding to go to a college in the midwest. Stupid Dean Winchester for taking it upon himself to sing every Christmas carol known to man. Stupid college people for sticking him with Dean Winchester.

Deciding to go to school outside of state, Cas needed to room with someone. He had been nervous, but not enough so that it scared him into staying back home.

He was starting to reassess that, because Dean was a godawful roommate.

He left socks and flannels strewn all over their room, played his music far too loud (usually, it seemed, when Cas was studying), and had hours that were unreasonable, even for a college student. He frequently made references Cas didn’t understand, and their first week in the dorms, had burnt popcorn in their microwave, which hadn’t smelled the same since. Not to mention the handful of times Cas had found himself across campus to spend an impromptu night with Balthazar and his roommate because Dean brought back a hookup (it wasn’t unlikely that he’d have to hear about them after). That wasn’t to say that Dean was a complete asshole. He was perfectly friendly, made excellent raman, and was occasionally— dare Cas admit it— endearing. And maybe sometimes cute.

That did not change the fact that at the moment, Cas was very seriously contemplating murder. If he could be bothered to get up, he could smother Dean with his pillow, then go back to bed for a few hours before he got arrested.

“Anyway, don we now our gay apparel—“

Cas blindly chucked his pillow in the direction of Dean’s voice.

“Fa la la la la la la la la! Troll the ancient Yuletide carol, fa la la la la—“

Goddammit. Now he didn’t have his pillow. Maybe he could strangle Dean with a blanket.

“—la la la la! See the blazing Yule before us, fa la—“

“Dean,” Cas opened an eye to glare at him, “shut up.”

Dean just winked at him. “—la la la la—“

Cas grabbed a flannel that had been discarded on the floor next to his bed and threw it at him.

“Stop throwing things at me,” Dean complained.

“Then shut up,” Cas said.

“But, Cas,” Dean said imploringly, “the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.”

Cas stared at him. “Again. It’s November. It’s not even thanksgiving. Perhaps you should come up with a rhyme for that.”

Dean gaped at him. “Dude. That’s from Elf. You’re telling me you’ve never seen Elf?”

“No,” Cas said, “nor will I be seeing it now, because I’m going back to sleep.” He rolled over to face the wall resolutely, pulling his blankets up.

There was a quiet ping from Dean’s side of the room.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Dean said, “we’re snowed in! No classes today or tomorrow!”

Cas groaned. No. God, no, he wasn’t going to stay in the same room as Dean Winchester during a blizzard. Forget about Dean, Cas was going to strangle himself.

The floorboards creaked mournfully as Dean crossed the room to ruffle Cas’ hair cheerfully. “This is going to be awesome!”

This was going to be hell.

Cas swatted at Dean blindly as he moved away, breaking into another carol.

***

Cas did not fall back asleep. Dean did not stop singing.

It had been almost an hour, and their dorm was filled with a slightly off key rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

“—three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear treeee!”

Cas was glaring resolutely at his book, as though that would fix things.

“On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me: eight maids a milking, seven swans a swimming, six geese a laying— take it away Cas!” Dean waited expectantly.

Cas flipped him off.

“Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves,” Dean continued, unfazed, “and a partridge in a pear treeeeee! On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me—“

Cas made the mistake of looking up, because despite the fact that Dean’s singing was quite possibly the most annoying thing he could think of (that was a lie, the most annoying thing he could think of was his brother Gabriel), his eyes were immediately drawn to his lips.

They were nice lips, Cas noticed, not for the first time.

Dean grinned at him, only boldened by the attention. “Nine ladies dancing, eight maids a milking, seven swans a swimming, six—“

Cas jerked his eyes back to his book.

***

“Hark the Harold angels sing, glory to the newborn king! Peace on Earth and mercy mild—“

Cas grabbed his earbuds off their shared nightstand and jammed them into his ears.

***

Dean’s solution to Cas’ innovation seemed to be singing louder.

“Feliz navidad! Feliz navidad!”

Cas eyed his pillow, still on the other side of the room, and wondered how hard it would be to stick Dean’s body outside and make it look like he had died of hypothermia.

***

Mercifully, a solid two hours later, Dean did stop singing. Cas was relieved to note that his excitement seemed to have worn off, leaving him to work on his coursework in peace. Enough peace that he was able to take his earbuds out.

He was in the midst of frowning at a particularly long-winded article when said peace was interrupted by Dean calling over, “Hey, Cas! Get your ass over here, we’re watching Die Hard.”

“Hm?” Cas glanced up.

“Die Hard,” Dean said, “It’s only the greatest Christmas movie of all time.”

Clearly, Cas had been wrong when he assumed Dean was done hyperfixating.

“I have homework,” Cas said bluntly.

“It’s a snow day!” Dean pointed out.

“It’s November,” Cas reiterated.

“Please?” Dean said. “For your favorite roommate?”

“You’re my only roommate,” Cas said.

“You love me!” Dean said.

“Enjoy your movie, Dean,” Cas said, reaching for his earbuds again. It had been nice while it lasted.

Dean looked absolutely betrayed.

“Dean,” Cas said, “in case I didn’t already mention this, it is November. It’s too early for Christmas movies.”

“Come on! Die Hard has terrorists,” Dean said. “And Bruce Willis. And there are only a few Christmas trees!”

“Like I said,” Cas said, struggling to untangle the cord, “Christmas—“

“Nope! You don’t have a choice.”

The earbuds were pulled out of his hands (“Hey!”) and his laptop set on the floor (“Dean!”). Then he was being dragged across the room to Dean’s bed.

Dean threw a panicked arm across Cas’ chest to keep him from moving— which was not cute, Cas reminded himself, it wasn’t, he was being kept here against his will— while the other hit play on Dean’s laptop.

“Is this really—“ Cas started, but then there was a hand being thrown over his lips as Dean shushed him. Cas clamped his mouth shut.

***

Dean was back to his singing. He’d left the old, traditional carols behind and instead was belting the opening to All I Want For Christmas.

Not even Cas’ earbuds could save him.

“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know—“

Deep breaths. Cas was not going to become a felon today. He was going to graduate first.

“Make my wish come trueeeeeeeeeee,” Dean sang, painfully high pitched and off key. “All I want for Christmas— isss— youuuuuuu!” He pointed to Cas enthusiastically.

“All I want for Christmas,” Cas said, “is for you to stop singing.”

Dean threw a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt!”

“My ears are hurt,” Cas countered.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. And IIII don’t care about the presents—“

Cas barely registered what he was doing. His feet were moving of their own accord, marching him across the room in a few short steps and directly into Dean’s space.

“—underneath the Christmas tree. I just want you for my— oomph!”

Cas slammed their mouths together, because so help him god, he was going to make Dean Winchester shut up.

Dean let out a strangled sound, the remnant of suddenly forgotten carols as Cas pressed against him.

It was only supposed to be one kiss. Just enough to get Dean to stop. His lips were intoxicating, though; the one kiss lengthened, then turned into two as Dean began to kiss back, and then three, four, enough that when they finally pulled back, Cas’ lips were raw in the best possible way.

Their eyes locked.

“That was… uh,” Dean said articulately.

“I had to get you to stop singing,” Cas explained weakly. That was all it had been.

“Oh,” Dean said, sounding oddly disappointed.

“Yes,” Cas said.

“So,” Dean said, “if I started singing again…?”

“I’d have to kiss you again.” Cas didn’t miss a beat. He could feel his face flushing. “Because it would shut you up. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dean repeated. There was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Cas? What’s your least favorite Christmas song?”

“Angels We Have Heard on High,” Cas said.

With a shit eating grin, Dean opened his mouth.

He didn’t make it through the first bar.

Perhaps being snowed in with Dean Winchester wasn’t so bad after all.

tag list: @ccstiel @starrynightdeancas @floral-cas @fellshish @castielsbeeslippers @dune-echo @gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat @bestiarum @top13zepptraxx @linaraiscorner @theedorksinlove @destiel-is-canon-i-guess @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie

let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[theladyofdeath]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 14}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby’s blogs! >>@snelbz​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Cassian was up far before Nesta, but that was to be expected.

He had worn her out, after all.

In all honesty, though, she had worn him out, too. And he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

It had taken him a while to fall asleep the night before, to fully digest everything that had happened between the two of them. He didn’t regret it, not for a second, but it was…strange. Nesta Archeron was the last woman he thought he’d find himself in such a situation with.

It had been a pleasant surprise, to say the least. Even when he had finally fallen asleep, it was all he dreamt about.

His hands on her body.

The little sounds that fell from her lips.

The feeling of his mouth against hers.

The feeling of being inside of her.

Dressing, he crept downstairs, not wanting to wake her, and made a pot of coffee. Sitting at the kitchen table, he ran a hand through his messy hair.

Cassian had no idea what was going to come this morning. Was she going to pretend it never happened? Was she going to be mad or say that it was a mistake?

He sure as hell hadn’t thought it was a mistake. He’d loved every minute of the night they’d shared, but he knew that a line had been crossed between them.

He was going to let her decide what would come next.

It wasn’t two minutes after Cassian pulled a pan of crispy bacon out of the oven, he heard a door open at the top of the stairs. He smirked, but felt a sense of dread as footsteps slowly descended towards the kitchen.

Nesta appeared, dressed in long-sleeved flannel pajamas. She stopped in the doorway and cleared her throat.

“I made breakfast,” Cassian said, gesturing to the display on the countertop.

“Thanks,” Nesta said, scratching the back of her head.

“Care to join me at the table?” he asked.

Nesta hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Cassian said nothing more as he made her a plate, then himself one, and carried them to the table. He was already popping a piece of bacon into his mouth when Nesta sat.

“So,” Cassian began. “How are you?”

“Good,” Nesta answered, a little too quickly. “You?”

“Good,” Cassian said, nodding.

Silence ensued.

They ate quietly. Cassian glanced at Nesta from time to time. Nesta did the same. Eventually, Cassian dropped his fork on his plate and ran a hand through his hair.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” he said.

Nesta raised a brow. “What is?”

“This awkwardness,” Cassian said, laughing quietly. “I mean, we fucked, right?”

Nesta nearly choked on a piece of bacon. “We….”

“Had sex,” Cassian finished. “We did, and you know what? It was good. But when we went to bed, it was awkward. And this morning? Still awkward. Why is it awkward?”

“Because we had drunk sex,” she said, laughing, despite herself. “We got drunk and we hooked up, like horny teenagers and…” She shook her head, and looked up at him. And she burst out laughing.

“And we’re adults,” he said, laughing along with her. “We made that choice. I liked that choice. I’d make that choice again.”

Nesta’s laughter quieted. “I know. I don’t either, but…”

Cassian took a drink of his coffee, smirking. “Was it not the best sex of your life?”

Nesta began blushing, and she bit her lip as she moved the eggs around her plate. “I plead the fifth.”

“That’s a cop-out answer,” Cassian said, his mouth full.

Nesta laughed. “So what?”

Cassian’s grin said plenty. “Fair enough. I mean, it was a one time thing, right?”

“Right,” Nesta said, without any hesitation. “So, there’s no need to feel awkward, right?”

“Right,” Cassian agreed. “We were letting off some steam, some stress, and now we’re fine.”

“Exactly,” Nesta said, scooping up a mouthful of eggs.

That silence resumed.

A few minutes later, Nesta said, “It was pretty good, though.”

Cassian chuckled. “Oh, I know.”

She kicked his shin beneath the table.

His grin widened.

“What do you have going on today?” Cassian asked, at last.

“Work,” Nesta answered, simply. “You’ll pick Nyx up?”

“I will,” he promised.

“Great,” she said, taking a drink of her coffee. She glanced at the clock and jumped to her feet. “Shit, I need to go get ready.”

“Go,” he chuckled, shooing her off. “I’ll handle the kitchen.”

She glanced around at the room, which was still a wreck from the night before. Her bikini top was looped over one of the drawer pulls and she blushed.

She couldn’t believe it.

She had sex with Cassian, her sworn enemy for years.

And the most surprising thing of all? She had liked it.

A lot.

He hadn’t been lying when he said it would be the best sex of her life. There was no comparison, whatsoever.

Even waking up after a fantastic night of sleep, Nesta still felt amazing. She was relaxed, albeit a bit sore. Nearly giddy.

And all because of Cassian.

*

Since the accident, Nesta hadn’t spent nearly as much time at the restaurant as she usually did. And not nearly as often as she liked. Her staff had absolutely understood that she needed to get accustomed to her new life and how things worked, but as she hurried between the dining room and the kitchen, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in a bit over her head.

Granted, her mind kept trailing back to the activities she’d had the night before, which flustered her to no end every time she thought about them. She was staring at an open laptop in front of her, the PDF of the new menu staring back, when she heard a throat clearing from the doorway of her office.

She glanced up and found Helion standing there. He was her general manager and made sure everything ran smoothly when she wasn’t there, and he was a blessing in her life.

“What’s up?”

He looked around before slipping into the chair across the desk from her. “You going to tell me what’s got you spacing out so badly today that you mixed fresh salmon into the chicken salad base?”

Nesta cringed, but tried not to show it. “I wanted to try a new recipe. If it bombs, it bombs.”

Helion lifted a brow, not believing her lie for a second.

“What?” Nesta asked.

“Did the walk of shame this morning, did you?” He asked, a familiar mischievous glint in his eye.

Nesta hesitated. “Is it still a walk of shame if you never leave your house?”

Helion’s brows furrowed but then the dots connected. His mouth fell open as his eyes widened. “You fucked the hot uncle?”

Nesta groaned, her face falling into her hands.

Helion had no sympathy. He asked, “Is he the one that’s sitting at the bar asking for you?”

Nesta’s hands fell and she met Helion’s eye.

Helion shrugged. “Didn’t think I just came back here to chat, did you?”

“I…” Nesta was up before she could even think through what she might say to him, rounding her desk and hurrying towards the front of the restaurant.

She wasn’t sure if Cassian’s mid-day appearance was a good thing or not. On one hand, he may have stopped by with Nyx after picking him up from Elain’s. On the other, what if something was wrong? What if Nyx had had a bad night or something had happened? Her steps slowed and she paused before she left the kitchens, taking a deep breath.

Nothing was wrong. She wouldn’t accept any other answer. Tucking her loose hair behind an ear, she pushed through the door.

But she didn’t find Cassian sitting at the bar.

It was Balthazar, whose brown eyes she met and her smile faltered, but only a little. She had it back in place before he had time to notice.

“Figured out how I recognized you,” he said, as she approached from the other side of the bar.

“I see that,” she laughed, softly.

“Turns out I come here often,” he continued, his smile growing. “Turns out, so do you.”

“I would say I make an appearance here from time to time,” she agreed. “So, stop in for lunch?”

“I had the day off,” he explained, shrugging. “Errand day.”

She was just now noticing the designer sweatpants and hoodie he wore. His sneakers alone probably cost a couple hundred dollars.

Apparently the rumors were true…

Doctors made good money.

“And this was on your list?” Nesta asked.

Bal chuckled. “Well, last night I got to thinking that I’ve seen you here once or twice. It just clicked. So, I googled the restaurant, and, believe it or not, the owner’s picture is on the website.”

“Huh,” Nesta chimed. “Funny.”

“Mhmm,” Balthazar crooned. “I thought so. So, I thought I’d come visit and, yeah, maybe stay for lunch.”

“Well, lucky for you, the lunch special of the day is the prime dip, and I must say that it’s absolutely delicious,” Nesta said.

He closed the menu on the bar top in front of him. “Sounds perfect.”

“Give me just a minute to get that for you, and I’ll be right back. Can I get you something to drink?” She asked, sliding the menu below the bar.

“Drink drink or just to drink?” He asked and his smile did strange things to her stomach.

“Oh, I don’t have a liquor license,” she said, scrunching her nose. Too many hoops to jump through, but she would have loved to serve wine with her food. The pairings she would come up with were tempting. “Water, your everyday sodas, and homemade fruit teas.”

“Fruit tea, huh?” He tapped a contemplative finger against his chin.

She couldn’t have stopped the grin if she tried. “Has that piqued your interest?”

“Depends on what flavors you have,” he said, folding his arms across the bar. “I’m very choosy about my fruit tea.”

She laughed, quietly. “Mango, raspberry, strawberry, and passion fruit.”

“Passion fruit,” he repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

“Okay,” Nesta said, quietly with a little smile she couldn’t stop, and hurried back to the kitchen.

Helion was waiting for her behind the swinging door, grinning from ear to ear.

“Not him,” Nesta said, sweeping past him.

“Still handsome!” Helion called after her.

Nesta ignored him, not wanting to give him too much information on her current man-drama, even though she could tell he was far too invested in her private life.

After putting his order in, Nesta was heading back into her office and shutting herself inside, if only to shut out Helion.

When she had rounded the corner and saw it wasn’t Cassian, there was the tiniest bit of disappointment that she had to quickly push away. Then again, it also meant that everything had apparently gone okay with Nyx, which Nesta was happy about.

She and Cassian had been a one time thing.

Yes, they had called a truce, but it didn’t mean anything more than them being civil with one another. It meant co-parenting. Maybe even one day becoming something that resembled friends…but nothing more.

She tried to focus on the proof of the menu she was editing, tried to pay attention to the descriptions she typed out and the pictures she selected as focal points. But after she ended up choosing the wrong picture three times in a row, she closed her laptop and sighed, letting her face fall into her hands. She was distracted and she genuinely couldn’t tell if it was due to the man sitting out at the bar or if it was thanks to the one at home.

Balthazar’s order was up, and Nesta was delighted to find that someone, most likely Helion, had brought him his tea. When she set his plate down in front of him, his tongue swept across his bottom lip, and Nesta couldn’t help but notice.

“This looks amazing,” he said.

“And your tea?” Nesta asked.

“Pretty good,” he grinned.

Damn his smile. Every time he smiled, Nesta couldn’t help but smile back.

“Well, it was great seeing you,” Nesta said, and she meant it. “I should get back to work, though, I’m pretty booked.”

“Of course,” he said, understandingly. “I get it. I did want to ask you, though, if you were free on Saturday night?”

It was only a few nights away, and at first, Nesta hesitated, but then she thought it was ridiculous that she was hesitating, so she said, “Yeah, I’m free.”

“Good,” Bal said, cocking his head to the side. “How about that date, then?”

“I’ll have to check with Cassian,” she said, and when his eyebrows raised, she added hastily, “To make sure he doesn’t already have plans. It’s- We alternate who gets weekends off, and I made a deal with him last weekend.”

Balthazar nodded, and he took another sip of his tea. “Well, then you just let me know if Saturday will work and if not, we’ll figure out another day.”

She smiled and nodded. “Okay.” Nesta turned and was almost back to the door leading to the kitchen when she turned and said, “Lunch is on me today, by the way.”

His own smile was dazzling when he said, “My compliments to the chef.”

With a shy wave, though Nesta wasn’t sure she had a timid bone in her body, she was through the door and headed back to her office. Helion was on her heels a second later, trailing her through the doorway.

“One minute, you’re banging the hot uncle and the next, a Greek god asks you out on a date?” He said, his brows flicking up. “You apparently have fate on speed dial and I need you to give me her number.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, collapsing into her chair. “Don’t you have orders to help cook?”

He hummed quietly as he left her to her thoughts, but did as she said, finding his way back onto the grill line.

Nesta glanced over at the clock. Only two in the afternoon. It was going to be a long day.

*

Nyx blew a raspberry, landing a spray of sweet potato directly on Cassian’s face. His body stilled, but when Nyx started giggling, Cassian’s body quickly relaxed.

“Very funny,” he said, ruffling Nyx’s hair as he stood and went to the sink. After tearing a paper-towel off the roll, he held it under the faucet and wiped off his face.

The front door opened and closed.

“Hello?” Nesta called.

“Kitchen!” Cassian replied. “Nyx is making a mess!”

Nesta was in the kitchen in no time, hurrying to Nyx and kissing his chubby cheeks. “Hi, my love. I missed you. Yes, I did.”

Nyx babbled incoherently in response.

“How was your day?” Cassian asked, wiping off the last bit of potato from his eyebrow.

“Long,” she admitted. “Right before I was about to leave, a shipment of fresh ingredients came in that I needed to get stocked and inventoried.” She dumped a few of the strawberry-banana puffs into her hand and popped one of them into her mouth. “If I have to count another head of lettuce today, my head might explode.”

“Well, fortunately,” Cassian chuckled. “There are no heads of lettuce here for you to count.”

“Have you eaten yet?” She asked, heading for the fridge. “I’m starving.”

“There’s pizza on the way,” he said, attempting to get another spoonful of sweet potatoes into Nyx’s mouth. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be home, or if you’d feel like cooking.”

“You’re a blessing,” she sighed, and sat down at the kitchen table. She watched as Nyx continued to spray food into his face and chuckled quietly. “You want me to take over?”

“Nah,” he said, leaving the splattered sweet potato where it stuck to his face. “No need for both of us to get covered.”

“How gallant of you,” Nesta chuckled, opening the fridge and pulling out a can of Coca-Cola. She rarely did caffeine, but after the day she had, it was necessary. “I, um, did have a question for you.”

Cassian looked over his shoulder, brow raised.

Nesta couldn’t help but smile at the specks of sweet potato that covered his face.

“I was wondering if I could go out Saturday night,” Nesta said. “I mean, I know last weekend I went out, and I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness-.”

“With the doctor?” Cassian interrupted. His tone wasn’t hard, but it did seem uncertain, or another emotion that Nesta couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” Nesta began, cracking open her can. “He came by the restaurant today and asked me to dinner on Saturday night. I told him I’d have to talk to you about it first, since I said I’d have Nyx.”

“I see,” Cassian said, turning back to Nyx.

“If it’s an issue, if you have plans, I don’t mind telling him no-.”

“You should go,” Cassian said, shrugging. “I have no plans. I can stay here.”

She blinked, watching him. “You’re sure?”

“You sound like you don’t want me to be sure,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Are you looking for a reason to say no?”

“No,” she replied, quickly. “It’s just… After last night-.”

“We hooked up,” he shrugged. “We blew off some steam, in a very physical way. But that was that, and, like we said this morning, it was a one time thing, yeah?” She nodded. “Alright, then if you want to say yes, say yes. I can watch Nyx.”

She hesitated for a second, but her smile grew. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, and gave her a smile of his own. “Go relax for a bit, I’ll let you know when the pizza is here.”

She nodded and was about to head up the stairs, but she turned around, wiping the smeared baby food off his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Cass.”

He mumbled something and waved her off, and she grabbed her phone from her purse before she hurried up to her room.

After changing out of her work clothes and into something far more comfier, she fell back on her bed and unlocked her phone.

Balthazar’s messages were soon pulled up, and Nesta was sending him a text.

Saturday sounds great. Pick me up at 7?

She didn’t wait for his response before tossing her phone aside and going through her nightly routine. She figured she would eat and call it a day.

She was beat.

After washing her face and pulling up her hair, Nesta walked back into her room just as her phone lit up on top of her comforter.

Balthazar.

I won’t be a second late.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Previous - Chapter 9 - Next - Series Masterlist - Series Playlist

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, violence, smut, angst, fluff, non-major character death, pregnancy, dub con/fuck or die but only kinda?, enemies to lovers, there's an arranged betrothal somewhere in there that eventually goes away, spoilers for dabi's identity

ao3 link here / art here and here

Two and a half months later

“One truly fascinating aspect of the outer wall defending the Summit is its quasi-sentience. It is a little-known fact that if you talk to it every day, form a bond with it, it will allow you to scale its height— something only a handful of men ever achieved.

Or, at least that is the story that has been related to me, dear reader. I’m afraid I’ve never seen the like in my lifetime, and likely never will.”

— Balthazar the Wise, On the Legends and Myths of the Clans

"Of course," Dabi lied straight through his teeth. "While I'm in the area, I'll send some scouts and report back on status. Anything else?”

As Shigaraki took a moment to think, Dabi had to work very hard not to grin. He imagined every man in the room had the same problem; in only two and a half months, Dabi had managed to convert over half of Shigaraki’s main fighting force to his side, including all of his inner circle. To hear the madman before them barking orders that the rest of them simply weren’t going to follow was almost as funny as it was sad. 

“Nothing else,” said Shigaraki. “Just don’t get caught so close to the Summit with so many men— it’s a miracle they haven’t discovered this encampment, much less where you’ll be going.”

Another bitten-off chuckle— the Clans knew exactly where they were and what they were doing. Once again, Shigaraki was the only man in the room that didn’t know that they knew. 

“And if I do?” Dabi challenged, raising a brow.

Shigaraki smirked.

“Then burn it to the fucking ground. It won’t be long before the imperial forces arrive, and I want to either be ready to fight alongside them or to take the Summit and fight against them.”

Dabi grunted in assent, then took his leave of the tent.

It won’t be long, Shigaraki had said. He’d been cagey of late, never giving exact time frames for their movements; Dabi had almost thought that Shigaraki had begun to suspect his men until he realized that Shigaraki didn’t actually know the information himself. The Empire didn’t trust him with it. Worse than that, Shigaraki still felt that he could trust the Empire to hold up their end of the bargain— foolishness, Dabi thought.

All the same, Shigaraki’s madness played into Dabi’s own plans and ambitions quite well. (Y/N)’s belly was stretched so wide with their child that Dabi couldn’t help but wonder how she could even move, and it was high time that she was brought to Midoriya Inko to be watched over until the child came; with any luck, they would make it to the Summit right at nightfall and sneak (Y/N) in for that very purpose under the cover of sneaking soldiers out to camp around the capital city. Shigaraki would never suspect a thing, and the timing was perfect. Almost a little too perfect, really— but no one would catch Dabi complaining. It was about fucking time something went right for him.

On the way back to his section of the encampment, Dabi pondered what he would do once the Empire did arrive. Naturally, thanks to Dabi’s regular flow of intel, the Summit would be prepared for the assault when it came; (Y/N) would be safe within the walls of the city, probably either caring for or giving birth to their child, leaving Dabi free to act. From there, Dabi could either join forces with the Clans’ forces upfront and risk their dissent— Clan Todoroki had thus far kept him as their dirty little secret— or just attack the Empire from the rear in a pincer maneuver, trapping them between two Clan forces. The former would mean taking more personal risk, since many Clan heads would no doubt want him dead, but the latter would be more risky for his men. After all, battles are a confusing, messy business; it would be a simple thing for the Clan soldiers to just assume Dabi’s men were in league with the Empire, and that wouldn’t do.

“You look pensive.”

Dabi looked over to find Toga falling into stride with him. Lately, she had been doing better; Twice’s death had hit her hard, and she had been quiet and withdrawn up until about a week ago, when she had begun to show signs of improvement.

“Pensive, huh?” he asked, ruffling her hair. “Where’s a whore like you learn big words?”

"(Y/N), of course," said Toga with a sweet little smile. "She's teaching me to read!"

Dabi put a hand to his chest, scandalized. 

"Perish the thought!" he teased. "Reading is a slippery slope to thinking— whatever will we do with an educated hussy?"

"Hopefully recite raunchy poetry," she suggested, eyes shining. "Oh, and maybe explore those books about sex positions Spinner told me about! Have you read them? I think you should read them. Ooh, maybe you could even read them to me…"

A devious look came into Toga's eye, and Dabi threw his head back and laughed. Though there were many who had fallen into the ways of the Empire, despising whores and "loose women" while still benefiting from them, Dabi still remembered a time when the Companion houses (as they were called then) were respected as sacred places, and the Companions who worked them were considered gifted by the goddess. War, displacement, and strife had made Toga a victim of circumstance, but in another time, she might have been revered, maybe even made a leader of those women who prided themselves on their self-confidence, sexuality, and sensual talent. 

Dabi hoped desperately that he would one day see that time come again, and see Toga happy within it.  

"Where is your tutor now?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She was supposed to be packing, not teaching you to read."

"She told me you'd say that," Toga chirped brightly. "Everything is packed, and she's down by the river. She said to tell you to meet her there."

Dabi grunted, gave Toga one last pat on the head, and started off in the direction of the river.

When he found (Y/N), she was sitting on a large, smooth stone, her feet dangling in the water. The flowing water rippled around her ankles, wetting the smooth skin of her leg, and her gown of pale yellow was pulled up past mid-thigh. Her hands were resting slightly behind her, supporting her weight, and her head was thrown back so that the sun caught the gleaming of sweat and water droplets from the river's spray, making them glitter and dance like jewels on the column of her neck. The curve of her full breasts and rotund belly couldn't be obscured even by the large, billowy fabric of the gown she wore, and Dabi took a moment to stand and admire the view. 

Then, once he'd looked his fill, Dabi decided to join her. 

Taking off his boots and long woolen socks, he stepped into the freezing cold water, wading up to mid-calf to reach (Y/N). The January wind was bitingly cold, and Dabi shivered— both from his own change in temperature and from watching as (Y/N), seemingly impervious to the weather, rolled up her sleeves and dipped her hand into the icy rapids.

"I thought pussy-cats didn't like water," he told her as he hefted himself up onto the rock beside her with a crooked grin. "A pretty kitty like you will catch her death out here."

(Y/N/ turned to him with a soft smile. As she curled beneath the warmth of his proffered arm, he wondered not for the first time how he’d gotten so lucky as to have her love. 

"The goddess wouldn't let me die from a common cold," she told him, her voice colored with an inner warmth that told Dabi that she was somewhere else, far away in a land of her own making, "and I wanted to feel the water and the sun."

Dabi said nothing for a moment, allowing himself to feel the warmth of her body against his. In the intimate quiet, (Y/N) placed Dabi's hand on her belly, and the little life inside kicked and flailed with more strength than Dabi would have thought possible. He smiled and said,

"She's strong." He rested his head against (Y/N)'s. "Just like her mother."

(Y/N) hummed in agreement, smiling softly.

"Have you been thinking about the names we chose?"

Dabi had. 

"I think I've picked one, if you're okay with it."

"Yeah?"

(Y/N) turned so that their noses were almost touching, and Dabi said,

"Yara. I want to name her Yara."

(Y/N) kissed his cheek, her chapped lips warm against his scars.

"It's a beautiful name. I love it."

They sat there for a few moments more, watching as the sun drifted closer to its zenith. Dabi was taken with the strong urge to stay there forever and never leave, to spend eternity in this small pocket of time— but it was not to be. The cold was driving the feeling from his bones, and there were things yet to be done. He stood, then turned, holding out his arms. (Y/N) went gratefully into them, and Dabi carried her across the water, keeping her warm and dry as he waded back to shore. 

"We go to the Summit today," he told (Y/N) as he set her down gently next to her fur boots. "Toga said your bags are packed?"

"They are."

"And you'll be fine without me until the baby is born?"

(Y/N) smiled at that. 

"Yes, I will."

"And you'll come back to me the moment you're able?"

"I will, Touya."

"And not a moment before? You'll wait until you're healed and ready, won't you?"

(Y/N) stopped what she was doing and looked up at him with an amused quirk of her brow.

"I never thought I'd say this," she told him, placing a hand on his cheek, "but you worry too much, my love."

Dabi took that hand and kissed it, felt the icy cold of her skin— without thinking, he heated his breath and released it out into her palm, the heat from it rising as steam in the air. (Y/N) shuddered, and Dabi drew her closer, closing his eyes as they embraced.

"You really shouldn't have let yourself get so cold," he admonished, moving heat through his body to share with her. "Goddess incarnate or not, you're not immortal."

"I know," she sighed against his chest. "It was probably stupid, but… I was trying to savor the freedom of the countryside while it lasted."

Ah. That, Dabi could understand. Back at the Summit, (Y/N) would be surrounded by people who would want explanations, reassurances, and detailed accounts of where she had been and what she had been doing. All of her responsibilities would resume, and she would be expected to tend to the sick and the wounded, to provide spiritual advice to leaders, and to solve problems like uneven distribution of resources within the Clans. Much would rest on her shoulders, and with the baby so close to being born, it would take more out of her than it would normally, and, being herself, (Y/N) would work herself into the ground before she let even one person leave her temple without something to show for it. 

"You sure you don't want me to burn the place down?" he offered, and she laughed as if he were joking. 

"I'm sure." She took him by the hand and said, "Let's get going, though— wouldn't want to make you late."

Together, they wandered back to the camp, hand-in-hand. It didn't take long to load their scant belongings onto a horse-drawn cart, or to organize the men; with a little care and preparation, the party was ready to move out within half an hour. As they stood beside their horses, ready to mount, Dabi caught (Y/N) looking back over her shoulder, and he extended a hand to her, hoping to bring her comfort.

"All good?" he asked.

"All good," she replied, and the smile she wore told him all he needed to know. 

"Let's get you home, priestess." He walked over to where she was and helped her mount her horse, guiding her with strong, gentle hands to keep her from falling. "You've been away too long as it is."

Comfortably seated in her saddle, (Y/N) looked down at him with fond eyes and said, 

"I'm going to miss you."

Dabi grinned. 

"I know," he replied, sneaking a hand under her dress, up her leg and to her thigh. "None of the little lordly peacocks or temple popinjays will do the filthy things you demand of me, and even if they would, you know they wouldn't do it half so well, and then what would you do when—"

He was cut off by her boot digging playfully into his side, and he kissed the cloth covering her knee in silent apology. It was often difficult for Dabi to say what he felt, but he was learning that he wasn't the only one afflicted with that particular problem; no matter how easily communicating most things came to (Y/N), there were some things that her pride often prohibited, and admitting emotional attachment and dependency was one of them. He shouldn't have teased her, and he said as much.

"I love you," he told her softly. "I'll miss you too, pussy-cat."

"Just think," she said, reaching down to run fingers through his hair— he was wearing it white now that he was feeling less shitty about his heritage. "The next time we see each other, you'll be meeting your daughter for the first time."

I can't wait, Dabi thought, but didn't trust himself with words. Instead, he took her hand and kissed it, then returned to his own horse, slinging one leg over Bandit's saddle and urging him on, waiting for (Y/N) to follow. 

One day closer to the fall of the Empire, he thought, watching as his troops moved out. One day closer to freedom.

For once in Dabi's life, he was actually looking forward to a future outside of bloodshed and the end of days; days of peace and plenty were looming on the horizon, waiting just out of reach, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that. What was life outside of running, stealing, killing, and survival? What was an existence without vengeance?

Dabi wasn't sure.

All he knew was that any future with (Y/N) in it was one he wanted to be in— and whether she wanted him to wage war and bring the Empire to its knees, or learn to deal in peace, to work a plow and love the land, Dabi would do whatever she asked of him.  

***

Despite its name, the Summit was not a mountain, and not even much of a hill; it was a slight swelling of the ground— the only one for miles— upon which a citadel was built. The first wall surrounding the citadel was the highest, standing fifty feet tall, but every consecutive wall stood a little taller than its counterpart despite the stature of its own construction because of the elevation of the ground. The resulting effect was a towering mass of walls, the enchanted troll-stone twisting and winding in a spiral around the capitol building, the meeting place of the Clans. 

The Summit had been home to (Y/N) for as long as she could remember. It was a place of crowded streets, laughing children, and street vendors hawking their wares; it was somewhere lost souls could be found and a wanderer could lose themself in the oneness of the city. A sanctuary, a sacred city, a place of political ideals, debate, and decisions— the Summit had always been and would forever be a place where the changing of the world took place, and there was no place on earth that (Y/N) loved more. It had raised her as an orphan girl, trained her as a novice, and taught her to live, not just survive, and its people were a vibrant patchwork quilt of kindness, quirks, and quiet strength. 

When (Y/N), alongside Dabi and his men, approached the Summit to find its northern border surrounded by imperial soldiers, she felt sick to her stomach at the sight. 

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, more to herself than anyone else. "Who dares give the order to march on the Clans, who could possibly justify—"

She was cut off by the foreboding boom of imperial war drums, and fury made her hands tremble in a white-knuckled grip. 

"Easy," Dabi said, both a warning and a reassurance. "Looks like things are moving ahead of schedule."

Toga, who was riding beside them, turned to look at Dabi expectantly, her soft, sweet expression oddly comforting in its consistency. 

"So," she said. "What do we do?"

Dabi thought for a moment. After a heartbeat, he began to smile— after two, the smile turned nasty, more like the baring of teeth an animal would give a lone hunter crossing its path. He looked at Toga and unlaced the leather gauntlet on his left arm, baring it to her with deadly purpose. 

"Listen to me carefully," he told her, drawing a knife from the scabbard strapped to his thigh. "Just this once— only this once, Toga— you're going to taste my blood."

The younger girl's face lit up like a beacon, but Dabi wasn't finished. 

"You're going to go back to the camp," he said, drawing a long gash along his arm with the blade, "You're going to talk to Spinner, and the two of you are going to mobilize every man you can find that will follow and bring them here."

Toga's eyes nearly bugged out of her head, but (Y/N) wasn't shocked in the least. She knew it would take every man they could spare and then some to pull off whatever Dabi was planning. 

"All of them?"

Dabi nodded. 

"All of them. When you're in position— right here, behind this underbrush— you send me a signal. Blue flame, straight up in the air, you know what I mean?"

Toga nodded, and Dabi continued. 

"Good. When you do that, I'll see it and return a signal of my own. You'll know it when you see it, and when you do, Spinner will lead the charge. Have him sneak around to the back of the imperial dogs and unleash hell— from there, we either win or we lose. Think you can handle that?"

Toga smiled brightly, nodding, and Dabi reached over to take one of her hands, allowing it to cup the crimson flow from his arm. (Y/N) looked away as Toga did what was necessary, feeling as though she were something of a voyeur on an intimate moment, and when it was done, an exact copy of her lover sat atop Toga's chestnut mare, smiling unnervingly.

"See you on the other side," said not-Toga in a voice that most decidedly did not belong to her. "Be safe!"

With that, she spurred her horse on and left nothing but dust where she had just been. (Y/N) placed a hand protectively over her belly, feeling an odd cramp come on, and Dabi reached out to steady her. 

"This is it," he said, gripping her shoulder. "The moment of truth."

"I want them dead," (Y/N) confessed quietly, tightening her grip on the reins of her horse. "I want them to die screaming."

"They will, sweet one. They will. We have to get you behind the walls first, though."

"I want to watch," she hissed, trembling. "I want to hear them, to smell the death-shit as their spirit leaves their body—"

"You can," Dabi interrupted, "from safe behind the walls. Come— let's go. The faster we get you in, the faster I can start killing the bastards for you, yeah?"

Dabi dismounted, and (Y/N) let him help her down from her horse. He barked orders left and right at the men who had come with them, and as preparations were being made, (Y/N) forced herself to breathe deeply, calming herself. Such excitement wasn't good for the baby or for her, and Dabi didn't need an emotional sandbag at the moment. He needed clarity, soundness of mind, and peace of heart, knowing that she would be alright, that she would remain in control. 

That didn't make containing the rage she felt any easier. 

A little while later, all possible preparations had been made, and Dabi returned to her side, this time clothed in his fine black armor, looking to the world like a dragon on the prowl. His burn scars were scales shining in the sun, and the staples that held his skin together were sharp, glinting teeth, ready to tear the throat from his enemies; his eyes glowed the same color as his flames, and (Y/N) wanted him with a sudden fierceness that surprised even herself.

"Ready to make a run for it?" he asked, glancing around. "I'm afraid going on horseback will draw too much attention, but if we're careful and quick on our feet, the enemy troops won't see a thing before we reach the escape tunnel on the southeast side of the citadel."

(Y/N) frowned. "How do you plan to signal the others without getting caught that close to the outer wall?"

Dabi grinned. 

"Easy, pussy-cat," he said, "I'll be on top of the wall by then."

(Y/N) blinked, all else forgotten in the face of this conundrum.

"How?"

What she meant by that was this: how do you intend to scale a wall designed to be impossible to climb because of its enchanted troll-stone, the purpose of which was explicitly to prevent it from being climbed? Any other route would take too long— the tide of a not-yet-battle like this could turn in the blink of an eye— and unless he secretly had flying powers that (Y/N) didn't know about, she wasn't sure how Dabi planned to achieve such a thing. 

"The walls and I have an understanding," he told her with a wink. "I used to be a noble brat too, remember?"

(Y/N) wasn't sure what that meant, but she didn't have time to question it either. She only took a large, gloved hand in her own and kissed the sharpened spikes that adorned the knuckles, trying to push every ounce of love and care she possessed into that one gesture. 

"Let's go," she said, turning so that she had a chance to look more ready than her face surely portrayed. "Daylight's burning, and you have imperials to kill."

Dabi nodded, and with a few last-minute instructions to the men, they slipped out from the scant cover of the underbrush and into the open land. Their soft winter boots made no sound as they scurried across the seemingly endless expanse before them, and overhead, the shadow of a cloud drifted over them, keeping them in shade as they went. Silently, (Y/N) wondered at how heavily the hand of the goddess lay upon her; both her duty and her blessings were almost too heavy to bear at times, and there were moments when she questioned what life might have been like had she been born free to do as she pleased with her life.  

"You think we'll get bored when we don't have to do barking mad things to stay alive?" Dabi asked as they neared the wall, stopping short as a guard peered down in their direction. 

"I think we'll always have to do barking mad things to stay alive," (Y/N) huffed under her breath, running her hands over almost entirely smooth stone to find the one close to the ground that would vibrate. When she found it, she used her teeth to tear a hole in her thumb and draw a rune on it, and the stretch of wall before her shuddered, rumbling like a contented cat as the stones before her flickered, wavering, before disappearing entirely into a (Y/N)-shaped hole. 

"Oh, I've missed this," Dabi said with a fierce fondness, patting the stone next to him. "I never got sick of watching this damn thing change."

(Y/N) wished she had time to ask what that meant, but she really, really didn't. Instead, she flung her arms around Dabi's neck, kissing him fiercely, and his arms came around her, holding her close. 

"Come back to me, Todoroki Touya," she commanded, fighting the feeling of helpless frustration that swelled in her as it became all too real that she wouldn't be out in the field, fighting beside him, watching his back. "If you die, I swear to the goddess that I'll make a deal with another water sprite and show you just how much worse I can make your life than dying— stop laughing, Touya, I'm serious!"

Shoulders shaking with helpless laughter, he didn't even flinch when she smacked his arm, and only laughed harder when she threw her hands up in exasperation. 

"You want to fight so bad that you just can't stand it, can you?" he teased, forcibly planting a big, wet kiss on her forehead. 

"No," she admitted with a bit of a pout, "I can't stand it."

"Don't worry, pussy-cat," he said, grabbing a handful of her ass. "I'll fight hard enough for both of us, and if you aren't popping out a baby by the time I get back, we'll fuck like rabbits and I'll get to tell you in detail how I—"

(Y/N) stopped him there; if she knew Dabi at all, she knew that if she let him get going properly, he wouldn't stop in time to kill any imperials and that simply wouldn't do. 

Not if she wanted to get a play-by-play while she was getting railed later, anyway. 

"You're all talk," she sniffed in faux disdain, pushing him away. "I'll believe it when it happens."

Dabi grinned at her, and his face was like that of a laughing predator— darkly proud and victorious, and entirely confident in his own self. 

"Go safely, then," he told her, "and we'll see about it."

(Y/N) wanted to stay, to say one more I love you, but she reigned herself in, forced her back to turn and her feet to carry her forward. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do at this time, in this place. There was much to be said and done ahead. 

Goodbye, my love, she thought, not daring to chance a backwards look, and good luck. 

***

Shoto stood atop the outermost wall of the Summit, glancing around with his hands on his hips.

"Well," he said somewhat unnecessarily, "I think we might have a problem."

He was aware that he might have just made an understatement. Seemingly overnight, a massive imperial force had made its encampment around the Summit's walls, surrounding them on the front side. 

"You don't say," Midoriya replied with a nervous chuckle, and Bakugou grunted. The three of them stood side-by-side, looking out over the wall, and all around them, clan soldiers were buzzing around, making preparations to strike and counter-strike against the dogs barking at the base of the outer wall. Shoto knew from experience that the wall would be impossible to scale even with ladders— its age-old enchantment prevented that— but the front gate of solid oak wood would eventually fall. When that happened, would the Summit's defenses be prepared to handle it? Had Shoto done enough beforehand, with all his sneaking and scheming, to pull off a victory against a force this size?

As thoughts and fears bounced around in his head, a commotion arose from a little ways off, and three seasoned clan warriors were dragging some poor sod over the parapet—

Dragging some poor sod over the parapet? Unless someone had fallen over the parapet, that should have been impossible. 

"What the fuck is that?" Bakugou said plainly, and Shoto's eyes widened as he caught sight of what, exactly, was happening.

His older brother, clad in the same black armor he'd used in their duel, was being held roughly by three men, grinning like a cat that had got the cream. Dabi didn't fight back, didn't resist— not even when one of the men drew a blade and pressed it against his throat. Eventually, those azure eyes found Shoto's from across the way, and Dabi said,

"Greetings, brother! I bring tidings from abroad!" His voice, though mocking, was a growl, and his grin was toothy, calling to mind a predator's maw full of incisors. "The Empire is wiggling its arse, hoping to get fucked— what are we waiting for?"

That dragged a few befuddled chuckles from the men goggling at the scene, and the warriors holding Dabi looked at each other, then at Shoto, confused. 

"Release him," said Shoto, waving a hand, and two of the men stepped back. One— a mistrustful piece of gnarled bark from Clan Ashido— didn't move, keeping his blade tucked against Dabi's skin.

"I don't answer to you, lordling," said the man with a scowl. "Don't think I don't know a traitor when I see one. Black Dabi is no more welcome here than the dogs barking at our front door."

This, Shoto thought, was the worst possible way for his brother to become reintroduced to polite society— and then he was promptly proved wrong when Dabi shifted, grabbed his would-be captor, disarmed him, and dealt three heavy blows to his head before holding the poor bastard by his neck over the edge of the wall one-handed. The display of strength was not lost on Shoto, nor on any other warrior present.

"One wrong move," Dabi said, still smiling, "and I drop him."

No one moved— no one breathed. The Ashido clansman kicked and sputtered, choking, but with seemingly superhuman strength, Dabi held him there, unmoving. 

"A demon," someone to Shoto's left whispered. "The goddess has sent a demon to punish us for—"

Someone shushed them, but the damage was already done. That was the worst possible reintroduction to polite society that Todoroki Touya could have had.

"Brother," said Dabi without looking over, "I have men waiting in the underbrush a ways off from here. (Y/N) is inside, taking the escape tunnel in as we speak."

"How many men?" Shoto asked, and somewhere in the distance, familiar blue flames arched upwards into the sky. 

Dabi brought the man he was holding back onto the parapet and dropped him, allowing him to choke and sputter his way back to normalcy. 

"Enough," he replied, kicking the Ashido clansman in the side rather unkindly as he tried to rise. "If we launch an offensive now and drive them back, we'll have more time to plan for the next wave."

Shoto blinked, stunned.

"Next wave?"

Dabi shrugged. "It's just an assumption, but… if they didn't plan on taking the Summit by force, why send this many men? Do you think the Empire wanted to flex its muscles just to show off? Why waste the resources with nothing to show for it when they could finally have victory, full and complete?"

"Can your men drive these off?" Shoto asked, but before Dabi could answer, Bakugou stepped forward, arms crossed. 

"Can anyone explain to me what the fuck is going on here?" he demanded, glaring first at Dabi then at Shoto. 

Well, no point in hiding anything now— Shoto glanced around, raised his voice, and said,

"Warriors of the Clans," he called out, addressing every person within hearing distance. "I present to you my brother, Todoroki Touya, back from the dead to reap vengeance on the Empire."

The truth— with a little dramatic flair, naturally— had every breathing creature on the wall in an uproar. Chaos raged around them, and Bakugou shrugged a bit haplessly at the commotion and Midoriya's disapproving stare.

"That would have been nice to know ahead of time," Bakugou said by way of excuse. "That's all I'm saying."

Shoto sighed. 

"It's complicated."

That was all he managed to say before Todoroki Enji set foot on the parapet and shouted in a booming voice,

"Quiet!"

A hush fell over the soldiers then, and once it was quiet enough, Shoto heard the thunderous racket of a battering ram crashing against the main gate. The sound itself was harrowing; even though Shoto knew, logically, that the gate would stand for hours, if not more than a day against such an onslaught, knowing that imperial soldiers were so close and working persistently to harm his people was unsettling. Not only that, but with that sort of noise and strife made the perfect conditions for—

"A distraction," Dabi noted. "They know they can't get in that way— no sane man would even try. They're using the battering ram as a distraction."

Endeavor nodded grimly in agreement, and Shoto knew his father and brother were right. 

"Time is of the essence," said Endeavor, studying both his sons in turn. "We have to act."

Another clamor arose then— men shouting what they thought should be done, who they thought should lead, what should be done with this strange man who appeared before them as a friend with the face of an enemy— and amidst the chaos, Dabi strode to the other side of the parapet, somehow unnoticed by the men that were so enraged by his presence. Intrigued, Shoto moved to follow his brother, but stopped short when Dabi turned on his heel at the end of the parapet with a manic gleam in his eyes.

"I promised my woman that I'd kill imperials today," he told Shoto, bouncing briefly on the balls of his feet before drawing his sword. "If your men decide to help, do send them— they can wipe the blood and shit off the boots of my men when they get through stomping out your enemies."

Before Shoto could ask what the hell Dabi meant by that, he found himself stumbling backwards as Dabi took off at a dead sprint, running directly to the other side of the parapet and making a desperate, superhuman leap that sent him flying from the edge like a madman. 

Silence fell for a beat, then two— then a massive column of blue flame erupted, and all were blinded by the heat and searing brightness it produced. Shoto was in awe; he had experienced Dabi's flames before, knew the height and breadth of his power, but even that was no comparison to the nova in front of him. Some men were shouting, others screaming, and still more weren't moving at all— Bakugou was one of the latter, staring at the madness and chaos that broke out among the imperial ranks. Midoriya stood beside him, equally awed, but snapped out of it quickly once he caught sight of Shoto striding towards them. 

"Is he actually your brother?" Midoriya asked, pulling his eyes away from the carnage below them to lock gazes with his friend. 

"Yeah," Shoto said. "He is."

Bakugou grunted. 

"That explains why you were so eager to trust him with gathering intel," he said, folding his arms as imperials died and Clansmen watched. After a moment, he added, "He's one hell of a fighting machine, I'll give him that. I've got no idea how you managed to defeat him."

Ah, yes— Shoto kept forgetting that he had told no one the reality of what had happened that night, not even his two closest friends. There were reasons for keeping the truth from the world, not least among them Shoto's own right to privacy… but there was also shame there, deep and ugly, that Shoto never wished to acknowledge. 

Before he could ruminate long on that dark night, Shoto caught sight of movement in the distance, and his eyes widened as he realized just what was happening. Midoriya, who was next to notice, said,

"Are those— how many men is that? Whose men are those?" 

"My brother's," Shoto replied distantly, watching as the force approached. "He said he had enough to help, but…"

They seem so few, he thought. 

"Well, I don't know about you lads, but I'm not about to sit here and jerk off while those bastards get all the glory," Bakugou said with a fierce grin. "When they write the history books, I want my name listed under those who took up arms instead of squabbling like a bunch of brats over their mother's teat."

Shoto couldn't help but agree.

"So what do we do?" Midoriya asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. 

At that, Shoto smiled.

"We jump."

Slowly, Midoriya and Bakugou began to answer his smile with grins of their own, and moving as one, they mirrored exactly the action that Dabi had taken only moments before. They ran, they jumped, and as Shoto felt the freedom of open air, he realized with sudden, sharp clarity that this was the moment that goddess had saved him for, the reason that he hadn't died months ago. 

He was alive to slay the war dogs barking at his door. 

Before he hit the ground, Shoto used his right side to unleash an icy blast that allowed him to simply slide down a ramp of ice and into the fray, blasting flames with his left side and spikes of ice with his right along the way. He must have killed at least ten men within the first ten seconds of being on the ground, and from the booming of Bakugou's explosions and Midoriya's punches, he'd credit his friends with the same and more. Imperial soldiers fell left and right, and Shoto remained largely untouched amidst it all— in a rush of exhilaration and adrenaline, he brought two hands above his head and brought them down in a massive torrent of ice and flame, uncaring of what damage he might cause. He was finally free to unleash the anger and humiliation that had been building inside him since the day that the Clans had surrendered to the empire, and he did so with reckless abandon. 

Later, Shoto would learn that after he and his friends had followed his brother's example, many others on top of the wall had come to their senses and followed suit, joining their offensive. Those who were not so easily swayed by their passions (or perhaps simply less suited to a dive off of the wall) stayed atop the wall, reorganizing and using their resources to aid the ground forces. Dabi's one leap of faith caused a chain reaction in the men, each of them emboldened by his example— later, Shoto would be in awe of it.

Now, though… now all Shoto knew was the razor-sharp, all consuming focus of battle, and the deadly weapon of his body ending lives more easily than snuffing out a candle flame. 

***

All things considered, Dabi had thought the battle would take longer. Honestly, he'd demolished little peasant villages that had more spunk. 

Before the sun was anywhere near the horizon, the imperials were retreating. It had taken only a few hours for the waves of soldiers to stop coming, which Dabi took to mean that the imperial force had run out of spare troops from a nearby camp, forcing them to retreat until their main force arrived; however, even with finite resources, the imperials had fought well and hard, most of them living supernaturally long against the onslaught of blessing-fuelled attacks. Even so, there was little living that could withstand Dabi's flames, and although most of the ground surrounding the Summit was scorched, there were no imperials, so Dabi considered it an improvement. 

"Way to show off," said Shoto, falling into step beside him as they made their way to the gate of the citadel. "It's true what they say about you and your men— you fight like demons. The imperials never stood a chance."

Dabi found himself grinning. 

"There's more where that came from," he said, "but don't get too cocky. This isn't over."

It was not, in fact, over; it had only just started. With every hurdle cleared would come another, taller, wider one— and as it happened, one such hurdle presented itself ass-up as Dabi and Shoto neared the entrance to the Summit. 

"No fucking way," said a big, burly blond man, fists clenched at his sides as he spoke to another man, who appeared to be skeptical as eell. If Dabi recalled correctly, the big blond one had been the one responsible for truly admirable explosions all over the battlefield. "I'm not letting these motherfuckers in my city. They might have helped us today, but who knows what they'll do tomorrow? This could be part of a plan to bring us down from the inside!"

Dabi had to hand it to the kid— it did sound like something he'd do. 

"Any ideas, chief?" Dabi asked his brother sotto voce, only half-joking. 

"Don't punch him," was the only advice Shoto had to offer before the two of them were upon the scene, and Dabi took that as permission to do whatever the hell he wanted. 

"Oi, what's the problem?" 

Blondie turned to him, scowling, and repeated his earlier sentiment. 

"I don't trust you, and I sure as hell don't trust them," he finished, pointing to a group of Dabi's men who were wounded, waiting to get inside. "We didn't ask for your help, so we don't owe you anything for it."

Dabi would have begged to differ, if he were so inclined to be bothered with begging at all. As it was, he just stepped closer into the man's space until they were almost nose-to-nose, grinning like a madman.

"What makes you think you can stop them if they want to come inside?" he challenged. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

With that, he made a chomping motion with his teeth, the hard bones clacking loudly together, and blondie flinched. 

"Way I see it, you have two options," said Dabi, allowing a slow purr to roll in his tone. "You can let us in, nice and easy, somewhere you can watch us to feel safe, or we can take what we want by force. The choice is yours. If it's the latter, there will be no mercy— my men don't like being insulted."

The man before him scowled, opened his mouth to rebuke him, but before he could, the other man who had been standing beside him put his hand on blondie's shoulder, a motion that seemed to soothe him somewhat. 

"My name is Midoriya Izuku," said the man in a soft, kind voice, "and my friend here doesn't mean to mistrust you or seem ungrateful. It's only that you and your men have a reputation, and we would hate to destroy the bonds we've started to build today by allowing something unfortunate to happen. I take it you understand my meaning?"

Dabi studied this Midoriya Izuku and found him to be sincere. 

Huh. 

"I understand," he replied, "but you must understand that my men and myself risked a great deal to offer aid to the Clans. Those who fought alongside you today are wounded, and hungry, and tired. They need water and rest, and most of them could use a bit of skirt to—"

Shoto cleared his throat, and Dabi took the hint. 

"The temple has always been a place open to travelers and those in need of sanctuary," said Midoriya after the awkward exchange between brothers. "That is all we can offer. No more and no less."

Dabi pretended to think for a moment. 

"We'll take it," he replied. 

Midoriya smiled— a disarmingly sweet thing— then extended his hand.

"Welcome home," he said as he grasped Dabi's hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Touya."

Dabi blinked. He turned to Shoto, then said,

"Do they know I killed you?" he asked, jerking his thumb toward his brother's friends. "I thought that happened pretty publicly."

Shoto shrugged. 

"Lots of smoke— no one really saw what happened, and I didn't think it was necessary to tell them."

Shoto looked pointedly at him then, and realization dawned on Dabi.

"Ah," he said. "That makes this a bit awkward then, doesn't it?"

"If you killed him, then how is he alive?" Midoriya asked, but before either Dabi or Shoto could answer, the voice Dabi had been wanting to hear since the battle ended was calling out, sounding hot and bloody bothered in every sense of the phrase. 

"Todoroki Touya!" (Y/N) called out, charging at him like a small, waddling bull. The fury on her face stirred something deep in Dabi's loins, and he grinned as she approached him, all sorts of nasty thoughts in his head. 

"I cannot believe you jumped off of the wall, are you insane?" Dabi could see that she was practically shaking with rage, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists at her sides. He didn't doubt for a moment that she was winding up to using those fists— though for what, he wasn't sure. "You stupid, stupid man, I should— I should— I don't know what I should do, but it would be horrible, just— fucking horrible—"

Dabi didn't need to hear any more of the lecture to know it meant I love you, I was worried. Prepared to respond with the fullest reassurance that he knew and understood, he grabbed his woman by either side of her face and kissed her long and deep, thrusting his tongue in her mouth when she tried to speak again; immediately, (Y/N) responded in kind, kissing him back with equal fervor, one of her legs rising to come between his— a thoughtful gesture, really, but a useless one with the armor Dabi wore. Still, he grasped at her tits through her gown, and the small moan she let escape into his mouth had him even harder than the adrenaline from earlier. 

Her hands drifted from his shoulders to his neck, and then fisted in his hair, pulling him closer. Nearly wild with wanting, he kissed down her neck, licking and sucking and wondering how fucked up it was that he wanted to bite and mar that beautiful expanse of skin with claiming bruises, so dark and ugly that a beast might have done it instead of a man— goddess divine, he was going to fuck her right here in the middle of the fucking street if—

Someone wolf-whistled, and (Y/N) pulled away. Dabi turned to see a young woman striding towards them, her face splattered red with blood, and she smiled widely, holding her arms open to (Y/N) for an embrace. 

"(Y/N), darling!" she said as (Y/N) opened her arms as well, hugging her close despite the gore soaking her armor. "Look at you— you're glowing! Absolutely stunning, you are! And what's this— the rumors of a little one are true after all?"

(Y/N) pulled away, laughing. 

"There is always some truth to what the gossips say, Ochako," she replied, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Speaking of which, I haven't been in the capital for an hour and I've already heard some rumors about you and one Midoriya Izuku."

Dabi couldn't tell for certain because of all the blood, but it seemed as though the young woman's face turned red. 

"Oh, it's not like that," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears in a shy, girlish gesture that looked strange on a warrior like herself. "I mean, he's— I'm— it's not—"

Ochako fumbled, and (Y/N) reached out, placing a hand on her arm with a kind smile. 

"I understand," she replied, her voice tender in a way that implied that she truly did understand. "Regardless, it's good to see you— I've missed you so much!"

The two women smiled and embraced again, and Dabi felt a strange jealousy arise. He wasn't used to not being the center of (Y/N)'s attention, and he almost found himself saying something foolish when a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder, and he turned to find his father looking on beside him with fondness in his eyes. 

"You'll learn to share her," Endeavor said with a small, distant smile, as though he knew what Dabi was experiencing and had experienced it himself. "It won't come easily, but it will eventually come. Until then, be patient, and understand that there are many who love her as much as you do."

Dabi grunted sourly, but it sounded half-hearted at best. 

"You did well today," his father continued, not moving his hand. "The men followed you, you know. I think the half that don't hate you are in awe of you."

Dabi scoffed. 

"Yeah, right."

Endeavor turned to look at him. Those deep blue eyes, so like his own, were soft and kind, but not yielding.

"I'm serious. I watched you take a bunch of whining children and turn them into a fighting force just by being bold enough to act. You knew what needed to be done, and you didn't hesitate in doing it, not for a single second— that's the sort of leadership the Clans have been missing."

Dabi wasn't sure what his father meant to imply by that, but he got the distinct feeling that he wouldn't like it even if he did know. 

"That said," Endeavor continued, "There will need to be a conversation about… well, about you. I'm afraid you aren't trusted yet despite the risks you've taken for our sake."

Truthfully, Dabi had expected no less, but he reserved the right to be offended about it anyway. 

"Fine," he said, allowing his features their natural downward turn, "but not before I've had something to eat and some time with my woman."

Endeavor grimaced. 

"That won't be possible," he said. "I've already done all I can to stall—"

"I AM HERE!"

Endeavor sighed, and Dabi noticed the presence of a man as tall as his father and just as large with another two feet of enthusiasm tacked onto his height and breadth. The man had bright yellow hair, blindingly white teeth, and tan skin from labor in the sun. Yagi Toshinori, the All Might, hadn't changed a day since Touya's youth. 

"Here we go," said Endeavor, sotto voce, and it seemed that no force on earth or in hell itself could have stopped All Might from giving both father and son (as well as every person along the way) an enthusiastic clap on the back. Dabi nearly stumbled from the force, and he didn't bother to hide his irritation as All Might introduced himself and welcomed Dabi to the capital. 

"You were splendid out there!" All Might told Dabi, flashing him a thumb-up. "Truly magnificent! You remind me of your father in his early days!"

Dabi shrugged, uncomfortable.

"Thanks, I guess," he replied, hoping that would be the end of this awkward encounter, but All Might wasn't done making Dabi uncomfortable— not by a long shot. 

"You're a man of many names, I hear!" All Might's voice boomed with power even as he seemed to attempt to speak more quietly. "What should I call you, young man? Touya? Dabi? Black Dragon?"

Dabi floundered for a moment. He was caught unawares by the question, and once he thought about it, he found that he wasn't sure of the answer. 

"Todoroki Touya was the name I was Welcomed into this world with," he answered finally, saying the only truth he knew. "Any other name was given to me after."

"Splendid!" said All Might. Then, as conspicuously inconspicuous as possible, he glanced around, hunched lower to Dabi's height, and said, "Young Touya, I'm going to have to ask you to come before the Council today. We agreed with Young Shoto that you were a valuable resource for gathering intelligence, and no one can deny your valor here today, but you must know that there are things in your past that require addressing."

Dabi scowled, opening his mouth to protest, but All Might cut him off. 

"Come, Young Toya! There is much to do, and the sooner you come before the Council, the better!"

Thus, Dabi found himself swept off, towed along beside his father in All Might's wake; as he passed, he watched as (Y/N) was swept a different direction, surrounded by women about her own age— some warriors, some priestesses, some simply nobles— who were speaking animatedly and reaching out to touch her belly. Before (Y/N) and Dabi were too far to see each other, their eyes met, and Dabi knew they were thinking the same thing. 

Wait for me, said their gaze. I'll find you.

Dabi felt oddly comforted by that gaze. He wished he could say fuck it and cut down every barrier (human or otherwise) between them, but he knew he needed to be patient if he wanted to succeed against the Empire. After the Empire was gone, he could do as he pleased— but until then, he had to play the long game. 

Time to turn up the charm, he thought, flexing his hands lightly beside him. Maybe they won't try to kill me after all. 

On the walk to the center of the Summit, Dabi was surprised to see how much of the city had changed and how much had stayed the same. The cobblestone streets were still there, seemingly untouched by time's passing, but streets that had once been abandoned were full of shops, vendors, and art that hadn't been there before. Statues, tall and lovely, lined what used to be the main street into the city, and Dabi marveled at the depictions of heroes of legend. Heracles stood bravely with his club and a dead lion at his feet; Ozymandius, with scepter in hand, gazed down at him in disdain. Nymphs and bards and soldiers and kings lined the streets in marble and bronze, and Dabi wondered if, one day, the heroes of today would number among them

Before long, Dabi found himself ushered inside the castle at the center of the Summit, a towering building that served as a center for Clan affairs. The building was just as he remembered it— still gray, still gloomy, and still able to make Dabi feel strangely small. The same tapestries hung on the walls, depicting harrowing scenes of justice— Prometheus chained to a rock, a world destroyed by flood, a man blinded, his eyes seared by brightest light— and Dabi scowled at the one on the end depicting one man stabbed with a thousand blades. He hated those damn tapestries. They'd scared him as a child, and they scared him now, though for very different reasons; back then, though he'd been frightened of the violence, he hadn't understood what it represented— but now, he knew what it represented, and that's what frightened him. 

A warm, heavy hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to find his father looking at him with kindness in his eyes. 

It'll be alright, his eyes seemed to say, but Dabi shrugged off the hand and strode farther ahead with a scowl. Dabi didn't need comfort, didn't need advice; he held all the cards he needed. All he had to do was play them right. 

Down the central hallway, past the tapestries, there was one final door, large and foreboding. It was made of ugly, gnarled wood, and creaked awfully when it was opened, but as All Might pushed it inward, Dabi saw that the inside of the room was pleasant enough, with a round table and a large fireplace, which popped and crackled with life. A few people already sat there, among them a young man with bright red hair and sharp-looking teeth, a young woman with short, dark hair and dangling ear lobes, and a blond, handsome man of an age with Dabi that had bright crimson wings and yellow, reflective eyes that reminded him of a falcon's. 

"Hello, my friends!" All Might boomed with his signature smile. "I am here! As well as Endeavor and Young Touya!"

Dabi wanted to scowl at the unsatisfactory introduction he received, but he didn't have time to be irritated before the young man with red hair was approaching him with a large, sharp-toothed grin and an outstretched hand. 

"Ejiro Kirishima," he introduced himself, shaking Dabi's hand in a firm grip. "It's nice to finally meet you— your information about imperial movements was invaluable to my men, and I heard you fucking wrecked it out there in the battle!"

Dabi cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward and wrong-footed by Kirishima's enthusiasm.

"It's a two-way street," he replied with a shrug. "I scratch your back, you scratch mine."

Kirishima's smile faltered a bit at that, but was back at full force as Endeavor approached. The two of them struck up a conversation— "How was the battle, I wish I could have seen it!", "Fantastic— wish you could have seen it as well, but we needed you blocking that gate,"— and it distracted them enough for Dabi to slip away unnoticed.

Or, at least he was unnoticed until he took two steps to the right and nearly bumped into a short, angry-looking blonde woman who might have been a close relative of the explosion bastard.

"Oi!" she said, more out of reflex than anything. "Watch where you're going!"

Having said her piece, she looked away, but did a double take as she realized who she had spoken to.

"Hey, you," she said, narrowing bright red eyes. "You're Black Dabi, aren't you? The one who killed all those people, burned all those villages."

"So what if I am?" he shot back. That appeared to be the wrong response, because the woman stepped up into his space with calm, quiet rage, and told him,

"You hurt my son's friend— your own flesh and blood. You hurt innocent people to fulfill your ambitions." She folded her arms, her eyes never leaving his. "I don't care who you are or what you've done since then, but I don't trust you."

Dabi opened his mouth to respond, but in the amount of time it took to blink, the man with the wings was out of his seat and at the woman's side, putting his hand on her shoulder. 

"Mitsuki, don't," said the man, an odd expression of repressed hurt drifting over his face. "The reason he went after Shoto… that was my mistake."

This time, it was Dabi's turn to double take. 

"What did you just say?" Dabi asked, his tone sharpening against his will, and Mitsuki bristled in front of him, moving to stand between him and the other man. 

"I— I killed Bubaigawara Jin," the man admitted, shamefaced. "It was an accident, truly— I didn't know who he was, and he was killing people in the street. I should have only restrained him, should have done something, anything else… and I'm so sorry that I didn't. I will carry that regret for the rest of my life." 

The man bowed, crimson wings tucked neatly against his back, and several things happened at once. 

A crash sounded from somewhere behind Dabi, and a woman he didn't recognize lunged forward, knife in hand. Halfway to running past Dabi, the woman's features began to change, and Dabi knew that it was Toga's blessing wearing off, the effect of the blood she'd taken from someone else diminishing. With one move, he clotheslined her, snatching the knife from her hand before she could use it; in mere moments, Toga returned to her usual form, screaming and crying and kicking in Dabi's grip as he held her back. 

"He killed him!" she screeched, tears falling down her face in streams. "He killed Jin, murdered him—"

"I know, dammit," Dabi growled, nose aching from the blow her elbow had given it. "Stop struggling, Toga— I fucking mean it, you little bitch!"

In reply, Toga only bit him— but despite his roar of pain, Dabi didn't release her. 

"I'm telling you, you stupid whore, you can't just kill him in front of all these people!" he admonished her, forcing her into a headlock. "They'll kill you for it— learn some subtlety, for fuck's sake!"

In hindsight, that wasn't going to earn him any brownie points with the Council— but it was the fucking truth, so that was something.

"Let me go!" Toga whined, kicking her feet as he lifted her off the ground. 

"No! Not until you promise not to kill anyone!"

Toga howled and kicked him in the shin, and Dabi swore, tightening his headlock on her. 

"Don't you understand?" he growled, eyes burning. "If you keep shedding blood in this stupid, fucking endless cycle of revenge, nothing has the chance to get fixed! If you kill that prick, some prick from his clan is going to come kill you, and so on and so forth until we're all fucking dead or slaves to the Emperor! If any of us are going to have freedom sometime this century, then people like us are going to have to shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down, and kill people in order of goddess-damned priority!"

Toga stilled. Dabi wasn't sure if the message had gotten through to her, or if she'd just passed out from lack of airflow, but either way, Dabi dropped her to the ground, letting her choke and sputter her way back to normalcy.

"Well, suppose that's the meeting," Kirishima quipped cheerfully, meeting Dabi's eyes with a mischievous grin. "See you lads later!"

A chuckle came from here and there, but most people were staring at Dabi or at Toga (who was naked as a jaybird in the middle of the council room). Mitsuki was speechless, Endeavor was scratching the back of his head, and the All Might was grinning as though he'd just won a game of chess. 

"Pretty words," said a dark-haired, buxom woman with a whip at her side, "but I've met too many men like you, Black Dabi. You swagger in, save the day, lull your prey into a false sense of security— but at the end of the day, we have no control over you and no reason to trust that we won't need control over you. You're a liability."

"A liability that saved your asses today," he shot back, but then Midoriya, who had previously been standing quietly in the background like some ornamental vase, stepped boldly forward and said,

"We don't need to control him— we need to unleash him."

Every head turned to him, Dabi's included, and the young man held his head high as he continued, confident in his claim. 

"Those of you who were on the outer wall today saw what he was capable of." Deep green eyes searched the room, and Dabi had to make an effort not to look away when those eyes fell on him. "His blessing is strong, yes— but what saved us today was his ability to act. That's what we've been working toward for months now, and still, when the time came, no one could do anything but argue. It's time we came to realize that in times of war, we need someone to lead."

Midoriya looked to Shoto. Dabi followed the action and smiled when he realized what was happening. 

"The same blood that led us today can lead us again. I know that none of us have put our trust in Todoroki Touya fully, there is another that I would trust with my life and with the fate of the Clans." 

Midoriya extended his arm, outstretched his hand to indicate Shoto, and said, 

"Todoroki Shoto is the person I trust most with ruling during wartime, and I'm not the only person who feels that way."

Slowly, Kirishima and the woman with short-cropped dark hair moved to Shoto's side, followed by Endeavor, then Mitsuki and the man who murdered Jin. That totaled up to nearly half the room, and the others looked warily at one another as though they had suddenly realized that there were wolves among the sheep. 

"I… didn't choose this," Shoto said, meeting the eyes of those who apparently had yet to be convinced of his worthiness. "It was chosen for me, and I accepted."

A murmuring fell across the room, everyone looking at one another, speaking under their breath. Shoto's poker face was good, but Dabi could read his hesitation like words on parchment. The others needed a push, something to give them more assurance than they had, and the other side of the room was all out of cards to play. 

What the hell, Dabi thought, crossing his arms with a crooked grin, watching looks of skepticism pass around the room. What could it hurt to help a brother out?

"You want a way to control me?" he asked, jerking his chin towards Shoto, "Well, there you have it. He came back unscathed from a duel with me. Do you know what that means?"

Everyone looked around as if searching for the answer. Shoto stared at him with a blank expression, and Midoriya with suspicion. 

"It means," Dabi said slowly, enunciating every syllable, "that he won."

The wording of it was key. Dabi didn't say that Shoto defeated him, or that Shoto could kill him if it was necessary, though his words might imply it. What he had said was, Shoto won— which, in a sense, he did. After all, Dabi had been aiming to kill him, and yet here he stood, alive and well and with Dabi on his side. If that wasn't winning, he wasn't sure what would be. 

The dark-haired woman with the whip who had questioned Dabi earlier spoke up.

"If we accept you as a leader, young Todoroki," she said slowly, her gaze calculating, "What is to keep you from keeping that power even after wartime, forcing us to remain united under one banner?"

At that, Shoto smiled a little. 

"The better question is if I'll survive even a week trying to unite the Clans at all," he replied wryly, "but I'll bite. No man— or woman— could give you the assurance you're asking for, but I will say this: may the goddess herself strike me dead if I ever lift a hand against my own clansmen, or if I ever seek to use the united Clans to fulfill my own ambitions and vainglory."

A subtle vibration trembled through the room. It could have been Dabi's imagination, or it could not have been— regardless, there was power in those words, and Dabi believed them to be a binding pact with the goddess as surely as he was standing there.

"You're really capable of leading us?" another person— a blond man with slicked hair— spoke up. "No offense, but you are very young— why should we trust you and not someone more seasoned?"

Shoto raised a brow, and Dabi had to actively hold back a laugh. 

"Besides the fact that the old guard have been noticeably ineffective at dealing with the Empire?" —it really was incredibly difficult not to howl with laughter; Dabi was shaking with the force of it— "I plan to ask a small council for advice… one much like our current company. Leaning on the experience and wisdom of the excellent is the only way the Clans will ever achieve anything, and that's what my strategy for decision-making will be."

The man thought for a minute, then nodded. 

"Very well," he said, stepping forward to extend his hand to Shoto. "With this understanding in place, I accept your position as leader for the foreseeable future."

Shoto nodded. 

"I'm grateful," he replied. 

One by one, the others followed suit. Some were more reluctant than others, but by the end, Shoto was officially unanimously chosen to lead the Clans. Dabi felt a strange sort of pride watching it happen, and he wondered if this was what having a brother was supposed to be like. 

"So," said Kirishima, who had reclaimed his seat at the table, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "What now, Commander?"

Shoto grinned.

"Now we plan a war."

Dabi cleared his throat, and the whole room looked his way. He couldn't help but smirk at the feeling of power that gave him. 

"If I may," he said, "I have a sneaking suspicion of what the Empire will do as a counter-strike for today's victory."

Like a good little peon, he waited for Shoto to nod consent, and when he did, Dabi leaned forward, placed his fingertips on the table, and got to work.

***

"Do you think they're raking Touya over the coals right now?" (Y/N) mused to no one in particular as Ochako combed her hair, gently working out the knots that had formed from going too long without a cut. 

"I wouldn't know," Ochako replied, pitching her voice teasingly low, "but I'm sure he'll live. If earlier was any indication, he seems more of a man of action than one of words, if you know what I mean— "

A titter of giggles sounded throughout the room, and (Y/N) turned to find Mina, Tsuyu, and Momo grinning at one another.

"What's all this, then?" (Y/N) demanded, half laughing and half serious. "Do you lot have something to say to me?"

"Only that I wish my man were so hot blooded," said Mina with a salacious wink. "I thought he was going to hike up your dress and plant his flag for the clan, if you know what I mean."

The others giggled at that, and (Y/N) felt heat rise to her cheeks. 

"Come on, it was just a kiss!" she protested, but the others weren't done. 

"He was practically eating you," giggled Tsuyu. "Under any other circumstances it would be gross, but he's just so handsome— all the Todoroki boys are, now that I think about it— but still. The chemistry between you two is incredible!"

"You're a lucky woman," Momo agreed, her usually kind and soft features sharpening into something just a little bit wicked. "I bet he's a real beast in bed."

Ochako snickered, and (Y/N) just barely resisted elbowing her from where she sat.

"Oh, if his prowess on the battlefield is any indication, then his skill is beyond imagining," she added conspiratorially, running the shell comb once more through a section of (Y/N)'s hair. "You know, I saw him kill three men at once— one with flame, another with his sword, and the last with a boot to the face? And he's so flexible, and strong, and—"

"Oi," (Y/N) warned jokingly— a habit she'd picked up from Dabi— and Ochako laughed, soothing her with a gentle pat on the shoulder. 

"He's all yours, darling— he's all the things we said, true, but he's only had eyes for you." Ochako looked to the others, and (Y/N) saw that the others were nodding. "You've got him wrapped around your little finger… I mean, the reason he gave for jumping off the wall like a raving bloody lunatic was, 'I promised my woman I'd kill imperials today.' If you ask me, that's one hell of a devoted man."

"How romantic," purred Mina— but before the conversation could go any further there was a knock at the door, halting (Y/N)'s embarrassment. 

"Come in," Ochako called out, setting her comb down, and the door opened to reveal Toga, still covered in blood and smiling shyly in the doorway.

"(Y/N)?" Toga asked, the very picture of timidity. "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" (Y/N) replied gently— despite the fact that she was in Ochako's chambers and not her own. "Make yourself at home."

One by one, (Y/N) introduced her friends to Toga, and with each introduction, Toga seemed to smile a little more, blush a little brighter. Soon, the others were fetching warm water for a bath for the newcomer, and as Toga was scrubbed clean of blood and dirt, she basked in the attention she was given, happy as a lark. 

"You're all so pretty!" she gushed, stepping lightly out of the now-dirty bath water. "I think I really love all of you!"

The others laughed, somewhat confused, but altogether charmed, and Toga beamed. It warmed (Y/N)'s heart to see the girl so happy— right up until the moment the topic of conversation turned back to Dabi and herself. Then, she was ready to punt the little shit off of the roof of the capitol building. 

"You mean they fucked on the very first night?" Mina leaned forward, hungry for gossip. 

"Oh yes," Toga giggled, cutting her eyes slyly at (Y/N). "I got it from Dabi himself that he'd spanked her raw only hours before—"

"Toga, please," (Y/N) groaned, but she was nowhere near done. 

"Not to mention that he walked straight into a faerie ring to protect her," Toga added, "and through fire, and through a magical forest—"

Toga continued to gush, and (Y/N) wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Even so, the others took great delight in the tales of (Y/N)'s adventures with Dabi, and they laughed and cheered and made comments out of the side of their mouths, all in good fun; the joy and love they showed Toga, (Y/N), and each other burned bright and warm, filling the room with it, turning the whole word soft around the edges.

It was good to be home. 

***

Outside, the night was bitterly cold, and the light of the heavens was obscured by a thick blanket of clouds, plunging the world into blackest midnight. In a castle a few miles away from the Summit, the warlord sat among his council, quiet rage swelling in his chest. 

"Defeated," he growled. "An entire legion, defeated! Who is responsible for this fucking travesty?"

The men before him simply looked at one another, dismayed. 

"They were powerful, sir," one captain said, worrying his cap in his hands. "They were sorcerers, all of them, and they were led by a man with blue flames—"

"Blue flames?" the warlord demanded. "You let a little fire stop you from ramming down the gates?!"

"It was an inferno, my lord!" The man who had spoken up was trembling. "An inferno of the hottest fire I've ever felt! And there were others, my lord, who were using black magic against us—"

The warlord stood, slamming a gauntleted fist onto the council's table. 

"Did you not have sorcerers of your own? Seasoned experts in the dark arts, gifted powers by the Emperor himself?"

The man before him nodded frantically and said,

"You did, my lord! You did, but— but they all died in the blaze that—"

The warlord grabbed his subordinate by the neck, curling his meaty fist to crush the man's windpipe. The man kicked and struggled, but the warlord refused to release him until he stopped moving altogether, dead. He tossed the bastard aside, turned back to his men, and said,

"Who's next in line to lead?"

A woman with a sharp, hawkish nose and dark, close-cropped hair stood up and stepped forward. She wore the brand of a sorcerer on her neck, and the warlord grunted with approval. 

"Tomorrow, there will be three legions surrounding the Summit," the warlord told her, resuming his seat at the head of the table. "They're traveling here as we speak. If you do not ensure the death of the man with the blue flames with the men given to you, you will meet a far worse fate than your predecessor's. Do you understand?"

The woman nodded. 

"I understand," she answered. "Would you like it done tonight, sir?"

This piqued the warlord's interest. 

"Can it be done?"

"It can, my lord." the woman affirmed. "I just need the body of one who saw him."

The warlord gestured to the body on the floor.

"Will this trash suffice?"

She nodded. 

"It will."

"Good. Then be on your way. This meeting is adjourned."

The warlord had always thought it was somewhat comical to see the members of a council stepping quickly out of his presence after a particularly harsh meeting. It was an excellent indication that his point had been made. One man, however, lingered— the only man in the meeting that the warlord hadn't been able to intimidate into a frightened frenzy, or even move at all. Shigaraki of the League— the warlord's most recently acquired ally— approached him, damp, greasy-looking pale hair hanging in front of his unnaturally red eyes. Severed hands gripped the man's body in various places, and the warlord fought off a shudder at the sight of him. Fucking sorcerers. 

"I know who your blue-flame menace is," he said casually as he moved to stand beside the warlord, "and I have a bone to pick with him."

The warlord grunted. "I've been assured that he will be dead before the night is out, so if you have business with him, you'd best hope your horse can outrun my new lieutenant's."

Shigaraki cackled— a dry, hacking sound that would raise any man's hackles. 

"He won't be." Shigaraki hacked again, his grin sick and manic. "She'll never get over the wall, much less kill Black Dabi. He's twice the fighter even the best of your men are. No, if you want him dead, you'll need something more than that."

The warlord raised a brow. 

"What do you suggest?"

"I can destroy the outer wall of the Summit with a single touch."

The warlord didn't gape, but it was a near thing. 

"Then why didn't you fucking say so earlier?" he demanded. "I could have used that information well before now, you slimy—"

Something flashed in Shigaraki's eyes, and the warlord stopped. He was no coward, but he was no fool either— he knew bloodlust when he saw it, and not being a sorcerer himself, he wasn't inclined to provoke one who claimed he could destroy the greatest feat of architecture known to man.

"I didn't say so because I wasn't informed of your coming," Shigaraki replied shortly. "If I were privy to your plans, I would be more able to assist."

The warlord took the admonishment for what it was— the whining of a little lordling who was used to getting his way. 

"I do what the Emperor, the All for One, dictates," the warlord said truthfully. "No more, no less. If you have a problem, naturally, you may take it up with the Emperor himself. Until I hear otherwise from him, you will know what I tell you, sorcerer."

Shigaraki scowled, but didn't argue. 

"Very well," he replied unhappily. "Even so, I suppose I'll tell you what I was thinking we could do to take down the Clans once and for all— the final, killing blow to a dead society."

The warlord nodded. 

"Go on. What is your plan?"

Shigaraki explained his strategy at length. The longer he spoke, the more excited he became, and the warlord was both disturbed and impressed by his strategic prowess. The plan was the essence of simplicity, and yet seemed a more effective use of resources than any other strategy the warlord himself had ever created. 

"And you're sure this will be effective?" the warlord asked, almost certain that it was too good to be true. 

"Positive," Shigaraki replied. 

"Then we move as soon as the reinforcements get here. I'll give you a legion and every sorcerer we have."

Shigaraki nodded, that evil grin back in place, and the warlord took a moment to wonder if giving this man more power was a good idea after all. 

Too late now, he mused, grimacing at the outline of the sorcerer as he left. May God help and forgive us all if he should turn on us.

With that unpleasant thought, he turned away and headed towards the place he would sleep tonight, hoping rest would come easy and undisturbed. 

[snelbz]

Life As We Know it {Chapter 15}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta looked in the mirror and figured she looked decent enough. Having not been on an actual date in quite some time, she felt a little off her game, but the dress she had chosen felt better than the others she had tried on.

After admiring the deep, crimson color and the way her breasts looked in the low neckline, Nesta sprayed her hair and slipped on her heels before grabbing her clutch and walking down the stairs.

Nyx was in the living room, bouncing up and down in his exersaucer. When he saw Nesta, he grinned.

“Hi, sweet boy,” she said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head and hoping her lipstick hadn’t rubbed off. “Cassian?”

“Kitchen!”

“I’m heading out,” Nesta said, leaning back up.

He was a room away, in the kitchen, making the gods knew what for their dinner. Nyx always ate whatever she made for him, but it was typically a challenge. Earlier in the week, Cass had started deviating from his generic meals for Nyx of jarred baby food and puffs. It seemed like it didn’t matter what the man fed him, Nyx adored it.

She made her way into the other room and stood behind a chair at the kitchen table and cleared her throat. “I shouldn’t be home too late,” she said, drumming her fingers along the wood.

Cass glanced back at her and his eyebrows rose. “You sure? You look pretty nice for shouldn’t be home too late.”

Blushing, she said, “We’re just going to dinner.”

He turned back to the stove, where he was sautéing some broccoli and carrots, but she caught the smirk on his face. “I doubt dinner will be the only thing he wants to eat.”

A knock from the front door halted whatever her response was going to be.

For a moment, neither of them moved, then Cassian blinked. “Are you going to get that or should I?”

Nesta huffed as she made her way back through the house and opened the front door.

Balthazar was there, that glorious smile plastered on his handsome face. His brown eyes went wide in appreciation. “Wow. You look incredible.”

Nesta looked down at her dress before saying, “Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.”

“Thanks-.”

“Alright, don’t keep her out too late and make sure she doesn’t drink too much.” Nesta spun around to find Cassian leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “She’s not a pretty drunk.”

She widened her eyes at him, not sure if he was joking or not. The glimmer in his eyes said yes, but she couldn’t be sure.

Balthazar narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze trailing down Cassian’s arms. “Are you Illyrian?”

Nesta swore she felt the tension in the room thicken at the three words.

“I am,” Cassian said, and she wondered if the flexing of his arms was intentional or not. “So I’d be real careful what the next words out of your mouth are.”

Balthazar smirked and unbuttoned one of his shirt sleeves, rolling it up to reveal—

Illyrian markings.

Cassian’s brows shot up and Nesta looked back and forth between the two of them.

“You’re from Illyria?” Nesta asked, once it was clear that Cassian wouldn’t say a thing.

“I am,” Balthazar said. “Grew up in the mountains. Moved here nearly a decade ago, but my parents still live there. I go there a couple of times a year.”

Cassian whistled before Nesta could say anything. “The mountains are beautiful. My mom used to take me up there for a getaway when I was younger.”

“Ah, yeah, I love it there,” Balthazar said. “I’d love to move back someday.”

Nesta cleared her throat, awkwardly. “I hate to break up this bonding moment, but we do have dinner reservations.”

“Right, of course,” Balthazar said, nodding. He stepped back, letting Nesta by. “If you’re ready, we can go.”

“Cass, have a good night,” she said, throwing him a look over her shoulder.

“Yeah, y’all, have fun,” he said, smirking at her as he closed the door behind them.

Balthazar walked Nesta to his car, opening her door for her and heading to his own side, climbing behind the driver seat. They rode in silence for a second before Balthazar said, “I’m glad you said yes.”

Nesta, despite herself, blushed as she looked over at him across the car. “I am, too.”

*

Cassian hadn’t been lying when he told Nesta he wanted her to go out with the doctor. If she had a boyfriend, he’d be less likely to think about sleeping with her again.

But he hadn’t expected to see another Illyrian at the front door. There would have been no way he could’ve known, since Nyx had only had to go to the doctor once while they’d had him, but surely Rhys would have mentioned that his son’s doctor was Illyrian at least once. There weren’t many Illyrians in Velaris, most of them choosing to stay in Illyria, to the north.

He hated that Balthazar was a nice guy.

A great guy.

A damn Illyrian.

While Nesta was gone, Cassian tried to keep his mind off of her on her date. And yet, it’s all he could think about, which was ridiculous. Nesta deserved to be happy, deserved to have fun.

And Cassian wasn’t complaining. He loved hanging out with Nyx, loved doing all the things that uncles did. And yet, Cassian felt off.

Everything was better when Nesta was around.

Nyx whimpered and Cassian seemed to understand as he lifted his nephew out of his bouncy seat and cradled him in his arms.

“Aunt Nesta will be home soon,” he crooned, bouncing Nyx.

The baby still looked around, looking for her.

For the first couple months after the accident, Nyx had constantly looked around, constantly searched for Rhys and Feyre. But recently, he hadn’t been looking around much anymore, and when he was it was for one of them.

Silently, Cassian had hoped it didn’t mean he was forgetting about Rhys and Feyre.

He sighed, carrying him to the kitchen. “Uncle Cass wants some ice cream, how does that sound?”

He clapped once and Cassian chuckled. He got a big bowl, with two spoons and settled back on the couch, Nyx next to him.

Nyx’s bites were much smaller, and Cassian tried his best not to laugh when his eyebrows bunched together, a little brain freeze hitting him unexpectedly. After he’d had a few bites, Cassian set him down on the carpet, letting him crawl over to where his toys sat on the floor.

“When are you gonna walk, dude?” He asked, watching as he banged two plastic blocks against each other.

Nyx had mastered pulling himself up right before he turned one. Yet for whatever reason, he still hasn’t taken his first steps. He and Nesta talked about it a lot, and they’d discussed whether it was something they should ask his doctor about.

He supposed Nesta could do so tonight if she was so inclined.

“It’s about time for bed, you know,” Cassian said, watching as Nyx threw his toys across the living room. “For you and me. Once you go to sleep, I’ll be right behind you.”

Nyx made a noise that nearly made Cassian laugh out loud.

“Exactly,” Cassian went on. “So, let’s get you in your pajamas, then Uncle Cassian is going to relax for a while.”

Nyx didn’t protest as Cassian carried him upstairs and started to get him ready for bed. Cassian gave Nyx a bath and got him into his pajamas before he laid him in his crib. After patting his belly, Cassian went back downstairs and laid on the couch.

He laid in silence for ten minutes before deciding that Nyx was sound asleep and nothing would wake him.

Now, all he could think about was Nesta’s date.

He didn’t let himself think about why that was.

*

Nesta wasn’t sure she had laughed this hard in months. She was actually fairly sure she hadn’t.

Not since before the accident.

“Wait, wait,” she said, using her napkin to dab underneath her eyes, having laughed so hard that tears slipped out. “There were how many people there?”

“At least two thousand at the game and way, way more watching on TV,” Balthazar replied, cringing, reliving the time he’d accidentally been pantsed during a championship baseball game in college.

And had left nothing to the imagination.

Nesta was laughing again, but took a sip of her wine and shook her head. She was having an amazing time. The conversation was coming easily, the food was delicious, and Bal had made a spectacular wine choice.

He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m having a good time,” she admitted, surprising herself.

He brushed a thumb over her knuckles and smiled. “I am, too.”

Nesta looked down where their hands met. His hands were interesting. Softer than she expected, but strong. Not rough, at all, like Cassian’s were.

Her eyes snapped up to Bal’s.

She wasn’t going to think about Cassian.

“You know, I hear they have amazing desserts here,” Nesta went on, keeping her hand in his.

“I hear the same,” Balthazar said. “In fact, I may have ordered us a sample board while you were in the ladies’ room.”

Nesta raised a brow. “Is that so?”

Balthazar nodded with a grin. “I figured why only taste one when you can taste them all?”

Nesta laughed, quietly. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Just as dessert came, Balthazar ordered another bottle of wine, and Nesta was blown away. Once again, she knew that doctors made good money, but it was surely the most extravagant date she had ever been on.

Having already eaten the cheesecake and the pavlova, Nesta scooped up a bite of chocolate cake and moaned. Her eyelids fluttered shut and she sighed, delighted.

When she opened her eyes, Balthazar was watching her, intently.

Nesta’s cheeks turned pink.

If she would have been asked to sleep with Balthazar a week before, she would have surely said yes. But now? Even with that look in his eye, she hesitated. He was handsome. Sexy, even, and she was certain that underneath his suit he was built like a Greek god. He was charming. He was kind. He was a perfect gentleman.

On paper, he was complete and utter perfection in every single way.

A part of her — a bigger part of her than she liked to admit — however, couldn’t shake the pleasure she had received only nights before by someone who was very much not the man sitting across the table from her now.

“I’m stuffed,” Nesta said, at last, draining what was left in her wine glass.

“Happily stuffed or in pain stuffed?” Balthazar asked, his voice a little quieter, that look in his eye remaining.

Nesta chuckled, softly. “Oh, happily, for sure.”

“Good,” Balthazar replied, and waved to the server for their check.

They were back in his car within fifteen minutes, and Balthazar reached across the middle console to take Nesta’s hand.

She let him.

“I have to confess,” Balthazar began, his voice just above the soft radio, “that I don’t want this night to end.”

“Does that mean that you’re taking me out again?” Nesta asked, looking over at him.

He smiled, not taking his eyes off the road. “Does that mean you’re saying yes to another date?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” she replied, tracing the line of his long fingers with her free hand. She quietly admitted, “Though, I won’t have another free Saturday for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s okay.” He pulled their joined hands across the console and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “I can wait.”

His lips were warm against her skin, and he had just a bit of stubble on his face, enough to tickle, not to scratch. She swallowed roughly, wondering again what he would be like as a lover. From what she knew of him, she was almost sure that he would be sure, slow and calculated. Everything he’d do would be to ensure her pleasure, which she certainly wouldn’t be opposed to, but…

She wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted anymore, not when she knew how amazing it could be to be with someone who was completely unleashed, who was frenzied as he tried to bring her to release, and—

Balthazar said something and Nesta was completely lost in her thoughts. She cleared her throat, grateful he couldn’t see the blush on her cheeks as she said, “I’m sorry, I was out of it for a moment.”

He chuckled quietly. “It’s okay. I asked if you might want to see a movie one night this week, if you had any free nights?”

Nesta thought about it for a moment. “I’m free on Thursday.”

“Thursday,” he repeated, and nodded. “Alright. Thursday. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Perfect,” Nesta said, smiling as Balthazar pulled into her driveway.

He parked, got out, opened Nesta’s door, and walked her up to the front door. “Until Thursday, then.”

“Until Thursday,” she promised. He leaned forward and kissed her, softly.

It was a quick kiss, but it was nice.

They said their goodbyes then Nesta was opening the door, making her way inside.

The house was quiet, as she expected it to be at a quarter till eleven. After slipping off her shoes and setting her clutch near the door, Nesta was tiptoeing through the house, only stopping when she caught sight of Cassian sprawled across the couch.

She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed as she looked at him. He had one of Nyx’s stuffed animals clutched in his hand, halfway behind his head almost as if he was using it as a pillow. One of his legs hung off the side of the couch, his foot pressed flat against the floor, and Nesta couldn’t help the quiet chuckle as she stood there, looking at him. He looked so peaceful while he was asleep, his face relaxed and almost boyish like this. It was so at odds with the smirking mischief she usually saw there. She wondered if this is what he would have looked like if she would have asked him to stay in her bed the other night. Shaking her head, Nesta quickly banished the thought, not wanting to detract from the almost perfect date she’d just had.

Glancing around the living room, she noticed that it was an absolute wreck. Toys were strewn everywhere, as if they’d been thrown as far as Nyx’s little hands could manage them, and a completely melted, but mostly empty bowl of ice cream sat on the coffee table. Unable to stop the quiet chuckle, she silently picked up Nyx’s toys, putting them back in the basket where they belonged. She also scooped up the remains of the bowl of ice cream and carried it into the kitchen.

She turned the water on a low stream and was rinsing out the bowl when she heard a sleepy voice behind her.

“You’re home early.”

The rasp in his voice made her knees weak.

She looked over her shoulder to find Cassian leaning against the doorframe, his eyelids half fallen, one hand scratching the back of his neck.

Nesta chuckled. “Early? Must not be too early if you’re drooling all over the couch cushions.”

Cassian huffed a laugh as he came up behind her. “You don’t have to do that. I was planning on cleaning it.”

“No big deal,” she said, placing it in the dishwasher. “I’m pretty awake, thought I’d take care of a few things anyway.”

Cassian nodded as he leaned back against the island. “So…”

Nesta turned and crossed her arms as she leaned back against the counter. “So.”

“Did you have fun with Doctor Wonderful?” Cassian asked.

“I did,” she said, leaving it at that.

He waited for a moment, but when it was clear that that was all she was going to give him, he asked, “Yet you’re home before midnight and are wide awake enough to clean up after me and the baby?”

Nesta knew what he was asking, what he was insinuating, without voicing the words.

Why didn’t you go home with him?

“It would seem so,” she replied, a hand reaching up okay with the charm dangling from her necklace.

Cassian’s eyes tracked each motion as the charm zipped back and forth along the chain. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip and he nodded. “Well, I’m glad you had a good time.”

She wasn’t sure if she was waiting for him to say something else, but when he abruptly turned and headed for the stairs, she blurted, “How was your night?”

Pausing, Cassian turned back to look at her. He laughed quietly, and said, “My night doesn’t matter, Nes. Just as long as you had fun. Goodnight.”

He didn’t give her a second to reply as he turned the corner and she heard his footsteps thumping up the stairs. A moment later, his door closed.

Nesta spent far too long thinking about his words after he left.

Just as long as you had fun.

Why did such kind, simple words bother her so much?

[elduwrites]

Safe

Exhausted after a day of trying to fit in and intense sensory stimuli, Castiel thinks back on the events that brought him here, and seeks comfort in the arms of the one person who makes him feel truly safe.

Also available on AO3

Word count: 4248

It’s one of those days when Castiel’s completely worn out by the time his last seminar of the day draws to an end. He barely manages to keep a smile on his face long enough to nod goodbye to the two tentative friends he’s made that semester. Then he rushes off to the nearest semi-private space where he can drop the socially acceptable mask he wears so easily these days. At least he’d been prepared for the toll it would take today. Even that first conversation over breakfast with Balthazar had been difficult to get through. Most days that was a pleasant routine, sometimes even the highlight of the day. But that morning it left him feeling exhausted and hollow.

Every conversation throughout the day had only made it worse. Every smile and attempt at pleasant interactions felt fake and out of place. Like he was lying to every person he spoke to all day. In some ways, he supposed he was.

It should have been easier by now, this effort he put in to try to fit in. At some point in his life, he barely noticed doing it. Back when he was interning for his mother’s company and helping out in the church every Sunday. He didn’t even notice the mask coming on then. Simply did it out of habit whenever another person stepped into his vicinity. He’d spent all his teenage years perfecting that pleasantly socializing persona until it basically became his personality. It was impossible to say where that stopped and the real Castiel began. Looking back, it seemed like any trace of the actual him was buried too far down to be seen during those years.

Back then, he was always exhausted. And he was in pain at least four days out of five. Often more. That, however, seemed normal to him. He figured everyone carried much more pain than they ever let on. And that when people complained of headaches and muscle aches, it was as excruciating as his was the few times he dared mention them. As long as he was able to function with the throbbing in his head and back, he saw no need to trouble anyone else with it. That, however, was all before.

Before he knew the truth his parents had been hiding from him since he was four years old. Before he saw all the hidden notes from doctors and so-called specialists outlining different ways to treat him. To allegedly cure him. Before he understood why he’d been going to so many unfairly strict tutors as a child and seemed to have a vastly different primary school experience than his other siblings. Before his mother said the one throwaway sentence that made him go looking for that information. “I don’t understand what all these parents on TV are complaining about. Just train the autism out of them at a young age, that’s what I say. It worked perfectly fine with you.”

He severed contact with most of his family after that, and spent the following three years trying to figure out who he actually was. He went to university and abandoned virtually all his masking techniques at the same time. It had led to him having impressive grades, less pain than he could ever remember, and absolutely no social life. Well, close to none. He did re-connect with Gabriel that year, got to know Balthazar through him, and had a short-lived romance with a kind, but intense classmate named Hannah.

Hannah was good for him in some ways, but it became very clear that they cared more for Castiel than he ever could for them. Which was why they couldn’t remain friends after. Hannah was heartbroken, in their own stoic way, and seemed to harbour feeling for him long after the relationship ended. After that, he’d become even more of a recluse. Scared to make new connections and inevitably let them down again. Terrified of never making another meaningful friendship. Of never belonging to or with anyone again.

Which was why he started re-building the defence mechanisms and socially acceptable personality he’d previously abandoned. By the time he finished his bachelor’s degree, he was consciously masking at every opportunity. When he moved towns to start his graduate degree, he had started doing in subconsciously more often than not.

As such, it should be easier now. He’s been rebuilding those mechanisms for over a year. Most of his classmates have only ever seen this persona. They only know this side of him. They don’t see the exhaustion covering his face the moment he steps away from it all. Nor do they know how their mumbled conversations during seminars and the school’s affinity for fluorescent lights make his entire being scream in protest and head throb painfully in an increasingly insistent rhythm. They don’t see the effort behind the subconscious mask, and hopefully don’t notice how hard it is on days he must consciously raise his eyebrows into a more inviting posture, make sure not to squint at their every word and force a smile whenever it seemed expected. Much as he hates it, he just can’t go back to those friendless years when he was so visibly different.

These days there are just four people in his life who truly know him. Two of which he lives with, and one who knows him purely by accident. They aren’t friends. Not really. Not yet. But she’s so wholeheartedly accepting of everything and everyone that he can’t help being himself around her. And he never even feels self-conscious about it. But for today even her inviting energy is too much. Same with Gabriel and Baltazar. They’re good friends and lovely roommates most of the time, but they’re also intense. And they’ll know something is off if he comes home now. He’s too tired to pretend.

It’s not right to burden them with his issues anyway. Especially since he knows it won’t help. Tact has never been Balthazar’s strong suite. The guy cares and can hold his own in a serious conversation, but moments when Castiel needs the world to stop around him is not a good mix with that particular friend. With Gabriel it’s often even worse. He blames himself for not noticing more when they were young, and for hightailing out of the house the moment he turned eighteen. That guilt often turns into overcompensating, and somehow becoming everything Castiel needs him not to be. He needs… He needs calm. Yes. Calm and quiet. And for the light to stop hurting. And that’s not at home. Which is why he’s still leaning against a tree so long after the end of class.

His hands have long since covered his ears to protect against the light, shaking where he clasps them tight. Even while a small logical voice tells him that this isn’t efficient behaviour. Covering his ears won’t stop the sensory input, but it’s the only thing he can measure enough thought capacity to do. The only thing that seems to make sense while he focuses on his breathing and tries to figure out where to go next. He needs calm and quiet. But more than that. He needs… Needs…

He needs safety.

And that really only means one thing. One person. He just hopes he’s home. That he has time and energy to spare. And that an unannounced visit like this won’t be too intrusive. He had said that Castiel can come over whenever after all. Even seemed to mean it.

*

The walk over to the apartment never takes more than twenty-five minutes, but today it seems to take forever. Even with the noise cancelling headphones playing one of his calming playlists, everything seems to be loud and burning and just too much. By the time he reaches the door he’s almost ready to collapse. It has been a long time since he’s allowed it to get this bad. To the point where the world seems fuzzy and almost swimming around him. Like he’s trapped in a fishbowl and everything’s just a little bit off.

Gabriel always tells him to take breaks. To take care of himself. That therapist he saw for a few months after leaving his old life behind said something along the same lines. And he tries. It’s just hard when there’s so much important he has to do. Today, there had been no time for breaks. Now his body is retaliating for that. Or perhaps it is his mind.

The door opens mere seconds after he knocks, revealing a perplexed looking Dean. He’s dressed far too nicely for a Thursday evening, with tight dark washed jeans and that flannel that looks incredible on him, but always feels a little too rough under Castiel’s fingers. His hair is coiffed meticulously, almost identical to the way it looked when they first met outside the resident student-bar. He’s handsome as always, and obviously going somewhere. Ridiculous really to think he’d be available when they hadn’t agreed upon anything beforehand.

“Cas? Did we have plans? Fuck, did I forget again?” His eyes widen slightly, obvious guilt covering his face. Sweet Dean, always so quick to put the blame on himself. Even with no reason for it.

“No. There were no plans,” he hurries to reassure. “I just… I need…” To see you? To hide away in your arms and forget the world? Simply hide in general? That all seems too presumptuous. Dean’s busy. Guilting him into giving up his evening out isn’t fair. Even if the way back home will be abhorrent.  

“What do you need?” His voice is so gentle. Soft and familiar. Safe.

“It’s not important. I seem to be interrupting your plans.”

“U-huh. Like you’d come all the way here for something unimportant.” Dean rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “What do you need sweetheart? And don’t try to bullshit me. You never succeed, and I’ve had enough of people doing that today.” Despite the annoyance of his words, his tone is still soft and calming. And he said sweetheart, which signifies that they are good.

A car horn blares too close to comfort. Castiel’s hands covers his ears of their own accord. It’s all too much. “The lights are too loud,” he mumbles. No. That’s not right. “Bright. They’re too bright I mean. Everything else is loud. I need quiet. Just for a little. Please. I just need you.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s get you inside, huh?” They do. The door closes the offensive world out, and then it’s just the two of them and the too-bright bulb of the hallway light.

“Hey Dean? Who was? Oh hey Cas!” Just the two of them, the bulb and the ever-enigmatic Charlie who pokes her head out from her bedroom. “Didn’t know you were joining us. But that’s lovely, we’ll have a proper double date!”

“That’s my bad,” Dean sends her his ever-charming smile. “I’d totally forgotten about movie-night with Cas when I said yes to karaoke. So, rain-check on that one?”

Charlie replies something, but Castiel closes his eyes against the sound. The insides of his eyelids are dark and welcoming. And Dean’s hand rests on his shoulder. This is okay. He can just wait here. Stay here until everything stops being so unfathomably intense. It’s okay.

His eyes stay securely closed until Charlie disappears with an uncharacteristically soft goodbye. Then he needs some visual assistance to move to the couch, but once he’s settled, he hurries to close them again. It’s better like this. Less intense while Dean’s busying himself with something or other. Doing what’s necessary to be okay with a night with him instead of going to a karaoke-bar with his best friend.

Castiel swallows while a lump of guilt settles heavy in his stomach. He never wants other people to be inconvenienced by his troubles with the world. Especially not Dean. Never Dean. And yet it’s always here he goes when he needs the comfort than no one else are able to give. When the world becomes too intense and his thoughts too loud to be left alone with. It isn’t fair to the other man of course. But there isn’t much to do about that now. Unless…  

“It was not my intention to keep you from your plans,” he says when Dean re-enters the room.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make it up to Charlie another time.” Dean shrugs as if it means nothing. As if his roommate’s feelings are the only ones affected. Like he wouldn’t much rather be out having fun with her and Glinda.

“I don’t want to deprive you of a fun evening. I can leave if you want to catch up with them.”

“Fucking Christ Cas.” Dean walks over in long strides, placing two cups carefully on the coffee table, then sits down next to him. Their thighs are barely not touching. Despite the rather large size of the couch, they’re existing within each other’s personal bubbles. Many people, the man next to him included, have informed Castiel about the importance of maintaining an appropriate amount of personal space. Then again, Dean hasn’t mentioned that in relation to them since the first time Castiel kissed him.

“If going out tonight was important to me, I’d have told you when you got here, okay?” Dean looks at him with the kind of intense stare that others have informed him is rude. He stares back. Because he can. Because Dean never tells him to stop these days, just looks right back or bashfully turns away. Because his boyfriend is beautiful and there is nothing he’d rather be looking at. Except, occasionally, a honeybee colony or the twinkling rays of a setting sun on the ocean. And because he doesn’t have to worry about what’s socially acceptable when it’s just the two of them.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and Dean rolls his eyes again.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course. You know I always value your input.”

“Okay. Then believe me when I say I’m happy you’re here, and that I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Most of the time I’d rather hang out with you anyhow.” Dean says it all straightforward without breaking eye-contact. That’s not something he’d usually do. Most times, he shies away from serious conversation, or reacts to them with either anger or awkwardness. Which really only means one thing.  

“I must look very unwell for you to be this unaffectedly honest with me.” It’s not a statement that needs reply, but Dean’s reaction is enough of an affirmative. This is what makes him bashful, makes him finally break eye contact and look down at his hands. Castiel instantly misses the connection.

“I made you some of that weird grass tea,” Dean says in lieu of an answer. “Put a little of that fancy honey of yours in it too.” It’s not that fancy. It’s just grown at a local farm, and because of his academic pursuits into the subject, Castiel was invited to take part in the harvesting. But there is no reason to correct the other man. They both know what it means. And he’s too busy leaving a grateful kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek to say anything at all.          

“Music or TV?” Dean asks after they’ve both taken a sip from their respective drinks.

Castiel curls his hands around the warm cup while he ponders the question. It’s wonderful that his boyfriend knows him well enough to understand that quiet doesn’t necessarily mean silence. That he needs pleasant distractions as much as anything. And that sound they pick themselves is something very different from the general noise of the world and people around them. “TV today.”

“What do you wanna watch then?”

“What are my options?”

“Let’s see.” Dean puts on a face of contemplation, though he probably has the options picked out already. He always has a line-up of both movies and tv-shows that it according to him is borderline blasphemous that his boyfriend hasn’t watched yet. Which many a time has led Castiel to remind him that being allowed to be borderline blasphemous is one of the perks of leaving the church behind. “We still have a few Indiana Jones movies on our list. Or there’s always that bee documentary you wanted to show me.”

“The pollinators yes. I think you might enjoy that one.” It’s nice of him to offer, even though he has no real interest in the documentaries himself. He’s just good like that. Always willing to listen to Castiel speak on the topic of bees, and occasionally to watch documentaries with him. Doesn’t even scroll on his phone while watching the way Gabriel and Baltazar almost always do. “Though I think I’m in the mood for something less informative today.”

“Well, there’s a Dr. Sexy marathon on tonight, so that’s an option too.” Dean says the last part almost shyly. As if Castiel will ever judge him for anything he enjoys.

“I’d like that.” The medical drama is just simple enough for him not to have to pay attention, but interesting enough that he can. Which is exactly what his brain needs at the moment.

“You sure?”  

“Of course Dean. You know I’m always honest with you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” This again makes Dean look flustered, even while he rolls his eyes in a put-upon act of nonchalance. Seems like they’ve had enough emotional honesty for a little while. That’s okay too. Castiel knows that Dean usually enjoys his bluntness, even when he pretends not too. In fact, they’ve had conversations on the topic. Rather long ones too. Well, as long as emotional conversations with Dean gets.

In that time, they did promise to be honest with each other. And to not judge each other for that honesty. It’s not a promise they always manage to keep, but things are somehow always better when they do. It’s why Castiel is able to be here now, instead of laying on the floor between the desk and bed in his own room. Because his boyfriend expects him to be himself. Even when ‘himself’ is someone he hides from nearly everyone else in his life.

The light around him dims considerably, and he looks up to find Dean returning from the light switch. The only source of light now is the TV, mixed with the barely there glow of the outside through the thick curtains.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into his teacup as his boyfriend settles next to him once again. That earns him a fond smile and a practiced shrug. As if Dean’s consideration of him is not worthy of thanks or mention. He is painfully aware that most people don’t show that level of care. Especially not unprompted.

This is, however, not the time to dwell on a past long since abandoned. He gently puts down his teacup and scoots closer to the other man on the couch. Close enough to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder and lay a hand on his stomach. He’s changed from the too-rough-flannel into an old, and very soft, band t-shirt.

“I really like this t-shirt.” He says it without meaning to. Without really considering the impact of the words first. Not that they needed much consideration of course. But he rarely allows himself to get so complacent. To just speak. Then again, being around Dean always brings it out of him.

“I know you do.”

Of course he does. That is probably the reason he’s wearing it now. Because he knows how much Castiel enjoys touching it. And touch it he does. His hands move over the material, all but rubbing it against his skin. It’s extremely soothing. All soft and familiar. He closes his eyes for a while, allowing his sense of touch to take over. It feels better than it probably should. Even better yet once his hands move from the worn material to Dean’s skin.

At first he only let’s his hands run over Dean’s arms. It’s a tentative, light touch, that seems to tickle based on how the man moves next to him. So he adds more pressure, rejoicing in the feel of that supple skin under his fingertips. It’s so good to be allowed to touch like this. There is no pressure here, no expectations on how to act or what’s going to happen next. His boyfriend is enjoying his medical drama, while Castiel finds pleasure in the simple act of touching him. Of having him close like this.

His hands move down Dean’s chest and under his t-shirt. One comes to rest on his stomach, the other sneaks around to rub his back. Dean lets out a pleased hum, edging impossibly closer to him. And yes, that’s another perk of an evening such as this. Castiel is mainly tending to his own needs at the moment. He’s touching because it settles something within him, makes him feel more like himself again. But his boyfriend is such a tactile man. Even though he mostly denies that part of himself. This allows him to indulge as well. To feel how much he is cared for. How deeply he is loved. This is beneficial for them both.

Stroking Dean’s back is a different sensory experience than doing so to any other part of him. Most of his skin is soft and even. Sometimes there are patches of hair or dry skin, but the feel is overall quite similar. The skin of his back however, is interrupted by bumps of varying sizes. They add an interesting texture to his exploration, as long as he doesn’t think too much about what they mean. When they are in bed together, he occasionally takes the time to trace the scars with warm kisses, trying to erase the bad memories in the process. For now, he just slowly maps them with the tips of his fingers. They tell the story of the life his boyfriend went through before they met. Of a childhood spent being far too harshly punished for things he could not control. Castiel wishes he could remove the bad parts of those years. Simply make the scars and, more importantly, the memories they carry go away. Even so, he treasures every part of his lover’s body. Even these. And he is so grateful that Dean allows him to touch them now. That he, at least to some extent, finally understands that this is not something to be ashamed of.

Dean’s stomach is another story completely. It’s soft and yielding under Castiel’s ministrations. More so than when they first met, in a way he knows his boyfriend is slightly self-conscious about. But Castiel appreciates it as proof of Dean finally allowing himself to enjoy life. He takes time to be happy now, instead of always striving to reach some impossible ideal of perfection. Moreover, it’s an excellent place to rest his head. Which he decides to do. He gently pushes Dean until he’s almost laying down on the couch, then lays down himself with his head cushioned by the soft stomach.

“Getting comfy?” Dean asks, a slight note of laughter in his voice.

“Yes. You are very comfortable.” Almost too comfortable he finds. His eyes close of their own volition while he nuzzles closer to the warm body beneath him. The battle he’s been fighting against the world all day is over, and his body and mind seems to have given up in the wake of it. Staying awake seems like an unlikely prospect. Especially once talented fingers start stroking his hair and gently massaging his head.  

“I will fall asleep if you continue doing that,” he warns in a soft voice. If anything, it only makes the fingers more determined.

“Then sleep. I have Dr. Sexy to keep me company. We’ll do dinner when you wake up.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He’s definitely slurring his words at this point. But that’s okay too. There is only him and Dean. No one will judge him here. Though he’ll likely get a stern talking to after dinner. Another pleading speech about how he needs to take better care of himself. How he’s good enough on his own and doesn’t have to try so hard to fit in. Maybe it’s correct. Being himself feels much better. And both Gabriel, Baltazar and Dean seem to like that version of him. The true one. But then, they are the only ones… Well, them and Charlie. Perhaps that’s okay. They can be enough. He doesn’t have a need for many more than three or four anyhow.  

That is, however, not thoughts that are helpful for sleep. It’s better to focus on how Dean’s stomach slowly rises and falls with every breath. And how his fingers keep massaging Castiel’s head. If he has the energy after dinner, he’ll treat Dean the way he deserves. He’ll take him to bed and worship his body the way they both love. Make him tremble in pleasure and fall apart over and over again under Castiel’s eager attention. Then they’ll both be sated and happy and just exist in each other’s space until morning. If he’s lucky, they’ll just exist together like this throughout the weekend as well. These days, that’s always when he feels the most content. And, unless he is misreading the signs completely, the same goes for Dean.

Castiel smiles at the thought while the sounds of the TV and his boyfriend’s heavy breathing slowly fade into nothing as he falls into a peaceful sleep.            

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Next week uni exams start and I won’t be able to write for a while, so I did my best to finish this chapter on time before I go MIA for some time.

You can check here Pemberley’s Lake, Hooked on You and Smells like petrichor and paper, part one, two and three of my Nessian Pride and Prejudice AU.

The sound of music

Cassian could not sleep. His mind kept coming back to the greenhouse.

To Nesta and her lavender and vanilla scent and how lovely she looked amidst the flowers.

He would not lie to himself and say he did not let his lips linger a little bit longer than necessary on her temple.

Or that he had not felt some resemblance of male pride on seeing her wearing his jacket.

That he had not imagined her wearing it after they had come back home from a ball or one of Gywn’s operas.

That he had not imagined Nesta tucked close to his side, his arms around her and a smile on his face as he heard her talk about her day.

His imagination, it seemed, was his worst enemy.

“You are delusional Cassian” he mumbled to himself “Delusional”

Sighing, he touched the pressed daisy chain again. He had taken it out of his drawer and left it in front of him as he worked on some papers regarding his properties, thinking the numbers, reports of complaints or requests would help tire him out enough to make sleep come.

Cassian had no such luck. He worked until the entire pile had been properly looked through, and even three glasses of his strongest brandy could not make his thoughts of Nesta go away.

Nesta, who was currently sleeping in one of Pemberley’s guest rooms after much freeting from Mrs.Potts and her friends about catching a cold. Cassian had made sure to have her room properly warmed and a glass of hot chocolate delivered to her first thing after they arrived from the greenhouse.

Her friends had been delighted to spend the night, and he had almost asked them to forego the inn completely and just stay at Pemberley for the rest of the month. But he did not want to mess their schedule and ruin their trip. He knew that Gwyn was on a short vacation, as were Emerie and Balthazar, and Nesta could not stay away from her younger sister, Elain, for too long, given that they had no male relative to look after their household and wellbeing in the meantime.

Maybe a trip to the kitchens would help him. A midnight snack was bound to make his sleep come soon, and he was sure he had heard one the maids saying that Chef Ramsay had baked chocolate cookies.

Safely putting the bookmark back in his drawer, Cassian only bothered to throw a robe on before quietly making his way down the hallways. He was not worried about being shirtless, given that most of the house was for certain sleeping.

Deciding to take the long way to the kitchen in hopes of tiring himself, he was surprised to pass by the library and see light coming from underneath the doors. Thinking that maybe someone had forgotten to check the place in their rounds, Cassian opened the oak doors to find the candle light. He could not risk a fire happening in the library out of all places.

He followed the faint glow until he found himself with a most surprising — but very welcome — sight.

Nesta was currently curled up on his favourite chair reading a book in nothing but a thin nightgown and he momentarily forgot to be annoyed at her for not covering herself after being caught in the rain if only because by the way she was seated he had a privileged view of her bare legs.

Cassian knew he should announce his presence, his conscience yelling at him how improper and scandalous it was to see her in such a private moment. But he let himself stare at her for another minute, commiting to mind every single detail, from the way the ribbons in her nightgown accentuated her waist — he recalled how small it had seemed when they had danced at Feyre’s ball, his hand spanning nearly halfway across — to how the white colour made her eyes look more grey than blue in the candlelight.

“Fancy seeing you here” Cassian said in greeting, clearing his throat.

Nesta nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard him, quickly scrambling to straighten herself up when she realised she was not alone.

“I am sorry, you had said I could come whenever I wanted and I—”

"Could not sleep?” he asked, and Nesta only nodded.

Oh dear Mother, she wanted to crawl into a hole on the ground and disappear. Why was it that she was always finding herself in embarrassing situations when it came to Cassian?

It was true she could not sleep, her mind replaying her evening with Cassian, from the moment she stepped on the library to when he kissed her temple in the greenhouse.

She had tossed and turned in her bed for hours, her creative mind conjuring images of a future with him.

Of long strolls in the garden and picnics by the lake.

Of hours spent reading quietly side by side in the library.

Of running her hands in his silky hair, coming up with new ways to style it.

Of Cassian’s coat around her shoulders and her head on his as they came back from a late evening of dancing or parties with their friends.

Why could she not stop thinking about him? Why had he not left her mind since they had first met each other and why did her heart skip a beat whenever he was nearby?

She looked at him, flushing all over when she noticed that he would have been completely naked from the waist up were it not for a robe, which had loosened up a bit, revealing a bit of his naked chest.

For Cauldron’ sake, did he not own a shirt?

“What are you reading?” he inquired, and she quickly averted her gaze from his chest.

Little did she know he was also trying very hard to not stare at her bare shoulders or her chest, cursing once again whoever had gifted her such nightgown.

He could bet his fortune it had been Emerie, recognizing the modice’s preference of off shoulders designs.

“Oh, it’s a romance” Nesta felt her ears getting even hotter “By Sellyn Drake. You have a rather large collection here. Some are even first editions”

“She was a dear friend of Pemberley’s previous Lady” Cassian said, motioning for her to take a seat as he told her the story “The Lord sponsored her, both because he saw how her writing brought joy to his wife and also Lady Drake’s talent.”

“She soon became extremely famous and still kept sending the previous Lord her books even after his wife passed away” Cassian smiled faintly “He sold Pemberley and moved, but I kept the library as it was, just adding my own books here. Lady Drake comes once a while to visit and get inspiration for new novels, although she says she is to retire soon.”

“Y-you know her?” Nesta’s voice had gotten an uncharacteristic high pitch “You know Sellyn Drake personally?!”

“She is a very annoying old lady” Cassian said rolling his eyes “Always asking me if I will not take a wife so she will have someone more interesting to discuss her books with whenever she visits.”

“I cannot believe you are friends with one of my favourite authors” Nesta said in disbelief.

“But I would not have pegged you for a romance reader” she added, arching an eyebrow.

“I could not very well leave those books here to gather dust, could I?” he answered, squirming on his seat.

“Tell me, did the scary General Commander of the British Armies shed a tear in any of them?” her voice had a teasing tone and Cassian was almost left speechless by that fact alone.

Nesta inclined her body in his direction, apparently having forgotten she was not wearing modest attire at all and that Cassian was desperately trying to keep his eyes on her face instead of her chest.

“I promise not to tell anyone if you did”

And then Nesta Archeron gave a little sideway smile that made Cassian lose his breath.

He did not know what he had done that made her take such liberties with him, but he for sure was not going to complain.

“I did not cry” he finally managed to answer, angling his body in her direction and smirking when he saw a faint blush adorning her cheeks “But I will not be heartless and say it did not move me a little.”

They were close once again. So close Nesta could see that his eyes had little green speckles on them and that the brown looked like molten chocolate.

They were eyes one could drown and all she wanted to do was to indeed drown on them.

“Next time Lady Drake plans on coming to Pemberley I will make sure to invite you too” Cassian said softly, straightening himself “It is quite late. I will accompany you to your room.”

As if on cue, Nesta yawned, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

“I only have one chapter left” she tried to argue, suppressing another yawn.

“Such a headstrong lady you are” he smiled and took the candlelight “The book will still be here tomorrow.”

Nesta followed him begrudgingly, twisting her nose in annoyance even though she was yet again holding back another yawn. Cassian thought she looked like a tiny angry kitten, laughing internally.

They walked back to her room in a comfortable silence, and sooner than he would have liked they had arrived.

“Well, then, here we are. Delivered safe and sound”

“Thank you, your grace” Nesta opened the door but did not get inside, as if she too did not want to part with him.

“Have a goodnight of sleep, my lady” he said, dropping a kiss on her hand before he could dwell too long on it.

“Goodnight, your grace” she breathlessly answered, finally getting inside and leaving Cassian standing outside her door.

Needless to say, both fell asleep quickly after that.

~•~

“For Cauldron’ sake are you incapable of sending prior notice of your arrival? And it is way too early to be drinking wine Morrigan, even for you”

Cassian had arrived to have breakfast and found Rhysand’s cousin casually seated at table, twirling her glass of wine at nine in the morning.

“I came here straight from Vivian’s. It was a long journey and I needed the wine. Besides, I am family! I knew you were going to like my surprise visit” Mor blinked at him.

“Always a pleasure to see you” Cassian answered, sitting beside her and promptly dumping a large portion of bacon and eggs on his plate “I take you introduced yourself to my other guests?”

“Of course” she snorted, making Georgiana laugh “Except for Miss Carynthian and Sir Oristian, that is. It seems they went into town early to see something in relation to their business.”

As if on cue, the dining room doors were open and Balthazar and Emerie walked in.

Emerie had opted to wear trousers today — Cassian thought it was to not be belittled by some stupid mercants and show with just who they were dealing with — and a white shirt with long sleeves with a forest green vest. Her curly brown hair was down and she had a gleam in her eyes that told him her business transaction had been a success.

She really was a sight to behold but it still startled him when Mor spat out her wine.

Mor never wasted wine.

“Sorry for our late arrival, Balthazar was being a weakling” Emerie said, sitting in front of a very much flustered Morrigan.

“I was not. You are the one who never lets the other have the upper hand” Balthazar pointed out.

“Please, you know that piece of silk was not worth that much!” she spread jam in a piece of toast, waving the knife in a rather aggressive manner.

“Maybe, but if you keep that up you will gather more enemies than business partners”

“Good thing I have you as my bodyguard” she batted her eyelashes innocently, making Balthazar roll his eyes.

“You are Miss Carynthian. The Miss Carynthian?” Mor asked in awe, her coughing fit finally over.

“The one and only. I take you know my shop?” Emerie asked with a smile.

“I absolutely adore your designs!” Mor gushed, and they fell in a very excited talk about gowns and fashion trends.

“Did you have a goodnight of sleep?” Cassian whispered to Nesta, who was seated beside him.

“I did, thank you for your concern, your grace” she answered, grabbing a chocolate cookie “I hope you also had a pleasant sleep?”

“The best sleep I had in years” he winked at her, that sideway smile of hers appearing again.

“Lady Nesta, my brother has told me how brilliantly your dancing  is” Georgiana butted in, and Cassian resisted the urge to throttle her.

His younger sister was lucky there were other people present or he would do just that.

“He is too kind, my dancing is not that memorable” Nesta said, a bit embarrassed.

“But my brother never lies!” Georgiana exclaimed, receiving a glare from Cassian “He told me how the whole ballroom stopped to watch you as you danced.”

“Oh, thank you for the compliment your grace”

“It was nothing but the truth” Cassian assured her, sending daggers at Georgiana, who was sweetly seated by his other side as if she had not just told Nesta how infatuated with her he was.

“I wish I had your talent” Georgie sighed “I am really shy at balls and never really want to dance even if I am asked to. I usually throw my dancing card in the trash in fear someone will write their name there.”

“But I love to watch my brothers running from the scary mammas” she added with a devilish grin, failing in a brotherly bickering with Cassian.

Nesta felt her heart break over Georgiana’s fear of dancing. Apart from reading, dancing was one of the few things that brought Nesta joy. It made her feel alive, the music allowing her to get lost on the moment and forget the pressures high society placed upon her.

Dancing made Nesta feel empowered, in control of her own destiny.

Georgiana deserved to feel like that too.

And that is why when Emerie, Gwyn and Mor went shopping together while the gentlemen went horse riding, Nesta proposed that she teach Georgiana how to dance.

“Are you sure of it?” Georgiana asked nervously, glancing around the music room as if someone was going to appear out of nowhere and laugh at her poor performance.

“Rest assured. You will be dancing flawlessly at the end of the day” Nesta gave her a reassuring smile “I am going to take the male role, so please place your hand on my shoulder.”

Georgiana did as instructed, and soon they were dancing.

“You just need to have fun and relax” Nesta said, making Georgiana twirl “Even if you do not know the steps but act like you do nobody will blink. Dancing is not something that is supposed to be suffocating, but to free you.”

“You mean like this?” the young girl asked, and did a step completely opposite of what was expected in a waltz that made Nesta laugh and follow her.

In no time they were not dancing the waltz but just messing around, their laughs and delighted screams filling the room. They were having so much fun that they were oblivious to Cassian watching them from the door.

The gentlemen had returned to Pemberley and decided to move to the game room, their initial amiable horse riding outing transformed into a racing competition whose draw made Balthazar and Azriel — who revealed themselves to be extremely competitive — propose a rematch in a billiard game.

Cassian soon grew tired of watching them betting who would win, deciding to fetch a book to help distract himself. He was called to the music room by the sound of loud laughs, his heart threatening to burst when he saw Nesta and his sister having so much fun.

“When are we to expect a proposal, my lord?” Mrs. Potts said to him, having stopped to welcome him back when she noticed just who he was watching.

“I have no idea what you are talking about” he answered, a soft smile on his face as Nesta dipped Georgiana, making her laugh even louder.

“It is clear as day to all of us how much that lovely lady means to you” the old headmaid replied “I have never seen you happier since she arrived here.”

“I assure you, there is nothing going on between us.”

“Do not let your fears stop you from being happy” Mrs.Potts motherly said, noticing his bitter tone “You more than anyone deserve to be happy and feel loved. And I noticed how she looks at you, I do not know why you cannot see it.”

“Such busybody staff that I have” was all he said, Mrs.Potts smiling and leaving him alone to continue his watch.

But it appeared their talking had warned them of his presence.

“Brother! Were you spying on us?”

“Far from it Georgie. I thought nobody was home but your laughs made me want to investigate” he stepped inside, closing the door behind him “Balthazar and Az are so competitive they were giving me a headache”

“Nesta was teaching me how to dance” Georgiana said, a bright smile on her face.

“I saw it. She is a great teacher” Cassian said, and Nesta had to look away lest he saw how much happy his words had made her.

“I have a great idea!! Why don’t I play music in the pianoforte and you two dance? That way it would be much easier to see how to dance properly”

Nesta panicked at Georgiana’s words. Last time she had danced with Cassian it had been out of spite for his comment. She would not deny that she had found him a pleasant partner or that she had had fun dancing with him, but Nesta doubted he would want to dance with her again.

However, little did she know Cassian could not have been happier than the moment his sister suggested such a thing.

“That is a wonderful idea Georgie” he said to his sister, all the while planning to write to Rhysand concerning an increase in Georgiana’s dowry.

He had already forgiven her words earlier at breakfast.

Didn’t she say she wanted a new horse? He could arrange for one to be delivered first thing in the morning tomorrow.

Georgiana clapped her hands in excitement, leaving them standing in front of each other as she sat by the piano.

“You are not dancing!” she called out, her fingers moving expertly on the piano keys.

Cassian cleared his throat, offering his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

Nesta accepted his hand, placing her other on his shoulder.

“You may”

They fell in that pleasant and calming atmosphere as Georgiana played, Cassian leading her effortlessly, but she felt he was cautious, even a little stiff.

“I do not bite, your grace”  Nesta said, daring to tease him “You do not have to be afraid.”

“I would not mind if you did” he said back without thinking, his eyes widening as he realised he had said that out loud.

“I beg your pardon. I did not mean—” Cassian made to release her hand and step away but Nesta gripped his shoulder harder, stopping him.

“Do not tell me the great General Commander is left without a strategy when it comes to some defenceless lady” Nesta appeared to be nonchalant on the outside, but inside she was apprehensive.

What if she had gone too far? What if he did not see her as a friend? What if he was bothered by her teasing?

But to her relief he gave her that smirk of his that made her blood boil, stepping closer to her, their chests touching.

“For you, I have no strategies.”

And they really began to dance.

The music was still there. Georgiana played beautifully and on another occasion Nesta would have wanted nothing more than to just sit and listen all day to her playing.

But the music was no longer the most beautiful thing in existence.

Nesta got lost on him as they danced, the music a faraway background sound.

She got lost on his bright smile and noticed he had dimples.

She got lost on the way he moved with her, a body made for brutality which now moved with grace, keeping up with her.

She got so lost on his warm eyes — more green than brown at the moment —  that she felt herself moving even closer, her breath mingling with his.

“Cassian—” his name left her lips without her consent, and she almost froze when she noticed she had not used his title.

Cassian did not care, his smile only getting brighter.

“You may call me informally. We are friends, are we not Nesta?” he said quietly.

“Yes, we are.” she answered, her body tingling all over at the way he said her name, as if it was a prayer to the Mother.

Georgiana — having taken notice of the rather romantic mood — started a new song as soon as the other finished, neither of the pair paying her no mind.

Next morning, Cassian gave her a new horse, the fastest and most sought out in the market. No one had the barest ideia how he managed to get hold of it so fast, or why he was gifting it to Georgiana.

Neither explained the reason, just shaking on it as if it was a business transaction.

•

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[hekate1308]

Leaves That Before The Wild Hurricane Fly, A Destiel Advent Calendar, December 11

Masterpost

Read it on AO3

Lunch was a noisy affair as well, not that Castiel had expected anything different. This was definitely one of those groups who couldn’t be quiet for too long, and to his surprise, he soon realized that he wouldn’t have them any other way –

Especially, much as he tried to deny it to himself, Dean.

The Fae was sitting next to him, and having first served him as well, again because it was his “first time”. “So, Cas, we’ve been talking about our proposal, of course.”

By now, everyone addressed him as Cas. He could have tried to tell them to stop, but in truth, he didn’t mind. He had never had a nickname before, if he didn’t count the Cassie one of his brothers had bestowed on him, and he certainly liked this more.

Plus, Dean had given it to him. Not that it meant something, but still…

“I thought you said not to talk shop during Sunday lunch” Crowley complained.

“I said we’re not talking your shop” Sam said firmly, which made Castiel wonder if there were things he’d rather not know.

“Anyway, so we’re all in” Dean smoothly continued as if nothing had happened. “Think you can get your boss to agree?”

“He agrees to anything that might be a good story.”

“And, think we’re pretty enough?” Dean winked at him.

“Squirrel, the poor man should live long enough to actually write anything” Crowley drawled.

“And how long have you been working for the Lawrence Courier, Cas?” Andrea asked brightly, for which he was grateful, if only so that he could calm down – his heart had once more started beating rather wildly.

“About five years. I moved here with my – with my ex-partner.”

She made a sympathetic noise. He didn’t dare glance in Dean’s direction, even though he had absolutely nothing to do with it.

“So you think your boss will accept the article?” Benny asked. “No offense, but most humans aren’t too keen on vampires.”

“That depends” he said. “As far as I am aware, many teenagers are.”

They laughed as if he had made a funny joke, and he couldn’t bring himself to mind, since Dean laughing was a sight to behold.

“Yeah, but well, wearing fake teeth and glitter is not exactly what we had in mind” Dean supplied. “Mind, if they’re marching for creature rights, that’s another thing entirely…”

“If we’re really lucky they won’t even call us fairies!” Gilda deadpanned and they all laughed again; Castiel wasn’t quite sure why, but thinking what he knew of the word, it was probably for the best to simply accept it as a joke.

“Balthazar would accept another pizza loving rat if it meant good sales” he said, then realized what he’d done and added, “No offense –“

“None taken, man, do you really think that’s the worst that’s ever been thrown at us?” Dean shrugged.

“That doesn’t make it alright” he said quietly.

“Perhaps not but this is how it is, which is where you come into play” he grinned, and the potted plant on the table suddenly burst into bloom. “Damn it, sorry.”

Castiel had jumped.

“No, no, I’m sorry…”

Crowley mumbled something and was promptly glared at by Sam, so he decided he’d probably rather not know what exactly he had said.

“Anyway, what do you think would be the best way to proceed?” Sam then asked, probably to distract them all from the demon, but still…

“Portraits” he said automatically. “People react the best when they can empathize with someone.” He left out the part where he thought that no one could fail to be interested in Dean because… well, he didn’t think it would go over too well.

All in all, they decided that they would wait until he had talked to his boss.

Instead they focused on other topics – Sam’s work, Gilda’s garden, Andrea’s paintings – and it was till one of the best days he’d had in a while – in a long time if he was being honest.

When he got up t leave, everyone told him goodbye and to be careful (granted, it was Crowley so he probably meant he should be careful around him) and Dean brought him to the door. “Got something for you.”

“Ph, I can’t –“

“Nonsense, everyone needs a little colour in their lives.” And he grabbed a small poinsettia from a nearby table. “I know they’ll have a good home with you. Just so you know, put them in a south, east or west window where the plant will receive bright daylight, and keep the soil moist. And oh, talk to them.”

“Because it’s good for the plan t?”

“Because it’s good for you, especially if you haven’t talked to anyone else all day.” He handed him the plant, their fingers touching longer than necessary. “See you around, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”