#rowena voice: i will serve myself

[shallowseeker]

Let me tell you about you, she says.

CHARLIE: Besides our hair, we got nothing in common.

ROWENA: Let me tell you about you.

///

Or rather... let me tell you about ME

///

Rowena's a loser. She doesn't fit in.

///

And the hard-scrabble life made Rowena nihilistic, emotionally untethered, and steeped in a kind of moral relativism that only stokes the fires of her cruelty.

Pain created this armor.

Rowena doesn't want to care about anything because caring hurts you and kills you. She doesn't want to die, not for principles or anything else. Her only cause is herself. She is the villain of the meta-world of STORY, because her meaning has been lost.

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2023 :: Day 14

Prompt :: Clear Characters :: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Estinien Varlineau Word Count :: 1,275

FFXIV Write 2023 Master List

Night hung over Eorzea -- just as it had so many nights before. Nomin, however, kept her gaze pointed up at the stars and inky black and purple of their eternal backdrop. She would have never thought to take the cover of night for granted -- it had always been assured in her years of traversing the star.

Time on the First and dealing with the Light that had plagued it really made her appreciate the cool night that she basked in at that very moment. Granted, she had a wool blanket wrapped around her, though with such a clear night to gaze upon the stars, dealing with some night chill had been more than worth it.

"I would think you would be more inclined to spend time with everyone now that we have returned from Ul’dah." The voice was familiar, and Nomin tensed briefly before she looked back behind her. Sure enough, Estinien had been approaching the spot she had claimed for herself on the stone walkway not far from Rowena's café.

Like herself, he was dressed down into something less bulky and more for leisurely comfort. Or…leisurely comfort as either of them had really come to make the definition fit themselves.

Nomin scoffed and turned her attention back toward the sky.

“Well…” Nomin started, lacing her fingers together. “I can’t really say I’ve been too keen to keep myself in the company of others late as it is. All the excitement in recent time, everyone needs to rest, or at least take time to tend to whatever business they have. I would only serve as a distraction, I feel.”

Though her words seemed to indicate that she would have preferred to have been alone, Nomin’s tone seemed to indicate a sense of relief that she did have someone to talk to at the very least. All things considered, Estinien may have been the best person to have a conversation with that lacked the monotony of recounting her experience and others knowing by virtue of having been there and lived through it themselves.

“Shall I take my leave, then?” Estinien asked.

Silence for a moment.

“... You can stay, if you’d like…” Nomin replied. There was a fleeting flutter in her stomach, and that nagging sense in her mind that did not want Estinien to leave. Despite their past with one another, despite the disdain she felt for him before…part of her could only think of the Ghimlyt Dark and her fuzzy memories. The feeling of Estinien carrying her to safety. The sound of his voice as he told her he was bringing her to Aymeric.

Nomin saw Estinien enter her peripheral view as he approached the half-wall and leaned forward.

“So… What are you doing up so late? Here of all places?” Nomin asked, turning slightly so that she was facing Estinien and giving him more of her attention.

“Like you, I decided to get away for myself.” Estinien glanced in Nomin’s direction. There had been something strange about how even her Echo reacted and tugged at her -- there was something there that she felt that she had not felt in the past with it when it came to Estinien. Warmth. Relief. Familiarity. Comfort?

“Only so long can I spend underground, surrounded by stone and idle conversation.” Estinien huffed a silent sigh, eyes scanning over what they could see of both Revenant’s Toll and the rest of Mor Dhona past its walls. “Besides, my time is better spent standing vigil. Ensuring that nothing comes to harm those here. You have enough to deal with, surely.”

“You should take the opportunity to rest…” Nomin said, turning back so that she was leaning on the wall again.

“Aye…as should you. Yet here we are.”

“Mm… Here we are.”

Silence once more, only broken up by the song of the occasional vilekin singing its nightly tune.

Moments passed, and Nomin slowly looked back at Estinien. She noted how he kept his gaze pointed forward, continuing to ensure that the lands below were bereft of enemies or other nasties. She then slowly reached over and poked his wrist gently with the tip of her finger.

“You can speak. There is no need for such acts in want of attention. ‘Tis only us here, after all,” Estinien said, not looking back at Nomin.

Nomin flinched slightly. Swallowing, she let out a breath and said, “... Aymeric told me that you saw me safely to him and some chirurgeons during the battle at Ghimlyt…”

“Aye. I did.”

That flutter came back, and Nomin’s heart skipped a beat with his affirmation. To have been so utterly defenseless and vulnerable within Estinien’s care had been something that left her with conflicted feelings -- even back when Aymeric had told her briefly of the events that had transpired.

Tapping her hand lightly on the stone surface of the wall, Nomin pursed her lips and slowly nodded as she collected both her thoughts and her feelings. This was the first time she had really had the time to really speak with Estinien since being whisked away to the First. She had nearly constantly thought about what Aymeric told her about how Estinien made sure she was safe and cared for.

“Um…well… Thank you. Really. I…I imagine we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t brought me back so that I might be aided and cared for.”

“‘Tis the least I could do, all things considered.” Estinien finally looked over at Nomin, his form looming over her as he stood back up and straightened his posture to some degree. “I could not very well leave you there as fires licked the field of battle. You were all but helpless when I chanced saw you. I would not -- will not -- stand idly by and allow you to be cut down like you were about to be when I intervened.”

Nomin’s lips twitched into being partially pursed as she looked up at Estinien. Part of her hated how she felt in that moment -- like a victim of a purbol’s paralytic poison. Part of her hated how her skin prickled and her face warmed at the sentiment. And then…there was a greater part of her that wanted to lean into those feelings, those emotions.

“I…see…” Nomin managed, doing her best to stonewall those emotions and keep them only in her mind. “If…if that was repayment for mine and Alphinaud’s removing you from Nidhogg’s grasp, consider it repaid.”

“Nay. ‘Twas not a debt I wished to repay.” Estinien’s gaze narrowed, his arms coming up to be folded over his chest. “I would do it again. Over and over. We have lost enough, Nomin, I shall lose no more and ensure no one loses any more if it is within my power to prevent it. With my mantle of Azure Dragoon retired and my mind and vision cleared, I would see myself aiding you and yours.”

What were these words?

Nomin’s lips parted in surprise more than anything. She was also at a loss for words. How was she to respond to that? She had no idea, for her mind had been blank with only the slightest trickle of words that barely formed any kind of proper sentence of phrase.

“Mm…” Nomin then furrowed her brow and steeled her gaze as she looked out toward the landscape. Though there were no towers nor beacons within sight, she had to remember that they were there, and that they were a threat. “With everything we’ve learned so far…we’ll need you and that lance of yours. So keep it and yourself sharpened.”

“Aye, ‘tis the plan. Likewise, I would see you keep your aim sharp and your aether abundant.”

[or-something-better]

October 12, 2022

Bobby’s Audition    (Sam wrote it) 

Sam

I pull the Charger up next to Bobby’s front porch and look over at Ruby. See, What did I tell ya, not an over long drive. Getting out, I pop the trunk and reach in to get the first box out and hand it off to Ruby. Got it? I can see that she has and I lift out the second box and shut the trunk.

Ruby

Taking the box from Sam, I follow him to the door.

Sam

At Bobby's door I raise my hand to knock

Bobby

The door opens to reveal me there smiling Sam, Ruby. Good to see you both. Been a while hadn’t it?

Sam

Hey Bobby, Ruby and I brought a couple boxes that Garth dropped by the Bunker for you. He said it was lore and whatnot, that he thought you’d want to have. Stepping inside, I set down the box and reach over to give Bobby a tight hug. It’s been too long since we’ve all seen you. I’ve missed you.

Bobby

I hug back and can’t help but think upon their last visit. Missed you, too, kid. You know you can come by whenever you want, right? You don’t need any excuse. You’re always welcome. I look over to Ruby with a smirk. You, too. You are always welcome here. Remember that. I address them both. Can I get ya anything? Beer? Water?

Ruby

Smiling at Bobby No thanks I tell him as I hand him the other box.

Sam

We just stopped for a late lunch.

Bobby

I take the box, surprised at its weight but didn’t complain. What does Garth got in here anyway? Last I checked rocks were lighter. I perk up as Sam speaks. Did you stop at Cooper’s on the way over here?

Sam

Laughs Cooper’s right. Gotta stop there whenever I’m up this way. Had to get Ruby to try one of their famous buffalo burgers.

Bobby

I smile and look Ruby’s way again. And so? I ask expectantly. What did you think?

Ruby

I’ve never had buffalo before. It was better than I expected. A little gamier, but good. Sam lured me here with tales of new foods to try. He said you might be able to help me locate an ingredient I need for a spell. It’s Chimera flesh. Some call it Chimera mane. I haven’t the faintest idea of where to start looking.

Bobby

I frown in thought. Now why does that sound familiar. Oh yeah! Well I can do ya one better. If it’s what I’m thinking of, I might just have here. I set the box on a table and start towards the basement. Right this way. I lead them down and to a big cabinet.

Ruby

Following behind Bobby and Sam, I start to get uncomfortable being this close once again to the panic room Bobby has. My skin starts to prickle.

Sam

I follow them both downstairs.

Bobby

Now let’s see here… I mutter to myself as I unlock the cabinet and shuffle through some boxes. Well I could have sworn- Ah! Right. Here it is. I hold up a plastic bag with the requested mane inside. I hand it over to Ruby. What do you want to do with that thing anyway?

Ruby

Reaching out and taking the plastic bag, I explain. I want to teach Sam a more complex protection spell and this is one of the ingredients I need.

Bobby

My brows go up and I instantly look to Sam, remembering the last time he dabbled in the whole ‘psychic/demon blood thing’. Still looking at Sam, I address Ruby. You’re teaching him… ‘magic… tricks..?’

Sam

Ruby’s just… she’s just teaching me a few things. Filling in some of the gaps that Rowena missed, you know.

Bobby

I look between the two, gagging whether to argue or not. I know there’s more to it than the horror story I paint in my head, still, memory serves cold and I worry. Uh-huh. Alright then. I say scratching my chin.

Sam

My cell phone starts to ring and I pull it out and answer. Hey, Ellen

Ellen

Hey Sam! How the hell are ya? ��I have case that might interest you. trying to contain the excitement in my voice

Sam

Hold on a second, let me put you on speaker. I hit the speaker button and set the phone on the desk Go ahead Ellen, I’m here with Bobby and Ruby.

Ellen

Hey guys. So  there have been several deaths in this one area and that the victims don't appear to have anything in common except that they are all young, single, Asian men, every one of them. thinking to myself strange right? From what I've learned, thanks to ash hacking away. There's surveillance of the same girl, human looking that's been seen with all 3 victims.

Bobby

My earlier worry fades to intrigue. I fold my arms listening to Ellen. Certainly sounds strange…

Ellen

All of the victims were torn apart by what looked like canine teeth.

Sam

I look over at Bobby. You thinking werewolf attack, Ellen?

Ellen

no, no because none of the hearts were missing and two of the deaths happened during the day and none of the others during a full moon cycle. I'm gonna send you a picture of the girl that's been seen. I send Sam a pic of the girl to his phone

Sam

I pick up the phone and find her text. I’ve got it Ellen. It’s a pretty clear shot for a surveillance picture. I hold it out for Ruby and Bobby to look at.

Bobby

I frown in thought. I was about to agree with Sam’s werewolf theory but Ellen beat me to it. What? I ask confused. I mutter, what on earth… I squint at the photo. Wait a minute! Oh- I think I know something about this! I say in a somewhat louder voice. I’ve seen someone almost just like that before. The where is a bit fuzzy, though. I rack my brain for where I’ve seen this girl before. Hold up! Still in deep thought, my feet take me to the bookcase and I pull out a couple old books. I come back to the table and flip through the first, ignoring dust. Nothing in this one. Damn! I set that one away to go through the next.  Then I find it. Smiling proudly, I drop the open book on the table. It hits it with a loud thud and I put a hand on my hip and point at the book with the other. We… I say, are looking for a Okami. It’s rare to find one outside of Japan, mind you, but it’s been done before. Rufus killed one once! The Idjit tried to bury it in his front yard!

Sam

Wait, what do you mean he tried to bury it?

Bobby

I sigh in remembrance. Well… in order to kill the damn thing, you have to stab it 7 times with a bamboo dagger blessed by a Shinto priest. Rufus got the wrong number and stabbed it only 5 times. I can’t help but roll my eyes. After all it’s such a rookie move!

Ruby

What happens if you don’t stab it all 7 times?  Guessing the outcome already.

Bobby

If you fail to stab it all 7 times, it regenerates and comes back to life. Rufus had to gank it all over again.

Sam

Ellen, I can’t be sure without looking, but I don’t think that we have a bamboo dagger like that in our Artifacts. Not at our Bunker or the one in New Orleans.

Ellen

thinking to myself well I'm surprised that old geezer there wouldn't have one laying around.

Bobby

I wave a hand to make Sam stop talking. Wait a minute, Sam. I still got the dagger Rufus used. I have it here in my collection.

Sam

Surprised that finding a bamboo dagger was so simple for us. Really?

Ellen

well I just knew it

Bobby

What? I ask with a small shrug, then grumble almost to myself, Ya can’t be too careful with these things…

End Scene and Audition

……………………………….

Point 1

Sam and Ruby pull up in front of Bobby’s place and get out. Sam pulls a box out of the trunk, hands it to Ruby, and then gets out a second one for himself. Before they even get to knock, Bobby pulls the door open and greets them both. Sam explains they are dropping off a couple of boxes of lore and whatnot from Garth and Sam says it is an opportunity to come for a quick visit. Once inside Sam sets his box down and turns to give Bobby a big hug saying that it had been too long between their visits. Bobby hugs him back and says it's good to see him and that he should know there doesn’t have to be an excuse to come up, his house is always open. Bobby turns to Ruby and assures her that she’s always gonna be welcome there too, then asks if he can get the…

Point 2

Ruby goes on to explain that Sam lured her on this trip with tales of wonderful new food and also with possibly getting Bobby’s help in finding a spell ingredient she’s having trouble locating. It’s called Chimera flesh or some call it Chimera mane. She’s hoping that Bobby can give her some idea of where she should search for it. Bobby thinks about it for a minute and then says that he can do her one better. He thinks he might actually have what she’s looking for. Bobby leads the way down the steps into his basement and over to a large cabinet, Ruby and Sam follow. Being this close once again to Bobby’s iron panic-room gives Ruby an uncomfortable feeling. Bobby unlocks the cabinet and searches through a couple of boxes. Stating that he’s found it

Point 3

The three are back upstairs and Sam’s cell phone rings. Ellen is on the phone all excited over a case that she’s found. Sam puts her on speaker and tells her to go ahead and tell them all. Ellen explains that there have been several deaths in this one area and that the victims don't appear to have anything in common except that they are all young, single, Asian men, every one of them. She asks them “don't you think that’s weird?” She goes on to explain that from what she’s learned from Ash hacking into the police data networks, there is surveillance footage of the same human-looking girl seen with three of the victims. All of the victims were torn apart by what looked like canine teeth. Sam suggests a werewolf and Ellen says no because none of the he…

Point 4

Bobby says that he’s seen someone who looks a lot like that girl before. He tries to remember where it was and then it dawns on him. He goes to check his bookcase and pulls out two old volumes… coming back to the table he flips through one book, doesn’t find what he wants, and sets it aside. Then looking through the second book, he finds what he’s looking for and drops the book on the table pointing at it. Bobby tells them they are looking for an Okami. It's rare to find them outside of Japan, but it has happened before. Bobby says Rufus actually killed one once and tried to bury it in his front yard. Sam asks him what do you mean trying to? Bobby looks a little sheepish and says in order to kill one you have to stab it 7 times with a bamboo dagger …

[minor-solemnity]

i don't know if this counts as a request but just makeup sex!! the way you wrote smut in curiosity was so good!

This definitely counts as a request haha! Thank you so much, I hope you like it!

2.8k of (a little) plot and more smut :)

Tag List: @jinxqsu @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey 

Game Theory

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

Hogwarts is hosting a festival for a comet. You’re not sure why a comet deserves a festival - something to do with an ancient prophecy allegedly made by Rowena Ravenclaw. The night shall bow to fire and the school shall stand strong. It’s all very poetic. Regardless, Hogwarts is celebrating the passing of the comet over the school and you have to admit that the grounds look beautiful. Tiny replica comets made of bluebell flames dance above your head, marble statues of famous astronomers and seers stand proud in the tall grass, and garlands of lotus flowers, yellow jasmine, and, more strangely, parsley are strewn everywhere. Further down, there is a sectioned off area for dancing where tinkling music can be heard drifting over the light breeze. The small rowing boats that usually carry the first years over to Hogwarts are adorned with tiny glowing lights, ready to take you and the rest of the school across the lake to see the comet blaze across the dark sky when the time comes.

You feel like you’ve walked into a fairy circle, not the grounds that you’ve come to know so well over the years. You stand there, at the doors to the castle surveying the scene before you with a sense of excitement and anticipation. Students are milling around, enjoying the music and the food. You can spy a few of your friends drifting about and you make a note to say hello when you get the opportunity. If you get the opportunity.

Because… because you’ve done something pretty stupid. You’ve gone and found yourself a date and as it turns out, Frasier Rowle is… well he’s handsome. Which was why you’d started dropping hints a few weeks ago. But he’s also brimming with undeserved arrogance and entitlement. He’s possessive too, and petulant. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d apparently hugged Charlie a little too tightly for Frasier’s liking and he’d sulked for a week straight. No, Frasier doesn’t like other people playing with his toys and in any other circumstance, you would have rolled your eyes and dumped him for his childishness.

These are not normal circumstances though. You'd needed a date for the festival because if you didn’t then you’d have lost. Well. Sort of. There’s no game being played, certainly not officially at any rate. But still, you don’t lose games official or unofficial. It’s a rule you have for yourself. You like winning. Simple.

So, you smile demurely at Frasier and ignore the way his black dress robes wash out his pale eyes and pale hair (you wished he’d opted for the blue as you’d suggested) and offer him your hand. He takes it, holding it a little too tightly as you descend the steps to the party below. You feel the weight of his gaze even though you can’t see him. You ignore it. You pretend you don’t know you’re being watched as you twist your arm through Frasier’s and when he kisses your cheek, you pretend you don’t care that Frasier’s breath is a little sour from whatever he ate at dinner.

Charming. You’re charming and funny and flirty and Frasier is proud to have you as a date. You can see it in the way that he all but parades you around in front of his friends. The tell-tale prickling on the back of your neck tells you that he’s still watching. Which means you’re still winning. So you smile and laugh and stay close to Frasier even when he and his friends start talking about the internships and jobs their wealthy and connected parents have secured them. Frasier is apparently going straight into the DMLE even though his grades suggest a role as shop assistant would be far more suited to his capabilities.

“-like I always say, it’s not a bad thing to be better than other people.” Frasier’s voice cuts through your thoughts and your smile turns slightly strained. Because it isn’t a bad thing to be better. But Frasier Rowle simply isn’t. He reminds you of one of those expensive eclairs that your mother sometimes brings home when you have cause for celebration: beautifully decorated and full of air. “Isn’t that right?” His elbow digs into your ribs and for a second you stop smiling. He frowns expectantly.

“Of course. You’re completely right.” You say and carefully extricate yourself from his arms. Deciding to date Frasier had been a stupid decision on your part. In all honesty, you find him incredibly distasteful but… But he serves a purpose. And you’ll be damned if you don’t see this through. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll get us some drinks?” He nods and you make a hasty (but not too hasty, you wouldn’t want anyone watching to get the impression that you’re eager to leave) departure.

You’re standing at the drinks table, pretending to decide between a flute of sparkling apple juice or pumpkin juice (why wasn’t wine an option?) when he slides in next to you. Tom looks horribly good. His dark hair is parted neatly, falling in delicate waves across his forehead and the soft glow from the bluebell flames throw his aristocratic features into sharp relief. You note, with no small amount of irritation, that Tom, unlike Frasier, looks devastatingly good in black. His robes are perfectly cut and look soft and inviting in the way that expensive things often do. You imagine that they’re a gift from Malfoy or one of his other cronies.

“Rowle then. That’s who you’ve decided to degrade yourself with.” Straight to the point then. Well, good. This is the only reason you’ve been putting up with Frasier for all these weeks, after all. You cast a sideways glance in Tom’s direction and are aggravated to see that, despite the jealousy lacing his words, he looks entirely at ease. Like he’s just asked you about the decor or the weather or last week’s arithmancy test.

“I’d hardly call dating Frasier degrading myself. He’s been offered a very important position in the DMLE, don’t you know?” You reply archly. He raises an eyebrow in response and you purse your lips primly, as though you don’t share his exact thoughts on Frasier’s future Ministry job. You turn to him then, taking in the darkness of his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Something that feels like it could be triumph settles in your stomach. Tom is a master of controlling his emotions, but even he has his tells. “More to the point, why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer right away and really, you don’t expect him to. Why does he care? You aren’t sure he even knows the answer to that himself. All you know is that after a year of meeting him in alcoves and abandoned classrooms, you can’t stand to be a secret anymore. And he can’t seem to stand the idea of holding your hand in public. “I’m merely surprised. You’re reasonably intelligent and he is... Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing his family is so well connected.”

“Reasonably intelligent? If it weren’t for you, I’d be top of the year,” You say indignantly. He smirks that you realise that maybe you should probably be defending Frasier’s intellect. “And I find mine and Frasier’s conversations incredibly... stimulating, if you must know. It’s really quite nice to get such a fresh perspective on certain issues. No pointless arguments because he’s too stubborn to realise what he could lose.” You smile innocently as his posture grows taught and his lips thin.

“Oh look, your security troll is coming to collect you,” Tom says dispassionately, eyeing Frasier who has spotted you and now making his way steadily over. You scoff.

“Oh please, Frasier is hardly a troll. He’s much too-” whiny, self-important, weak “-small.” Something dangerously close to a laugh escapes Tom’s lips and a pang of sadness and anger and longing twists in your gut. It’s far too easy to fall into your regular routine of barbed comments and sly humour with Tom. It reminds you of the other conversations too, the secrets and confessions that seem to spill from you both whenever you let your guard down for long enough. Whatever. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you. Not enough for you to be satisfied anymore. You shoot him a smile, insincere and caustic, “Besides, maybe I like having someone who cares enough about me to see who I’m spending time with.”

He frowns, only for a second, and that’s the only sign you get that your words have affected him before his expression clears and he looks as impassive and impenetrable as ever. Frasier appears and it doesn’t take a genius to realise that he’s unhappy. He looks between you and Tom with a suspicious sneer distorting his features. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. But I should have known, it’s so sweet of you, darling, to be so charitable with your time.” You tense at the thinly veiled insult about Tom’s humble beginnings before you mechanically pass your date his drink. He wraps an arm around your shoulders in a, quite frankly, terribly insecure show of machismo. You smile up at him and refuse to look back at Tom as he leads you away.

***

Night has well and truly fallen and you’re silently bemoaning the fact that your dress robes have short sleeves whilst you try futilely not to shiver. Frasier hasn’t noticed; he’s busy talking about his future or quidditch or the funny thing his house-elf did last summer or some other entirely inane thing with his friends. His hand is curved around your waist and you’re fairly sure it’s for Tom’s benefit. This, at least, makes you somewhat pleased. But still, you’re cold, you’re bored, you haven’t been able to talk to your friends at all, and you’re wishing desperately that it was Tom’s arms around you.

It seems as though your scheming has not gone to plan. Well, no. The plan had been to make Tom jealous and you’re fairly sure you’ve accomplished that. But still, you somehow feel as though you’ve lost. At the sound of a loud chime, a hush falls across the festival and the Headmaster announces that you have thirty minutes before the comet is scheduled to pass overhead. Immediately, the professors begin to coral students towards the lake and a crowd of eager teenagers starts to form around you, pushing forwards to get to the boats. Frasier’s hand slips from your waist and you get separated in the rush. You’re about to reach forward to try and grab him when a large, warm hand touches your lower back. You freeze because you know that touch. Know those hands. Intimately.

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

You’re not that easy though. You’ve been denying yourself what you want for weeks at this point. You can carry on for another few minutes. “Where are you taking me?” You ask and you’re quite proud that you sound demanding, maybe a little petulant. As though you wouldn’t follow him wherever he decided to take you. Judging by the shrewd glance Tom sends your way, he can see right through the protests forming on your tongue.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He pushes you inside the castle and suddenly the noise and commotion of the festival feel very far away. The quietness of the empty castle seems to envelop the two of you, creating an almost stifling atmosphere that you somehow can’t quite bring yourself to break. Tom drags his gaze over you, drinking in every change in your expression, every shift of your body. You feel vulnerable and raw and seen. Slowly, he raises his hands and runs them up your arms. You’re skin, still cold from the night suddenly feels like it's on fire. “You’re cold.” You nod. “I would have expected better from someone of your date’s impeccable breeding,” Tom murmurs it like it’s an insult. You frown and are about to ask what he means when he shrugs out of his robes and drapes the heavy fabric across your shoulders. He smiles then, slow and possessive and pleased.

The errant embers of desire that have been burning in your chest since he first touched you spark brighter and fiercer. He takes you by the shoulders and holds you close as he leads you further into the castle, the press of his chest against your back, the pressure of his fingers on your skin a tantalising promise of more to come. “You know, I was rather looking forward to the comet. A once in a lifetime event, I’m told.” And well… You still sound petulant, maybe even a little bratty but also breathy and excited and oh, oh, Tom’s humming deep and low in your ear, maybe a little amused, maybe a little endeared and his fingers press a little harder and he quickens his pace as though he wants - needs - this just as badly as you do.

He carries you the last few steps up to the astronomy tower. No sooner have you made it to your destination than he is pressing you against the wall of the tower, one hand gripping your waist tightly the other moving to cup your jaw, his fingers spread across your throat and you gasp and-

Wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer, moan into his mouth when he finally kisses you. There isn’t a metaphor or simile that describes the fervour he kisses you with. He’s demanding and desperate in the way his lips slant across yours, tasting and searching and you yield. You yield so quickly it would be embarrassing if you weren’t so hot with want and need and desire. You angle your body more closely to his and relish in the hard press of his chest, the way his hand slides from your waist to your hips then back to your waist like he can’t quite decide where he wants to touch you. You can feel the unmistakable hard outline of his cock against your hip and you grind upwards, unthinking, lost in a haze of pleasure and the feeling of his lips biting kisses along your jaw.

You unwind your arms from his neck and reach his belt but are stopped when he takes a step back, his hands moving to grip your wrists before you can continue. You feel unmoored and can’t quite help the whine that escapes your lips. When your gaze finally focuses, you see him watching you, his already dark eyes are practically black, pupils blown, his lips are swollen and wet, and his breathing is ragged. “Does he do this to you?” He asks, his usually smooth voice rough with emotion.

When you don’t say anything, he smirks, and, holding both your wrists in one hand, slowly, teasingly drags his other up the inside of your thigh. You’re helpless to stop him as he dips his fingers down into your underwear and curls two inside you. He teases you with long strokes, using his thumb to brush against your clit until you’re trembling and gasping and pleading. “Can he make you lose control like I can?” His voice is dangerously low and he’s watching you closely, never quite giving you what you want.

It’s torture.

It’s bliss.

“Please, please, please,” You chant under your breath, a steady stream of words and preyers that aren’t all decipherable. “Please, Tom, you know he can’t. You know it’s only you, please, please.” His face goes slack with desire and just as quickly as he’d pulled away he’s pressing closer to you again, kissing you hard.

His thigh nudges your legs wider apart and you hook one leg around his waist relishing in the pressure and friction this new angle affords you. You hear the zip of his trousers and then the tip of his cock against your folds as he aligns himself and, “Ohh, please, Tom, I need-”

Your senses are overwhelmed by his smell, his touch, his quiet grunts of exertion as he sets a rather punishing pace. He’s mumbling promises and praise and curses into the crook of your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers move in sloppy rhythm against your clit, adding just the right amount of friction that has you gasping obscenities into his ear.

The pressure in your lower stomach builds and builds until finally your orgasm crests over you. He’s holding you tighter still, riding you through it until you collapse against him, shuddering through the aftershocks. He follows you soon after, his body growing tense, his grip on your hip so tight it’s almost painful, your name on his tongue.

Afterwards, you curl up against him, his robes (you were right: they’re soft and warm and expensive) wrapped around you both. Tom strokes your hair almost absently as you watch the sky as Ravenclaw’s comet streaks past, bright and bold and so beautiful that it almost takes your breath away. Almost. “I want you to take me on a date. And hold my hand in public.” You say. Request. Demand.

He laughs and pulls you closer, “If that’s what it takes to keep you from embarrassing yourself with the likes of Rowle, I’d be happy to oblige.”

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟔: 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧  /  ALAM PALACE, YAAS, 1926

❧  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

In the small rituals of domesticity, Zuriñe finds fleeting respite from life’s demands. Cooking, while hardly the task of a queen, brings her renewed focus. She stands in the palace’s expansive kitchen with maids helping with the prep work. In the old days, a pot of soup sat simmering all day—even in a royal residence��but she has neither the patience or time for that. She hopes instead to comfort herself while mulling the dilemmas mounting upon her already weary mind.

Even while slicing, dicing, and stirring, she cannot quite escape business.

Rowena arrives after she has dismissed Aziza and Viçente, sending them off to the palace’s working rooms with tails tucked between legs. The stinging disappointment with which she had lashed them was not altogether purposeful; Rowena’s presence agitated her, and their tiny failures bore the brunt of it. It was better that way, too, as she wished to maintain a posture of kindness—even with a reserve running so low.

Her back is to the door, but Zuriñe has been listening for Rowena’s arrival since the others departed.  

“Your Majesty ...” She can tell Rowena finds the words clumsy and onerous. “You wanted to see me?”

Zuriñe wonders if she always sounds so timid, even as each fact she knows about her suggests not.

After a pause, she replies, “I did. Shall we have dinner?” She adds, though an explanation is hardly needed, “Alfonso has gone to fetch his father. It will be a quiet evening, and cooking is not simply for the servants.”

Once Rowena has joined her at the stove, Zuriñe asks, “Do you cook?”

“Goodness!” Rowena laughs. “I wouldn’t trust myself around a stove. Unattended.”

With a nod, the queen comments, “Mafalda is the same. Let me teach you a recipe. I learned it from Mother Desideria—Alfonso’s grandmother.”

The import of such a detail is not lost on either of them. Zuriñe had begun the soup because she craved, not stability, but a taste that reminded her of survival and perseverance. In a sense, blood, sweat, and tears had all gone into the hearty bowls Mother Desideria had served her all those years ago as she sat, cradling her stomach and dreaming of gallows. Now, Zuriñe proffered, not merely a meal, but knowledge. 

“Oh, how special,” Rowena replies, her voice almost strangled with surprise. Emphatic, she insists, “Please.”

[defenderrosetyler]

APAHS Chapter 6

AN: Chapter 6 has arrived! I love all of your guys feedback it really makes my day ^_^ No real warnings this time I think..... WC: 2,221 Beta thanks to the wonderful @flamencodiva and dividers by @winchest09​ Storybrooke

“What do you mean you want an engagement ring? Hasn’t Samuel gifted you with one?” Rowena asks Ruby, closing her loan payment ledger. Yes, it was only lunchtime, but there were a few payments that had rolled in. Ruby scoffed, crossing her arms as she tossed her hair over her shoulders. “As if, he has yet again tried to throw me out onto the streets. Both of our names are on that lease. I won’t let him kick me out. I do care for him despite what the town thinks.”

Letting out a hum of thought, the red-headed loan shark headed to her back room. Looking through her drawers of things her debtors had used as a pawn of sorts to help pay off their loan. Finding the jewel she’d been looking for, with a smirk she headed back to the front of the store and placed the ring in Ruby’s hand. The ring was a thin silver band, in the middle sat a bright white diamond, on either side of the large gem, however, sat two bright sapphires. Rowena hadn’t even asked Ruby’s ring size, but this ring she’d grabbed fit her hand perfectly. “Oh, Rowena, it's beautiful,” Ruby smirked wickedly, “Sam is mine, I’m not about to let him get wrapped around another woman’s finger. Despite what people think, I do care for Sam, and I’m going to prove who he belongs to.” 

Across town, Y/N was occupied, and in pain. After explaining to Amaya her situation with needing more work to keep up her payments, both women had agreed to work at the Queen’s Court inside the Rabbit Hole. This wasn’t the kind of work she had in mind, but what choice did she have. There wasn’t anything else she could do. There was the option of agreeing to marry Rowena’s son, Crowley, but that was a hard pass. She’d rather rot in hell before agreeing to be his bride. As she finished her routine, under the name  White Swan, Y/N groaned, spotting Crowley standing at the employee’s entrance. “Y/N, sweetheart, can’t we just talk?” He asks. “Crowley, can’t you go sit in those crummy cars you sell? I’m sure the carbon monoxide would knock you out faster than living alone,” She snapped. Partly from seeing him, the other from the uncomfortableness of her heels. Walking and dancing in 6-inch heels when you’ve never done it before? Not the best thing to do.

The businessman lets out a sigh of resentment. “It's just a conversation, not a marriage proposal” He tries again. “Crowley, I’m sure there's a woman in Storybrooke who is better suited for your needs than myself. I can find ways to pay your mother back. I’m not about to just give up now” She says, brushing past him to go change. It had been a long, exhausting day, and all Y/N wanted to do was go home. Crowley left with a sigh, nodding to Ruby who stood at the street corner, waiting for Y/N to come out. Y/N groans spotting Ruby, muttering her name under her breath. “Well well, if it isn’t the little duckie coming out of the pond?” Ruby teased, making sure her left hand was in full view. The light from above catches on the gems. “Ruby, I really don’t want…” her voice trailed off seeing the ring. “Is that?” Ruby smirked, “My engagement ring from Sam? Oh yes, proposed last night after he got home. Guess he couldn’t wait any longer. He really does love me deep down, you know.” “That’s not how I understood it. He keeps trying to kick you out.” Y/N argues, trying to hold back her tears.  

Ruby scoffed, crossing her arms as she glared at Y/N, “couples fight, duckie.” She licked her lips, “you would know if you ever had a man. Let’s face it, you’re too ugly for any man to ever want you.” Ruby noticed Crowley watching them, a sly smile on her lips, “Crowley must be desperate if he’s going for you. You know, his mom is almost as rich as Gold. Too bad you’ll always be down in the dirt, like the ugly duckling you are.” “Why don’t you just leave me alone Ruby.” Y/N scoffed, “Surely you must have something better to do?” 

Brushing past her, Y/N turns to head back into the Rabbit Hole, spotting Crowley sitting at the bar. “About dinner…”

----- Enchanted Forest “Making me do all your work? What kind of witch are you anyway. You’ve got the girl, why can’t we just take over her kingdom instead of the Winchesters?” Crowley snarled at his mother as he grabbed his clothes. “Because they banished me for just a wee bit of magic. It's not like I was planning to kill anybody” Rowena says with a shrug, looking through the spellbooks she’d had Crowley sneak in and grab for her. Well, the one’s that King John hadn’t destroyed by putting them into a fiery blaze the day she was banished. “Mother, we both know you wanted Queen Mary killed, force yourself into King John’s bed till you were pregnant and solidified an heir.” This made Rowena blink. Her son was smarter than he looked, and minor details didn’t slip past him usually. 

“Perhaps.” She says not confirming or denying her son’s allegations against her. Grabbing the final ingredient, tossing it into the black cauldron, she sighed, grabbing a ladle and portioned out the vials. “This will be the third batch this week. Are you sure you're making it right?” Crowley asks, arms crossed against his chest. Rowena’s dark jade eyes glare at him. “It’s a slow process. Can’t do it all at once.” “You said that after the first batch. I’ve been sneaking around, trying to not get caught, yet here you are making me risk my neck for you.” The red head sighed frustrated, “You know that Castle, as well as I do, Crowley. You know how to remain hidden and unseen. Only a fool would get caught.” This particular batch of poison made six vials in total. Taking four of them, and placing them in his pocket, Crowley makes his way back to Winchester Palace. 

The poison his mother had made, in enough doses and in large quantities, was meant to make the drinker incoherent and unable to think clearly. Once the recipient had received enough, it would make her appear to have an incurable disease. Once to baffle the medical staff till they were blue in the face, trying to heal their precious and beloved Queen. Since Odette’s capture, Crowley had been giving Queen Mary four vials in the span of a week. He’d started off with two, but there wasn’t as much of an effect as his mother would have liked, so she made him up the vial amount to four.

Being he’d left later than he’d planned, Crowley had managed to sneak into the kitchens just before supper was to be served. The kitchen was more packed than he’d planned as the staff bustled about gathering the finishing touches for the evening meal. 

Ever since Princess Ruby’s arrival, King John had spared no expense. Bringing the best protein and sides he could manage. He did want to leave a good impression on the princess if indeed she was to be Sam’s bride. As soon as Crowley was sure the coast was clear, he entered the kitchen through a secret passage. As he was opening the vial, however, he was stopped when the tip of a blade was pressed just under his neck. “Back away slowly, before I slit your throat and make a mess for the maids to clean,” a gruff voice said from beside Crowley. Stepping backward as he was asked, Crowley swallowed the lump in his throat as he met a pair of bright blue eyes. “Evening Castiel.”

“Benny, what do you mean I can’t go downstairs, it's time for dinner, as usual, what's wrong?” Sam asks him as he was prevented from leaving his chambers.

“I’m zorry, your highnez,” Benny let out. “It zeems Castiel haz caught our slippery snake,” he continued, leading Sam down a long hallway and towards the dungeons. 

“Slippery….” Sam says confused before catching who Castiel had exactly caught. “Crowley.” “‘Ello, Samuel,” Crowley muttered, “Come to be my executioner?” “I’ll leave that to Castiel. He’s good at killing snakes like you.” “I was only doing as I was told!” Crowley argued, trying to make a defense for himself, “It’s not my fault my mother’s obsessed with ruling the place!” 

“Your mother?” Castiel asked, raising his eyebrow at him. “The Witch Rowena,” Sam snarled through his teeth, “The one who stole Odette and killed her father”

“Then why was he allowed to work in the palace?” Castiel glared at Crowley, the tip of his blade pressing on his neck. “How did we not know?” “A girl has to have her secrets blue eyes.” Crowley muttered. “Benny, give me your sword.” Sam says looking over at him, “I’m sure Castiel would be more than happy to kill him, but this is one execution I’d have the pleasure of handling myself.” “Kill me if you want, boy, but that little swan of yours will still stay hidden.” Sam’s anger rose, his chest rising and falling as his nose began to flare out. 

“Sam,” Castiel said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We need to notify your father. We need to know how we never knew about Rowena being his mother? Have you seen Crowley with Rowena?” Sam nodded, his gaze still fixed on Castiel. “Out by the lake, he and his mother are out there every night.” Back upstairs, John went to find Mary, wanting to make sure that she was alright. Upon entering their chambers, he spotted her still lying in bed. “Mary? Are you alright?” “It’s nothing. Just a little tired from this afternoon that’s all” The Queen replied, trying to brush off her husband’s worry. John felt his wife’s head, noticing beads of sweat running down her forehead. “Mary, you're burning up,” he whispered, running to the door to shout for the Castle Doctor. 

“Forgive me your majesty, but your wife does appear quite ill. The problem is, I cannot tell what has made her ill.” He admits with a frown. “There has to be something you can do.” The King begs. The Doctor was silent, grabbing his things as he left the King and Queens chambers. “Your Highness,” another one of the guards says, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Forgive my intrusion, but your father is asking for you.” Sam looks at Benny and Castiel, “I’ll talk to my father about this. Get as much information out of him as you can, we need to find what he’s been doing here.” he says, turning to head back up the stairs. “Dad!” Sam calls appearing at the end of the corridor once climbing the stairs. “Son, we need to talk privately.” John says in hushed tones, “I have some concerning news concerning your mother.”

---- Storybrooke

After working through the papers at Gold’s office, logging the few items he’d gotten as pawns, Sam looked up hearing the clicking of heels. Groaning as he spotted Ruby leaning against the glass displays. It was valentine's day and Sam had planned on stopping by Granny’s to look for Y/N to give her a yellow rose for the day, in hopes to mend their relationship. “Ruby, what are you doing here? Couldn’t this wait till I got back?” Sam muttered

“What, and ruin the evening of valentines day? I thought maybe we could go out to Granny’s or something.” Ruby smiled, batting her eyelashes at him. “Well, Well, Miss Blackheart, wasn’t expecting a visit from you.” Gold says, making his way out of his office. “What a ring you have, looks like you did rather well Samuel. It would seem congratulations are in order.” 

Sam looked over at his employer rather confused. “What?” he asks, finally catching the glint of the ring on Ruby’s left ring finger, “Where did you get that. I know I didn’t get that for you.” 

“Course you did.” Ruby winked, pulling Sam along with her “Come on, I want to celebrate our engagement by having a special dinner.” Sam wanted to protest going to dinner with Ruby, he could barely stand the woman, let alone any more unnecessary stress. He just wanted one thing to go right, or even just halfway normal. He’d been meaning to find time to talk to Henry, or even Bobby. He’d talk to Dean, but given their recent conversations, it would just turn into an argument. 

As they made their way into Granny’s diner, Sam felt his heart go cold, seeing car salesman Crowley Rosethorn press a kiss to Y/N’s cheek as he handed her a handful of red roses. 

Sam felt the wind get knocked out of his chest. His heart felt like it was going to shatter, it held a secondary emotion though. Jealousy. He wanted to be the person giving Y/N roses, wanted to make her laugh, smile or just be happy. 

Apparently Ruby had other ideas, as she forced his hand on their engagement. He had to break it off, but how?

[casgetoutofmyass0907]

A Heavenly Wedding

Summary: (Supernatural Finale Spoilers!!) What else could you want besides a big Destiel wedding at Harvelle’s in Heaven, on Valentine’s Day?! Every one is formally invited expect for John and Mary Winchester for obvious reasons. It’s about time these two finally got hitched.

For the sake of this fic everyone got a get into heaven free card for the day, because I know that some of these people are in Hell, Purgatory, or The Empty :). Thanks Jack for making that possible!

ART AT THE END :)

He couldn’t tell if it was nerves or excitement, but Dean’s hands were shaking as he struggled to tie his tie. He had done it a million times before, but today was different. Today, he was getting married. Dean never thought that he would get married, let alone get married to his best friend.

How he couldn’t manage to tie a simple knot he didn’t know, but his frustration got the better of him and he pulled the tie from his neck and threw it onto a nearby chair.

“Really Dean?” Charlie walked into the room as Dean plopped himself into another chair, careful to avoid the flowers and balloons that were tied on the side of it.

“I can’t even tie my damn tie, how am I supposed to walk down an aisle in front of everyone and get married?” Dean let his head fall into his hands and he rubbed at his temples in frustration.

“Dean, a tie and getting married are nothing alike. You’re going to get your ass out there and marry that angel, and it’s going to be beautiful. Now get up.” Charlie had retrieved the discarded tie and was now standing in front of Dean.

Dean groaned and stood up, reaching to take the tie from Charlie. Before he could she reached her hands around Dean’s neck and began to tie the red fabric in a simple knot. “Thank you, Charlie. You’re the best Best Man I could have asked for.”

“You already knew that from your Bachelor party.” Charlie gave Dean a wink and tightened his tie.

Dean grimaced as he remembered the party that had taken place only a few nights before. “I can’t believe you got me to drink Tequila and sing shitty karaoke.” Dean acted like he was holding back vomit before he continued, “Never again.”

“What, the tequila or the karaoke? I thought you liked karaoke?” Charlie grinned at Dean, knowing that she had trapped him in a corner.

“The tequila. I do like karaoke, but not mixed with tequila and a bunch of rowdy hunters in the back room of the Roadhouse.”

“Whatever, I know you liked it.”

Charlie made her way over to a mirror and began messing with her hair. She had curled it and Cas helped her braid two sections that were pulled to the back of her head and secured with a hairpin that was shaped like angel wings. She pulled a few strands loose from the braid to frame her face when Dean walked up and gave her a hug from behind. “Thank you for everything, kiddo.”

Charlie turned herself around in Dean’s embrace to give him a proper hug. “You’re welcome.” She pulled away from him and a smile spread across her lips. “Let’s go get you married!”

Dean blushed slightly and smiled as Charlie practically skipped to the door with glee. Dean took a deep breath and smoothed the front of his suit jacket before following Charlie outside.

Everyone in the wedding party was standing on the front porch of Harvelle’s talking and laughing as they waited for Dean to join them. When he opened the door and stepped outside all eyes were on him. Bobby was the first to give him a tight hug “I’m proud of you Dean.”

“Thanks, Bobby. I’m pretty lucky.” Dean said as he returned the hug.

Bobby was wearing a plain black suit similar to Dean's, the only exception being that Dean was wearing a red tie while Bobby’s was black. Charlie and Meg were wearing simple white dresses paired with red flannel, Jack was wearing a pink suit and a white tie with little pink hearts on it. Where Cas managed to conjure that up Dean didn’t know, but Jack was happy showing off his outfit to everyone. Claire was also there to walk down the aisle with Jack, she wore a dress to match Jack’s tie. Claire had reluctantly agreed to wear the dress Jack had picked out only when seeing how excited he was to match with his sister.

Everyone was buzzing with excitement as they prepared to walk down the aisle. A piano version of Carry on Wayward Son began to play over the speakers, signaling that it was time to start the ceremony. Claire and Jack walked down the aisle first, Jack tossing handfuls of rose petals every couple of steps. Charlie and Meg walked down next, as Charlie was Dean’s best man and Meg was Cas’s. Then it was time for Dean to make his way to the altar. He walked alongside Bobby who was giving him away in place of his real father, Bobby had earned the right more so than John.

When Dean and Bobby rounded the corner to the backside of the roadhouse everyone stood up. The grass lawn had rows of white chairs lined along either side of the aisle, red and pink ribbon tied in bows on the chairs closest to the aisle. Rose petals were now scattered along the white fabric that served as the aisle walkway. Dean’s admiration of the decorations quickly faded when he laid his eyes on Cas, who stood proudly at the altar.

Cas was dressed in a black suit to match Dean, but his tie was pink instead of red. His blue eyes seemed to shine brighter than they ever had when he saw Dean start making his way to him. Dean began walking down the aisle as all of his loved ones watched, but the only one that he could focus on was Cas. He had to hold himself back from running up the aisle and kissing Cas right then and there, he was going to do this properly.

The walk to Cas seemed to take ages, but when they finally made it Bobby gave Dean a smile and a pat on the shoulder before taking his place next to Charlie and Claire. Dean returned the smile and looked back to Cas. His perfect angel stood in front of him, the sun shining through his hair accentuating the brown highlights that were hard to see in the black strands. Blue eyes stared deep into green ones, both full of love and happiness.

Jody was officiating the wedding and began to read off the vows as Dean took Cas’s hands in his. Dean’s eyes never left Cas’s, it was like it was just the two of them there as they read off their vows, every word laced with truth.

“Do you Castiel take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.” Those two words made Dean’s stomach fill with butterflies, he would remember them for the rest of eternity.

“And do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“By the power vested in me by Harvelle’s I now pronounce you Mr. Castiel and Dean Winchester. You may kiss your angel.”

And Dean did. He kissed Cas and even pulled him into a stereotypical wedding dip, to which Cas chuckled against Dean’s lips. Cheers and applause roared from the crowd and Dean stood Cas upright again. “I love you,” Dean said.

“I love you too.”

~~~~~

The Roadhouse was definitely overcapacity as everyone flooded inside and began to dance and drink, taking turns to congratulate Dean and Cas. Everyone was there, Sam and Eileen, Donna and Jody, Claire, Kaia, Alex, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Charlie, Meg, Benny, Rowena, Crowley, Kevin, Missouri, Gabriel, Jess, Rufus, Patience, Bobby, Garth, and Bess. Everyone that mattered was there to celebrate their marriage.

Dean and Cas were sitting at a table that was covered with roses and little heart-shaped chocolates, eating cherry pie in place of wedding cake. They observed the sea of flannel in front of them, picking out familiar faces in the crowd of people, some of whom neither of them had ever seen before.

Dean threw his napkin on top of his plate after finishing his pie when Sam and Eileen walked up to the table. “Hey guys, just wanted to say congratulations.”

Dean got up from the table to hug his brother while Cas got up to hug Eileen. “Thanks, Sammy, it means a lot.”

“I’m happy for you.” Sam pulled away from his brother to pat Cas on the back “You got your Valentine’s Day wedding I see. How’d you manage to talk him into that one?”

Cas chuckled at Sam’s comment. “He agreed to the big pink and red wedding on Valentine’s Day as long as the dress code was flannel. I thought it was a fair compromise, though I’m sure he would have done it anyway.” Cas winked at Dean which made Dean’s cheeks turn red slightly.

“You know I would have married you in the back of the Impala the other night when we were-“

“Okay! I don’t need details.” Sam interrupted and grimaced at the image that Dean had implanted in his head.

Dean and Cas both laughed and Sam shook his head. The screech of feedback from a microphone echoed through the air as Ash and Ellen stood up on the bar. “Sorry about that, but it’s time for their first dance,” Ellen said into the mic, her voice echoing through Harvelle’s.

“Yeah, clear a path people, let the grooms in,” Ash added.

Everyone cleared to the sides of the room, leaving a path for Dean and Cas to make their way to the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Music started flooding the room, the song I Would For You by Lauren Duski playing through the speakers. Dean and Cas had agreed on the song for the first dance, but the rest of the music during the reception would be more Dean’s style, classic rock.

“May I have this dance?” Dean asked as he extended a hand towards Cas.

“Yes, you may.” Cas took Dean’s hand and placed his other hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s free hand made its way to Cas’s waist as they swayed to the music.

I wouldn’t let down my walls

I wouldn’t let myself fall

I wouldn’t risk it all on love again

I wouldn’t pick up the phone

I wouldn’t drive through the night

I wouldn’t answer the door at 3 am

Cas laid his head on Dean’s chest as they continued to dance. Dean began to sing along to the song quietly, only Cas could hear him.

No, I wouldn’t

No, but I would for you

Give you all of my time

Lay my heart on the line

I’d even walk through a fire

I would for you

Dean took the opportunity to spin Cas around before pulling him slope to him again and they both continued singing along.

Be the strong when you’re weak

Be the truth you believe

Be the more than you need

I would for you

Dean couldn’t think of a more perfect moment than this. Dancing with Cas, his husband, at their wedding in Heaven at Harvelle’s surrounded by all of their family and friends.

“I love you, Angel,” Dean said as he placed his forehead to Cas’s.

“I love you too.”

Happy Wedding Day everyone!!! 

I can’t believe our boys are finally getting married!!!

Have a fantastic Valentine’s Day :) 

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

XI: Stay

[MAJOR 5.3 SPOILERS] BELOW THE CUT. LIKE, IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE CUT. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

On the topic of love: Aria Vitali and G’raha Tia | Crystal Exarch

1896 words

AO3 ver.

“I concede, I may have overexerted myself.”

Aria peered down with wide eyes as the Exarch’s body was threateningly close to becoming encased in crystal, a desperation thrumming within her chest alongside panic and pain. 

“Steady now and listen.”

The buzzing only grew louder within her mind, for how could she stay steady and how could she just listen when he was about to be taken away from her? Were it not for the reassuring smile that he had given him, the self-same smile that she had seen as he was about to enter into slumber within the Crystal Tower, she would have thrown a fit—a frantic fit amidst fear and hurt.

“We have won, my friend.”

And yet, I am to lose you a second time, is what the woman wanted to scream, to shout, for it certainly seemed to be the case. They say that victory cannot be won without sacrifices and, throughout the years, there are three that remained so hard-hitting within her heart; he was one of them.

“So I hope you’ll forgive me this moment of selfishness. And...while I wouldn’t want you to feel obliged…”

When Aria and the Exarch looked towards each other, a mutual and silent understanding of the emotions going through one another, it was at this that they reached out for each other’s hand. Aria didn’t know whether it was artificial comfort for him, being covered in crystal and all, but it did well to soothe the ache within her own heart. For she didn’t think she could go on with the way he looked at her and she knew she was doing the same to him.

“Promise me you’ll take me on your next adventure. A journey. Together. That’s all I ask.”

With these words, the woman couldn’t prevent the stream of tears flowing from her amethyst eyes. She wanted to be strong for him in this moment of weakness and vulnerability, but she couldn’t hold back this time. Not this time.

“You could have asked me earlier…!” she exclaimed through the tears with a smile. 

Her words certainly caught the man off guard, for he released a helpless chuckle in response, a memory of his youth emerging from when she said the exact same thing to him after he whined about her not taking him with her to Mor Dhona.

“If I were to tell you that isn’t the end—that we will meet again—would you believe me?”

As Aria allowed the gears to turn in her head, she finally understood the meaning behind his words, behind his nonchalance. It was so like him, she thought, to leave her so worried and hanging for so long. It was so like him...that she couldn’t help but nod helplessly in response as she reached out and presented him with the vessel he had fashioned for himself. The same vessel he was going to use as a test before he allowed the others to try it for themselves.

With a ‘thank you’ did he place his crystalline hand on top of hers, atop the vessel, with a broken voice and there was a spark that was shared between the two like-minded individuals, the two connected individuals bound together by the red string of fate.

When that was finished, the Hyuran woman watched the Miqo’te pull up his hood and struggle to his feet. All the while saying:

“My friend. With you, my mind and memories shall travel to the ends of the world and beyond. But in this place shall my body stand immovable.”

She watched as he stepped closer towards the throne before straightening his back to stand tall. She could only listen as he continued his words to her:

“May it serve as an undying promise, not only to those who looked to me for leadership, but to any soul who has known despair, that hope is everlasting.”

It was in these words that Aria slowly followed, raising up the vessel to his once more, and as it began to glow in attunement as he began the test, she felt warmth beginning to emanate from the vessel itself. The warmth of his soul growing slowly as he went on with the process, undoubtedly leaving behind a cold statue in his wake in light of his merge with the Tower—his price to pay.

Yet, he smiled.

He smiled as he, in the end, became nothing more than a crystallized husk of the Crystal Exarch, standing proud and tall before Xande’s seat of honor. He smiled as Aria did the same, for saying goodbye with a smile was what she had learned to do after all these years.

When he had become completely engulfed and she had heard the Scions’ footsteps approaching from behind, Aria allowed herself to feel the grief that she had held back as she brought the glowing vessel filled with his soul closer to her person. She allowed herself to embrace it as if her life depended on it as she fell to her knees to weep. Even when she knew her comrades were watching, she released the pitiful screams and wails that reverberated from her entire body as her figure shook. As the tears fell. As her heart was torn and mended and torn yet again.

Though, only half of her was wallowing in her grief.

Indeed, for the other was cheering from every corner of heart, mind and spirit.

Your dream came true, Raha…! It would cry out in such utter pride and joy. You were the hero that you have always dreamt of being!

With this part, she hoped and prayed that the theories held true. She trusted her bestest friend, her closest friend, with the words that he had given her. She will trust his hope…

...for he is her hope.

❅ ❅ ❅

Upon the final hour of departure, Aria watched as her comrades underwent the same process that he had before his last breath. 

She waited and prayed to the Twelve that the theories would hold true. 

She prayed as she collected the vessels together and put them away in her bag. 

She prayed and she prayed as she took a deep breath…

...and crossed the portal to the Source.

❅ ❅ ❅

Aria was quick to rush Krile and Tataru into Dawn’s Respite. She was quick to lay out the vessels accordingly, corresponding to each one of her friends. It wasn’t at all too long until the soul and body began reaching out to one another, began attuning to one another, and returned that which belonged.

Alisaie was the first, followed by Thancred. Then, it was Y’shtola, Urianger and Alphinaud, each awakening and sitting up bit by bit. Aria was grateful, relieved and all manner of other emotions that she couldn’t put into exact words for there were no words that could describe just how thankful and blessed she was that the process was successful.

Then, Y’shtola bade her:

“...I doubt any of us will be fit to travel for some while. May we leave the rest to you?”

Aria stared at the woman, the woman that had first found her back when she had begun her adventuring days in Limsa Lominsa, and understood immediately what she had meant. Her eyes widened, baffled that the topic would even be brought up when they had only recently returned. It is only with Urianger’s reassurances that she allowed herself to do what she wanted immediately:

“The vessel beareth our comrade’s blood. With it in thy possession, the way will surely open before thee.”

So, the woman ran. Exhausted as she was, she ran all the way from Mor Dhona, forgetting that she had her chocobo and mounts alike, and just ran. Ran to the ferry that went between the edge of the lake to Syrcus Trench, ran from the landing towards the doors of the Crystal Tower.

As she ran, she heard the familiar ringing of rock landing on rock and when she peered over her shoulder to see what it was, she found the crystal—the constellation stone belonging to the seat of Azem, the Fourteenth member of the Convocation.

Aria remembered Hythlodeus’ words as she stepped towards the crystal to retrieve it, holding it close. She remembered him. She remembered Hades. She will continue to live to keep the promise, in memory of those that were lost and left behind.

With this in mind, she turned once more to the doors, presented the vessel and waited patiently as the ward diminished, unlocking the gates. The doors opened easily and she could feel the vessel pulsating warmth from her hand. Surely, his soul was crying out to his body, the body of this world’s version of himself. He was as eager as she was, that’s for certain.

Eager to greet him with a ‘good morning.’

❅ ❅ ❅

Some days later, the Scions were speaking amongst themselves on the balcony of Rowena’s House of Splendors. They noticed Aria and Krile’s return when the Lalafellin woman had released cries of exhaustion and made a beeline for the closest seat at the twins’ table. They saw the way Aria eyed her with immense gratitude and respect before turning to the others to greet them.

“By Mistress Krile’s exhausted state, may I assume that the ward hath been restored?” Urianger then asked.

Aria could only smile at him as she turned towards the catwalk leading to the open balcony, towards an approaching figure so shy and humble. She smiled at the man as he explained the success in restoring the ward to the Crystal Tower, once again locking it away so that its infinite energies can’t be misused for evil deeds. She watched and she smiled with immense pride, such immense pride.

“Said duty thus discharged, thou art free to go wheresoever thy fancy taketh thee,” Urianger then exclaimed with relief. “Upon which note—hast thou perchance come to a decision? The offer remaineth open.”

Aria turned to eagerly await the man’s answer, her eyes sparkling even against the glints of sunlight reflecting from the amethyst hue, and when he stammered over his words—completely and utterly unsure of himself for this briefest of moments—Aria’s smile widened as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Raha, really,” she interjected.

The Scions saw how her words affected the man, his ears perking up and his tail swaying restlessly behind him. Thus did he straighten his back, gathering his courage, and painted a smile over his own face.

“I accept,” G’raha Tia responded to Urianger’s inquiry earnestly. “Henceforth, I shall count myself a Scion of the Seventh Dawn. G’raha Tia, at your service.”

After his introduction, after he had descended the few steps to join them, the Scions watched as Aria could no longer help herself as she jumped towards him, wrapping her arms tight around his figure. Her cheeks were flushed a bright shade of red, matching his eyes, as the Miqo’te flustered, unsure of how to respond.

“I...am so glad,” Aria whispered quietly so only he could hear. “I am glad that you are here to stay.”

G’raha blinked in surprise before he smiled and returned her embrace. Indeed, he was here to stay—the place being right by the side of his inspiration. For wherever she chooses to go, fate is sure to follow. Hope is sure to follow.

His love is sure to follow.

[dontshootmespence]

Savior in a Strange Land

Summary: King Samel of Copros and Queen Y/N of Ashela were married off to broker a peace between two feuding nations. Though she didn’t love him, she did what was demanded of her for the sake of her people, marrying the King and attempting to get pregnant with his child. After many miscarriages, the already rocky marriage takes a dark turn and forces the Queen to make an extremely difficult choice. 

Words: 1,597

Warnings: This will be darker than my normal Criminal Minds fics. Please heed the warnings, including miscarriage, implied physical abuse and rape (no graphic descriptions).

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo​ 2020! This fulfills my royal AU square and a request from @queenanneslace4 for an angsty, hurt/comfort with eventual Spencer x Reader.

How she dreamed of her home. In Ashela, she had the most perfect view, snow-capped mountains and clear blue skies serving as the backdrop for the quaint towns below. Just a short walk away, her favorite place - a field of pink tulips - would welcome her with open arms, soft scents and tranquility. At least before the war between Copros and Ashela began and destroyed nearly all that she held dear.

To broker a peace between her war-torn country, she married the loathsome King Samel of Copros with the promise that if she did, he would call his soldiers back home. Though contemptible at best, he kept his promise upon their union, leaving the people of Ashela, the people she loved more than herself, to rebuild and return their beautiful country to its former glory.

Though it wasn’t her home, Y/N carved out a small space for herself in Copros; a place where she could escape her husband’s vacillating mood. In the horse stables with the gentle creatures, she could bring herself back to that place in Ashela, where she would ride the countryside on her mare, Raya. 

As she had back home, she made a point of learning the names of all those that served her. Most were confused at first, having been treated with nothing but contempt by their king, but they soon came to learn that she was the complete opposite of their despicable monarch. 

Samel could not understand her desire to be among the common folk, to get her hands dirty doing such ‘menial’ work, but she did it regardless and he didn’t seem to care much either way. He called on her when she had to fulfill royal duties of any kind, but otherwise he left her to wander the grounds as she pleased.

She had no desire to have children with Samel, but given he was her husband she had no other choice, retiring to their shared room every night and allowing him to do what he must to provide the country with an heir. Three times she had been with child, only to lose them shortly after. The doctor and midwife assured the King that it was pure bad luck that took their children, fearing his wrath, but behind closed doors they informed her it was likely due to his roughness with her. 

Although she was covered head to toe in some of the most beautiful garments to ever grace the kingdom, hiding the marks and bruises that adorned her skin, it was obvious to most how Y/N suffered at Samel’s hands. Most perceptive of them all was a stable boy, or man rather, of nearly 30 whose name was Spencer, who also doubled as a riding partner and guide when she wanted to explore the countryside. 

Overworked and exhausted, his eyes softened in her presence, concern flowing through them every time he would catch sight of her mottled skin. Without words, he would know her distress and allow her to ask him questions about his life and what brought him to his place in Copros. 

At first, he'd taken the role in the King’s regime to help his ailing mother, Diana, who’d since passed away of what the doctors called ‘madness.’ Spencer disliked the term and its implication on his mother’s personality, which caused him to say she passed away from a ‘sickness of the head.’

He was more intelligent than anyone she’d ever met before, drowning himself in books whenever he wasn’t tending to the horses. “Why are you not working in the castle?” She asked one day, wondering why his intelligence was seemingly going to waste.

“I don’t think the King wants anyone more intelligent than he in his employ,” he said, without realizing he’d spoken aloud. “I d-didn’t mean..I-”

“There is no need to be nervous with me, Spencer,” Y/N replied. “You are probably right. If you’d like, you can share all that you learn with me. I would make an excellent student.”

Spencer smiled softly, a blush spreading across his cheeks. From that day forward, he would regale her with facts about the local flora and fauna, literature and anything else that tickled his fancy as they rode their horses. She especially enjoyed when he would recite poetry from memory.

As time continued, and her home country began to recover from the war, she lost another two children. Only the last one was identifiable as a girl. The wrong kind of heir to the throne. 

The cold corridors became even colder amidst the harsh wrath of the king. His voice bellowed through the halls, anger overcoming him at the news that his last child had been a girl. He needed a male heir. 

“I cannot control if the child is a boy or a girl!” She screamed back at him, nearly three years of pain bubbling up to the surface. “I wouldn’t be losing our children if you weren’t so rough with me.”

Samel stormed across the hallway, pushing her into the bedroom with a firm hand. “It is not my fault you keep losing our children,” he seethed, his anger visibly coursing within him. “You will do as you are meant to do and give me a male heir.” A crack resounded across the room, her cheek blooming red and heated. 

With tears in her eyes, she attempted to escape his grasp, only to be pulled back and slammed down onto the bed. Silencing herself, she lay back as he tore at her clothes and forced himself on her once again.

                                                               -----

After Samel fell asleep that night, Y/N slipped from the four-poster bed and removed the torn clothing, pulling on a nightgown, robe and slippers before descending the staircase toward the stables. A light mist coated her face as she ran into the dark night in search of some comfort from her new horse, Rowena. 

Opening the doors, she walked up to Rowena’s stable and watched her sleeping peacefully, her reddish mane shining dark under the light of the moon and the stars. “My Queen?”

“Spencer!” She exclaimed softly, pulling her robe tighter against her.

He held his hands up and apologized for scaring her. “My Queen-”

“Spencer, what have I told you before? Please call me, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. May I speak my mind?”

Nodding, she allowed a tear to fall from her eye.

“The King is not worthy of you.” His hand grazed over the new mark forming along her wrist. “With each new bruise, I find myself furious at his actions. They are not the mark of true man.”

“I know,” she replied softly, unsure of how much longer she would be able to keep up the facade of the willing wife. 

Spencer swallowed hard and dared to place his finger under her chin, tipping her head up to meet his gaze. “Allow me to take you away from here,” he pleaded. “I no longer have ties here. What I live for is our time together. With no expectations, please allow me to save you from this life.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do such a thing,” she replied as she wistfully looked out the stable’s windows. “The King would hunt us down and I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt because of my actions.”

“It kills me to see you so wilted. You deserve to bloom.”

A sad smile painted its way across her features. She wanted to leave, to bid the King farewell forever and never return, but she was scared. For herself, for her country, and for Spencer, but he sensed her hesitation. “I know these lands,” he assured her. “With a head start, we could go a distance before the King even noticed you were gone.”

“But he would notice,” she said worriedly. 

“The King is out of touch with everything outside his walls. I know this place better than he does. And I don’t have much. We could leave this place within the hour. You, me, Rowena and Clemens.”

A warmth flooded through her at the thought of being away from the King, living along the countryside with Spencer and their horses. “I am not a fighter,” she said.

“Neither am I,” he responded. “But I do have a weapon, and more importantly I have the wits to keep you safe from harm.”

Expectantly, he awaited her response, breathing a sigh of relief as she slipped her hands in his. He guided her back to his quarters, insisting she change into a spare pair of his clothes. Ever the gentleman, he turned to allow her privacy as she slipped into the pants and shirt that were much too big for her. But they would do.

As he promised, they were ready to leave within the hour. The horses were stirred awake. Food for themselves and the horses packed tightly into the horse-drawn wagon, along with wood, flint, extra clothing, a few books Spencer  kept from his days with his mother, and anything else he could think of that they might need. “Do you need anything from the castle before we leave?” He asked.

Y/N glanced back toward the place that served as a poor substitute for home and shook her head. “There is nothing I need here.”

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

With a soft ‘ya,’ Spencer spurred the horses on, leading Y/N into the depths of the forest. Even though there was a chill in the air, her soft-spoken savior and the clear, starry night ahead gave her hope for a better tomorrow.

[ladyofmaidensandwine]

Seven Devils

Part Five of the All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie, John Winchester, Fem! Reader, Rowena, Crowley

Wordcount: 2,317

A/N- You’ve waited long enough. enjoy, luvs!

Summary: Y/N finally reveals herself, her mission, but everything could be put in jeopardy when the unexpected forces her to make a choice.

Warnings- Implied sexual assault, very briefly mentioned. Death by gallows.

                 “Y/N. Y/N MacLeod.” The silence that followed the words was deafening, Crowley staring agape. “You’re bloody jesting.” He denied instantly. You smirked, shaking your head. “No. You came to my home, to Innisfree, and you slaughtered almost the entire royal family. All except one, the youngest princess, who disguised herself as a peasant and spent many years serving the man that destroyed her life. She was beautiful, and caught your eye. You stole her away to your chambers, and then forgot about her. Then I was born. My mother died in childbirth, but I carry her legacy, and her title.” You said darkly. “Impossible!” Crowley snapped. “Oh, but it is the truth, Fergus, and now, I will be the one to burn your kingdom to ash.” You smiled, a hunger for revenge alight in your eyes. “I should kill you here and now, and be done with it,” you mused, stepping closer with an assessing gaze, “but that would be merciful. No, you’ll live, and when I reclaim my throne and wash my hands in the blood of your subjects and soldiers, you will watch, watch as your own daughter dismantles all that you hold dear.” Crowley paled considerably, scowling and struggling in his bonds. “So, for now, I leave you to your cell. I am truly so glad we were able to talk, father.” You spat. You turned on your heel, ignoring Crowley’s enraged threats and the insults he hurled at you.

             You were ready, already stealing away to a hidden exit in the building, prepared to make your escape, when a loud commotion made you pause. The king’s guard were all rushing in one direction, and echoing through the halls was the sound of metal clashing on metal, the air suddenly charged with tension. Crowley’s people had come to free him, and they would cut through every living soul for fun. “Sam, you must go, and take Jessica!” An all-too familiar voice shouted, your heart racing. Dean. Of course, he had to be the hero every time. You had a mission, a vital task that your entire kingdom depended on you for. If you turned around, you knew well that you would never be able to leave. But if you left, knowing the odds were so stacked against Dean, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. The shouts and sound of battle grew louder and louder, and for a moment, everything became clear, and you knew what you had to do.

              “Stop! Touch him and I swear I shall kill you!” You snarled viciously, a sword you’d stolen from the body of a dead soldier in your hand. The man that had been holding a knife to Dean’s throat hesitated as he saw the death promise blazing in your eyes, the unrestrained fury and hatred burning there. “Why should I take such an order from you?” The man spat. “For one, because I will not hesitate to slay you where you stand, and you would be dead before your wretched companions could so much as move,” you started, eyes narrowed, “and for another, because I have command of you and your legions by birthright.” No one moved, Dean’s shocked green eyes snapping to you. “What?” “By your law and custom, you are bound to the ruling of the MacLeod bloodline, and thus, to me. I am Y/N MacLeod, Queen of Innisfree, The Morrigan, The Assassin, and Queen of you, especially since Crowley is otherwise indisposed.” You said. You had played the only card you had left, but the cost weighed heavily, and you met Dean’s eyes finding nothing but betrayal in them. The demon slowly removed the knife, the others exchanging glances, but following the example, especially as your sword remained poised to strike. They knelt, and your expression remained hard, swallowing the guilt down. “Return to your own stronghold, and if a single one of you is found within five kilometres of this land, I shall make an exceptionally gruesome example of you of what happens when I am disobeyed.” You ordered. When no one moved, you stepped closer, sword pressed against the first demon’s chest. “I don’t believe I hesitated.” You growled. They scrambled to leave, not daring to challenge you, knowing well your reputation.

           “Y/N, please tell me you lied.” Dean begged, your eyes closing. “I am so sorry, Dean. I never- I never wanted for this to happen, I-” He shook his head, backing away from you. “This entire time, everything was a lie, all of it part of your plan. I trusted you!” Dean shouted accusingly. “I hope you can understand in time that I did what I had to. I have a kingdom to protect, Dean. This burden was mine, and I had to carry it. Forgive me. I have to go.” You said, voice wobbling with tears building in your eyes. “I understand. But I must protect my kingdom, too, Y/N.” Dean said, your brows furrowing in confusion. “I wish it did not have to be this way.” He sighed heavily. “Dean, I do not understand-” and then you felt it. The presence of someone behind you. John Winchester and his personal guard. You didn’t have the time to run before you were knocked unconscious.

                 You woke in a place that was familiar, immediate terror stealing away the air from your lungs. Stone walls, darkness, and absolute silence. The tomb-like prison you had been incarcerated in before. “No, no, no, no...” You gasped, scrambling to your feet. Through the bars, you saw Dean staring at you. “Dean, please, don’t do this.” You pleaded, thoughts spiraling further into despair. “You betrayed me. You betrayed my people.” “I saved your life!” “And how long would it be before your army came here to lay siege to my palace, Y/N?!” Dean shot back, marching up to the cell. “I would never have hurt you, Dean.” You said, shocked. “How can I believe you? How can I believe a single word you say, when everything, everything you have ever said to me, has been a lie!” He roared, slamming a fist against the wall and immediately regretting it. You flinched at the anger and anguish in his voice. “I told you I was here for my people, Dean! I have been more honest with you than I have been with anyone else in my entire life!” You argued desperately. “I would have helped you, if you had told me. I could have been there for you. Instead you kept it a secret, and I don’t know how many other secrets you have.” Dean swallowed. “The worst part of it is you made me believe you cared for me. Well, if that was your intention, congratulations, Y/N, you made me care for you, too.” He said bitterly, your eyes going wide. “I do care for you. No matter how I cherish you, I cannot let myself stray from my mission. I wanted to, so many times.” You admitted in a whisper. “Please, don’t leave me here. If you truly care for me, don’t leave me here-” “Don’t! Do not attempt to manipulate me, not any longer.” Dean said lowly. “You are to be tried, and sentenced come dawn.” “And if I am sentenced to death?” You asked boldly. “Then I will not be mourning.” He replied. You moved fast, snatching his sword from his side, and held it, but the blade was against your own throat. “Then go ahead, Dean. I would rather die than be trapped here, so if you truly would not mourn, kill me now.” You said, staring into his eyes defiantly, his hand on the hilt of the sword. He shook his head, sheathing the weapon and backing away. “You will be tried for your crimes as is just.” He said. “Crowley is my enemy as well as yours! I can stop him, I can trap he and his men forever! Why will you not help me?” You demanded. “I am to be King one day, Y/N, and my father has told me there are many difficult choices to make. I am commanding my troops and we will take Innisfree under Lebanon’s name, as it is clearly a hostile kingdom and dangerous.” Dean said, not meeting your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. “No, you can’t! My people are innocent, Dean, please! Don’t do this!” You begged, now near sobbing. “I have to. You forced my hand, and with Crowley freed, there is no other way.” He said, turning away with his back to you. “I am not the one who is the traitor, Dean. I was wrong about you. You are exactly like your father.” You choked out, sinking to your knees. He swallowed hard, glad you couldn’t see the agony on his face. He walked out, and you collapsed into your grief.

                  The King and his council, as well as both princes, sat in a line at the raised podium as you were led to the middle of the floor, manacled and clad in irons and chains with multiple armed guards flanking you. The people loudly shouted insults and threats at you, but you remained stoic, the grey light of dawn matching your somber mood. Dean looked everywhere but at you, and as John stood to begin the proceedings of the trial, you kept your gaze steady on him.

               “The jury has come to a unanimous decision. The accused, Y/N MacLeod, is found guilty of treason, murder, espionage, theft, and being part of a dangerous rebellion. The accused is sentenced to...” John paused for dramatic effect, the audience hushed. “Death by the gallows.” John declared. You lifted your chin, as regal as any Queen, the audience cheering. Dean finally met your eyes, looking conflicted. You were led immediately to the gallows, a hooded man already waiting to pull the lever that would seal your fate. 

             “As is tradition, you are permitted last words.” John said. “My death will not be in vain! No matter what you accuse me of, I die knowing I fought with honour against tyrants like you for the freedom of my people!” You said proudly. You met Dean’s eyes, and couldn’t find it in you to hate him. “And no matter the outcome, I would make the same choices all over again.” You said, hoping Dean understood what you meant. The pain in the end was worth the beauty of falling in love for a moment. You turned to John with a satisfied smirk. “I shall see you in Hell.” You promised. He turned red in fury, and you closed your eyes as he turned to the executioner. “Do it-” “Wait!”

            Your eyes snapped open, staring at Dean in confusion. He’d stood from his seat, John and Sam gaping at him while the public watched on. The obedient son, heir to the throne, opposing his father’s orders. And for the thief and assassin condemned to hanging. Dean took several quick and long strides to the gallows, meeting your eyes ashamedly.

             “Wait.” Dean repeated, fists clenched and jaw tight. “She is not the enemy, father, at least not as of now.” “Son, I would advise you to return to your seat-” John gritted his teeth but Dean wasn’t finished pleading his case. “No, father, listen to me. She is the enemy of Crowley, and thus our ally. Her alliance with Crowley’s forces is purely to overthrow the occupants of Innisfree. She is a powerful person to have on our side in this war, father.” Dean said, tone steady but hard and uncompromising. “You can’t mean to say you would side with her.” John said incredulously. “That is precisely what I mean.” Dean didn’t wait for his father’s permission, drawing his sword and cutting through the rope around your neck, making you cough at the sudden intake of air. He met his father’s eyes challengingly as he offered you his hand, John’s gaze flickering between you both in shock. “My son,” John began loudly, “has decided to take full responsibility for the crimes and charges against this murderer. He has sworn that she will be our ally, until the war against Fergus MacLeod ends, or she is met with an untimely death.” John said, cutting a glare your way. “Furthermore, should either of them break the terms, both shall be permanently exiled from these lands on pain of death.” John decreed. Dean’s grip tightened, but he showed no other outward signs of the shock he must’ve felt, while Sam was standing, ready to argue for his brother’s sake. “Is that understood?” John asked. “Perfectly, father. If you would excuse us. The guards are not necessary.” Dean said, bowing mockingly, and leading you away.

           “What are you thinking?!” You demanded as Dean entered his room. “A thank you would suffice, Y/N.” He responded. “For what?! Risking both of our lives?! Do you realize your title is now at risk of being forfeit?” “I won’t have a title if Crowley takes over my kingdom. I was selfish, and I acted on impulse out of hurt, and for that, I truly apologize. I should never have let you be locked away. I am still hurt, and I don’t know if I can trust you,” he frowned, meeting your eyes, “but I cannot pretend what I feel for you has vanished.” “Dean, think about this. I still have a mission I must fulfill.” You said quietly. “I know. None of it matters, not right now. All I need to know is that you and I are on the same side. The rest of it can come later.” He said, eyes warm as he regarded you. “Are we? On the same side?” Dean asked. “Of course we are.” You said, smiling slightly. “Good. Now, we rest, and then we devise a plan.” “You truly think this can work?” “I don’t know. But I would like to hope so.” He said with a smile. You considered him for a long moment, nodding slowly. You believed him.

TAGS-

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[fangirlxwritesx67]

Queen Rowena a Sam Winchester x Rowena MacLeod Supernatural fantasy au love story Chapter 1: Queen Rowena Chapter 2: Comfort Chapter 3: Casting Interlude: Confidence Chapter 4: Courage Chapter 5: Celebration

2500 words. Rating T (feelings, implied smut, wedding, passing mention of non-character death, alcohol)

Queen Rowena fell in love with her knight Sam over a lifetime, and agreed to marry him in an instant. Planning a coronation and a wedding, however, took longer than a month. 

Through the weeks, her betrothed Sam remained by her side. By day, he commanded her Queensguard and sat on her Council, performing all the duties of his role. By night, he came to her bed and they spent hours exploring, enjoying one another’s bodies. 

But not the night before their wedding. This night, by custom, they spent apart. Rowena hardly slept, so accustomed she was to his presence and the warmth of his body beside her. 

She was awake and excited before the sun rose. She rolled over and parted the drapes on her bed to watch the dawn creep up over the horizon. The sunrise was brilliant, all pink and gold, illuminating the stone of her castle.

Her heart was light, her mind clear. Today marked the start of something new for her, both as a woman and a Queen. Today she would crown a Prince and marry him. She greeted the day eagerly, for everything it would hold. She smiled, a secret smile, looking forward to the moment that night when she would bring Sam to her bed as her husband.

Her handmaid Gwen stepped into the room, carrying a tray with tea, bread and fruit. “My queen?” she asked softly.

Rowena sat straight up, pushing the covers aside. Her hair was tousled, her face flushed, but her smile was wide. “Look, it’s a sunny day, just as I hoped.”

Gwen smiled too. “The sun is smiling on your choice. Even the earth wants to celebrate with you today.”

Rowena sat at her dressing table and submitted to her handmaid’s care. She was dressed in the finest clothing she had ever worn. The outer vest was entirely covered in embroidered flowers and gold brocade, from her bodice to her hem. Underneath, her gown was made of  silky thin white fabric. More bands of gold needlework adorned her wrists. 

She sat patiently at her dressing table as Gween braided and curled her long hair into red gold perfection. Her fingers were painted and her face was polished. She knew Sam loved her no matter how she looked, had loved her since she was a little girl running through the castle barefoot and wild haired, but she wanted to look her very best.

FInally, Gwen held up the crown she had saved for the occasion. It was one Rowena had never worn; the one her mother wore when she married her father. Rowena missed them both, especially on this most important day of her life. The crown was her way to remember and honor them. She lifted it carefully and looked in the mirror as she settled it on her head. She drew in a deep breath. It fit perfectly. 

Rowena stepped away from her dressing table to her altar, where she lit one white candle, then watched it burn for a moment. The flame was tall and bright, a sign of success and good fortune. She gathered herself up and turned to go. Gwen was by her side, as she had always been. 

Rowena smiled at her faithful handmaid.. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I don’t know if I would be marrying Sam today if not for your unfailing support.”

“My lady,” she answered with a laugh. “You certainly took your time. But I’m so happy for you now.”

They walked hand in hand down the curved stairs of the tower and into the Great Hall. There, both Rowena’s Council and her Queensguard were arrayed in ranks. She ascended the dais all on her own. For the first time in her life, the throne for a Queen’s Consort had been pulled forward side by side with her own.

Sam was waiting, kneeling below the dais. He was dressed, not in armor, but in the fine garments of a Prince. She stepped toward him and reached for his hand. He placed a lingering kiss on her fingers. His smile as he looked at her was like the sun rising all over again. 

Rowena turned to her most trusted councilor, a man who had served her father before her and guided her reign. In his hands he held a wooden box with a simple golden circlet, peaked in front like a visor. It was not the crown of a king or of a consort but of a knight, a man experienced in battle. She had commissioned it especially for Sam.

She placed the crown on his head as he knelt before her. For long moments, their eyes spoke volumes of trust and love while her fingers lingered in his hair. Then she reached for his hand and drew him to his feet. 

The two of them stood hand in hand, side by side on the dais as she proclaimed, “Samuel, Knight of the Realm, is henceforth a Prince of the Crown. He rules at my side. His words are my words and his wish is my command.”

One by one her Council performed a court bow. Then the Queensguard knelt in perfect military formation, armored knees hitting stone. Not a one, from councilors to knights, hesitated to welcome Sam as a Prince and equal to their Queen. 

Queen Rowena looked up at Sam, her tall handsome Prince, with pride. He smiled, his gaze alight with such passionate love that she felt tears spring to her eyes. He lowered his mouth and kissed her openly for the first time in their Great Hall. A cheer started in the Guard and rolled through the Council. Queen Rowena smiled in the arms of her Prince. The confidence of her people, affirming her choice, meant the world to her. 

In time her Queensguard began to move, marching out of the Great Hall in pairs. Her Council followed, making their way into the courtyard. Finally, Rowena and Sam walked out into the sunlight, hand in hand. On every side, they were thronged with people, filling the air with their cheers. These were her people, she was their Queen, and this was her happiest day. She absorbed the wave of their affection and attention as she and Sam walked by.

Finally they came to a tree, the oldest one in her castle. Its roots grew within the walls but its branches reached over towards the sea. It was the most lasting thing Rowena had ever known. It seemed the perfect spot for her to pledge her vows to Sam. 

Underneath the verdant shelter of the tree’s branches waited Rowena’s oldest councilor, the one who had helped her crown Sam a Prince. One either side of him stood Gwen, her handmaid and closest friend, and the Queensguard’s second in command, whom Sam trusted with his life. 

Hand in hand, Rowena stood with Sam. Finally the Councilor raised his hands and the gathered people fell silent. 

“My Queen, Rowena,” he said with paternal care. “It is your intention to bind yourself today to this man?”

Her breath was quick, her knees shaking with excitement. She could hardly believe such utter bliss was hers. She paused for just a moment, trying to take it all in, before she answered  without hesitation, “Yes.”

“And Samuel, a Knight of the Queensguard, now a Prince of the Realm, you intend to bind yourself to our Queen?” 

He looked at her softly, earnestly. When he spoke, his voice was true. “Yes.”

Sam and Rowena turned to face one another. They clasped one another’s right hands between them. Sam’s fingers easily encircled her wrist. She could feel her pulse racing under his gentle touch. 

“Then,” said their officiant. “Be bound to one another.”

Gwen was the first to step forward.  She had ribbons in her hands, which she tied over their hands and wrists. The second in command of the Queensguard followed, with lengths of leather. Finally, the officiant wrapped a cord over the other bindings, and knotted it.

 “Do you have vows with which to promise yourselves?” 

Rowena’s heart was pounding, her chest heaving. Her entire body trembled with eagerness. Then she looked into Sam’s eyes. She saw love and assurance in the gaze of her oldest friend. He nodded, and she drew a deep breath. Her voice was even when she spoke.

“You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But as we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. “

He answered earnestly, “You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in the ways which you need.“

Rowena whispered the next words, an intimate promise: “I pledge to you that your name will be the one I cry in the night.”

Sam replied, “Your eyes will be the ones that make me smile in the morning. I’ll give you the first sip of my drink and the first bite from my plate.“

In that moment, Rowena saw only Sam. The castle and the crowds faded away. She felt as if the two of them were alone together before the tree, hand in hand under the sun. This was their day, their love.

The officiant spoke again and the world came back into focus. “Do you take this man to be your consort, and consent to bind yourself to him for life?”

“Yes,” Rowena breathed.

"And do you consent to serve this woman and bind yourself to her for life?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, always yes, for you.” 

“Sam.“ She raised her voice for everyone to hear. These were the most important words she would ever speak. “You will be my living and my dying. I pledge myself equally to your care.”

He answered once more,“You will be my living and my dying. I pledge myself always to your care.”

Their lips met to seal their promise. Their right hands were fasted together but Sam’s left hand found her face and she leaned into his touch. 

Rowena heard the cheers of her court as she met the kiss of her new husband. She had chosen him to reign by her side. And he had chosen her, from the moment they had met. 

The officiant directed them to grasp their binding ties and pull their hands apart, tying the ribbon and leather and cord into a knot. Gwen stepped forward and took it from them.

Hand in hand, side by side, Rowena and Sam turned to face their kingdom. The Queensguard greeted them with a shout, a clash of arms and a standard raised. Behind them, the kingdom let loose with cheers. They filled the air with waving flags, lit sparklers, and floating blown bubbles of soap. Rowena and Sam returned to their castle in a rainbow of love and color. 

On that night, everyone would celebrate. The people would enjoy extra measures of wine and bread, and the court would feast. Rowena had never felt so fulfilled, nor so loved. 

The feast celebrating her wedding was like nothing Rowena had ever seen or could have ever dreamed. For the first time ever, the chair to her left was filled. Sam sat there so perfectly, it seemed like he was always meant to be there. 

Finally, as the bards began to sing and the minstrels to play, Rowena held out her hand and let Sam lead her on to the dance floor. Both of them thought immediately of the night, only months before, when they had danced the night away together. 

Everything then had seemed so hesitant and fragile. Rowena remembered how much she had longed for Sam, and how fearful she had been to act on her desires. What a delight it was to be here on the day of their wedding, the deepest wishes of her heart come true. How wonderful it was to enjoy their love!

They danced and ate and drank and danced some more. For the first time since stepping into her role as Queen, Rowena didn’t stay to see the feast to its close. She let Sam lead her off the dance floor.

At the door of the Great Hall, they turned back. All their people, lords and ladies, Queensguard and Councilors were there, cheering them on, wishing them well. 

Rowena smiled, then turned to Sam. She forgot everything else, and had eyes only for her husband. They walked up the stairs together, hand in hand. At the top, he paused. 

“I know this is your castle, and your bedroom, but I think I should carry you over the threshold.” Rowena laughed and let him sweep her up in his arms. He lifted her easily and held her close as he pushed open the door to her - now their - bedroom. 

“Just don’t drop us,” she said.

Sam set her feet down on the floor safely but suddenly. “Us?” he asked. 

“Us,” Rowena answered. “Me and the baby.” 

Sam’s eyes lit up, his gaze full of hope. “Are you sure?”

“It’s been almost three moon cycles,” she spoke with certainty. “I’m with child, your child.” 

Sam’s laughter was instant and full. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Rowena met his laughter with her own before she answered. “I spoke my marriage vows to you today.” 

He wrapped her in his arms. “You’ve made me a Prince, a husband, and a father today. And I love you.”

“I love you, my dear, my Sam.”

“I love you, my queen, Rowena, my love.” … There is one more smutty interlude coming tomorrow but the storyline wraps up here. Thanks for reading! This was my first fanfic challenge longer than a one-shot. In 5 days I took 10k+ words from rough draft to published story, with a tremendous amount of time and attention from @there-must-be-a-lock and @mskathywriteswords I cannot thank you both enough! @samwenaweek this has been a ton of fun, and I am loving all the ship content. Thanks to @incorrectsamwena @ruthieconnells for letting me use their art. 

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @divadinag @flamencodiva @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn   @the-chocolate-moose  @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia @winchesterxfamilybusiness Rowena My Queen: @delightfullykrispypeach , @lilsylvia @marril96, @pansexualdarling @songofthecagedmoose

[dainty-baneberry]

Prompt #7: Nonagenarian

The tantalizing smell of brown sugar, butter, nutmeg and brandy soaked dried fruit wafted gently through Mor Dhona. It hit the delicate, pixie like nose of a white haired Elezen teenager, whose head instantly shot up in recognition. “Couldn't be....” Alisaie Leveilluer observed, giving a refined sniff of the perfumed air. It was wholly the wrong time of year for a Princess Pudding, a treat generally reserved for Starlight in Gridania. “It certainly does smell like it... but who would....?” Alphinaud, white haired as his twin sister observed in confusion. They got an answer most promptly as a yellow clad lalafellian woman sped past them as quickly as her little legs would carrying her muttering. “Dainty, Dainty, Dainty, Dainty, Dainty” Hot on Krile's heels was Thancred, his grey eyes a light with the same delight Krile's voice had conveyed. The twins instantly dropped their things and took off running after their fellow Scions. Dainty's cooking was the stuff of legend among the Scions. She was rarely graced with the time to linger in the kitchen, nor did she often have the inclination but when she did it often became a free for all of slaps and elbows among the Scions to get themselves a coveted slice of pie, or cake, or nut bake, or roast or whatever Dainty had cooked. Thancred, in particular, who had been stranded in the First the longest was about ready to commit murder for a piece of whatever he could smell. He didn't care it was only just gone Moonfire Faire, and Princess Pudding was best served hot, with a steaming cup of cocoa in winter. He just wanted it. In his mouth, right now. The sound of racing footfalls alerted G'raha Tia and F'lahmin that they were about to have company where they sat on the Balcony of Rowena's House of Splendors in Mor Dohna, looking out over Revenants Toll.

“Where?” Thancred demanding, head moving side to side and eyes roving across the currently bare table in front of the miqo'te pair. Alisaie ducked under his arm, determined to get to the pudding first but was firmly checked by F'lahmin's stern, motherly Look; “Not served yet, so sit nicely.” They quickly did so, the quartet of Scions taking up places near to and next to G'raha Tia and F'lahmin.

Alisaie practically vibrated out of her skin with delight as Dainty came strolling onto the balcony from within the House of Splendor's kitchens. She carried a platter neatly on one hand and a small ceramic jug in the other. The pretty Au Ra wore an uncharacteristically bright smile on her usually stoic, scaled features that suggested that she had been drinking. “Here you are then, as requested; Princess Pudding.” Dainty announced smugly, setting the platter and steaming confection down in front of G'raha Tia. It was fresh from the oven, only just cooled enough to be removed from its mold and instantly the unmistakable scent of it fully slapped G'raha Tia in the face. As the Crystal Exarch the miqo'te man had been denied the Eorzean Starlight specialty for far, far too long. There was no such thing as Starlight on the First. Nor a Gridania, or even a Princess Pudding. For almost a full century he had been left with only his memories of the Seasonal Treat. When Dainty had offered to make him a cake or some such, to welcome him as one of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, it had been no effort on G'raha's part to name the dried fruit and almond filled pudding. “It smells amaz.... oh... really Dainty, was that necessary?” G'raha asked with a small fluff of his bright red tail upon seeing that Dainty had stuck a large iced cookie in the top of the pudding. It read “Welcome to our newest Nonagenarian!” in white royal icing.

Dainty smirked, amused at her own devilry. “Who cares what it says. Take the cookie out before she drinks the brandy.” Alisaie insisted loudly from beside G'raha Tia. G'raha looked up, seeing that Dainty did indeed have a jug of warm brandy to pour over the pudding as tradition. Suitably scolded G'raha removed the cookie. “Are you going to eat that?” Krile instantly asked, blue eyes regarding the cookie hopefully. It appeared to be shortbread and she did love her sweets. “I might almost think you the greatest cook in all the realm alongside being the greatest Warrior by such a reaction such as this, Dainty.” G'raha observed, gesturing to the eagerly waiting Scions who appeared to have been summoned from the wood work like rodents at the smell. He politely handing Krile the cookie that, incorrectly, proclaimed him to be a nonagenarian. In truth with his future soul rejoined to his present one he was technically a centenarian, although given how many sips of the brandy Dainty had taken while she was cooking he could not blame her for fudging her numbers a little. “But she is.” Alisaie insisted as Dainty gently lavished the pudding with the brandy. “The only person to ever score a full perfect 10 in the Dellemont D'or! The woman who surpassed the Legend Himself, Master Dellemont!” “Ah. I see.” G'raha Tia suddenly regretted giving Krile the cookie and although his fellow Baldesian Student had kindly split it with F'lahmin the two women had made short work of it. G'raha Tia regarded the way Thancred was clutching a fork as if his very life depending upon it. G'raha's feline ears wiggled with delight to share a joke with Scions. “I suppose I should earn myself no friends if I ate the entire pudding myself then.” “You might earn yourself a couple enemies for life.” Alphinaud warned, gesturing at Alisaie and Thancred. “And a nasty headache tomorrow. Dainty never does go lightly with the wine in her recipes. Never-mind the warm brandy.” F'lahmin cautioned gently. “Right. Well...” G'raha chuckled lightly, a shy little smile on his mouth. “The best pleasures are always best shared, after all. Might someone pass me a serving knife?”

[perlukafarinn]

for @inacatastrophicmind who made this gorgeous gifset at my request <3

After the dust has settled, after Chuck has gone and yet another apocalypse has been averted, Cas tells Dean that he wants to be human again.

Why, Dean wants to ask but he keeps his mouth shut. Cas’ brief stint as a human sucked in most ways imaginable but so has his much, much longer stint as an angel. Maybe he needs the change. Maybe they both do.

He disappears for a little while and when he returns, it’s with a smirking Rowena in his front seat and a vial of grace in a delicate chain around his neck. He hands it to Dean, and Dean accepts it even though he knows he doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. He’ll have to do his best to earn it, even if it takes him the rest of his life.

He also accepts it when Cas kisses him, because that part is at least familiar.

*

What isn’t familiar is what comes after.

Peace. Stability. Basically all things synonymous with ‘domesticity’ and isn’t that a strange thought. God is dead and Dean got his happily ever after sharing a bed and picking out curtains with the former angel who pulled him out of hell.

The curtains, for the record, were not Dean’s idea.

“I don’t get it,” Dean says, eyeing the lacy, mustard-yellow monstrosity that Cas is holding with disdain. “We live in an underground bunker.”

Cas turns the fabric over in his hands. “They would just be for show. Bare concrete is depressing, at least this would be nicer to look at.”

“Disagreed. And since when were you so into decorating?”

“I kept you, didn’t I?” Cas says dryly. 

That’s probably the most sarcastic, round-about way Dean’s ever been called pretty. 

“Aw shucks, thanks honey.”

Cas puts the curtains down, picking up another, even uglier pair. They’re pea-green and crocheted; he has to be messing with Dean at this point. “I like that.”

“If you buy those, I’m burning them,” Dean warns.

“Not the curtains,” Cas says. “You calling me ‘honey’. Please do it more often.”

That effectively shuts Dean up. He can’t be snarky with Cas when he gets this sincere.

*

Dean wakes up to an empty bed.

It’s rare enough these days that the realization immediately puts him on edge. He reaches over to Cas’ side, relieved to discover that the mattress is still warm. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, he sees that it’s only a little past six.

Despite the early hour, there is no way Dean can go back to sleep without knowing where Cas is so he sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He stumbles into the hallway in just his boxers and shirt, already missing the warmth of his bed.

As he nears the kitchen, he can hear someone moving around in it, and when he rounds the corner he spots Cas by the stove, spatula in one hand. 

“Cas?” Dean asks, voice still husky from sleep. “What’re you doing?”

Cas doesn’t so much as glance back. “It’s supposed to be an omelette.”

Dean walks up to him, hooking his chin over Cas’ shoulder and wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist. The supposed omelette is a burnt, scrambled mess of eggs, vegetables and sausage on the pan. 

“If you wanted an omelette, I could’ve made you one,” Dean says. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Cas sighs, removing the pan from the heat and turning it off. “I’ve seen you make it before, I thought I could do it myself.”

“Maybe next time follow a recipe?” 

“You don’t need a recipe,” Cas says, frustration leaking into his tone.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve been cooking for myself and Sam for thirty years. You can’t expect everything to come easy to you. Some stuff you gotta learn from scratch.”

“Nothing comes easy to me.” 

“I don’t know, you’re pretty good in the sack.”

Cas huffs out a small laugh at that and Dean smiles, relieved. Sometimes, making flippant comments only serves to frustrate Cas further. It’s a delicate line to walk and more often than not, Dean flounders off it and falls right on his ass.

“Now, c’mon, wash the pan and get started again.” Dean tightens his arms around Cas for a moment, dropping a quick kiss on his shoulder. “I’ll guide you through it.”

*

‘Happily ever after’ should be overstating it. 

It’s not like they’ve reached some blissful, unchanging state. Not like they never argue, or go to bed unhappy, or need to spend days apart because they’re feeling cooped up and everything they do pisses each other off. 

But, Dean thinks, there’s just no other phrase for it. 

Cas disagrees.

“Our story isn’t over,” he says, trailing kisses down Dean’s chest and this is so not the kind of talking Dean likes in bed, but he is the one who brought it up. “We don’t have a story, that was the point wasn’t it?”

Dean tugs at his shoulder and Cas acquiesces, straightening on top of Dean so they are face to face. 

“So you don’t wanna ride into the sunset with me?”

“Perhaps.” Cas looks him up and down. “What kind of riding did you have in mind?”

Dean laughs. “I have been such a bad influence on you.”

Cas grins and leans in, giving him a nice and thorough kiss. There’s no talking after that, theoretical or otherwise, and Dean supposes it’s just as well. Cas is right.

They’re not a story anymore. 

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟑: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  714 COURT TERRACE, WINDENBURG, 1926

❧  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

This is not Rowena’s first visit to the penthouse at 714 Court Terrance, but she arrives feeling as if she has never seen the place before. Wide, wonder-filled eyes regard the elevator’s mirrored walls, the geometric glowing sconces, and the stony guards stationed on either sides of the grand door. An aide had escorted Rowena up to the floor—this, at least, was a first—and she leads her inside once the door swings open. Familiar furnishings and décor, however delightful, fail to settle her nerves; wistfully, she stares at a bar cart as they pass it.

There is no wait. The aide disappears into an adjacent room, a chic sitting room if memory serves, and returns moments later. With a prim smile, she gestures to the open door.

“My prince awaits you.”

The deep, tightly-wound bundle of nerves vanishes—almost with a poof, turning as if by a magician’s wand into a seethe of disoriented butterflies. Rowena resists the urge to dip her chin and raises it with an air of defiance instead.

“And I, him!” she chrips, brushing into the room.

It is a rare thing that Rowena’s marrow-deep confidence to feels like a façade. In truth, it was not the title that had hollowed out her mettle and replaced it with soft, frilly things; Rowena had never dreamed of being a princess because she had been born a Bancroft. Quickly enough, the cause for her spectral, girlish anxieties reveals itself again. Alfonso stands and kisses her hand in greeting. He waits for her to sit, to cross her ankles, to fold her hands before taking his seat. To her own ears, the conversation began as a solo concert—a single flute, Rowena’s clear voice, prattling. Alfonso’s unwavering gaze holds hers. He leans closer, bobbing his head with each exclamation she makes, interjecting in the pauses with which she is always so stingy—not with a story of his own, but with gentle prodding questions or clever comments. Just as on the night they met, the concert comes to an end. Finally, at last, Rowena has nothing left to say.

Just as on the night they met, she is shockingly unafraid when that moment arrives.

“Have you heard of Dubwe—a writer, from here in Eldwine?” Alfonso asks after a long, comfortable silence. Rowena, having reclined into the couch, leans forward.

“My brothers tell people I’m illiterate.” Alfonso laughs at this, and Rowena gives an exaggerated eye flutter before adding with contrasting sincerity, “If you love this person—or, better still, hate them—tell me more.”

A clock had been ticking away on the wall and, when Rowena glances at it again, nearly two hours have passed. That fact spurs something in her, and she clutches his hand in both of hers.

“You make me want to listen,” she confesses, measuring each word. Her thoughts roll and reshape. Each words is heavy; she handles them clumsily. “I talk for myself, for a reaction, you see. The world is a stage, I am a player upon it, all that nonsense. Not when I’m talking to you—it’s conversation, really and truly.”

Alfonso’s gentle smile is something she is getting used to seeing. “Good,” he replies, placing his free hand atop hers. “I like to listen to you, too. I may say I’m good at it.”

Rowena nods, feeling once again that swirling hollowness. “That’s necessary, you know,” she replies quietly. “Mama says a man should do two things: listen well and make you laugh.”

They’re halfway to the table when Rowena’s cold feet become unbearable. She stops mid-step, and Alfonso narrowly avoids tripping over her.

“I can’t do it,” she mutters as he leans close, quizzical and concerned.

As their long, rambling afternoon together turned to evening, Alfonso invited her to dinner. Rowena had all but leapt at the opportunity; she craved time together even more than her scrumptious favorites on the downstairs restaurant’s menu. There was a hitch, however. Rowena had known that he wasn’t traveling alone, but the penthouse had seemed entirely empty all afternoon. Felt, was perhaps more accurate. Alfonso himself had said it—How do you do that? Make it seem like we’re the only people in the world?—and yet it was false.

The princess was downstairs awaiting, he had informed her. Her husband, too.

Rowena’s profound sense of comfort began seeping away from the moment she agreed to meet them and spend the evening under their curious stares, and it is gone altogether by the time she sees the pair mere feet away. Unfortunately, this is the wrong time to back out.

I could never show my face again if I ran away, she thinks.

That prospect seems worse than improvising a curtsy in front of Princess Mafalda, and the scale’s tip is enough to convince her. It helps that Alfonso is so near, his expression earnest and pleading. Steeling herself, Rowena stands straight. “I can. I’ll do it.”

Once they are seated, Mafalda having waved away Rowena’s awkward bob of a formal greeting, it appears that the anxiety was baseless—provoked, undoubtedly, by the unfamiliar insecurities Rowena’s apparent investment in impressing Alfonso generates. His brother-in-law even introduces himself with  a warm welcome and a kiss to the back of her hand.

“So,” Mafalda begins, uttering her first words since their arrival. “I simply had to meet the one who thinks she can compete with a dead woman.”

Just as quickly as the comfort begins to return, it’s banished yet again.

( setting build credit: @ardazek​ )

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Fic Sneak Peak

I’ve been casually working on a oneshot as a gift for @thenwewilldance and since I’m super behind on my editing for Santamental updates this month, thought I’d post a little sneak peak of the first two scenes for her, and for the rest of you!

The Viscount’s Daughter

"I have news," said James urgently.

The queen continued the conversation she was having, ignoring her son completely.

"I said I had news," James repeated, tugging on her sleeve. The banquet was in full swing, and the sound of voices, clattering forks and clinking goblets rumbled like distant thunder all around them. "Mother?"

She brushed his hand away as if it were a fly. "Once the new lawns are finished, the league can reconvene—"

"Mother?"

"—without much delay, I hope. I wouldn't like to start after September and cut down the number of matches, though dear old Perkins is quite particular about the lawns—"

"As he should be, Your Majesty."

"Mother?"

"Our Quidditch pitches, on the other hand, are quite ready for the season—"

"MOTHER!"

"I believe the prince requires your attention, Your Majesty," said Lord de Mimsy-Porpington, who was the marquis of some place or other that James didn't care to remember. What did Lord de Mimsy-Porpington matter? He was as dreary and dull as a funeral, whereas James had very important news. World-altering news, in fact; news that would change the very fabric of their existence forever, yet here was his mother, more concerned with croquet lawns and Quidditch pitches than the tidings borne by her first and only child.

James had interrupted a banquet to bring her this news. A banquet. In the middle of dessert, too. There was a treacle tart sitting untouched on his plate that Peter or some other greedy swine could easily snatch up and eat. Then they'd have to be put in the stockade for stealing and James hated seeing people in the stockade, except for the time he'd trapped Sirius in it. That had been hilarious.

Euphemia looked at James, candlelight reflected in her dark eyes. Her expression was impassive.

"You have news for me, I believe?" she enquired.

James stood up straight to deliver his shocking report. McGonagall always said that a prince who slouched was a prince not worth respecting. "I do."

"Important news?"

"Very important."

"So very important that you felt it incumbent upon you to push out your chair with an unholy screech, race up here like an unfettered horse and interrupt your mother?"

Lord de Mimsy-Porpington hastily disguised his laugh with a cough and James's face burned with embarrassment, but he didn't dare blink. The queen was a stalk-and-ambush predator of the most sophisticated kind, attacking when her prey was weak and unsuspecting. It was no surprise that her Animagus form was that of a sleek panther. James had to appear strong in the face of adversity.

"Yes," he said firmly. "That important."

"Once of our guests has died, then?"

"No."

"Been taken ill?"

"No, but—"

"Then it can't be so important that my son would act in a most un-princely manner," Mother concluded. "Do you not agree, Porpington?"

Lord de Mimsy-Porpington blinked rapidly. Perhaps he was startled to have been called upon for an opinion, when it was common knowledge that he'd never said a single interesting thing in his life. "Well, Your Majesty—"

"I have fallen in love," James loudly announced. "So there."

The queen's sharp black eyebrows shot right up to her hairline.

Victory, James thought.

He had known that this was bound to get his mother's attention. She was always waffling on about how finding a suitable bride was a responsibility of utmost importance for any young prince, and how James needed a good wife to make him behave, for god forbid her clever and talented and ludicrous son (all words McGonagall had used—he didn't know what the last one meant but he'd been meaning to look it up soon) be left to rule unchecked once she and his father were cold in their graves. The way his mother talked, he'd sink the realm's money into Quidditch tournaments, cat sanctuaries and not much else.

It was deeply unfair.

Mostly that he couldn't turn the castle into a cat sanctuary, but also the marriage thing. James had scores of good ideas for the future of the kingdoms, like pig farming, for example. Pigs produced the tastiest meat of all the animals. So versatile. So delicious. But his mother simply didn't care for his thoughts.

Though James had found the woman of his dreams now, so he supposed he could cheerfully bear having a wife.

"When did this happen?" Mother asked him.

"Just now, when I saw her."

"Is that so?"

"Very so."

"And where, pray tell, may I find the object of my sweet son's affections?"

James turned around and pointed further down the table, where a beautiful girl in a pale blue dress was contemplating her dinner, wedged uncomfortably between lords Wolpert and Wood.

As James watched, she speared a carrot on the end of her knife and examined it rather glumly.

"There," he sighed, making sure to sound dreamy and smitten, like the characters in the romance novels his mother kept stashed around the castle. "The girl with the red hair."

Of course, James's beloved was far prettier than any of the ladies in his mother's books. Her skin was as pale and luminescent as a new moon, and her long hair fell in elegant curls about her face. He had known that he was in love from the moment he'd first seen her.

"I see," said Euphemia.

"Decidedly red," muttered Lord de Mimsy-Porpington—who had brought all four of his unmarried daughters to court—his lips pursed in distaste.

"Quite a rare colour in this part of the world," the queen mused, "though quite beautiful, it must be said. Don't you agree, Porpington?"

Lord de Mimsy-Porpington opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "Well, now—"

"I love her," said James.

"B—but the complexion, Your Majesty," said Lord de Mimsy-Porpington, trying again. The queen's sly rebuke had set his cheeks aflame. "A sickly pallor, to be sure—"

"Nonsense," the queen cut over him. "Hair notwithstanding, the girl is bound to be pale, living in that jagged wasteland with all of that ghastly snow. She must see the sun but rarely."

"She's a Ravenclaw?" James questioned, watching in awe as she took a bite from her carrot. The kingdom of Ravenclaw spanned the north of the country and boasted several mountain ranges.

"On her father's side only," Lord de Mimsy-Porpington piped up. His face was still puce. "Her mother was a woman of very little consequence, Your Majesty. A Hufflepuff, if you can imagine, with no real connections to—"

"Her late mother was a lady by birth, and she is the youngest daughter of the 16th Viscount of Rowena," said Euphemia coldly, which caught James's eye at once. She smiled at him—one of the sly, secretive smiles she liked to share with James whenever she saw through a simpering sycophant's ill-advised scheme. The queen was the cleverest woman alive besides McGonagall. There was nothing any lord could tell her about one of her guests that she didn't know already. "And you, darling son, have chosen to fall in love with her?"

James nodded.

"How convenient."

That was music to his ears. "Can I marry her, then?"

"She is quite close to you in age, I suppose," his mother mused. She raised her goblet and studied the girl with narrowed eyes as it was refilled by a footman, her brow furrowed in thought. "She'll have a substantial dowry, of course, I cannot find fault with her lineage, and she hasn't been entered into any other engagement, as far as I can be certain…"

James bobbed up and down on the spot, bubbling with excitement.

"I suppose I don't see why not," the queen concluded. "Her father would certainly be amenable to the match, so I'm sure we could pull it off—"

James punched the air with gusto and let out a whoop of delight, startling many.

"—just as soon as you turn twenty-one."

His fist dropped to his side at once.

He gaped at his mother, but she only smiled back and took a sip of her wine.

Why, but his dreams were ruined!

Ruined! Obliterated! Smashed to bloody smithereens, like the time he and Sirius had stolen into the Potions chamber and burst that sow's bladder.

"What?!" he cried out.

"You know that I dislike repeating myself, James."

"But why?"

"My darling, you're far too young to get married right away—"

"But that's not fair!"

"As is tradition—"

"That's torture!"

"Twenty-one is the age at which a prince of Gryffindor should marry, per tradition, as well you know." The queen set her goblet next to her plate. Her voice was firm. "Or should I ask our esteemed professor to teach you our kingdom's history once more?"

"No!" James yelped, balking at the idea of it. McGonagall was frightening when one of her lessons did not, as she liked to put it, permeate his thick skull the first time around. The way his teacher spoke to him was really quite disgraceful at times. "I know the traditions!"

"Then why are you so incensed, child?"

"Because that's—that's eight years away!" James cried out, the injustice of it all rattling his bones raw. He was not some common lord of somewhere or other, he was a prince—the crown prince, destined to be king one day—yet he could not have whatever he wanted, when he wanted. He was in love, damn it, and when people fell in love they got married. That was the rule. "It's too long to wait!"

"You shall just have to learn to bear it, I'm afraid."

"But what if I die of a broken heart before then?"

"Then you will be dead, so it won't be likely to trouble you."

"But what'll you do for an heir if that happens?"

"Name my ward to the throne, I suppose," said his mother. She brushed James's cheek with her thumb and smiled indulgently, ignoring Lord de Mimsy-Porpington's unconvincing laugh. "Cheer up, sweet one. It won't serve you well to wish your childhood away."

"Why not, when you're the one wishing my happiness away?" James sulkily retorted.

His mother laughed through her nose and patted his face. "Is my son not adorable, Porpington?"

"Indeed," said Lord de Mimsy-Porpington tightly.

"Such a handsome boy," she cooed, then dropped her jewel-encrusted hand into her lap. "Now, off you go. Back to your seat, and we'll talk about it later."

"How much later?"

"Your seat, James."

"But I don't want—"

"There's plenty of time to be wed when you grow up."

"But I am grown up!" James protested. Which he was. His voice had already started to break. "Why can't you—"

"Return to your seat," his mother warned, with a look that said don't you dare test me, "or I shall have McGonagall sent for."

If his mother was willing to threaten him with McGonagall to make him behave, James didn't need to be told twice. He fled, retreating to his empty chair a little further down the table and throwing himself into it with gusto and rage. The honourable Professor Pomona Sprout of the Hufflepuff marshes threw him an odd look when he sat down, so he stuck his tongue out at her and hoped his mother didn't see it.

The redheaded girl did see, however, and threw her eyes down to her plate, suppressing a smile.

Quite at once, James's dearly departed hopes sprung blithely back to life.

A smile!

A smile from his glorious future bride, no less!

Well…only if James could find the patience to wait for another eight years.

Blast his mother, and Lord de Mimsy-Porpington, and the stupid Gryffindor traditions.

He had to take matters into his own hands.

*

When the banquet ended, the royal family and their guests moved to the ballroom for dancing and drinks, both of which James was deemed too young to partake in.

Not that he wanted to partake in all of that bowing and waltzing and kissing of hands.

Usually.

His formal dance lessons were due to begin on his fourteenth birthday and James had been concocting schemes to prolong the inevitable—whilst laughing at Sirius, who was due to start in November—but he was a changed man now. He knew what love was. He had beheld the daughter of the 16th Viscount of Rowena, and the art of masterful dancing now seemed like a vital skill which had been callously denied to him.

"Isn't she pretty?" he asked Sirius, watching her talk to her father on the other side of the ballroom.

Sirius shrugged. He'd snuck his wand into the feast and was trying to level a hex at Professor Slughorn—who had labelled his latest efforts at a Shrinking Solution merely "passable"—without being noticed. Sirius was the royal family's ward and a cousin of some distance—third, perhaps, and something removed—but James's best friend, most importantly, and had a talent for mischief that couldn't be equalled. "I don't know."

"You must know, she's right over there."

"I've got better things to do than stare at some girl."

"You think staring at old Sluggy instead is better?"

"Who said I was staring? Watch this," said Sirius, and turned his back to Slughorn, positioning himself so that the tip of the wand he'd stuck beneath his armpit was pointing directly at their Potions master. The grip end was sticking out the other side, rather like the toy swords they'd used to "stab" one another with as children. "Tell me if anybody gets in the way."

James double-checked the path between them and Slughorn. "You're in the clear."

"Your parents aren't watching?"

"Don't worry about my parents." The ballroom floor was longer than its ceiling was high, and the windows alone were four times the height of James's father. "They're at the other end of the room."

Sirius grinned, and gripped his wand tightly.

"Igniloquitir!" he whispered.

A narrow beam of light shot across the ballroom, casting the marble floor in a pale white glow, and hit Slughorn squarely in the back. He immediately belched out a jet of bright red fire which caught hold of one of the curtains and set the entire thing aflame.

As the orchestra came to a screeching halt, terrified screams began to erupt around him and noblemen scattered in all directions, a horrified Slughorn clapped his hands to his mouth and dropped to his knees.

"You set the drapes on fire," James pointed out, watching the flames savage their way through the fashionable gold brocade with interest.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder. His wand was already tucked into his sleeve. "Whoops."

"Mother loves those curtains. She'll kill you."

"She won't if I tell her you did it."

James glared at Sirius. Behind him, Slughorn had let out another flaming belch and set his trousers on fire. He was rolling around on the floor while Countess Vector of Eaglefield sprayed him with water from her wand. Yet more people were working on the curtains. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would, and she'd believe me."

"No she wouldn't."

"I'm not the one who pitched a fit because she won't let me marry some girl."

"Some girl..." James whirled around and found her in the crowd almost at once. She was standing alone—her father had rushed to assist with the drapes—and trying to suppress a laugh as she watched Slughorn thrash about.

"Attention!" cried the queen, who had appeared before the now-smoking curtains, hands lifted into the air to signal to the crowd. The cuffs of her gown sleeves were so wide that the purple velvet trailed below her waist. "Attention, everyone!"

Now was his chance. His moment. His one window of opportunity.

"See you," he muttered to Sirius.

As his mother began to assure her guests that everything was under control, James darted across the room, weaving between stationary pairs of dancers, and found himself standing directly before the girl of his dreams.

She blinked at him in surprise, but said nothing. Perhaps his sudden appearance had alarmed her, or perhaps James was so handsome that she was overwhelmed by love. That was the more likely scenario.

"Hello," he said, drawing himself up to his fullest height.

"Hello," she replied, and immediately coloured, her cheeks glowing almost as red as her hair. "I mean, good evening"—she sank into a neat curtsy—"Your Royal Highness."

"Oh, you shan't have to curtsy to me," he told her grandly.

"I shan't?"

"Not ever."

A little crease wrinkled in her forehead. "Why not?"

"Because," he said, and put on his most charming smile, "you're going to be my wife."

She immediately burst into tears.

[justjessame]

Dr. Tali Sullivan Chapter 33

Maybe it was because I’d had so little time with Abigail after she was born, or maybe because I had Harvey with me every step of the way, but our first six months with Caelum seemed like a breeze. He slept well, fed well, and was one of the calmest babies I’d ever heard of. Abi had upgraded to a toddler bed, Caelum inherited her crib, and it wasn’t rare to wake up to her tiny warm body squeezed between us.

Even when we both went back to work, my mom tried to convince me that Caelum was too little for daycare, and adding that Abi had only a year before she’d begin pre-school, the transition was smooth. Well, smoother than arguing with Mom about why our kids needed to socialize with other children, that is. Abi, having Caelum nearby during her time in daycare, became more of a social butterfly. And our son went with the flow of change so easily that I envied him.

Harvey had insisted on fewer assignments that required overnight travel, so he was home almost every night. Usually picking up the kids and waiting for me with dinner. My classes were as popular as they’d been before I died, and my students were constantly surprising me with their ability to work through the subject matter in new and exciting ways.

During all of this, Dean and Sam visited and called. Abi loved her Sammy, and she learned to roll her eyes from her De-De. Harvey accepted John’s sons as easily as he fit into my own life.

 I had more than enough on my plate with a new baby, a precocious toddler, and a man who could make my toes curl with a look or just his voice pitched low. I also had a wedding to plan.

Mom and I worked together on the weekends, Rowena piping in with her own take on how the wedding would look. I’d always wanted a fall wedding, and when I told Mom and Ro my ideas, they both looked impressed, which should have been insulting, but wasn’t.

The dress was easier to find than I expected. As was Abi’s, Mom’s, and Ro’s. A tiny suit for Caelum to match his daddy and, shockingly, Abi’s brothers’. Harvey was a constant surprise to me, telling me that he thought having Dean and Sam stand up with us made sense. Crowley, Cas, and my Dad were involved and I jokingly said that there’d be no actual audience since everyone we loved had a part to play.

Invitations, because we had friends and coworkers to share our day with despite my joke, were sent, and the final touches came together. I didn’t know that Harvey had one more surprise for me, and that was probably for the best, because having a blow up argument on my wedding day wouldn’t have fit into my schedule.

I walked down the leafy path to the altar that was created by nature, two trees close enough to have their limbs entwine, my eyes focused on the man I was about to say “I do” to, again lucky since there were people in the audience that may have forced my ass to turn around and head back in our house. Fallen leaves, reds, oranges and yellows, added to the dark red of the roses and the burnt orange of the tiger lilies that constructed our bouquets. I barely heard the minister’s words, watching Harvey’s smile and mouthed “I love you” kept me occupied. It took less time than anyone could have expected, our rings in place, our vows said, and then cupping my face so gently that one would think he was afraid of breaking me, Harvey’s lips met mine and I felt content to my toes.

We were presented to our guests as husband and wife and that’s when I saw him. And her. And felt a flush of irritation try to force its way into my day, but I shook my head and fought it off. Today was about Harvey and me, nothing more nothing less, but boy oh boy was my husband going to get an earful when the glow wore off.

 Our reception was a hit, mostly because our wedding was taking place so close to Halloween that the ambiance as the sun started to dip low was very playful. Bobbing for apples, pumpkin carving/painting, and other games that would be right at home during the holiday. Our cake was cut, finger foods that were strangely filling served, and then the dancing began. Harvey took me in his arms and I smiled into his suit jacket before my eyes landed on John Winchester by the dance floor.

“You know,” I tilted my head back to stare up at my husband. “I’m trying very hard to not be pissed at you right now.”

He bit his lip, but I could see that his eyes were still twinkling like a naughty child. “I wanted him to see that you were happy, and that she’s happy,” I followed his eyes to where Abi was being entertained by her brothers, all three of them. “Closure, Tali, a firmly shut door.”

I stared up at him and knew he meant it, but I also knew John. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me, off us, since I noticed him at the ceremony. “Yeah, that sounds great, babe, but not all Winchester men can take a hint.”

As though to prove my point, John cut in on the third dance I was sharing with my new husband. Forced to behave while surrounded by an audience, I had to let myself be drawn into his arms. He didn’t speak, and neither did I, for the few seconds. I was wondering if he felt as awkward holding me as I did letting him, but when he spoke I knew he didn’t.

“You’re a beautiful bride, Tali,” I fought against hearing the longing in his voice. “This could have been our day.”

I shook my head. “No, it couldn’t have been, John.” I looked up at him and saw the pain flash across his face. “This never would have been our day. Because I either wouldn’t have had you because I let you stay dead, or I wouldn’t have come back at all.” I sighed, wishing he could understand. “Mary and you were the end game, John, before Azazel took her away. Before he tempted me with you. It was always supposed to be like this.” The song was coming to a close, but I needed him to see what I meant. “Harvey is my hero, my final chapter. I think I would have met him no matter what, sooner maybe, if I’d let you go. Less angst definitely. But then I wouldn’t have Abi.” I saw his eyes find our daughter over my head. “And that’s the only reason you’re here now. Because Harvey wanted you to see it. Us, the four of us, we’re the conclusion. And you? You were just a plot twist.”

I moved away from him and walked purposely to where Abi, her three brothers, and my new husband were clustered around the pumpkin painting table. The past was the past, but this? This was my present and future.

 We didn’t go away for a honeymoon. We didn’t need to, with Abi and Caelum to snuggle with after our weekend alone. Both Harvey and I wanted our children to know without a doubt how important they were to us. And so, when we had them back in our arms after two days and nights to play newlyweds, we took them off to the most magical place on earth. Disneyworld, and watched as our princess met the characters from her favorite movies. Caelum might not have gotten the full effect, but Harvey’s whimsical enjoyment along with Abi’s more than made the trip worth it.