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thesinglesjukebox · 1 year ago

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YOASOBI - "IDOL"

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Not a Jocelyn cover -- though there are parallels...

[7.79]

Ryo Miyauchi: You can call "idols," in particular the human exchanges and the parasocial relationships built around them, a lot of things. Using the words of Ai Hoshina from the manga-turned-anime Oshi no Ko, Ayase and Ikuta Lilas call it a lie. A performance would have neutralized, artifice would have made the critique more academic, and maybe fake would have softened the blow. A lie digs deep because it implies that I, the fan, am partly complicit in believing what I'm convinced to be true, whether or not I am aware of being sold to. And YOASOBI say the quiet parts fucking loud, starting from the most bombastic production they've made: a monstrous blast of brass, a blinding flash of synths, a trap-pop breakdown, and a gothic choir singing "you're my savior, you're my saving grace." But as "IDOL" places the onus also on the idol herself for knowingly selling a lie to her beloved fans, how could anyone resist buying into the spectacle? Ikuta embodies the superhuman ability of Ai Hoshina via her vocal performance: not only does she seamlessly maneuver through the trickiest melodies and a demanding production, she inspires in us the feeling that we can recreate the magic, too, as evident from the countless TikTok dance snippets and YouTube vocal covers uploaded this year. She fakes it until she makes it, fabricating her value before her reputation catches up to the level of work put in. But she also convinces herself this is how to love until her little fib starts to feel true. In a macabre, perfectly meta way, it's the idol's own dying words that give the song its most validating, emotionally moving moment, as she finally speaks her love into actual being: "I, I said it at last/I know it's not a lie as I'm voicing these words/I love you." I, for one, know all this is a lie, though it doesn't make the feelings any less real. [10]

Crystal Leww: Structurally and sonically, "IDOL" borrows elements that I associate with the two major, somewhat external-facing Asian pop music scenes -- the racing feeling and sweet vocal of J-pop and the cut-and-paste nature, especially second-verse half-time rap, of K-pop. It's been fun to observe this cross over into both -- on TikTok you can see not only J-pop idols covering the dance but a big contingent of K-pop idols doing the same. Ironically, all these idols are doing the little dance with a smile to a song about the dark side of the idol industry, which I guess is something that all idols from all countries can agree on after all. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: There's too much going on here! Which, frankly, I love. Every single second of "Idol" feels stuffed to the gills with sonic ideas, burning through riffs and hooks like they've got an infinite supply. Some of it is more familiar to YOASOBI's earlier work (those mathy guitar-synth-piano passages, some of the more bombastic orchestral touches), while other parts feel more novel (those cadences on the verses call to mind J.I.D and Ski Mask; the "Heys" at the end are so very Mustard-coded; someone please tell me where those choral touches are drawn from). But it all comes together mostly by virtue of the raw power of juxtaposition. If you slowed this down and tried to dissect the individual parts of "Idol" I'm not sure it would all hang together, but why would you want to do that? The sick thrill of "Idol" -- both in sound and in lyrical message -- is in the rush and overwhelm of Big Pop Moments TM, of the joy of each individual detail as it wears you down in turn. [8]

Dorian Sinclair: Ayase is a hell of a writer and producer, and on "IDOL" he makes something that feels new for Yoasobi, even if he falls back on a few of his favourite tricks (that busy keyboard line does not feel meaningfully different from the one in "Yoru ni Kakeru" or a half-dozen songs since, even if there's a lot more around it to distract you). But if there was any doubt that Lilas Ikuta is as essential, "IDOL" should conclusively lay that to rest. It's two, or even three, unrelated songs that have been glued together, asking completely different things from the singer and doing little to ease the transition between sections. She navigates the transitions effortlessly, skipping between registers and delivery styles and making the whole thing cohere with her performance. The song's about a fictional character, but it's Ikuta's coronation. [9]

Taylor Alatorre: "IDOL" serves as an interesting companion piece to another viral Japanese smash of 2023, "INTERNET YAMERO" from the game Needy Streamer Overload. Both tread similar thematic ground: the tyranny of the public image, the codependency of entertainer and audience, the desperate search for a "savior" or "angel" in the wreckage of a mediated age. The latter, however, due to its origin in an indie visual novel, is able to shed all concerns of good taste and indulge its most ear-piercing denpa fantasies, of the kind that would be unbecoming for the theme to a Doga Kobo anime. The constraints placed upon "IDOL"'s composition may be necessary, and even beneficial to the franchise as a whole, but they are palpable throughout. It stretches against its need to serve as both a credible idol song and as a fashionably cynical take on idols, and as a portent of dark events to come -- a tough mandate indeed. Even with all of its trap interludes, wotagei chanting, and Square Enix gospel choirs, Oshi no Ko's theme ends up sounding not all that different than any random OP on the MyAnimeList top 200. Which is to say, it still pretty much bangs. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: Blurbing Stray Kids' "LALALALA" last month, I wrote: "I'm a complete mark for any pop song that sounds like its true spiritual home is on a Warcraft soundtrack." Nothing has changed, nor will it. Other things I'm a complete mark for: orchestra hits, key changes, faux harpsichord. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The half-time, militaristic reprise of the intro sequence got a chuckle out of me, as did the swiftness with which it abandons the idea. I've heard countless songs that have given me constant sonic whiplash, but "IDOL" is the rare one where you can envision that everyone involved was full-on grinning, excited to see what they could get away with. [6]

Brad Shoup: The audacity! My favorite bit is Ikura's swiping the "HUMBLE." flow for funsies: just one tool furiously, cartoonishly tossed out of YOASOBI's bag. It's like watching someone solve a Rubik's Cube while setting off a series of controlled demolitions. [9]

Nortey Dowuona: The hammering of the rap parts is so deafening; the rapping, filtered and compressed to the nth degree, has to be left alone to capture your attention. The piano line emerges at the pre-chorus but is quickly squashed by the drum programming that lightens the farther it stretches away from rap, leaving the voice to settle into the song instead of battling the synth horns stolen off a Southside beat from 2014. The theme rewards you with a brief piano line and the overly processed voice singing in the comfortable center of their range, allowing you to appreciate the creative excitement with which the producer and composer combined all these stylish sounds. But next time the production team composes a song like this, either find a vocalist who can comfortably handle the heavy-handed hammers of the rap verses, or tamp down to let this light uwu cutesy vocal shine. [8]

Michael Hong: YOASOBI's songs often sound like they could afford to be a touch faster than they are, and it's no different here. The topline of "IDOL" comes off as stiff, particularly across the opening clangs and the jumps of the chorus. As the duo race through all these ideas, Ikura stalls into a moment of exhaustion, as if the track's punch has started to weigh heavy on her. [4]

Ian Mathers: This one is genuinely baffling to me. I can't really parse out why some parts of it make my brain feel like it's fizzing pleasurably, while other parts trigger the avoidant feelings I get with certain strains of prog rock. Even worse, I'm not sure I can keep track of which parts are which from one listen to another. I love/don't love when it gets more measured and stompy. I love/don't love when it gets quieter, or when it just fully goes for it. Depending on which way this resolves in my brain, I'm either never going to seek out "IDOL" again, or going to start playing it on a loop. Hard to score that! [7]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: After reading up on Oshi no Ko, the anime for which "Idol" is the theme, this song made sense in a new way. It sounds like an idol group song shoved backward through a hedge at SMTown Tokyo in 2013, or a Dempagumi.inc song that was written by Yoo Young-jin and then performed with way more fervor than required. While I don't think it's required to enjoy this song, being familiar with the format of the titular idol, a profession with a decent amount of regional variation across Asia but entirely distinct from the Western boy/girl group, makes "Idol" more effective to me. The song really captures the troubling parasocial aspects of the idol industrial complex, issues that I feel a duty to grapple with as a long-time idol group fan. Parasocial attachment is by no means exclusive to idols, but the heady mix of accessibility, human as allegory, and physical beauty increases the likelihood of issues, sometimes with serious consequences for the idols themselves. This is all without even mentioning "Idol" being the runaway megahit of the year in a particular niche, which doesn't really demonstrate anything other than the song's wide appeal. Hey, a good song is a good song, and it's nice when that trumps everything. [9]

Leah Isobel: "IDOL" is so literal, and so garish, and so much, in a way that doesn't normally work for me. Its rapid consecutive U-turns, its pileup of shiny baubles, makes me feel like Yoasobi is playing a trick -- like they're using these techniques to gussy up what is, at heart, a relatively familiar story about the underbelly of fame. And then the final key change-into-chorus transition happens and, yeah, okay, I get it. The shifts in mood and mode raise the stakes so high that the last turnaround feels like squeezing an ocean through an arrow slit: for one person to hold the attention of millions is, after all, an impossible virtuosity. [7]

Tara Hillegeist: To love a piece of art is not, by necessity, to identify myself with the work involved in its making or feel any precious defensiveness about its merits. Indeed, when appreciating art for what it is and what it can be, it is often a richer form of love to come to that feeling through studiously antagonistic critique instead of immediately sincere affection. I already know all the work's faults, the reasons it's a failed work; and yet I still find it worth your time. There is a chasm of difference -- the kind that runs down the vein of this discourse, more often than it cuts across -- between loving art and loving "an artist," in the singular, as the bespoke creature/object/entity/producer/"person" that makes the art in question. There are many ways to prevent myself, as a critic, from falling into that trap, as many ways as there are critics. And with so many of these ways of putting distance between myself and my subjects of choice, it's easy to grow jaded and callous, to forget that these performances began as people, to make light of this business -- for it is a business, for what it does to the lives at its forefront. To crack jokes about the strain it puts on them to be the wick at the center of the candle, while we watch them flicker, flare out, and fade. Distance renders my protections as perverse as the alternative.

To find myself in love with "the artist" that makes the art I love, though -- there is no escape from the parasocial realignment of one's approach that follows. A part of me has already accepted it will betray the sensible ethics of the arrangement between that art's creator and its consumer, on behalf of a belief in the righteousness, the decency, the fundamental moral worthiness, of this image I've chosen to perceive within the actions of an otherwise total stranger -- a betrayal all the more dangerously stupid on my end for the obvious awareness that this is the image they want to sell me on. As an appreciator of art, as a fair critic, the worst mistake I can make is to take that performative sincerity at its word. It's even worse when that collapse of situational awareness leaves me with a sense of entitlement, in either direction -- a sense that the transaction involved is anything more than the exchange of the pleasure of creating for the pleasure of consuming, that in return for the joy I take in their ability to synthesize "truth" into "performance," I now owe them a debt in the form of devotion ... or, worse, that they owe me anything in kind. No matter how chaste or compassionate or self-effacing the gesture may feel, it remains a trap. I'm in love with being lied to. They're in love with lying to me. At best, it only leads to the tragedy of heartbreak -- a tragedy all the more cruel if one of us really meant it. It's enough to send one screaming to the madhouse, thinking about it seriously. Maybe that's why we all try not to. But sometimes, we let ourselves forget. It's so easy to do -- as easy as we say it is not to do it.

There was this ... girl, I liked, on the come-up in the entertainment world. She'd started as a wrestler, and I'd been what you might call a fan of her mother, a well-established name in the industry. So I was already paying attention when her mother introduced her in the ring to say she'd be pursuing the family business. I was already a fan of hers when it was announced she too would step back from wrestling to pursue a career in the wider entertainment industry. I thought she deserved the limelight, that she was made for it, that anyone could see how hard-working she was and how much she'd earned their adoration. In turn, I felt entitled to following her personal Twitter, because seeing her messages on my timeline -- whether upon waking or before bed -- and giving them the occasional like made me feel like I was supporting her in her pursuits, whatever she did. As a wrestling fan, seeing her succeed felt like its own reward, "one of ours" making good, one step at a time. In K-pop terms, you could've said she was one of my biases; in Japan, an "oshi," from the verb for "support."

Maybe you've already guessed how this story ends. It made international news, after all. They changed laws because of it. Her mother made sure they did. But for me, the volcanic upheaval that resulted was on a much more personal and unavoidable scale. All I saw, at first, was someone struggling to put her best foot forward and finally getting what looked to be her big break -- on a reality show, but one of the most popular reality shows on television at the time, where thousands of people could see her! I'd wake up every morning, eager to see whether she'd say anything new about it. So I was already awake and alert, locked down in COVID quarantine on that cold morning in the spring of 2020, when she tweeted out her suicide note for all her friends and followers to see, and followed it up with picture proof of how deeply serious she meant her attempt to be. I sat there, a helpless voyeur, those pictures a constant companion. I waited, one of the lucky few, to learn whether what my "support" had led me to witness being done "live" could be undone, or whether I'd have to live the rest of my life knowing my last memories of someone I thought I'd valued as a person would be those bloody images, all because I "cared" so much to keep tabs on her social media on the regular.

Within the hour, we all knew the answer. Her friends and family were able to at least get Twitter to take the images down before they had to put out any further statements themselves. By the time the wider world awoke to learn the news, the pronouncement of her death was a matter of recorded, impersonal fact, accompanied by photographs of her alive in the ring and on set, rather than the catastrophic tableau of judgmental violence that the internet and the television crew drove her to inflict upon herself. The price I would pay for my mistake, in thinking my support of her entitled me to knowing as much about her as was publicly knowable, would be that my witness was as much my own fault as my worthlessness. I could only live with what I'd seen and damn myself for why.

I threw myself into other spheres of my interest -- "virtual YouTubers" -- in the vain hope that my awareness of the failings of the genre would cushion me from such a tragic mistake another time. I was no stranger to the cynical mode in which the subculture operated, using surreal motion-tracked avatars as a means by which tech startups could showcase and sell their proprietary apps. I was hardly uninformed on its casually abusive handling of their talent and lax management policies. Before I'd ever started engaging with any of the talent responsible, I'd heard about managers needing to be fired for power-harassment who went on to stalk and threaten their former clients. I already knew about performers needing to go on hiatus because their audiences turned violent over the sound of their mic accidentally picking up a roommate's presence. I already knew about performers needing to reveal their own behind-the-scenes identities to prevent themselves from being replaced as the voice of the model they'd made famous.

Naturally, the artists I grew to appreciate most in the scene were the ones most aware, if not outright forceful, about reminding their audience where the boundaries were between the audience, the audience's perception of themselves, and themselves, the person putting those perceptions and boundaries in place. One of those artists mentioned that one of her favorite manga was this niche series that she felt was the most relatable and compelling depiction of the ins and outs of being, at once, both a performer and someone who had performers she loved in turn: a series called Oshi no ko. I jotted it down as something to look into, later -- it sounded like a pretty out-there title, so I didn't expect I'd find many, if any, translations of it; there certainly weren't any being published legally at that time.

But she kept bringing it up, and soon I started hearing other VTubers doing the same, so I took the curiosity more seriously. Two or three volumes in, a strange horror overtook me. The events that led to what I was reading were anything but events that I had any connection to, although I'd noticed similarities between them and real events in the industry. But now the characters in the manga had been roped into performing on a reality show, one of the most-watched television shows at that time ... and there it was. Ripped from reality, turned into performative art: the same events that I could never forget happening, had never really forgiven myself for putting myself in the position of being a helpless witness to. They had been turned into a cathartic lie -- because in the fictional tale of Oshi no ko, the protagonists, who had become her friends, were able to prevent her story from ending the same way: the way, in the fiction, that they hadn't been able to prevent their mother's ... and the way, in reality, that they couldn't have prevented their inspiration's. Through the artists' efforts, I realized I wasn't suffering that heartache alone. I, too, didn't deserve to regret having lied to myself enough about what I loved that I turned that love into a lie, that I loved a lie that can never be true. Maybe that, too, is a lie, but it's no less a lie than the belief that as an audience, our personal responsibilities should ever matter to anyone but ourselves. Cut to the spring of 2023: Oshi no ko, shocking me to the core, receives an animated adaptation. Tapped for the opening theme is YOASOBI, a group comprised of a former idol and a former Vocaloid producer, mostly known for moody, emotional rock songs. The song they make for it is this one: "IDOL"; the charts make the rest into obvious history, and the lyrics speak for themselves. So now that lie belongs to the rest of you. For what it's worth, I hope you love it as much as I did. [10]

#yoasobi #oshi no ko #ayase #ikura #music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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simpingforsoftboys · 4 years ago

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Too Little Too Late

ft. IwaOi

G/N reader

TW: Neglect, manipulation, toxicity in general, swearing

Read this first

tysm for the request anon! It’s about time Y/n stood up for themselves don’t you think? That’s the thing about relationships like these. It’s so hard to get out of them once you’re in deep- even if you can see every single red flag clear as day.

Also I’ve decided that since these are lengthy- there will be separate parts for Kuroken, SakuAtsu, and OsaSuna in the future.

This one is something I actually turned into a two shot: part one and part two. So same plot line, just goes more in depth on the “break up” part.

This was it, you were finally going to do it. After two decades of following your soon to be ex boyfriends around, it was time for you to step out of their shadow- into the limelight of independency. Still, you felt like a coward- leaving them while neither were even in the country. It was petty perhaps, but deep down within your heart- the vindictive, evil, and cruel part of you whispered that this was what they deserved. You were nearly finished packing- two suitcases stuffed to the max with your clothing and any small, expensive purchase you bought for yourself. Now all you needed to do was shove anything else that could fit into your duffel bag.

This wasn’t a new idea. Leaving them that is. In fact, you’d been thinking about it for years already. Honestly, you doubted you’d have even begun noticing just how unbalanced your current dynamic with your two “lovers” was, until a stranger- turned friend had pointed it out.

His name had been Miya Atsumu- he had gone to Tokyo University just like you and was the starting setter for their volleyball team. He was flirty at first, acting like a stereotypical frat boy. Despite telling him you had not one- but two partners- he hadn’t left you alone at that fateful party.

“Wait... yer datin’ that newbie setter from Argentina? AND Iwaizumi... the one who’s boutta transfer over to that American university?” Atsumu questioned incredulously, nearly doing a spit take, he leans over your figure and places his red solo cup down on the counter behind you.

“Yeah... I know it’s not a normal relationship-” You begin, already used to defending you and your lovers.

“Nah, that’s not what I’m sayin’ darlin.” The blonde replies, his words make him seem as though he’s hitting on you but somehow there’s an undertone of genuine concern. “Neither of em have even spared ya a glance since ya got here! Seems like they’re the ones in love- not the three of ya.”

You had frowned at his words, shaking them off easily. The three of you were in love, besides, no stranger could have deduced that at first glance- if anything he was just trying to meddle in your happy relationship... so why did his words continue to plague you that night, and for many nights after that?

Looking back on it now, you should have listened to Atsumu sooner.

You had countless discussions with Hajime and Toru after the night of the party. They had seemed genuinely sorry and made an effort to be more inclusive. However, they slowly fell back into old habits- time and time again- as if they had forgotten the promises they had made.

There would be no more discussions, no more nights staying up, waiting for them to come back home from their date.

There would be no more of the three of you- just Hajime and Toru.

That thought prevented you from picking up the framed photo on your bedside- the one of you three. It had been taken at a children’s festival that the three of you had taken Takeru too. It was probably the last photo where you had been so blinded by your love for them that you completely glossed over the fact that the only people they were looking at were each other.

“Y/n... what are you doing?” A raspy voice called from the bedroom’s doorway, startling you from your memories. Body shaking, you turned around to face the owner of the voice. “We came home early to surprise you... only to find you packing your bags?”

The same two people that you didn’t want to see stood before you. Both toted suitcases and smelt like the airport. You couldn’t find it within yourself to look them in the eyes, fearing that if you did you’d lose your strength, turn around, and begin unpacking.

“Y/n... prince(ss), what’s going on? Talk to us.” Toru whispered, speaking to you as if you were a cornered animal. That analogy wasn’t wrong per say but it did nothing to help you calm your nerves.

You knew it shouldn’t have but for some reason his tone had made your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah babe, let’s put the bags down and take a seat... we can talk about this right after me and Toru shower.” Hajime agreed, his poor choice of words stirring anger within your soul- intense and smoldering like Zeus’s lightning bolts.

“No!” You cry, tears of pent up anger, hurt, and every other negative repressed emotion, begins to well up in your eyes. “I’m going to say this one last time- then I’m going to leave. We won’t talk. I’m not going to... to wait until you finish showering. I’m sick and tired of this- this absolute fucking BULLSHIT!”

They stare at you wide eyed, not quite knowing how to respond. You don’t even give them the chance to think about how to do so- instead you opt to continue your rant.

“I love you two so damn much. So, so much- to the point that it hurts me.” Your gaze flickered between the two of them. “Loving you... it breaks my heart. I can’t do it anymore Toru, Hajime. I wanted too- God knows I do. But I can’t keep doing this-”

Toru lets his carry on drop to the floor and races over, attempting to embrace you in a hug. Every bone, every fiber, literally every part of you is begging you to stay trapped in his arms. He’s warm and he’s here. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Too little too late.

You shove him off, biting back sobs. Hajime hurries behind him, catching the taller male as he falls.

“Y/n calm down what’s going on? What did we do?” Olive green eyes flit over to meet yours, they’re just as lovely as they have always been. But you notice that they’re also cold, like jade bracelets and old watered down matcha tea.

“It’s what you didn’t do Haji.” You say and they can see the heart ache on your face. “I love you but you don’t love me- not as much as I love you at least.” Both of them look like they want to argue but you shake your head- effectively silencing them. The picture on the night stand stares back at you tauntingly- ignorance was indeed bliss it seems. Grasping it lightly you place it on the ground and kicked it gently, letting it slide over to where Toru and Hajime are still seated on the ground. The brunette takes it in his hands and examines it.

“This was when we took Takeru to the children’s festival!”

“Yeah... we were so happy then... where did that go wrong Y/n? When did you stop smiling like this?” Hajime whispers.

“I stopped smiling like that when I realized the truth- about us.” They watch as you take a deep breath, composing yourself. “It took me a long while, but I’ve been coming to terms with it.” A choked gasp escapes your lips, leading you to quickly spill the rest of your well kept insecurities. “This... this thing we have going on- it’s a toxic, endless cycle. There’s no us- it’s just Hajime and Toru plus Y/n.”

Toru’s expression morphs from empathetic to down right murderous. He’s offended that you would dare imply something like that. Deep down, you’re sure he knows you’re actually right, and he’s just acting like that to save his pride. A pang of shame hits you- when had you begun thinking mean thoughts like that?

“How could you say that?” He spits, tone devoid of sweetness, now replaced with lethal venom. “Everything we do is for you. We give you money, this nice home, space, time- our love. And you have the fucking gall to say we’re ostracizing you from our relationship? What the hell are you thinking Y/n?”

You’ve never seen him this angry- not in all the years you’ve known the setter. It sorta terrifies you. Hajime doesn’t bother to reprimand Toru for his tone like usual, instead he looks like he agrees with him.

“He’s right Y/n, everything we do is for you. Are you mad because we didn’t take you to a wedding? Guess what- that’s just business. Stop being so damn jealous for no reason. You can’t be selfish in our sort of relationship. Didn’t you know that in the first place?”

They don’t- won’t see things from your point of view. Honestly, what were you even expecting.

“When have I EVER been selfish? I cook, clean, and practically orbit around the two of you. I’m not mad just because of a FUCKING WEDDING! I’m upset- and hurt because you can’t ever see from my eyes. Don’t think I haven’t seen the differences between the looks you give me verses each other. The date nights you forget to include me in- the stolen kisses in the morning you give each other without even thinking about me. Even when I try to initiate something I’m ‘too clingy’ or you’re ‘too busy.’ FUCK THAT. I deserve better. So I think I deserve to be selfish just this once- because this is something I need to do for me. Not for you.”

They’re stunned, unable to speak. So they say nothing at all, watching you zip up your duffel bag and single handedly take all your baggage out into the living room by yourself. Neither of them say anything when there’s a knock on the door and they can hear your best friend enter their home and help you take your stuff down to their car.

There’s nothing they can do. So they go to bed without showering, thinking about the things you said and reflecting. You made it quite clear to them. It’s over- the three of you.

#iwaizumi x y/n #iwaoi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x you #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader x iwaizumi #oikawa angst #answered.requests

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kosmosguk · 4 years ago

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5 days of spooktober~ #3: purity

day #3: angel hoseok x reader x demon yoongi

word count: 2.1k

summ. it seems like mortal beings, too, can fall from grace.

warnings: smut, dubcon/noncon themes (mindbreak), yandere themes, 18+, blasphemy/sacrilegious acts, violence, abuse, explicit language, kidnapping

a/n: this was lowkey rushed (so lemme know if I made any spelling/grammar mistakes) because I’ve been super busy and I caught a mild cold because I was outside in freezing weather for several hours, but I hope you guys like it. Less than one week until Halloween <3

You were kneeling in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary, your hands clasped in prayer, and your eyes firmly closed. Your lips moved, softly and then rapidly, and a soft breath left them whenever you closed the last syllable of a word for the prayer. Even then, you could feel the marble eyes of the benevolent statue in front of you on you, watching you with serene eyes as a stone snake wrapped around her bare feet.

“For the strength to resist temptation, and for purity so that I may live clean of sin. Blessed mother, look upon me and guide me.”

You pushed yourself up onto shaky legs. When the door of the chapel shut clicked behind you softly, the building returned to a hush…

Until the eyes of the angel in the stain glass blinked open and the tongue of the stone serpent by Mary’s feet flickered out.

The convent was the safest place. As an orphan abandoned by your parents on the front steps of the building, you were left under the care of Benevolent Sister Bernadette and the other nuns of the convent. There, you had grown up, sheltered from the cruelty of the outside unforgiving walls, biblical scripture leaving indents in each bump of your tongue.

It was to no surprise that you had never encountered a man before. The sisters had told you, along with each of the girls you had grown up with, that God was your husband and that looking at a man with impure eyes would put you at the level of sinners banished to hell. So, it was a surprise when the sisters had let in two men.

They were travelling holy men, and they were seeking rest during their tiring journey. And they were handsome young men too, the kind that attracted the innocent-minded young girls of the convent’s school and left them giggling and whispering softly when the sisters had their backs on them.

You were at the back of the crowd, your fingers rolling on the beads of the rosary you kept firmly clasped in your grip at all times. You had no time to be giggling hopelessly about men who had sworn their own vow to God, not when you were only a few steps away from swearing yours. Having safely passed adulthood, you had made the decision to become a sister yourself.

You stepped back from the crowd and moved back to the sanctuary you found within the pews of the old abandoned chapel no one frequented. As you walked away, the echo of your footsteps on the cobblestone grounds drowned out by the hum of frivolously murmuring voices, you did not pay heed to the contemplative gaze that lingered on your retreating back or the lecherous eyes pinned to you.

“What was the sin of Eve? What had tempted her to be lured in by the Devil’s words?”

The ear-scraping echo of Sister Antoinette’s voice resounded in the walls of the nearly silent room. You propped your chin up on the palm of your hand, your eyes pinned to the carefully dried ink of the Bible in front of you. You had heard the creation story hundreds if not thousands of times to the point where you had memorized each verse and could recite it blindfolded and upside down.

The same situation would happen once more. After Sister Antoinette’s question, a girl would raise up her hands and answer in the same old way: “Her sin was that she did not know her position in the world. She was to be man’s wife.”

And like always, the words would leave a bitter taste in the back of your throat that you would swallow as you watched Sister Antoinette smile, pleased. And you would move on because moving on was the only way to don your habit and continue living a safe, sheltered life.

One of the younger girls was called on instead. You waited for the usual answer, but this time…this time was different.

“Sister Antoinette, I believe Eve had no sin. She did not want to live a life in which her position would be unequal to man, in which she would be trapped in a role subservient to him just because she was made from his rib. That was why she was tempted. She was not tempted by the apple, but she had been tempted through freedom.”

You couldn’t help the curve of your smile, and you shielded it with a careful hand. There was a sweeter taste in your mouth, but it quickly went bitter at the harsh sound of leather meeting tender palms.

Your eyes were drawn to the outside of the window, to the lush blue sky and the gray walls that shielded almost everything. Even then, your fingers couldn’t stop rolling over the wooden beads of your rosary.

Freedom, freedom…was it worth the cost of instability? In that very moment, for the first time in your life, you couldn’t help leaning on the side of agreement.

You were in the chapel again, your knees turning numb on the worn-out cushion as you recited your prayers. You were alone once more, until the soft swing of the door broke the soft hush of silence, and you swung around to look at the intruder.

There was one of the men that the sisters had let in. He seemed kinder than his counterpart, a warm smile brightening his features, and he shook his head softly as you got up to leave.

“Sorry, I did not mean to disturb your prayer. I was simply searching for a quieter place to meditate. Continue on and pretend that I’m not here.”

You nodded silently before turning back and clasping your hands back together.

“What’s your name?’’ his voice broke once more through your peace. “I’m Jung Hoseok.”

Your eyebrows crossed in agitation before they smoothed out. God would not want you to be angry at anyone, especially if they were one of his holy men.

“Reverend, it is the sanctity of the house of God that we as mere mortals of His creation do not dare to break. If you wish to know my name, ask me when we leave. But there can be no more earthly matters that exist while we are in His house.”

You heard him chuckle, the sound strangely dark compared to the light voice he had, and you heard him come closer to you.

“It must be lonely to be in here, no one by your side. How about we become friends?’’

“Hoseok, what are you doing here?’’ you heard another voice break out in your silence. This voice was richer than the Reverend’s voice, a deeper timber that sent unsettling shivers down your spin. While Reverend sounded like warmth, this voice sounded like a chill.

You did not make a peep to answer his question nor a move to look at the second intruder. Instead, you silently got up and bowed respectfully towards the Reverend and his counterpart before you swiftly left the chapel.

Your dreams were plagued that night. Soft hushes of low moans brushed your ears, and you felt hands curve around your breasts and brush the place that the sisters had warned you to never touch with impure intentions. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the sheets, a haze in your mind as you panted out hopeless cries to be touched, to be fucked. Your back arched as you felt a tongue swipe at your pussy, lapping up juices as you twitched in lustful agony, and your lips, stretched out in moans, was covered by another mouth.

“Give in, (y/n). We’ll take care of you,” a voice purred into your ear, gentle and sweet and God you were melting.

You woke up in a cold sweat, shivering, and you startingly realized that your fingers had been buried deep within your forbidden heat. You pulled them out, shame flickering against the heat deep in your stomach, and they made a soft schlick sound. You frantically wiped them against your sheets and tried to go back to sleep, but the heat of lust never seemed to cool.

You were disoriented when you woke up for morning prayers. You felt something sticky stain against your inner thighs, and your mind was in a haze. Every touch from another human being left sparks that seemed to build the heat of desire within you, and it wasn’t until you were back in the chapel in the middle of the night that you dared to let out a breath.

You kneeled in front of the statue, ready to pray once more, but your hands slipped from their position and slid down until they were pulling up your skirts. Your body didn’t feel like it was yours anymore, and you were slipping one and then two fingers and then three. Your eyes burned in shame, but your body didn’t care. It begged to be touched, and the plea seemed to grow even more insistently when you couldn’t get relief.

“Ah, what a whore you are.’’

Your head spun around to look at the intruder. Instead of feeling ashamed and pulling your fingers out to restore some kind of dignity, you could only spread your legs wider, whimpering for relief.

“Yoongi, I suppose it is part of our fault that she’s been dragged to such a state. Why don’t we help her?’’

Your vision was blurry, but you felt a cooling touch on your feverish body and grabbed at it desperately, trying to press it down to where it was the most hot. You heard a low chuckle, and you only grew more desperate.

Your memories spun together, your thoughts dizzy, and before you knew it, your skirts were ripped off, and you were on someone’s lap with their cock so deep in you that you could only press closer.

“Yoongi, isn’t she so pretty?’’ you heard a voice call out, and a part of you that was still rational realized it was the Reverend.

The man underneath you laughed, the sound rich, and you let out a muffled cry when he pulled you up off his cock and slammed you back down onto it. He was pounding you, and the Reverend behind you was nipping brutally at your neck and leaving bruises on your flesh.

“Hey, hey, recite your prayers for us, won’t you? Pretty little angel, why don’t you—,” you heard a grunt that choked the remaining words,” Why don’t you—fuck she feels so good—why don’t you recite them?’’

Your brain was automatic; you had no more control over it. You could only obey the commands of the two men that you had once perceived to be holy men.

“For the s-strength to—ah...! Resist tempt-tempt…temptation!’’ you cried out as one particular thrust pried open your walls and pressed against your cervix,” And for…for purity nngh! So that I…So that I may live…oh my God, please, please, harder! L-live free from…sin!’’

He was spilling his cum within you, filling up your womb, and you could only twitch as he let out a husky moan. When he finished cumming deep in you, you let out a breath of relief as the heat within you cooled down, but just a few seconds later, it was coming back, and the Reverend was pulling you off the man’s cock. You let out a startled cry between clenched teeth as you were spread back open on another cock.

“Please, please! Ooh, it feels so good…,’’ you were drooling now, looking ever much like the whores that the sister had disdainfully warned you not to become.

You met eyes with the statue of the Virgin mother as you were being bounced on the Reverend’s cock and, just like Eve, fell into the temptation of freedom.

It had been years since your disappearance from the convent. Another girl pried open the door of the abandoned chapel and carefully walked in, her footsteps sending clouds of dust in the air. She scanned the chapel building, and her mouth fell open in surprise as it lingered on the stained-glass window that strangely seemed new.

The stained-glass window had a depiction of a young maiden, just like her, with a snake coiled around her neck and a white dove perched on her wrist. Her hands were raised up, an apple the color of blood gingerly clasped in her hand with a bite taken out of it.

Marked on the glass were the words of a prayer:

“For the strength to resist temptation, and for purity so that I may live clean of sin. Blessed mother, look upon me and guide me.”

And as the girl finished reading the words, the door clicked open.

#yandere bts #yandere #bts x reader #yandere smut #bts smut #bts yoongi #bts hoseok #yandere yoongi #yandere hoseok #yandere yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #yandere hoseok x reader #bts fic

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morganaseren · 4 years ago

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Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU

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

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

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

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

CliffNotes version of what goes on:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interested so far? Click below to read more!

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

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

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

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

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

Kirkwall had lacked such sincere enthusiasm.

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

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

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

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

…which was the exact opposite of her.

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

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

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

But the choice wasn’t hers to make.

Very little ever was.

---

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wonderful. Now—”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Sorry!”

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

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

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

“What song was that?”

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

“Stroud said your name was Hawke, right?”

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

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

---

After that, Bethany settles into Vigil’s Keep.

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

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

As partners, they slowly become closer.

---

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

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

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

"Our lives are more finite than they ever were," Bethany said distractedly, knowing all Wardens had only a few decades at most after their Joining.

"They are," she conceded. "That’s why I intend to make the most of it." Niamh's expression then turned sheepish as she turned back toward her. "I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t the answer you were looking for, was it?"

"No," she admitted, but as mellow as the other woman was, she was hardly surprised. Niamh had a way of remaining positive despite everything else life seemed to throw at them. Bethany smiled in spite of herself. "It was an honest one though. Thank you."

---

Every day is always an interesting adventure.

If not darkspawn, they deal with brigands out on the road or aid people across the countryside. To Bethany’s surprise, their help is openly requested sometimes when they reach a new town or village. Following the Blight, the utter bravery of the Grey Wardens had earned them Ferelden’s deepest respect. Thus, despite the fact they’re two mages traveling about, their regalia draws easy admiration and conversation alike.

It’s admittedly an odd feeling to have as a mage: to be wanted.

Bethany slowly grows to enjoy it though, especially when she can help with her magic so openly without being reviled for it.

Sometimes the jobs asked of them are simple enough: deal with a band of thieves, rid the area of rabid animals encroaching too close to farmland, helping out with some odds and ends around the village, etc.

Given that Niamh is a veteran of the Fifth Blight, Bethany also ends up learning a lot of survival skills from her during their travels together. She’s endlessly amazed by how the other mage utilizes her magic in combat and with other tasks such as hunting or fishing.

Bethany’s understandably shocked when she realizes that Niamh knows how to shapeshift, often scouting the skies as a raven to search for any nearby danger or roaming the wilderness as a sleek-looking, black wolf to hunt for game. It’s an unexpected revelation, especially since the other woman admitted to having been a part of the Circle most of her life before being recruited as a Warden.

She’s never met another mage so intriguing.

While Anders had been a benevolent healer, offering his skills to those most in need, it was his restless anger—an almost blind righteousness—over the plight of mages that gave Bethany pause.

Merrill was sweet in comparison, of course, and Bethany never minded talking with her even if there were the occasional cultural gaps that led to amusing misunderstandings at times. Still, the other woman held an interest in blood magic that Bethany wasn’t entirely certain she was comfortable with. After all, she had grown up hearing about the dangers of such magic from the Chantry. Then again, Andrastian religion also denounced who she was as a person as well, which was depressing in its own right…

While Niamh’s aptitude for elemental magic alone is impressive, Bethany is certain the woman’s shapeshifting draws upon some form of ancient or arcane magic—something well outside of the Circle’s teachings. It draws her curiosity endlessly. As such, Bethany asks her about the skill one day. Niamh just smiles, idly toying with the wooden ring that sits on a cord of black leather around her neck, revealing that a former companion taught it to her.

And that’s how Bethany learns about Morrigan.

---

“What?” Bethany exclaimed when Saoirse revealed how she was able to survive the slaying of the Archdemon. “You’re telling me that she and Niamh were able to…” She trailed off, trying to fight the blush burning across her face as her mind began imagining the possibilities of how such a conception was possible.

“You know, I thought to ask Niamh the technicalities of it once, but given she’s my baby sister—and obviously lacks the essential, uh, tool for the matter—I just decided it was best not to pry,” Saoirse answered dryly. She idly waved her hand about. “I don’t care to learn about her intimate life any more than she cares to know about mine,” she added before the corner of her mouth lifted into a lazy grin. “But for all intents and purposes, Kieran is my nephew, and Morrigan’s very much family now despite her protests to the contrary.”

“And he has the soul of an Old God?” she asked quietly as she turned to look at Kieran and the two women who were his parents.

Oghren had heard of their latest visitors and was—

Bethany squinted in confusion.

He was doing some type of weird jig in front of the baby, who was currently in Morrigan’s arms. Unfortunately, the erratic, uncoordinated nature of it did nothing to amuse him or his mother. Seemingly uncomfortable by the sight, Kieran gave an unhappy whine before reaching out toward Niamh, little fingers grasping repeatedly in her direction. Morrigan transferred him easily into the other woman’s arms when it was clear she wouldn’t mind holding him, allowing her to dryly berate the dwarf while Niamh comforted their son.

“So Morrigan says, yes,” the warrior answered with a shrug. “I originally turned down her ritual because I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting an innocent life to such a fate, but I can’t be mad at the result. I still have Leliana because of it, and I can see how much Niamh adores both Kieran and Morrigan.” Her smile softened. “She has a piece of the happiness that I always wanted for her—something Niamh felt she could never find in this world, terrible as it is for mages at times.”

Bethany couldn’t help but agree at the latter sentiment.

Looking at the three of them, they certainly did seem like a happy family. Still, Bethany couldn’t help but feel some small pang of envy. While she had discovered that Niamh could draw just about anyone into easy conversation with her, she was rather private about her personal life. It wasn’t until recently that Bethany discovered she was even in a relationship—let alone one involving another woman. She had no issue with the idea or with Morrigan for that matter. The other mage was well-matched with Niamh on the basis of intrigue alone, but…

Bethany bit her lip.

After all those long months together with Niamh, she couldn’t help but feel—

Bethany nearly swallowed her tongue when she realized sharp, golden eyes were staring at her over Niamh’s head—as if somehow reading her thoughts. Morrigan was tall for a woman of Fereldan origin, but not nearly as much as Saoirse. With her dark hair and pale skin, she was as bewitching as she was powerful—her magical aura a fount of seemingly endless, wild energy. Bethany almost felt like prey beneath the other woman’s gaze, and she averted her own nervously.

Thankfully, Morrigan made no comment about it, but Bethany did wince when she heard her suggest turning into bed early to Niamh. She and Kieran had arrived relatively late in the day after all, so they were no doubt tired from their travels. Niamh gave no objections, and they soon headed off to the woman’s personal quarters.

Bethany sighed soundlessly.

She was no stranger to infatuation. Her attraction to Leliana back in Lothering was a testament to that fact. Granted, it was also somehow deeply ironic that her commanding officer was now married to the same lay sister who had since gone on to become the Left Hand of Divine Justinia.

Sometimes she couldn’t help but think the Maker enjoyed toying with her in subtle, annoying ways. In any case, like with any other infatuation, she would just have to wait for the one she had on Niamh to run its course.

It couldn’t last forever after all.

---

Spoilers: it does.

---

During one of her occasional visits, Morrigan left Kieran temporarily in the care of Niamh to follow up on a magical lead involving some of her arcane research. As they weren’t needed outside of Vigil’s Keep for anything, Bethany also got to watch over him as well, and as she did, she brought up a question that she had long been curious over.

"You said you started the ritual with Morrigan when you were already a Warden, weren't you? I thought Wardens became barren after the Joining though?"

"Hm. That's the assumption, yes," Niamh said as she idly waved a stuffed griffon over Kieran, delighting the baby instantly as they laid on the floor together. "I’d been a Warden for a little over a year at that point. Perhaps it was still soon enough that infertility hadn’t affected me yet, or the spell did something to compensate for it."

Bethany just nodded as she looked over at the two of them. "I see bits of you in him."

"Do you?"

"Yes," she admitted easily enough. "There's his sweet nature, the way he seems far too clever for his own good at times, and how his eyes light up whenever he smiles or laughs."

Niamh chuckled, flattered over the assessment. "Morrigan and I are always arguing about it. I see more of her than me in him, but then she retorts that he’s retained my love of sweets and just about every known creature in existence." Her smile widened when tiny, grasping hands finally succeeded in pulling down the stuffed griffon in her hands, and Kieran wasted little time in snuggling the toy to his chest with a pleased hum.

"Do you regret not being able to see him whenever you wish?"

"Sometimes," Niamh answered, "but Morrigan’s mother…" She trailed off with a frown even as she ran a hand affectionately through her son’s hair. "She’s powerful, and she’s hurt her before. I can understand her caution. I’m willing to go years at a time without seeing them if it means they’re safe."

---

Morrigan eventually returns, and she takes Kieran with her to hide and do magical stuff as Empress Celene’s Arcane Advisor in Orlais as per canon.

Several months pass.

Although Niamh had professed to understanding the need for her little family’s relocation, the distance means that visits from them are now few and far in between. Bethany can see how much the other woman misses them and how she worries about their safety. She often catches Niamh distractedly playing with the ring on her necklace, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

As if anticipating that, Morrigan does send letters to Niamh every now and then, and Niamh’s entire expression lights up every time she receives them, learning how the other woman and Kieran are fairing in Orlais along with how their son continues to grow by leaps and bounds.

She cannot fault the happiness Niamh has found with Morrigan, but it also serves as a constant reminder of what life will never offer to Bethany.

Eventually, it gets to a point where Bethany grows resentful of their relationship because her own feelings for Niamh are just so strong by then. It causes her to lash out at Niamh one night in camp, angry with how calm and positive she always is despite knowing they all have a death sentence over their heads.

---

"What world do you live in that you see it through such an idyllic lens?! You can wax poetic about this life all you like! I never asked for this! I never asked for the darkspawn to steal what little I had from life only to be made the gatekeeper against the very things I despise most in this world!"

And Niamh was quiet for the longest time, having stopped mid-sentence over Bethany's sudden tirade. As the silence continued to drift over their camp, so too does a veil of sudden cold air, and Bethany realized far too late that she’d crossed a line with the other woman.

"No one does, really," Niamh admitted at last, the warmth gone from her voice. "Save for Saoirse and my brother, I lost most of my family, but the terrible thing was that it wasn’t even darkspawn that killed them or even the Blight. It was just one man’s petty greed for what he felt was owed to him. He pretended to be my family’s ally for decades, and under the cover of night, he used his men to slaughter nearly the entirety of my bloodline. My parents, my sister-in-law, my nephew… He was only eight when it happened, you see. Oren wanted to a warrior like my siblings. He was trying to defend his mother with one of those wooden swords young boys tend to play with, but against the likes of Howe’s men...” She clenched her jaw. “They gutted him just like everyone else."

Another pause stifled the air between them even as Bethany stared at Niamh, horrified.

"Darkspawn are terrible, yes, but they’re not always as terrible as people," Niamh said, eyes narrowing as she looked into the fire. "We can be so far worse. If I'm at all patient, it's because I try to be kind in a world that offers so little of it. I want to believe it can be better than it was before. I want this to be a better place for our people, but I also want to ensure that tragedies like that never happen again. That the people caught in the middle—victims of simple circumstance—don’t have so suffer. If it means I must be a Grey Warden in addition to a mage, then I accept it. To do otherwise damns them as much as me."

With that, Niamh then gracefully rose to her feet and headed back to her own tent, leaving Bethany alone at the campfire.

The rest of their journey back to Vigil’s Keep passed without much conversation between them despite Bethany’s attempts. Niamh only said enough to give a suitable answer, but she never offered anything more beyond it. A vault door had seemed to close behind the cool grey of the eyes that had long enraptured her, offering little warmth. It was clear Bethany was no longer privy to the other woman’s innermost thoughts and feelings

Niamh wasn’t petty, however.

She still hunted when necessary so they didn’t starve, and as was long part of their agreement together, Bethany continued to cook whatever game she caught. Other than that, however, Niamh offered no friendly greetings in the morning when they woke or any words that allowed her to wander off peacefully into the Fade as she slept.

Bethany didn’t realize just how much she’d miss them.

---

When they finally return to Vigil's Keep, Saoirse is confused by how quiet and despondent her sister seems to be. Given how amiable Niamh normally is, she has a right to be concerned.

She pulls Bethany aside one night to ask what happened since they normally get along so well, but Bethany and Niamh haven't even spoken a word to one another since their return.

Bethany ruefully explains the situation, but she doesn't reveal the actual reason why she lashed out to begin with. As such, Saoirse just assumes it was just the usual stress of being a Grey Warden.

---

"Ah. It happens to the best of us, really. Here." Saoirse handed Bethany a tin box. Something Orlesian, according to the script on it. "Leliana’s currently away on business in Val Royeaux, but she sends care packages out to me whenever she can. This one's for Niamh though. It's tea," she explained with a laugh. "She loves this stuff more than anyone else I know."

Bethany still felt badly over the situation however.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Oh, Niamh’s too well-mannered to outright ignore someone,” Saoirse insisted with a brief snort. “If anything, she becomes more… Well. ‘Distantly-polite’ as my wife would describe it. Besides, I have it on good authority that she never turns down a good cup of tea.” A lazy, conspiratorial grin played on her lips then. “Especially if there’s a spoonful or two of honey in it.”

That eventually culminated in Bethany making tea for Niamh that evening, who had been locked away in her office as of late. Bethany was still nervous despite receiving permission to enter the room, allowing her to face the woman who she hadn’t seen in nearly a fortnight. Concern grew within her when she saw the shadows beneath Niamh’s eyes—a familiar indication that she had been working far too hard. She watched as Niamh struggled to blink the exhaustion from her eyes as she regarded her, but she otherwise said nothing, simply waiting to hear what Bethany required of her.

“I’m sorry," Bethany said at last, contrition clear in her voice. "This isn’t the life I would have wanted for myself, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when you were merely trying to help.” She held out the still-steaming mug of tea in her hands—the very thing Saoirse had convinced her would make for a suitable peace offering. “Here,” she offered with a tentative smile. “If you’re going to be working through the night again, you should at least drink something.”

For a time, Bethany believed the other woman was just going to remain silent. It would have been well-deserved given how terribly she behaved the other week, but then Niamh reached out to gently take the mug from her.

"Thank you," she said at last, the ice slowly melting behind those wintry eyes, and as they did, Bethany could feel the vice around her heart gradually unhinge itself in relief.

---

Things pretty much go back to normal between them.

Niamh and Bethany are back on the road again, especially after several reports of wandering darkspawn near the outskirts of a town.

As expected, however, Bethany's longing toward Niamh is still there—constant as an evening star. Even with the taint of death coursing through them, Niamh’s aura emanates with so much life—like a forest in winter, cool and refreshing with the scent of pine buried beneath its depths, waiting to burst into spring’s lively greenery with just the barest spark of magic.

It fascinates her.

She often wonders if such single-minded focus is a side effect of the Joining other than the enhanced physical strength and the ability to sense darkspawn. She feels a hunger that is never sated, a thirst that is never parched, and also…

Amber eyes wander over to where Niamh is disrobing to bathe in the nearby river, and she catches sight of the elegant play of muscles along her back before she studiously turns her gaze away. She feels the way her face burns even as she feels something else stir in her veins.

---

While still traveling, they get attacked by some hapless bandits, and while the two women aren't hurt, they manage to lose one of their tents to a stray grenade.

They end up sleeping in the remaining tent together, but it’s small, and they huddle together inside it for warmth against the pouring rain outside.

Bethany is surprised when she unexpectedly wakes up in Niamh’s arms—one is around her waist, and the other is curled behind her shoulders—which pull her closer in sleep. Sometimes she’s amazed at just how warm the other woman is, and although she knows she should pull away to avoid any awkward conversations in the morning, she can’t bring herself to do so. This is probably as close as she’ll ever get to the intimacy she desires with Niamh, and while the moment won’t last forever, it’ll be one more memory she can cherish—something no one else can ever steal from her.

Idly, Bethany listens to the rain outside—now a gentle pattering instead of the rage of a growing storm—falling against the material of the tent, and the sound is so rhythmic that she begins to doze off again.

---

Sometime after that, they receive a letter from Stroud, who requests their assistance with a matter out in the Free Marches. Saoirse stays behind to oversee things at Vigil’s Keep, which leaves Niamh and Bethany to travel across the Waking Sea with Nathaniel as additional support.

They arrive in Kirkwall several days before the qunari invasion begins in full, but not long after they do, Nathaniel’s reconnaissance around the city reveals something terrible:

Bethany’s mother was murdered.

Bethany is understandably upset, but Niamh and Nathaniel do their best to comfort her. They end up holding a small wake in honor of Leandra.

By the time they manage to rendezvous with Stroud, the qunari invasion has already begun, and they’re caught in the middle of it, leading to the Wardens running into Emrys Hawke and her companions.

Emrys obviously wants to talk to her little sister, but Bethany is resistant to the idea since her emotions are still riding high with the news of their mother’s death and the ever-present resentment regarding how she was made into a Warden without her say so on the matter.

Niamh recognizes Bethany’s tension and politely tells Emrys to leave the matter be for the time being. There is little point in having a conversation if one half of the party isn’t ready to have it after all.

Running on adrenaline, the warrior objects and tries to push her out of the way, but Bethany retaliates immediately on Niamh’s behalf. She presses her hand against her sister's chestplate and essentially shoves her back several steps, momentarily forgetting her Warden strength. Both Hawkes seem surprised by the ease in which she can do that.

---

“Bethany?” Emrys uttered in confusion, especially as her sister outright glared at her.

"You do not accost Warden-Constable Cousland that way!"

“Wait… ‘Cousland?’” Emrys looked over to the woman in question, taking in the obvious staff situated across her back. A wolf’s head ornament adorned the top of the weapon in exquisitely-sculpted silverite, and her eyes slowly widened in realization, remembering tales of the mage who could bend the very heavens to her whims. “Wait, you’re the Storm Wolf of Ferelden? Sister to the Hero of Ferelden?”

The woman merely gave a long-suffering sigh in response. “I suppose I was being too optimistic in assuming Leliana’s tales would’ve lost their weight this far past Ferelden’s borders…”

---

Despite the chaos ravaging itself across Kirkwall, the Wardens can’t stay to help. As such, they’re not there to see the end of the invasion. It isn’t until Bethany returns to Ferelden with the others that she receives a letter from Varric, saying that Emrys nearly died in her duel against the Arishok.

While Varric takes the time to mention that Emrys is recovering, and that her bravery led to her becoming Kirkwall’s Champion, the idea that Bethany had nearly lost the very last member of her family is so shocking that she's left inconsolable one night.

---

"I was such an absolute wretch to her before we left, and she nearly died afterward!” she wept when Niamh came to check on her in her room. “She’ll never forgive me!"

The other woman’s eyes are sympathetic as she held her in her arms. "Don’t be so sure."

"How can you say that?" Bethany demanded as she looked up at her, eyes red and swollen with grief.

"I’ve seen the way you talk about her, Bethany. The memories stir up more than just hurt within you,” she explained. “They light your eyes up with joy in remembrance of them. I’m sure she misses you and wishes things had gone differently. She wouldn’t have bothered sending all these letters to you otherwise over the years.

"My siblings did the same when I was still in Kinloch Hold, where I often wondered if my family had forgotten all about me. There were times I feared my being a mage would have meant their love for me would have gone away, but it didn’t. I received letters from them all the time—sometimes over the most asinine things like Saoirse’s warhound tossing bits of her armor into the pig pen." Niamh rolled her eyes, but Bethany could see the fondness in her gaze before they refocused on her.

"Your sister has asked for nothing in return even in the times where you never sent word back. I won’t tell you how to resolve this. You were right in saying that no one truly asks for this life, but I believe she only had the best of intentions when she entrusted your safety to Stroud. Trust in that if nothing else, and if you still find the matter wanting, tell her so." Something sad and brittle lingered on the smile she shared with her. "The what-ifs hurt more than the reality of things at times. No one deserves that."

---

Niamh helps to cheer Bethany up over the course of several weeks.

They’re off in a nearby town, investigating more sightings of darkspawn, and Niamh goes downstairs to pay the innkeeper for breakfast while Bethany packs up some of her belongings to continue their journey. When she reaches for her staff, she blinks, startled to find an ice flower blossoming on the end of it. She stares in surprise at the door the other woman had left through because there’s no way someone else could have done this.

It's almost like something out of a scene from one of those romantic tales Leliana used to tell her back in Lothering. She had thought them nonsense at first—that surely no one actually did such sweet things in real life—but now…

Bethany gently brushes her fingers over the beautifully-conjured petals and leaves, feeling the cool aura radiating from them.

Now she’s not so sure.

---

During their travels, they’re ambushed by darkspawn, and in the middle of the fighting, the ground manages to crumble beneath both women’s feet. The fall is long and painful as they slide down an old mine shaft, and soon they find themselves down in the Deep Roads. Unfortunately, it's an area they haven't charted yet, so they have no idea where they even are.

They have rations from the last time Niamh hunted and smoked some game, but they know it won't last forever. They can feel the press of darkspawn everywhere against their senses, and it's difficult to get any real bearing down in the tunnels because of it. The ambushes are sporadic throughout the days as they try to find their way back to the surface. They have taken to sleeping in brief shifts so they’re not caught unaware.

One fight lags on long enough that they have to retreat, but their enemies lead them right into the lair of a broodmother.

Bethany has never seen something so hideous in all her life, but when she turns briefly to Niamh, she’s disquieted to find the other woman looks more terrified than she's ever seen her. She barely has time to think over that before the darkspawn attack them again, but now they have the broodmother and her various tentacles to dodge as well.

The fight rages on for quite awhile, long enough that Bethany voices the thought they might never see Vigil's Keep again.

---

“No.”

"Niamh—"

"No!" she repeated firmly, glaring as she lashed out with an arm, incinerating an advancing line of darkspawn to their right. "I am getting you out of here! I swear it!"

You.

Not us.

What are you planning, Niamh? Bethany couldn't help but think worriedly.

Then she felt the sudden rush of magic—causing Bethany to almost stumble in place at the overwhelming sensation—as Niamh’s aura manifested itself more tangibly in an array of colors. Blinding arcs of lightning and lines of roaring flames raced across her form, and Bethany could see her own breath forming in rapid, exhausted puffs as the temperature inside the entire cavern seemed to drop even as the stone walls rattled ominously from the breadth of absolute magic being conjured.

The power of it was soon unleashed as Niamh slammed her staff end into the ground, allowing countless rays of energy to simply explode from her body. They radiated out like spectral hands of vengeance, and the cries of the darkspawn were nearly drowned out entirely as utter destruction rained down upon them. Each blast hit like deafening peals of thunder, and the echoes of them spanned for several long heartbeats, leaving Bethany’s ears ringing even after everything eventually fell silent.

As the dust and debris finally settled from the turbulent winds, she could see the other mage leaning heavily upon her staff, utterly exhausted. Each breath she took seemed to be a laborious effort, but Bethany watched as those eyes remained keenly alert to their surroundings, waiting to see if any of the darkspawn she had laid waste to would try and attack them again. They both tensed upon hearing the low, wailing groan of pain, and they looked to the far side of the cavern to see the broodmother still alive—albeit barely.

While already repulsive, it was now a macabre mass of flesh, bleeding sluggishly from the wounds inflicted by Niamh’s attack. Bloated skin bore severe burn marks, and entire chunks of flesh were missing. One of the broodmother’s arms had been severed completely, but the heat from one of the elemental attacks had unintentionally cauterized the fat stump even if Bethany grimaced upon seeing the pink-tinged bone that still protruded from it. The broodmother’s entire form seemed to slump back with what they assumed was her final breath, but then the sudden sound of earth breaking behind them alerted them far too late to a final danger.

Bethany turned her head just in time to see a lashing tentacle sprout from the ground, and her mind barely registered the sight of it before she heard the frantic call of her name along with warm hands pressing against her side.

"Bethany!"

As if time had slowed itself, she watched in horror as Niamh pushed her out of the tentacle’s swooping path, but in doing so, the other woman took the brunt of the attack entirely. Niamh was sent flying into one of the naturally-formed pillars of the cavern, impacting it hard enough that it broke at its center, raining rubble down upon the mage resting eerily still at its base until she was buried beneath it.

Bethany’s eyes remained fixed on the sight even as she shakily rose to her hands and knees. An overwhelming sense of disbelief overtook when her longtime partner didn't emerge at all out of the stone pile. In fact, there's a terrifying lack of anything in that direction.

Nothing of the taint in Niamh's blood.

No sound.

No magic.

Just... nothing.

Distantly, she could hear the half-dying moans of the broodmother somewhere beyond her peripheral vision. Although Bethany was all too aware of how dangerous her current situation still was, all she could feel was a staggering rush of absolute rage building inside her. It seemed to grow with every beat of her heart until she could hear it pounding inside her ears—a drumming sound of accusation over the fact that she had been powerless to help someone dear to her yet again.

It was her anger that gave birth to the sudden burst of power—whether a second wind or simply a dying gasp, she didn’t immediately know—but Bethany whirled to face the grotesque beast, magic already gathering within her hands. With an infuriated cry, she pressed her palms out, and she felt the immense displacement of air around her immediately as she summoned enough force magic to take up almost the entire space of the cavern. The pressure of it proved too much against the broodmother, and Bethany watched impassively as its enormous body was flung toward the far wall with enough violence that it was reduced to a grisly splatter of darkened blood, pulverized bone, and putrid meat.

With its death, Bethany felt the presence of darkspawn waiting beyond the cavern retreat even further, as if afraid of tempting her fury. Safe from any immediate threats, however, she wasted little time in rushing over to where she last saw Niamh. She used her hands and magic to try and dig her out beneath the rubble, but when she found her, fear took hold of her immediately when she realized the other woman wasn’t breathing anymore. Desperately, Bethany tried to use her healing magic in an attempt revive her, but to her utter dismay, the chest beneath her hands remained impossibly still.

“Oh, no…” she breathed. “No. No! You can’t be dead! Niamh, get up!”

But her cry fell on deaf ears.

Despite her best efforts, no matter how much healing she tried to force through the other woman’s veins, Niamh didn’t respond. As each minute continued to pass by in silence, Bethany began to wonder what she’d have to tell Morrigan if she ever made it back to the surface, let alone the little boy with Niamh’s kind smile. It would be such a terrible thing, she knew, informing them the woman they loved died trying to save her.

Just like everyone that ever entered her life.

Leaving before she even got the chance to give her goodbyes.

Bethany withdrew her healing magic and began conjuring lightning beneath her hands instead—the same way Niamh had taught her once upon a time—desperate for anything that could attempt to shock some life back into the other woman. Niamh’s body jolted with each burst of power, head lolling about along the dirt, but she still remained impossibly beyond Bethany’s reach—perhaps now wandering past the Fade and into the Maker’s embrace.

At the thought, her anguish soon gave way to anger.

“Damn you, you selfish wretch!” she shouted as she pressed her hand over the woman’s sternum with another pulse of electricity. “I never asked you to try and save my life! You don’t get to do this to me! You don’t get to just leave me here when I never had to chance to tell you everything! Not when you don’t even know I love y—”

Just as she went to jolt the other woman again, Bethany felt a hand firmly wrapping itself around her wrist.

Shocked, she looked up toward Niamh's face, especially as she heard a very weak cough. The other mage hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she saw how the still blue-tinged lips began to move—too soft for her to hear anything. Bethany lowered her head to listen more closely and soon heard a quiet question.

"...are you alright?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and fresh tears began to fill Bethany's eyes again in spite of herself.

Even after everything they had both suffered through, Niamh's first concern had still been solely for her.

With a shaky breath, she carefully curled herself up against Niamh’s form, crying silently even as she rested her hand against the other woman's stomach to continue and apply weak, healing magic.

That was how the other Wardens found them later.

"There they are."

Bethany didn’t pick her head up off the floor, but there was little mistaking Morrigan's distinct voice. Saoirse’s own followed soon after.

"I owe you my thanks for this, Morrigan."

“Thank your sister; I would not have been able to find her were she still not wearing the ring I gave her years ago.”

A weary chuckled greeted the mage’s words. “Ever the sentimental woman, my little sister…”

The sound of heavy footsteps treading closer caused Bethany to look up, and she could see Saoirse kneeling down next to them. The warrior’s face was worn with stress, but there was nothing but relief in her eyes as she saw them both together. "It appears I owe you my thanks as well, Bethany." She jerked her head up then, shouting out an order. "Get a litter for them now!"

"But I'm not nearly as injured," Bethany protested, drawing her hand away from Niamh’s body self-consciously, especially when Morrigan appeared and began to take over healing and stabilizing the woman’s condition with fresh magic.

"No," Saoirse admitted even as her lips lifted up into a tired smile. "But you and I both know what a terrible patient my sister is. I’ll be depending on you to make sure she behaves herself if she wakes up during our trek back to Vigil’s Keep.” She gently clapped a hand over Bethany’s shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you a debt.”

“Warden-Commander—”

“No. Niamh and I have lost enough in our lives. It would have hurt me to lose her as well.”

---

Niamh remains unconscious for several days as she recovers back at Vigil's Keep.

Bethany and Morrigan basically take turns looking after her.

Despite the other woman’s position as a member of Orlais’ Imperial Court, it seemed Morrigan returned to Ferelden after receiving a frantic letter from Saoirse, saying that Niamh and Bethany had been missing for several days following a routine mission.

As mentioned in the previous section, Morrigan gave Niamh a ring, which would allow her to find her were she ever in danger. It proved especially useful when Niamh and the other Wardens were imprisoned in Fort Drakon, where Saoirse essentially put her foot in her mouth and ruined their attempt to sneak Queen Anora out of the estate she had been held captive in.

I believe the ring is only canonically available if a player is in a romance with Morrigan. However, I’m headcanoning that because she held Niamh in such high esteem, she gave it to her anyway.

Kieran is also present at Vigil’s Keep because there’s no way Morrigan was leaving him behind in Orlais. He’s about five years old at this point, and he’s grown to inherit both his mothers’ looks. A crown of dark, loose curls sits atop his head much like Niamh’s, and he even fashions a forelock like hers, which hangs in front of his right eye. His gaze is a piercing shade of gold reminiscent to Morrigan’s own. As a possessor of an Old God Soul, he’s also begun to speak cryptically at times, which is understandably jarring to those around him.

Bethany happens upon one such conversation by accident, and she immediately pauses in the doorway when she sees Morrigan and Kieran standing at Niamh’s bedside.

“Sire was caught within the paths of the Fade, Mother. She heard the voices of old ghosts calling to her, but she didn’t follow them.”

Morrigan indulgently runs a hand through her son’s hair. “Indeed; she did not.”

“She missed them though, but she still returned to us.”

“Of course. Why would she desire an eternity without you?” she asked with a fond smile, causing Kieran to giggle.

“That’s not why, Mother! Not completely.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She would have missed the Sunshine too much. She’s been following her warmth for years. It would have hurt her to be without it.”

Kieran’s words pull at Bethany oddly, but she soon pushes them out of her mind and quietly walks away, feeling too much like an intruder upon the small family.

Thankfully, Niamh regains consciousness not long afterward, and everyone is understandably relieved by this news.

As per usual, however, Niamh proves herself to be an exceedingly stubborn patient, but perhaps wanting to set a better example for Kieran after her near-death experience, she remains in bed for the duration of her recovery. The other woman doesn’t seem to mind too much, especially given that her son continues to keep her company, telling her of the various odd things he’s seen around Orlais and the even odder people.

After several weeks under Morrigan’s watchful eye, the witch begrudgingly says that Niamh's okay to begin light duty around the Keep, relieving the other mage immensely. She goes out herb-gathering, an excuse just to get out of the fortress, and Bethany volunteers to go with her.

Things are quiet between them for a time as they begin picking up elfroot to place in the shared basket between them. Their conversations as of late haven't been of anything too substantial. A good thing, Bethany thinks, considering her feelings for her and how close she’d been to revealing them. Soon, however, they're caught in the middle of a light rain shower, and Bethany says they should head back. She begins to lead their way out of the forest when Niamh’s words stop her in her tracks.

---

"I was waiting for you to say it again, you know."

Bethany looked over her shoulder in surprise to still see Niamh standing in the middle of the clearing, her gaze expectant. “What?” she asked nervously.

"When I nearly died, I heard you say something… significant to me,” she revealed, causing Bethany’s heart to pound as she stared at her in disbelief. “However, when I recovered and you never repeated those words again, I thought it might have been little more than a fever dream of mine." Niamh's smile turned sad then when Bethany said nothing else to her words. "Perhaps it was after all... I’m sorry. I’ve made this rather awkward then, haven’t I?” She took a few steps closer, reaching toward the basket of herbs Bethany still held in her hands. “Here, let me—”

But Bethany just let it drop to the ground before she reached out to grab the collar of Niamh’s cloak. The other woman seemed taken aback, but before she can even begin voicing a question, Bethany pulled her forward to kiss her desperately in the rain, swallowing her gasp of surprise.

As far as first kisses went, it was a touch awkward as their teeth clicked together, lips mashed between them. Bethany felt a moment of panic as Niamh pulled back, but before the urge to run away in mortification could overtake her, a warm palm pressed itself against the back of her neck, keeping her in place. There was the brush of knuckles as they ran along her jaw, and Bethany was just able to catch the silver of Niamh’s eyes before all thought fled from her mind upon feeling the soft press of the other woman’s mouth on hers.

Bethany followed into the easy guidance being offered, and they both soon settled into a comfortable rhythm that sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. She felt light-headed with giddy delight, and her hands reached out to hold onto Niamh’s hips, helping to ground herself there, as their kiss continued. There was a soft sound as Niamh sighed contentedly into her mouth, as if she had been waiting just as long for this moment between them.

The thought seemed almost too impossible to comprehend, especially when she knew Niamh was committed to someone else. As such, Bethany pulled away first despite the sound of protest it caused. Despite her resolve, Bethany was reluctant to pull away from Niamh entirely, so she settled for gently leaning her forehead against the other mage as they panted quietly in the rain.

"I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly, practically speaking the words against Niamh’s lips. "It wasn't my intention to interfere with your relationship with Morrigan."

As close as they were, there was little mistaking the clear confusion in the eyes across from hers. "'With Morrigan?'" Niamh repeated. "What does she have anything to do with us?"

"But… I thought—” Her brows drew together in consternation. “Aren’t you both together?"

"What? No," Niamh answered, almost amused by the idea. "When we laid together for the ritual, it was an agreement of mutual benefit meant only for that night. She's not—Well." An exhale of breath escaped her in the form of laughter. "Morrigan's admitted she's not interested in women—or anyone, really—in quite that way, but none of the male Wardens with us at the time dared to lay with her even if it meant sparing us all from death. She trusted me, and I her. I consider Morrigan one of my dearest friends, and we share Kieran together as a result of that night, yes, but we are certainly not bound together as others seem to believe."

And Niamh’s answer suddenly changed everything.

What Bethany had been feeling, what was now possible between her and Niamh...

She couldn’t help but smile as she finally realized she could have a bit of the happiness she’d always wanted for herself.

---

So everyone knows that they’re a couple after that.

Niamh becomes more overt in the romantic things she does for her—the very same things Bethany had thought were the woman simply being thoughtful. She finds out that Niamh had apparently been interested in her for awhile and had actually been ready to confess her feelings a few years ago, but their first argument, where Bethany had accused her of being too idealistic, had stemmed the thought immediately.

Niamh had been understandably heartbroken by the words, which was why she’d had been so despondent for weeks following the incident, believing Bethany had no romantic interest in her whatsoever. The apology in her office later had restored their friendship, and while Niamh had been disappointed it likely would never evolve into anything more beyond that, she was still determined to be a good friend to her if nothing else.

Bethany’s completely exasperated at the idea that they could have been together long before now, but she realizes it was likely better this way.

She had needed time to get over her anger and resentment regarding her life as a Warden.

She needed time to get past her guilt and the complicated thoughts regarding herself and her faith.

And she needed time to grow into herself and discover who she was as a person.

She’s grateful that Niamh’s been so kind and patient over the years, and Bethany finds great joy in the new facet of their relationship together.

They’ve kissed and been involved in heavy makeout sessions around Vigil’s Keep—much to the exasperation of their colleagues—but barring the incident that led to Kieran’s conception, Niamh’s been celibate for years, and canonical dialogue in DA2 reveals that Bethany’s pretty much a virgin. As such, she’s understandably very shy and nervous about the whole thing. However, she knew every part of her would be in good hands with Niamh when they finally reached that point.

Their first time together takes place several months after their first kiss, where Niamh tries her utmost to make it a memorable thing for them. She takes Bethany to a grove they frequent together outside of Vigil’s Keep for a midnight picnic. The moon is full, and the skies are clear, revealing an endless sea of stars. Little fireflies dance over the surface of the lake while they sit on the grass along its shore.

It’s a casual reminder that for all their hardship, life goes on and finds a way through a magic all of its own.

They stargaze for and handfeed each other little bits of food in between kisses, but soon things start getting a little more heated. Niamh gently tugs Bethany onto her lap, who follows willingly, settling her knees on either side of the woman’s hips. Bethany takes some initiative of her own, pushing at Niamh’s chest slowly until she lowers herself against the grass, and then…

---

Bethany’s breath caught in her throat upon seeing Niamh’s features haloed by the soft glow of the little fireflies. Normally pale eyes had darkened at their edges with both pleasure and interest as she regarded her, leaving Bethany flushed, especially as she realized she doesn’t quite know what to do from there on out.

Perhaps having sensed that, Niamh reached up to gently run a thumb along the corner of her mouth, and Bethany barely resisted the urge to press her lips against the pad in a kiss as slim fingers then went to cup her cheek gently.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Niamh reassured as she brushed a few strands of Bethany’s hair behind an ear. “I quite like kissing you.”

But Bethany did want to.

She knew Niamh had more experience with sexual intimacy, and she worried she couldn’t be able to compare against the woman’s past paramours. There was no expectation in those starlit eyes however. Niamh was as relaxed as she had been when they first started, and Bethany knew she would have been more than content to lay with her beneath the stars if that was all she desired. She was always considerate with her feelings, never pressing her to do more than she was ready.

Thus, Bethany knew Niamh would be patient with her during their first time together.

“If I asked, would you show me what to do?” she whispered tentatively, and she watched as the corners of those lips turned up into soft smile.

“Always,” Niamh answered, gently tugging Bethany’s hand toward the buckle holding the front of her leather and steel-riveted brigandine closed. “Here. Help me out of this first please.”

From there, Bethany quickly realized it all wasn’t quite as simple as the tawdry novels Isabela used to loan her made it out to be. Nothing really prepared for the warmth of the flesh beneath her fingertips as she gradually disrobed her lover of the layers that made up their Warden regalia. Fortune favored the bold, she knew, and she experimented by pressing kisses against skin as more was revealed to her. She smiled against Niamh’s sternum—pleased—when she heard the exceedingly rare quiver in her voice.

As promised, however, the other woman continued to give suggestions on what types of touches would best give pleasure, but she also allowed Bethany to set the pace of whatever she felt most comfortable with. With each encouraging whisper against her ear, each caress and rock of her hand became more confident. When Niamh shuddered beneath her for the first time—the barest hint of magic curling against her own—as she reached her peak, Bethany was convinced that she had never felt more triumphant.

And she didn’t think she had ever felt so unfettered when Niamh later returned the favor by kissing a line of fire down her bare body. Those mist-grey eyes never left her own gaze though. Bethany had long known how attentive the other mage could be. As their lead tactician, there was always a studious quality in how she approached anything set before her.

Feeling the full magnitude of that attention focused solely upon her, however, was another matter entirely. Niamh stared at her as if she had hung the very moon and the infinite tapestry of stars into the night sky. It was like she was her very reason for drawing breath, and the thought of that brought forth a stunning wash of emotions over her as she saw the clear reverence in those eyes—so much so that she couldn’t help the tears beading themselves across her lashes nor her soft, surprised exhale of laughter when Niamh leaned up to gently kiss them away.

It was only when she assured her lover that she was ready to continue that Niamh returned to her exploration. The woman was committed to learning every part of her, gauging every physical response—the touches that made her moan breathlessly or sigh in contentment with the press of lips against her skin—before reacting accordingly. She felt that dedication most vividly as a warm mouth settled between her thighs and began working itself thoroughly there.

Bethany couldn’t help but break eye contact with Niamh as she threw her head back against the cool grass, lost to the new but pleasant sensations coursing their way through her body. Her hips seemed to move of their own volition, especially as the almost overwhelming heat of a tongue pressed itself flat and lapped languidly at her.

After a time, it felt like she was freefalling, and she blindly reached out toward Niamh. One hand sank itself easily into the tousled waves of raven-black hair, but with the other, Bethany found slim fingers gently intertwining themselves with her own. There was strength and reassurance within the warmth of that grasp—a steady tether to ground her—even as Niamh continued with her ministrations, quickly unraveling the foundations of her world.

Were you the answer this entire time?

Were you the one whom my heart was always waiting for?

Bethany found her answer just as her climax crested over her.

---

The next scene takes place several months after Niamh’s and Bethany’s first time together but just before the Kirkwall Rebellion.

Niamh heads over to Amaranthine to see her aunt, Eithne Mac Eanraig, since she's the Arlessa there.

Now, here’s where I’m veering off from canon.

Per the events of Awakening, the Warden ends up becoming the Warden-Commander, and for their services during the Fifth Blight, Vigil’s Keep along with the entire arling of Amaranthine was given to the Grey Wardens. The fortress and the territory originally belonged to the Howes, but after Rendon Howe’s betrayal, all titles and properties were stripped away from them. As such, the Warden-Commander would also become the Arl or Arlessa of Amaranthine.

Per my headcanon though, Saoirse felt that she couldn’t tend to both her duties as a Warden while also ruling over the arling. Thus, she suggests to King Alistair to let her aunt oversee it instead.

While Eithne is technically my own creation, it was canonical that Eleanor had three siblings prior to marrying Bryce Cousland. All the children of Bann Fearcher Mac Eanraig—also known as the Storm Giant—were exceedingly skilled raiders although Eleanor was the most infamous of them. Still, I headcanon that Eithne’s own prowess allowed her to take over as head of the family and their impressive fleet after her father’s death sometime before the events of DAO.

I also headcanon that the Mac Eanraigs and their fleet proved instrumental during the Fifth Blight, allowing desperately-needed supplies to travel to the country without fear of them being intercepted by pirates. When the reconstruction of Ferelden began in full following the defeat of the Archdemon, Eithne opted to expand the services of her family’s fleet, offering to escort any incoming and also outgoing cargo ships. This allowed trade to flourish in Ferelden since the threat of piracy was reduced greatly against the might of the former raiding family and their respective crews. With goods being consistently transported and received, it led to the otherwise pricey import and export tariffs being lowered significantly.

It expanded the influence of the Mac Eanraigs considerably to say the least, and while they were of minor nobility compared to the Couslands, the family was already well-respected for their long connection to the Storm Coast and their role in the Fereldan Rebellion as well as the Fifth Blight.

As such, no objection was given by Ferelden’s Bannorn when the Mac Eanraigs were consequently raised further in nobility by the decree of King Alistair and Queen Anora, allowing Eithne to officially be named Arlessa to the city of Amaranthine.

---

"Aunt Eithne," Niamh began, walking into her office, "may I have access to the castle's forge?"

The older woman was sat behind her desk, looking through various reports when she glanced up at her. Kind, weathered features warmed instantly. "Ah, there's my wee Storm Pup," she said as she rose to her feet to meet her. "You know you’re welcome to anything within the castle, lass. I take it that blacksmith of yours is being stubborn at Vigil’s Keep again?"

As per usual, Niamh found herself looking up at her aunt as she rounded the edge of her desk. While her late mother Eleanor had been roughly her own size, the Mac Eanraigs as a whole towered over most people with their intimidating height and broad-shouldered frames—traits that Fergus and also Saoirse inherited as they grew into adulthood. In her youth, Niamh remembered that her Aunt Eithne had also possessed her mother’s pale blonde hair, but it had since turned silver with age and was now kept in a neat braid that dangled in front of her right shoulder. She imagined that Saoirse would likely resemble their aunt greatly in looks over the next few decades.

…provided they find a cure against the Calling first, of course.

Morrigan’s arcane research had turned up several possibilities, but the latest one she’d found seemed especially promising. Still, Niamh put the thought from her mind momentarily to answer her aunt’s question.

"You and I both know Master Wade won’t allow anyone to go near his forge. He’d pout for weeks on end before we could convince him to resume work again,” she said dryly before shrugging. “Just as well, I suppose. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. What I have in mind is more of a personal project."

Dark grey eyes blinked. "Oh?" she intoned curiously.

"It's... Well." Niamh shifted from foot to foot, a tad nervous to put her thoughts into words. "I'm making matching torcs for Bethany and I, so—oof!"

No sooner after she had stated her purpose did Niamh unexpectedly found herself drawn up into a crushing hug by her aunt, who lifted her clear off her feet with the force of it.

"Haha!" Eithne crowed with delighted laughter as she twirled her about. "Wait until I tell your uncles about this! Why, it’s been ages since we’ve had a wedding in the family!"

"We had one a year ago for Fergus and Olithia," Niamh corrected hoarsely as she tried to wriggle out of her aunt's grip to little avail. Corded muscles built over a lifetime at sea ensured the woman’s strength was nigh unbreakable. "And there was another for Saoirse and Leliana before that."

"Details, wee niece, details," she brushed aside when she placed Niamh back on her feet again, placing large hands over each of her shoulders with a grin. "Honestly, I was half-convinced my ashes would be scattered across the sea before I saw my last niece be married off! Dermot!" she called out loudly beyond the walls of office to her second-in-command, leaving Niamh wincing from the sheer volume of it. "Break out the casks! We’re celebrating tonight!"

Niamh merely sighed, somehow glad that Bethany was currently away from Vigil’s Keep with Nathaniel to tend to a matter out in another seaside province. There was no way she’d be able to surprise her with a proposal otherwise.

---

Bethany didn't know what to really expect when Niamh took her out to their favored grove, but then she was offered a… necklace of some sort. It was thick and sturdy but exquisitely-crafted. It formed an incomplete circle, but there was no clasp holding both ends together. As she took the necklace into her own hands, she found there was a certain pliability to it as she stretched the space between the twin, silverite wolf heads open a bit more.

"I spent weeks getting the details just right," Niamh admitted. "The hardest part was finding the perfect bits of citrine to match your eyes," she added, pointing to the small, gemstone orbs held in the maw of each wolf.

"You made this for me?" Bethany asked, awed.

"Yes. It’s a custom from the maternal side of my family. They’re generally gifted to those of status or individuals who have achieved great deeds. The more bands woven together designate one's importance." Niamh's expression turned somewhat sheepish then. "I don't think it needs to be said that I think highly of you."

Bethany looked at the thick braiding and saw that there were at least five bands wound together in a cord and then welded together.

"I..." Niamh wet her lips briefly, as if caught beneath sudden nervousness. "I realize marriage is usually just a matter of settling titles and heirs, but I believe you know by now that my family tends to eschew commonly-held norms. As such, I would consider it a great honor if you were to become my wife. As for anything official—a wedding for instance—we needn't concern ourselves with it right away. Not if you don't wish to certainly." Silver-colored eyes rolled themselves. "Honestly, my family uses any type of excuse available to throw a celebration. They’ll likely still drink the night away, knowing that I’ve finally settled down with someone."

Bethany couldn’t help but laugh at that. "They were that invested, were they?"

"Before you, they had a tendency to think I was more married to my duty within the Order, and I can’t say that were not wrong in thinking so."

"And that’s changed?"

"Well... I was managing day by day as well as any of our comrades, but I won’t lie in saying that there came a point when you were all I could ever think about in the many moments in between."

It was… quite the confession.

In an instant, all the stories her mother had ever told her of romance paled in comparison to this moment.

"Yes," Bethany said at last, watching as the ghostly-grey eyes across from her widened, but there was little hiding the hope building within their depths.

"Yes?"

"Yes to the—" She stumbled a bit over the word. "—torcs, you said?” Bethany asked in clarification, earning her a nod along with a very relieved sigh. “I don’t want a ceremony.” She bit her lip as she stared down at the thickly-braided necklace. “At least not just yet, but I like the idea of the promise these contain.”

“You would like to have your sister here when the time comes,” Niamh deduced understandingly. “Very well.”

“You can wait?”

A very warm smile burnished beautiful features that she had long fallen in love with so many years ago. “A Chuisle Mo Chroí,” she began, voicing an endearment that never ceased to make her heart flutter, “for you, I would gladly wait a thousand Ages and more.” (Writer’s note: A Chuisle Mo Chroí is phonetically pronounced Ah Khush-lah Muh Kree and means “Pulse of My Heart.”)

The words earned her a heartfelt kiss of gratitude. If Niamh noticed Bethany was trembling, she said nothing of it. In fact, they both had little to say at all as they slowly lowered themselves to the grass and surrendered themselves to the night and the promise of everyday thereafter.

---

The Kirkwall Rebellion still happens in this verse, and because Saoirse's busy butting heads with the higher-ups at Weisshaupt, she sends word to Niamh, asking her to go to Kirkwall to provide Leliana backup if things get bad. Bethany is concerned as well about the well-being of her sister Emrys, and she asks to go with her. Niamh, of course, can't really deny her anything, so they both take the fastest ship across the Waking Sea.

---

"There you are," Bethany declared when she managed to come across her sister and her companions despite the chaos around them. She settled her staff over her back, walking through the tangle of defeated Templars around her to meet them. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I'd almost feared you were dead."

Emrys hadn’t expected Bethany’s presence in the city, but she’s beyond elated to see her. At her words, the warrior merely preened. "As if they'd be able to best me. And, uh, what’s this about 'we?'" Emrys asked, confused. “Did you bring the other Wardens with you?”

“Just one.”

As if attuned to her thoughts, Niamh made her entrance then by Fadestepping through a handful of Templars—who had arrived on scene as backup—freezing them in their tracks. She and Bethany had momentarily split up to try and cover more ground in search of Emrys.

Bethany arched a brow at her sister while gesturing toward her lover with an emphatic wave. "You remember Warden-Constable Cousland, don’t you?"

Emrys had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as she recalled their last meeting, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she regarded Niamh. "Oh. Yes. Uh, about the last time we met—"

But Niamh seemed amused more than anything, waving aside the apology graciously. “Bygones, Champion. No need to worry yourself about the past. My sister’s a warrior as well; I’ve fared worse on the rare occasion."

"In any case, Sister, if you need help, we’ll gladly give it."

“Really?”

“Yes. I…” Bethany swept a bit of hair behind her ear nervously, but as Niamh settled alongside her, offering her wordless support, she continued on. “I wanted to apologize for what happened down in the Deep Roads and for how we parted the last time I was here. You saved my life, but I couldn’t see past my own anger back then. I’m sorry,” she whispered, contrite. “I should have said it long before now. You’re all I have left of our family, so if you need help against the Templars, say the word.”

Emrys looked beyond thrilled at the prospect of having her at her side again. “I’m certainly not going to turn away help now of all times, but…” She shot a look of confusion over toward Niamh. “I thought Wardens weren’t to involve themselves in political matters?"

The other mage merely sighed. “While true, that follows a line of policy that my sister and I strenuously object to, especially given the matter involved here. She and I will deal with the leadership at Weisshaupt later if need be." Slim shoulder shrugged themselves then. "Of course, even if my sister-in-law weren't nearby, Bethany wanted to help, and that was good enough reason for me to be here."

Emrys’ dark brows rose at the claim, and she immediately turned a searching gaze over toward Bethany, who couldn’t help but turn her own away, flushing somewhat.

"Yes… Niamh and I are a bit of a package deal these days."

Unfortunately, the minor shift in movement allowed for something else to be revealed, and Isabela took notice of it immediately as her eyes darted toward the area of her neck just beneath the collar of her uniform.

“Wait… is that a torc?" she asked, brows raising, impressed.

“A what?" Emrys asked, flustered, especially when she saw the matching one that Niamh was also wearing.

“It's a little bit of tradition from my mother’s side of the family,” Niamh explained. “They’re beautifully-crafted pieces of jewelry, but they can be as symbolic as rings, especially in the ceremonial sense."

"'Rings?'" Emrys parroted with a choke. “‘Ceremon—’” The warrior paled instantly as she realized the implication, shakily pressing her hand against a nearby wall to steady herself when she began swaying in place. “Oh, Maker’s breath… I think—I need a moment,” she murmured, and Bethany watched—concerned—when Emrys practically folded in over herself, working to catch a breath. After a time, Emrys’ comically-wide blue eyes turned over to Niamh. “You’re married to my baby sister?"

"Engaged, technically," Niamh answered, blinking owlishly at her reaction. “I proposed to her before we left Ferelden."

---

Annnnd then Saoirse shows up because she got worried about Leliana, and she and Emrys get along like peas in a pod. They’re exceedingly competitive with one another though...

---

“Hah!” Saoirse crowed, grinning smugly at Emrys as she rested the flat of her greatsword along her shoulder. “Is that the best Kirkwall’s Champion can do? I managed to neatly cleave my opponent in half.”

Emrys merely scowled, matching pace with Saoirse as they marched toward The Gallows. “Only because I helped! Besides, that strike wouldn’t have held against him if he had a shield as well!”

“Yes, it would have!”

“Lies!” Emrys scoffed. “It would have been caught halfway through the shield before you would have been able to reach his armor!“

“Not with the proper leverage it wouldn’t have!”

As they argued heatedly about sword techniques, Niamh and Bethany shared a long-suffering glance with one another before moving on ahead of their respective sisters.

“Warriors…”

“Indeed.”

---

Eventually, this all culminates in that huge battle at the end of DA2, where Meredith is defeated. As per canon, it becomes clear that it’s no longer safe for Emrys and her companions to remain within the city without eventually facing possible repercussions from the Chantry. As such, they begin scattering to the winds not long after the end of the rebellion.

---

"You could come with us, you know," Emrys suggested.

Bethany looked over to where her sister stood next to Isabela, ready to board the ship that would take them to Antiva. Emrys’ expression was almost painfully hopeful, but Bethany knew it wasn't meant to be. Although she had resented it once upon a time, she had a duty to the Wardens, and she would not easily abandon it. She said as much to her sister.

"No. Niamh currently seeks a cure that affects the lives of every Warden."

"A cure for the Calling?” she asked, surprised. “Is that even possible?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. She is easily the cleverest person I’ve ever met though. If there is a solution, she will be the most likely one to find it, and I will not stand to be apart from her."

"I see.” Emrys rubbed the back of her neck, shoulders slumping somewhat. “So… this is goodbye again."

It was admittedly a bittersweet feeling, knowing that this had been the first time in years they had seen one another and it would likely be several more yet before they would meet again.

"For now,” she answered quietly. “You have your life, Sister, and now…" She glanced over at Niamh, who was talking to the captain of a ship heading back to lands far to the west—ones that had never been touched by the Blight, according to Morrigan. “I have mine.”

Emrys followed her gaze. “You seem happier."

"I am."

“That’s all I ever wanted for you, you know? Just to know that you were happy.”

“I know that now." Her smile turned more genuine as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around Emrys, hugging her for all she was worth. "I wish the same upon you always. Safe travels to you and Isabela, Sister."

---

And as mentioned in the bullet points up above, they spend several years traveling abroad. Some days are harder than others as they meet their fair share of challenges, but Niamh and Bethany support each endlessly through it all.

They both return to Ferelden several years after the Trepasser DLC when they’ve found a cure for the Calling. With the taint purged from their bodies, they’re guaranteed the long life that would have otherwise been denied to them. As such, Niamh and Bethany finally get married—torcs gleaming bright—as Leliana as Divine Victoria officiates the wedding.

---

And that’s pretty much it.

I have about 20 pages of random scenes I’ve yet to elaborate on for this AU, including one for the huge battle at the end of DA2, so while I don’t see it as being nearly as long as OtSttCA, it’ll likely make for quite the lengthy read when I finally get a chance to work on it properly.

Still, if this verse interests you, leave me a like, a comment, or just swing by my inbox to tell me your thoughts! Until next time, readers! Take care!

#dragon age 2 #bethany hawke #female warden/bethany hawke #female cousland/bethany hawke #fanfic #my writing #OTP: In Search of Silver Linings #lee's au ideas #if bioware's too much of a fucking coward to write any version of Bethany a happy ending then i'll write all of them!#we respect bethany hawke endlessly on this blog!

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crownshattered-moved · 3 years ago

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@ffortiwn inquired: 🎶 for elikira? :3

Ship Playlists!!—Still Accepting!!

|| HERE THEY BE!!!

“As Long As You’re Mine” - This song fits them the MOST in my opinion and that’s why their ship tag is from it~ It’s a duet, plus there are all of these references to magic, and I think it matches their level of deep devotion to each other~

“Hypnotic” - This is very much a Kira ship song XDD the vibe is totally her in a mood LOL

“Bright” - We can’t possibly have a playlist for them without a song about mystical things like stars and the universe!! Plus, it’s SUCH a sweet song~

“Like Morning Follows Night” - This song fits her hunter verse a bit more, but it fits survivor too!! Talking about how she’s always running away and keeps her distance from people, while the male voice assures her that he wants to be with her regardless. Very sweet~!!

“Heavy” - This song is a duet, which I always love XDD Talks about how the world is really rough and hard to manage, but at least they have each other~

“HOLD ME” - Another Kira ship song, this one more about her insecurities that are a result of the things she’s endured.

“Je T’Aime” - This doesn’t OVERWHELMINGLY fit them, but it’s a sweet and soft song that I think would be cute for them~ (even tho kira at least doesn’t even know french LOL)

“Little Talks” - Another song talking about struggling with all of these inner demons but he’s still there for her even as she struggles. Also a duet~

“Redemption” - This is DEFINITELY more Hunter! Kira, but it also kinda fits survivor! Kira. Talking about how she’s been through some really rough shit and is beyond damaged at this point, but for some reason you still think will make things better for me”. Once again, more hunter/coa Kira XDD

“Fall” - ANOTHER song that’s just registered as one of Kira’s ship songs in my mind XDD Very much like HOLD ME, with that whole “I’ve been tricked and lied to, so please be gentle with me” feel~

“Me and My Husband” - Yeah, I think this fits them XDD No matter what happens to them, they have each other, and that’s enough for Kira~

“Better Place” - THIS SONG IS SO SOFT and it’s SO Kira at Eli.... TT^TT She just loves him so much!! And it’s so soft!! Basically, he’s brightened her life and made everything better for her ever since they met~

“Devils Don’t Fly” - Yet another “I’m not a good person and I should isolate myself to protect myself and others, but I love you so much” song~

“Follow You” - This is just SUCH a good ship song~ Basically saying that no matter what, they will be at each others’ sides because of their love!!

“lovely” - Another duet that I think fits them, especially since they’re both trapped in the mansion~ (Sound familiar? I used to have some lyrics be part of my theme, and a few lyrics are still on my google doc!!)

“I Won’t Say (I’m In Love)” - kira has some trust issues XDD I CAN IMAGINE HER DOUBTING HERSELF AND HER LOVE AT FIRST BC OF THE SHIT SHE ENDURED IN THE PAST!!! This mostly fits her COA verse, but it works here too~

“Trade Mistakes” - A song about one person dying or being in danger and wanting to protect the other person~ I think it could fit their normal verse, plus Kira in the KNY one (once they warm up to each other LOL!!)

“Bleeding Out” - hahahahaha this song would hurt so MUCH but you know how often survivors die in the manor~~ XDD

More to be added probably??? Message me if you want access to the playlist so you can add to it!!

#| ⁿᵒʷ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉ ᵗʰᶦˢ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦᵈᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉᵉᵏˀ /idv.kira/ |#ffortiwn #|identity v|#| ᵐʸ ʷᶦˡᵈᵉˢᵗ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐᶦⁿᵍˢ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶠᵒʳᵉˢᵉᵉ ˡʸᶦⁿᵍ ᵇᵉˢᶦᵈᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᶦᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵐᵉ \eli x kira (ffortiwn)\ |#| ᶦ’ᵛᵉ ᶠᶦⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵃ ᵖˡᵃᶜᵉ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵛᵉⁿ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᶦ’ᵐ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈ [ooc] |#| ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵗʰ ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁿᵒ ᵒⁿᵉ’ˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ [kira hc] |#| ᵈ⁻ᵒ⁻ˡ⁻ˡ⁻ʰ⁻ᵒ⁻ᵘ⁻ˢ⁻ᵉ; ᶦ ˢᵉᵉ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁿᵒᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵉˡˢᵉ ˢᵉᵉˢ [kira music] |

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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OH MY GOSH OKAY SINCE WE'RE DOING THE CHRISTMAS WRITING PARTY CAN U WRITE ONE FOR PASSCHENDAELE WHERE IT'S THE FIRST CHRISTMAS AFTER THE WAR OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT? OR OR OR THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE

Love the idea of the Christmas Truce and I forgot I actually had this one planned since the beginning! For those of you who don’t know, The Christmas Truce of 1914 was a true event that happened, where British and German soldiers left their trenches on Christmas Day and celebrated together in peace.

Get your tissues ready.

Also thank you to @janav21 for helping me with some German translations xx

T/W Mentions of war violence, death, the honest truth the deep down all humans are good, and the first seeds of what would later stem into PTSD

December 24, 1914

“Post for you, Lance Corporal Seavey.”

Through the darkness of the night, Christian raised his head from the side of the trench to look up at the man standing in front of him and holding out a brown paper wrapped package. With shivering hands in gloves that didn’t do much to keep in the heat, Christian reached up to take it from him, the men sharing stiff nods as thanks and acknowledgment before the man continued down the lines.

It was a particularly cold night and the ground was frozen with fresh fallen snow, stained red in places from battles and brown in places from upturned soil made from shells but the light flurries that fell through the silent night made it feel somewhat peaceful. Christian pulled at the string and opened his package, the first thing on the top being an old family photograph of his parents and his younger brother and younger sister and him from years earlier when they were small. He smiled warmly at the memory, missing them more than ever on Christmas Eve. Normally they would be sitting by their Christmas tree and singing carols and drinking warm mugs of tea around the fire but instead, he was sat all alone in frozen stiff soil trenches in the middle of Belgium. The next item was a letter tucked on top of a small bar of chocolate. Christian smiled at the gift and unwrapped the corner of it to take a bite.

The crack of the cold coca from his teeth seemed to nearly echo through the barren wasteland the British army found themselves in, but Christian smiled bashfully to himself as he let the sweet flavour melt in his mouth. As he ate his treat, he unfolded his letter from his mother to read her near weekly correspondence.

My Darling Christian,

Christmas is not the same without you. Anna and Daniel and I decorated the tree together last week and there was no one to put the star on top. Daniel took your job instead but he had to stand on a chair and nearly toppled right off! You would have had such a laugh with us. I couldn’t resist a year without at least giving you something small so I hope this chocolate bar suffices – we are not allowed to send anything larger. I hope next Christmas I will see you home again as I miss you terribly. The world over here seems so much darker without you around, my sunshine, but I am sure you are bringing your bright spirits wherever you go. Please write me and let me know how Christmas is celebrated in Belgium (although I know you are most likely already writing an essay for me!). Your weekly letters make me miss you more but they let me know that you are well and safe.

I love you, my sweet angel. Happy Christmas.

Mum xx

Christian sniffled and folded the letter to tuck it back into his inside breast pocket along with the photograph of his family. With one more bite of chocolate, he folded it back up and tucked it in his pack before letting his eyes close and his head rest back against the wall of the trench, light snowflakes falling against his face that took a while to melt with the chill that coated his pale skin. He would reply to his mother later as it was getting late, and the usual waiting game was sending Christian into a restful state.

It wasn’t long before a noise could be heard in the distance and a few of the British men quickly snapped to attention to see what was happening out in the darkness of No Mans Land. Christian sat up too, locking in on the soft tune that was drifting through the nighttime air. The words were incomprehensible but the tune was more than familiar.

“What the bloody hell is that?” one of the men whispered.

“It…It’s Silent Night, sir.” Christian answered quietly.

The higher ups turned to the Lance Corporal as if forgetting the young man could even speak. A small group had gathered in their section of the trenches, all the men bundled up in their jackets and gloves as they listened to the German soldiers singing Christmas carols from a few many yards away.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht!

Alles schläft, einsam wacht

Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar.

Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh.

The British soldiers stood in silence as they listened, a few humming quietly to themselves as if afraid to make their presence aware to the enemy. Finally, one of the newer men sang first, his curly hair falling from under his cap and his glasses slightly fogged up from his warm breath through the cold night, joining right in along side the Germans,

Silent night, holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight!

A few more men joined in, Christian included,

Glories stream from heaven afar;

Heavenly hosts sing Al-le-lu-ia!

And soon everyone was singing together in harmony,

Christ the Savior is born! / Christ, der Retter ist da!

By the final verse, both sides of the front lines were singing loudly together, their voices carrying across the vast expanse of fields and raising high into the night sky. Half in English and half in German, they sang in one choir,

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht! / Silent night, holy night

Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht / Son of God, oh, love's pure light

Lieb aus deinem göttlichen Mund, / Radiant beams from Thy holy face

Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund, / With the dawn of redeeming grace

Christ, in deiner Geburt, / Jesus, Lord at Thy birth

Christ, in deiner Geburt. / Jesus, Lord at Thy birth

When the song concluded, silence fell once again over the battlefields, the snow falling steadily around them. Christian smiled a little to himself at the momentary peace and tucked in for the night with his family photograph held right against his heart.

December 25, 1914

As the sun rose on Christmas morning, the British soldiers wished each other ‘Happy Christmas’ as they started their usual breakfasts or morning duties. It wasn’t long before one of the higher ups was ordering a rise to arms and Christian snatched up his rifle with the rest of the men to get into position.

“There’s a man over there.” the soldier said, peering through the viewfinder out across No Mans Land. “He’s holding his hands up in their trenches.”

The British cocked their rifles.

“Don’t fire!”

“He’s unarmed.”

Christian peeked up over the edge of the parapet and someone grabbed his shoulder to pull him back down to safety. He shrugged him off and leaned back up again, watching the German man walk shakily and slowly out of his trench and onto the fresh fallen snow of the battlefield, hands raised and any weaponry missing.

Christian was a man who had too much trust in people – at least up to the end of 1914 – and he didn’t think twice before dropping his rifle to the floor of the trench as well as his pack of grenades and bullets and stood up on the fire step with his own hands raised.

“Lace Corporal Seavey, what the hell are you doing?” his Lieutenant snapped.

“Must be a trap! You’re gonna get bloody well blown up!” another added from farther down.

But Christian climbed carefully out of the safety of the trench, his heart hammering in his chest as he touched the crisp white snow of the Belgian field and shakily got to his feet to face the enemy. A few more German men climbed out of their trenches followed by a few British and soon the two sides were meeting in the middle. It was silent except for the chilly winter wind that whistled across the land and the crunching of snow under military boots. Christian fell to a stop in front of the young man opposite him, the German’s face looking just as hesitant as Christian’s himself. He had the nicest grey eyes Christian had ever seen and he offered out his hand with a nervous smile tugging at his lips. Christian looked down at his outstretched hand before taking his handshake.

“My name is Christian.” he spoke slowly.

“My…name…is Heinrich.” the man replied.

“Pleased to meet you, Heinrich.” Christian said.

“Freut mich, dich kennenzulernen.”

The enemies seemed to group up and well wishes of Merry Christmas is English and German moulded as one and chatter rose across the Belgian fields. Handshakes were shared and photographs were taken and tensions felt like they had vanished. Christian pulled out his unfinished chocolate bar and offered a piece to his new friend.

Heinrich grinned and nodded, taking a small square with icy hands and a warm, “Danke.”

They ate together for a moment in calm silence, both a little shy but their bashful smiles were mirrored with near relief.

“Wie alt bist du??”

“Sorry?” Christian looked over at him.

“Uhm…” Heinrich thought for a moment before pointing to his watch and then gesturing up. “Years? You?”

“Oh. I am twenty-four.” Christian answered, showing the numbers with his fingers. “You?”

“Dreiundzwanzig.” Heinrich did the same, showing a two and then a three with his hand.

They shared smiles, cheeks a rosy red in the winter air and the tip of Christian’s nose was turning pink too. He offered Heinrich another piece of chocolate before taking out his photograph from his pocket and stepping closer to show him.

“This is my family.” Christian told him with pride and he pointed to each of his family members, “Father-”

“Vater.”

Christian glanced up at his new friend and nodded in agreement, “Yes. My Vater.” He continued on, “My Mother-”

“Mutter.”

“Sister and brother.”

“Schwester und bruder.”

“Yes. Anna and Daniel.”

“Anna?” Heinrich questioned, looking at Christian with wide shining eyes.

“Yes. My sister.”

Heinrich reached into his own jacket pocket and rummaged around a moment before pulling out his own photograph and held it out to show Christian, the blonde woman sitting graciously in the frame.

“Anneliese. Meine frau.”

“Frau? Wife.” Christian said. “Anna.”

“Yes, my…Anna.”

The young men shared excited grins and another piece of chocolate as a few men around them started singing more carols. Food rations were shared and a few drinks were poured and German and British men were arm in arm and singing loudly together. Heinrich and Christian stuck together, joining in for a few photographs taken by their officers and the group shared a good laugh when one of the German generals slipped on a path of ice and fell on his behind.

Soon, with the heat of the excitement and festivities, jackets were being tossed back into designated trenches and someone brought out a soccer ball, earning cheers from both sides. Small teams were divided up – British against Germans of course – and they played together most of the day, using jackets and canteens as makeshift goal posts as the watching soldiers stood in lines around their little made field. Christian pulled an impressive dive to catch the ball before he was scored on and loud excited cheers erupted from both sides at the move. Heinrich pulled him up from the snowy ground with an offered hand and Christian thanked him with a smile as he brushed himself off.

By the time the sun was starting to set, everyone was taken by surprise; the day had gone by so fast. Newly formed friendship groups said their goodbyes and Christian and Heinrich shared a friendly embrace as well.

“Happy Christmas.”

“Fröhe Weihnachten.” Heinrich held out a ration of cigarettes towards him with a friendly smile. “For…the schokolade.”

Christian didn’t smoke but the gesture was beautiful and he took the small pack within their final handshake, “Thank you.”

“Hope…you see…your Anna soon.” Heinrich spoke slowly through his broken English.

“You too.” Christian said as they dropped hands.

They shared one final nod, as if trying to piece together the incredible goings on of that day and the fact that they had just wholeheartedly trusted the enemy. Both sides were bordering on treason after spending such a day together but they returned to their trenches without another word or a single shot fired. Christian got himself settled with the sun setting and leaving the trenches in darkness, feeling more at peace than he had in a while. He was too tired to write to his mother that night, fading into a sleep stemmed from exhaustion from the day’s unique festivities. Even still, everyone was wondering what the next day would hold and if the truce was a turning point for the beginning of the end of the war.

With daybreak came another attempt of peace, and Christian found himself beaming with excitement as Heinrich and a few German men were making their way over the battlefield again after breakfast. Christian was stood beside the British Lieutenant-Colonel as they had their rifles at the ready out of habit but Christian didn’t even have his finger on the trigger.

One of the German officers who was walking over spoke first from the halfway mark between their front lines, “You still got the armistice?”

Christian started to stand up to join them but the ringing of a single shot rang through the barren fields before he could move. He watched as Heinrich fell backwards, shot right through the head until his blood was staining the fresh white snow and his grey eyes staring lifeless into the sky. The cold face of the British Lieutenant-Colonel was unphased as they were propelled into another battle by that single shot.

Another battle where they were forced to kill those they just celebrated with a mere day before, with whom each side shared stories and photographs and treats. Now, both sides were forced back into the usual way of the war under orders of their stern officers who claimed the only way to win was to gain their ground. Christian sat alone that night, a blank parchment on one knee, the pack of German cigarettes on his other, and the vision of Heinrich’s lifeless eyes in his mind. He sat there for nearly an hour trying to figure out what to say to his mother, only getting as far as her name scribbled shakily in the top left corner.

Christian didn’t smoke but that night he pulled one of the cigarettes from the German ration and borrowed a light from another soldier and he let himself sit against the side of the trench and mourn the loss of a friend. He felt guilty and shameful and disgusted with himself and with the war and with the concept of even being there at all, how each time he pulled the trigger he was killing one of his momentary friends. Good men who were friends and brothers and sons and husbands.

Christian couldn’t get himself to return a letter to his mother. He no longer felt like his mother’s angel that she called him so often. And he never would be again.

#✉#daniel seavey #christian seavey #ww1 #christmas truce #why dont we #why dont we imagines #christmas writing party 2020

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kiissme · 5 years ago

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She should have broken up with him by now. A thought that always runs through her head when she finds herself with Cassian and is reminded of Liam’s existence. Just like it did when the text from him comes through, asking where she is. Faye was supposed to have met him for dinner with his friends from his father’s company. The London division, anyway. She was supposed to play the dutiful girlfriend, charm them, endear him to them more than likely. She only seemed to be useful when he got something out of it. To make him look good in front of others simply because he was incapable of making himself look good.

It all made Faye start to wonder what he ever truly saw in her in the first place. Whether he really liked her in the first place, or if it was just the image she presented to him. He had so easily given her to Cassian, after all. That first night had been his decision, coming back to the crime lord, however? That was all hers. A dangerous one to some, she was sure. He was dangerous, himself, wasn’t he? The way his men had beaten Liam that day, the image had never left her head. Yet she never felt in danger with him. Never felt fear toward him. She wouldn’t keep coming back if she did, after all. There was an ease with Cassian she hadn’t really felt with anyone else, least of all with Liam. She wasn’t a fool, reckless, yeah, but not a fool. Her mind told her one thing about Cassian, her body was telling her another.

A smile found its way stretching across her lips as he plucked her phone away, placing it away from her, making her concentrate on what they had together at that moment — each other, in bed, beneath tangled sheets and not a stitch of clothing on either of them. That was much more important than Liam and the dinner she was missing. She’d tell him she was held up at work, her boss was being a right arse and kept everyone there. He was fool enough to believe it. Under his guidance she laid on her back, one hand settled to the back of his head, fingers stroking his hair while the other grasped at his shoulder. His words had her smiling even more, teeth shown as she bit her lip, body excited, shivering in anticipation at the feel of his fingers gliding down her stomach. “Mmm...” she hummed, bringing her lips to his in a soft, sensual kiss. “You say that as if I don’t already dream ‘bout you and what your fingers can do...” Her legs parted beneath him, though, cunt still wet, sensitive to the touch during their earlier round, yet she didn’t care. She wanted him, she always wanted him. Another kiss given to him, she hummed, “But I’ll have no complaints on makin’ those dreams come true...”

make my dreams come true, @voiceofmany for cassian

#voiceofmany #with every kiss we're closer to a masterpiece ( interactions )#timeline — just the assistant working her way to be her own person ( the ambition story )#verse — how deep can we fall into this trap we made for each other?#make them come true — cassian — voiceofmany #w e l p

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flameraven · 5 years ago

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Good Omens Fic Rec Masterpost - Part Two

Hello hello I have read MANY MORE fics in this fandom now so it’s time to add on to my previous recs. Part One can be found here: https://flameraven.tumblr.com/post/187742832545/good-omens-fic-recs-masterpost General info! No fics rated higher than M, and that’s usually for violence not sex. I headcanon the husbands as being in an asexual relationship, so any fics I rec will have no sex, or only have sexy stuff alluded to or briefly mentioned.

The Soft Zone (TM)

all the days - G / darcylindbergh

War of Attrition- G / out_there / 8k - 3 gifts Crowley gives Aziraphale

A Meddling of Houseplants - T/ wingedspirit / 6k - Ophelia (a peace lily) is tired of Crowley and Aziraphale’s hopeless pining, and takes matters into her own leaves.

Sweetest in the Gale - T / wingedspirit / 3.8k - Gabriel can sense Aziraphale’s love for Crowley, and confronts “Aziraphale” about it before his execution

Deck the Halls - G / forthegreatergood / 18k - two idiots attempt to acquire mistletoe for the holidays in order to convey their feelings for the other.

Tartan Wrapping Paper - G / Arej / 2k - Crowley may not have quite gotten the message about the tartan all those years ago

a prize-winning philodendron - G / Elsajeni / <1k - Crowley does look, and sighs heavily. “Angel,” he says, “of all the plants you could have tried keeping, why did you start with something this fussy?”

Silver and Gold - G / asparkofgoodness / 1.5k - Crowley buys a ring.

Futile Devices - G / ticketybye / 3k - Yes, Crowley has imagined. He has craved. But being in Aziraphale’s close proximity has had to be enough. He’s not even sure he deserves that. But this, this feels like it felt to be commissioned the stars. It feels like being entrusted with something precious and fragile.

The Weight of Words Unspoken - G / rattatatosk / 1.8k - Aziraphale has always hinted to Crowley when he needed to leave. After the Apoca-wasn’t, he asks Crowley to stay.

J’Aime (I Love) - G / yourpaceangel - Crowley is searching for what the ‘J’ means.

the other way round - G / darcylindbergh / <1k - Aziraphale gets hair pets for once.

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life Too) - G / soft_october / 1.5k - Crowley is trying not to go to fast, ends up stalled out completely. Aziraphale decides he will have to get creative.

In Good Hands - G / Sunjinjo / 14k - Aziraphale was created wearing a golden ring. It’s now the last remaining aspect of his original attire.One day, he tries to take it off. The rest follows naturally. (Marriage Proposal)

One Golden Glance (Of What Should Be) - G / Sunjinjo / 8.5k - Crowley takes up painting after the Apocalypse.

Misfit / Safe Haven - G / Mothfluff / 2k - Aziraphale provides a safe space for the Soho queer community to gather

seasons, changes - G / the_pen_is_mightier / 2k - In the autumn Aziraphale and Crowley go out apple picking.

on the necessity of a temptation - M / darcylindbergh / 4.5k - Crowley squinted at him. He said, slowly, as if sounding around the words [...] “But doing things is what we do. Why would—what would be the point of me being here otherwise?”

In Other Words, Baby, Kiss Me - T / mikkimouse / 4.5k - Five times Aziraphale kissed Crowley and one time Crowley (finally) kissed him back.

It's Getting Hard, This Holding Back - T / ZehWulf / 13k - Crowley decides to lure Aziraphale into Explicit Gestures of Romantic Affection. Aziraphale sets a cuddle trap

give you more to hold on to - T / cryptidkidprem / 4k - Crowley nods. "It's..." He looks down at their joined hands, and takes a long, deep breath. “We’re not— We’re not supposed to need this, y’know?” He lifts their joined hands up, lets them fall again. “You and I. Angels, demons. We're not meant to need all this. This touchy-feely stuff, all this affection, this—” a hitch in his breath— “Love.”

two parallel lines -lineffability

don’t let me wake up - acuteangleaziraphale

how to let go - jlmarch

Mornington Crescent -politeanarcy

Wingfic

Symmetry in Favor - G / kedreeva / 8k - Five times Crowley preens Aziraphale's wings, and one time Aziraphale preens Crowley's.

London Calling - G / forthegreatergood / 30k - Come for Crowley’s ridiculous 1970′s bed, stay for Feelings and extensive wing pets.

Hurt/Comfort

Be Ye Therefore Merciful - T / AmberDiceless / 9.5k - Book!Verse. Crowley does something utterly unexpected, and Aziraphale must face an opponent who cannot be thwarted.

Pigeon Girlfriends with a Long Preamble - T / SleepySelfLoathing / 8k - All Crowley wanted was to spend a nice night in with his husband, so of course he ends up summoned by a bunch of cultists instead. Why would he expect anything different....This would probably be a lot easier to deal with if he wasn't wearing Aziraphale's fluffiest bathrobe.

All Creatures that Have the Breath of Life - G / Elsajeni / 4k - Aziraphale fishes a very sodden Crawly out of the water during the Flood.

Touched by an Angel (And it Bloody Hurts) - G /hedgehog-o-brien / 7k - Aziraphale can’t touch Crowley without burning him.

Douse the Fire, Help Me Breathe - G / Arej / 1.5k - Even demons fear fire, when they've watched their world burn.

In a City Under Aerial Bombardment - G / battle_cat / 3k - After the church and the bomb and the books.

Small Mercies - G / rattatatosk / 4k - Crawly gets smited. Aziraphale lends a hand.

Easier Than Air - G / A_Candle_For_Sherlock / 3.5k - The world hasn't ended, and everything is fine. They're fine. It's terrifying.

attachment - T / artenon / 4.5k - Crowley crosses over to open the passenger door for Aziraphale, and Aziraphale’s attention is drawn to Crowley’s uneven gait, the light, too-quick steps and the rocking back and forth on his heels as he holds the door open and waits for Aziraphale to get in.“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, heart sinking, “your feet.”

Hell Freezes Over - M / charliebrown1234 + Turcote / 18k - The year is 2002, and Crowley and Aziraphale are sent to Alaska to investigate a decommissioned entrance to Hell. What could possibly go wrong?

Better The Demon You Know - T / mikkimouse / 1.2k - When Crawly falls out of the sky and into the flood, he gets help from a very unexpected source.

Gently, gently - G / the_pen_is_mightier / 3k - Heaven is cold and lonely. Hell is filthy and crowded. Aziraphale badly needs to be touched; Crowley needs fresh air, and light, and space. They can’t seem to connect on days after they’ve returned from their respective head offices.

Of Firsts and Foremosts - T / kedreeva / 6k - Aziraphale is left vulnerable and injured as his first molt approaches. Crawly comes to the rescue for the first time.

The Brazen Serpent - T / ImprobableDreams900 / 11k - Some other angels come to help Aziraphale at the end of the Isrealites’ 40-year exile in the wilderness, unfortunately for Crawley.

hold my hand tight (we'll make it another night) - G / cryptidkidprem / 3k - The night at Crowley’s flat. He’s having a hard time not panicking.

Harbours of My Own - T / wingedspirit / 30k - Crowley knows that, as a demon, his freedom is limited. He doesn't get to have a home; he doesn't get to love. Aziraphale would very much like to change that, but he, too, is limited in what he can do. It takes the better part of six thousand years, but they'll get there.

crack me open, feel me shatter - T / rattatatosk / 2.5k - Crowley dreams of the Fall. Aziraphale is there to catch him when he wakes.

Angst (w/a Happy Ending)

Where His Angel Dares to Tread - M / PinkPenguinParade / 16k - Crowley is taken by Hell. Aziraphale disguises himself as best he can for the rescue mission. Newt and Anathema help.

Remembrance of Things Past - T / Fyre / 18k - Hell takes Crowley’s memories all the way back to Eden as punishment for his crimes.

Drunk Theology - G / battle_cat / 3k - Aziraphale had been hoping tonight for Giggly Drunk Crowley, which was his favorite drunk Crowley. That didn’t seem to be how things were working out, though.

Like a River Flows - T / kedreeva / 15k - Five times Crowley was not allowed to love Aziraphale, and one time he succeeded.

The Cultivation of New Growth - T / Vitreous_humor / 3k - “I mean,” he said carefully, “if you want a plant, let me give you one of the snake plants or maybe the big coleus. They'd be good for the shop, pretty stalwart in the dark...You don't want this one, it's rotten.” “Actually,” Aziraphale said firmly, “I do want that one.”

The Holy Essence of Experience - T / Dragonsquill / 4k - They know how they feel, but giving it a name would be too dangerous. Ineffable husbands from the beginning to the end of the world, aware and wanting.

AUs/Crossovers

be mine tonight (be mine forever) - T / artenon / 11k - Human!AU. When Aziraphale finds out his coworkers have made a bet that he won’t bring anyone to the company party, he asks his best friend Crowley to go as his date just to spite them. Things quickly spiral out of control.

Siren’s Song - T / kedreeva / 30k+ (WIP) - Siren!AU. Crowley, a lone siren, calls a ship to wreck upon his reef, but finds when he meets pirate captain Aziraphale that sirens are not the only ones able to lure another creature to their heart's desire.

Adopt Don’t Shop - G / lucky_spike / 6k - Cat!AU based on Chekov’s “Good Meowmons” comics.

The Ones Who Walk Away From Nevaeh - T / soft_october / 15k - AU based on “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas - T / darcylindbergh / 60k - Human AU / Hallmark Movie AU. Crowley is a big city lawyer sent to seal the deal that will destroy the quaint town of Tadfield forever, right before Christmas... and then he falls in love with the town, and a certain bookshop owner. Ridiculously sappy fluff that hits all the right notes.

The Odd One Out T / RainyDayDecaf / 2k- A meeting of many different Crowleys and Aziraphales.

Beat Again - T / TeaCub90 / 7k - Human AU. Two neighbours keep each other and their respective conditions company in the dead of night

Outsider POV

Ophidiophobia - G / lyricwritesprose / 7.6k - Pepper is afraid of snakes. When this is abruptly revealed in an encounter with Crowley’s serpent form, she immediately goes about trying to cure herself of it.

What’s in a Name? - G / lyricwritesprose / 4k - “You do realize,” Brother Francis said, “that Warlock is just your name, not some sort of, of directive?”

Damaged - G / lyricwritesprose / 6k - Aziraphale is struggling after the Apocalypse. Madam Tracy offers some advice. (Very good spooky/nonhuman Aziraphale in this one.)

Angel’s Favor - T/ PinkPenguinParade / 10k - A hundred years ago, Aziraphale gave one of his feathers to a woman who helped him. In the modern day, her descendant calls in the favor.

Protective Camouflage - G/ politeanarcy/ 2.3k - The Antichrist isn’t the only one with defenses against being noticed.

Disposable - T / lyricwritesprose / 7k - Eric the Disposable Demon attempts to become Crowley’s vassal after the Apoca-wasn’t. Nothing goes the way they expect after that.

on deceiving appearances - G / asideofourown / 2k - The Disposable Demon realizes the truth of Crowley’s deception in Heaven.

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost - G / TheOldAquarian / 3k - What are you supposed to do when you've been fired from your sweet job in Hell for thwarting the schemes of Satan, you've got a swanky flat in Mayfair, and you're looking for an excuse to spend all your time in someone else's bookshop? Obviously, you turn to the dubious world of short-term vacation rentals.

Other

the best laid schemes - T / asideofourown / 4k - How Crowley got his Rat Army

Incongruous States of Being - T / ZehWulf / 8k - “Who would win: Aziraphale or Crowley.” “Oh!” Aziraphale startles. “Well—such a question. It’s not as though either of us has engaged in so much as fisticuffs in ages, and one does need to keep up practice with these sorts of things.” His fretting dies abruptly when Crowley cuts over him clearly, baldly: “Aziraphale.”

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition - T / WoodsWitch / 12k - The Arrangement is 500 years old, and Crowley and Aziraphale have been having a fine time in Renaissance Florence. Things start to go a bit pear-shaped with the arrival of a Friar Savonarola, so Crowley suggests that they meet up in his favorite refuge from the rest of medieval Europe: Spain. ((Don’t let the title fool you, this is an incredibly in-depth and well-researched historical fic and deserves way more hits than it has.))

#fic recs #good omens fanfic #good omens fic recs #fanfiction

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electric-marrow · 4 years ago

Text

mouth dreams review but it was typed live while i was listening to it and completely unedited

under the cut because it’s 1800+ words. also, swearing. actual review to come soon!!

mouth dreams' first track is ephemeral and beautiful, spine-chilling and moving. it rocks you into this world in a beautiful passageway, like the entrance to sakaar, and the moment it peaks over into the twilight opening you are almost on the verge of tears.

and then we will rock you kicks in.

/and then the spongebob squarepants opening theme kicks in/.

and then the two motherfucking /sync/.

a beautiful piece of childhood, worked over another. beautiful guitar overlaid with beautiful chanting almost powerful.

the next song uses extensive sentence mixing, but is cut so smoothly that we are convinced Cash is offering up an absurd, painstakingly honest tale. "it's probably a good train." fuck, fuck, yes, it probably is. "my mama was my train." fuck, she was...

the instrumentals are soul-rising, and the "baby, baby, baby" undercurrent is eargasmic. everything about it feels like you're listening to your dying mentor's backstory.

it moves you, and you keep moving. this whole album keeps you in constant motion, as if you yourself have some falling to do.

and then he says "i shit my pants". and you realise, this is it, this is NEIL'S ALBUM, oh, how foolish you were for forgetting.

HELL YES IT'S FUCKING PSYCHO KILLER. let me pause the review of that song, fuck yes.

a heavily sentence-mixed "pyscho killer" focusing on david byrne's bed, overlaid atop the iconic instrumentals of super freak.

this makes the talking heads classic seem like an upbeat song you might hear on the radio. it's much less somber, more passionate.

neil's humor pokes through visibly, shining like a beacon of light that brings a smile to your tear-stained face.

there's no room to breathe on this album; the songs come running together in the most gorgeous of ways. holy shit, am i only twelve minutes in? i think i might sob.

this one is unfamiliar at first—i only saw the partridge family once or twice as a kid. the remixing is smooth, so that it sounds natural.

so natural that when it starts to sound unnatural, it's a terrifying work of art that made me shake. a plea with you to be happy, almost a demand, like they're outside your windows.

the music starts to dance from ear to ear, and it's almost masterful in the horror it invokes.

and then there's scatting. or, what sounds like it.

and then you realise it's the chili's babyback ribs ad. it's soulful, placed atop everybody wants to rule the world in smooth ease.

that's when marilyn manson starts shrieking. the roughness, the rasp, smacking against that smooth drawl. it's a beautiful juxtaposition.

oh, and then the lion sleeps tonight is there. somehow, it fits. you start to revel in neil's genius. no one will ever be able to achieve this again, not in the same way. this is the beacon that you needed in these dark times.

you wonder if you'll cry the next time you hear this.

it's a pretty effective ad, actually. if marilyn manson advertised everything, i might buy it.

the next song makes you jump to attention. the track teased in the trailer, with its jumping guitar and its congested vocals. this sounds almost natural, like an authentic goth song.

of course, he has to say "mouth". aerosmith and green day and, most importantly, neil cicierega, combining to create a mouthy ballad that echoes through you.

—oh, goddamnit, green day. september 30th. neil woke up when september ended. fuck. dammit. is that insensitive? maybe. shit.

i'm not well-versed with music, so these songs were both pretty alien. however, their mixing is masterful, and the removal of the singer's objections to his situations form a sweet little ballad.

my own worst enemy. this one is familiar, and it makes heads turn as you realise what music is slowly remixed.

a rocking tribute to sleeping with your clothes on. short, sweet, rockin' and rollin' as hard as it can.

the segue is beautiful, like it's natural.

the lyrics make your chest heave, and the sound itself is heavily distorted to a dreamy state, as if you are as drunk as the singer sounds. anything can be amore, you realise.

the distortion is noticeable without ruining the track, and neil has gotten significantly better.

it ends a little more nightmarishly, and makes you feel very real. very in your skin. fuck yeah, neil.

the following "stop" is even more jarring, and it's almost welcome.

and then, stacy's mom. i think the instrumentals are where is my mind, i don't know. but it /works/, and it fits together, with stacy's mom slowed down considerably but not so that it ruins the track. the pitch is shifted properly so that it becomes an angry slow ballad about stacy's mom. rife with heartbreak.

and then it stops, breaks off into a cry for "mom" that might awaken buried maternal issues in the listener. maybe just me, though.

here comes fred durst. it gets the "wow wow" treatment, and its nookie theme becomes sweet, bouncing around with innocent sentimentality. i thought i heard seinfeld around there somewhere.

this is a good point in the album to close your eyes and really hear the album, to feel what ou are truly experiencing. it can move by too fast if you're not paying attention. listen to that iconic sledgehammer guitar. listen to—mario?

fuck. fuck. fuck.

fucking christ. not the fucking ewok celebration.

almost nonsensical lyrics play over the nookie instrumental (reversing the last track's roles), and the combination is natural and rowdy. you slowly realise what those ewoks reflected in neil's glasses /mean/, and it horrifies you just a little.

god, that's good. fuck you, neil.

jingles? is that—jingles?

a moment of confusion. and then, THX.

the iconic, crawling note, invading your ears and then slowly fading out. "she drives me crazy" is playing, and the THX sound is its backing track.

only neil.

it gets better as it goes on, from a joking track to a genuinely orchestral sensation. it's good music. it's beautiful. it feels like an action movie soundtrack, as the hero discovers a massive secret.

maybe you are dreaming.

the next sound sample is jarring. the announcement. the outsiders cast. and then more, and then more. it feels like a list of gods left in a dying world. johnny.

and then there is johnny cash.

and then it isn't.

what neil plays is heartbreaking. it feels like your world is crashing down around you. it's a betrayal that could bring anyone to their knees. the booing played behind it is appropriate.

but he builds that world right back up, with soft, strumming guitar. it's forgiveness and vitriol all rolled into one.

actually, you can forgive him for the next track. yes. fireflies. let's fucking go. closer overlaid with fireflies. yes. hell yes.

it's like a gift, a peace offering.

the nostalgic, upbeat lyrics, feel deeper atop the warbling, warped backing track. it's like owl city's song about dreaming feels like it could be a teenage angst anthem.

it's art.

the plucked guitar fades out, and the lyrics start to distort. everything fades away...

nevermind, time for billy joel.

the shrieking, screaming, rasping lyrics of nightmare are mixed atop the bouncing piano music, so the song lays halfway between an upbeat piece of joy, and a warning.

it ain't over yet.

xylophone. why is there xylophone?

the iconic "powerhouse" track serves as our instrumentals, the classic sound one from our childhood as the droning sound of jack white forms a buzzing piece of heartbreak. only neil, right?

only neil.

the "War" sample is iconic, and it makes you jump.

the "Wannabe" sample will make you writhe.

iconic, jamming guitar, and also wario. the spice girls, and also wario. yes. yes. this is it.

the following laughter brings back your childhood. elfman's work on the peewee soundtrack, peripatetic in nature, running up and down your ears as gorillaz croons a bittersweet sound. it becomes almost triumphant against the instrumental, re-energized like the monster in frankenstein's lab.

peewee is laughing. maybe we should laugh too.

the next one up is soft, plucked note by note, until alanis morisette goes completely off the deep end. the spoons, alanis.

holy shit, is that knight rider?

this mashup is classic, expertly remixed without a single hitch. it's neil at his finest, neil at his neiliest, alanis' quiet "Don't you think?" almost smug.

the sound of rain, followed by the crooning iconic "raiiiiin" is enough to make you break down. this is a blessing from an unknowable god.

two backstreet boys lines run up against each other, forming a surrounding sound that envelopes you in shaking guitar until the distorted sound in the back becomes noticeable.

there it is. there's the song you were waiting for.

your savior has arrived, and it is in a horrible form. it rises from the tomb in an unholy abomination. you fall to your knees.

"wake up."

i can't. i'm trapped here. i can feel every single one of my vertebra. i'm crying.

and then beethoven and britney make a duet.

"hit me baby one more time" runs along iconic dashing violin.

you start to hear it, and then it's there even more.

the hall of the mountain king, slowly building, the suspense enough to bring you to the edge of your seat. weezer's lyrics are pronounced like an oracle's prophecy, sardonic and yet grim, delivered with its iconic "say it ain't so" almost ironic.

then the crescendo hits, and the singing feels like it's declaring your fate. it rocks you, and never lets you still.

...and then there is the dial-up. you're staring at neil's face, and you realise the title itself has a secret. the starred letters spelled out "nice modem."

the screeching dial-up sound, and then nothing. you're sitting in the silence, with this quiet revelation.

he's carried you through the greatest adventure of your life, and then left you in the nothingness, tearing away a world that could only be imagined in the dreams of a 90s kid raised on the internet.

it's heartbreaking, but it mends every single tear of that vital organ. it's alright. neil's got you. this is his gift, this is his message.

he shares this dream with us, because it's the only piece of hope we can hold onto. someone else's dream, forged on childhood memories and ambition, woven together with years of experience until it culminates into an hour-long album of cultural mashup and musical blasphemy.

it brings tears to my eyes, and then wipes them off. it wants you to feel, it wants you to bleed, and then it wants you to heal. rejoice, says mouth dreams. rejoice. rejoice in what the world has given you.

you're going to be alright.

definitely, like, a solid 9/10. pretty good album. i think my favorite track was either brithoven or superkiller, tell me what yours was in the replies!

i can see new colors.

#neil cicierega #frankie muses #mouth dreams #it was...an experience.

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ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife · 4 years ago

Text

MAG 020 - Desecrated Host (part 2)

Summary: Jonathan reads the second half of the statement of Father Edwin Burroughs, regarding “his claimed demonic possession.”

I’d like to propose an alternate title for this one: “Bartleby”. I couldn’t help but see the parallel between Bartleby the Scrivener’s “I would prefer not to” and Father Burroughs saying, “seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again.” Ah, Burroughs! Ah, humanity!

I mentioned in my last post that this episode was very heavy in the “altered reality” theme. I’d like to amend that: this entire episode was one long, terrifying fever dream. I’ve never been high but I think this might be what a bad trip feels like.

Jonny Sims et al. really outdid themselves on this one though, in both the writing and the performance. So many episodes really suck you in (not literally, fortunately - we’re luckier than some of the characters that way) and grip you ’til the very end. But this was one of the best so far for that. We get more than standard descriptions of things - we get things like that small, whispered “it was bright...so bright” in Father Burroughs’ description of the “church” and the resounding, gonging bell sound accompanying the bell-speech Father Burroughs hears. You can almost feel his throbbing head and blurring vision, and at times it just feels so real.

But it wasn’t. At least, not in the way that we like to think of reality. Whatever an outside observer might have seen that night, this statement was Father Burroughs’ reality. We do know that at least some of this episode was real in the normal sense of the word though. There are snippets, like Father Singh’s reaction to seeing Father Burroughs in the small chapel, and Father Burroughs later seeing Father Singh in the hallway, that seem like they were part of objective reality. Was this slip between reality and the illusion just so that we, the audience, knew that it wasn’t real? Or was it because whatever was affecting him couldn’t keep an airtight grip on his senses? I’d like for it to be the latter, but I’m worried that’s not the case. I do not like how powerful this thing seems to be.

During the “confession”, “Father Singh” recounted all of Father Burroughs’ past sins...so this thing either actually knew about all of those events, or it made Father Burroughs imagine that “Father Singh” was naming all of his sins (a la the psychic paper in Doctor Who). Also disturbing was the detail about its accent during the “confession” - it had “a crisp and clipped RP accent”, as opposed to Father Singh’s Indian one. The change in accent made it obvious for us that it was not Father Singh speaking, but otherwise it just makes no sense to me. Was it unable to imitate Father Singh’s accent for some reason? That might fit if it’s the same thing that spoke in a “low, grating voice” to Laura Popham in episode 15. But those are the only two times (that I recall) that the person making the statement has noted a change in the person’s voice when that static appears.

There are two possibilities I’m seeing for how this thing operates. Either it’s little more than an illusionist, or it can actually alter reality itself. The first would certainly be easier to deal with, but I’m leaning towards the latter. My main reason for thinking that is not strictly things seen in this episode, but more how things in this episode seem to relate to things in the rest of the season so far. We hear that recurring creepy static/interference twice in this episode, once when Father Burroughs reads Genesis 4:14 (after opening his Bible to Luke, no less) and once when “Father Singh” says, “Spiritual pride that has led to quite a fall.” And of course we have another appearance of creepy eyes: “the church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though it were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me.” The eye and the staticky voice tie these events to many others from the first half of this season, including a few times when reality itself seems to have been affected, rather than just people’s perception of it.

There were two Bible passages referenced in this episode. The second was Mark 9:14-19, which appears to be a pretty straightforward reference to Father Burroughs’ situation, as that passage tells the story of a boy “who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech” (NIV). But the first, as mentioned in the paragraph above, was Genesis 4:14: “Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the Earth, and from they face shall I be hid. And I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the Earth, and it shall come to pass that everyone that findeth me shall slay me.” And the writing around it seemed to swirl and was “obscured by dark stains”. This is obviously significant, given the static and the unexplained stains and the fact that this verse is actually quoted in the text (unlike the passage from Mark also in this episode, which was referenced but not quoted). But I can’t figure out the significance of this verse. Cain says the text of this verse to God after God banishes him for killing Abel. Cain is more or less saying that his punishment is too much to bear and that he fears for his life, presumably from others who will surely be angry about him killing Abel. The only possible parallel I can see between Cain and Father Burroughs is that they’re both cut off from God. If there’s anything more to this verse, I’m not getting it.

I’ve also been wondering about the various figures Father Burroughs sees throughout this hallucination. He sees shadowy figures along the street that “were always gone when I approached” - and then there were the parishioners in the pews at the “service”. Were the shadow figures the parishioners? Or were the shadow figures actual, real people, and his inability to reach them just a reflection of how trapped in this hallucination he was? And why did the parishioners come and go like that? Why were they leaving before the “service” was over? If they were real people then I think they had to have been members of the People’s Church of the Divine Host (episode 9). I just feel like there was something else going on at the “service” that Father Burroughs wasn’t privy to.

At the end of the episode, Jonathan calls attention to the man who met Father Burroughs at the Oratory door: “the altar server he described seems out of place with most of his other delusions, in that he appeared to have active agency.” We aren’t given much of a description of the “altar server” - he is tall, pale, and has thin, bony arms. None of that rings any particular bells (haha) to me, but I guess I’ll be on the lookout for a tall, pale guy with thin, bony arms. *shrugs*

“Cause of death was listed as blood loss from multiple lacerations all over their legs and torso, as well as removal of both their faces with a sharp blade, possibly a scalpel.” However, no tools or weapons were found at the scene, and “at no point did he perform any actions that might be analogous with the binding and actual murder of the students,” leading Jonathan to believe a second person was there. HMMM. I WONDER WHO THAT COULD HAVE BEEN.

The cause of death is very unusual, though, when you consider it from a real-world standpoint. It’s pretty easy to die of blood loss if, say, your carotid or jugular is cut. But lacerations on the legs and torso? Those lacerations would have to be extensive to cause fatal blood loss. It just doesn’t sit right with me - and it reminds me of another death we heard about previously. In episode 8, Ivo Lensik says his father was found dead in his study “with deep gouges along his wrists and arms”, and the coroner couldn’t identify the tool used on his arms. Robert Montauk (episode 9) also bled out, but that was after being stabbed 47 times, so it’s similar but not quite the same. The common threads I’m seeing in all three deaths are (a) cause of death being blood loss and (b) the idea that someone committed the murder who was not known to be there at the time.

Coincidentally, Father Burroughs was imprisoned at Wakefield Prison, the same place where Robert Montauk died a few years prior. I thought something might be up with that prison, so I did a quick search and apparently it’s a high-security prison for those who’ve committed crimes such as murder, rape, armed robbery, and kidnapping (Wikipedia). So there may not be any kind of supernatural connection there, but now I’m wondering if we’re going to get statements from or about anyone else in that prison.

One last observation. The sickly yellow color seen so many times in episode 18 made two appearances in this episode. Father Burroughs describes the parishioners at the “service” as having “fevered, jaundiced yellow” skin, and the stole that Mystery Altar Server gave Father Burroughs was “a pale, sickly yellow.” Oh, and that stole from Father Burroughs’ fever dream? An identical real one was delivered to the Oratory a few days prior to these events by Breekon and Hope Deliveries. And it must have been one of their last deliveries, since they liquidated some time in 2009, the year these events occurred.

Curiouser and curiouser...

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!

#personal #liveblogging #is this liveblogging?#The Magnus Archives #Bartleby the Scrivener #I'm tagging that in the hopes that some poor soul looking for help or commiseration on their high school English reading assignment #sees this post and is like 'what. pray tell. the fuck'

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hotfuss · 4 years ago

Note

day and age! (if it was already asked then BB or ITM)

thank you molly! idk where you got this impression i love d&a so much, it’s a mystery 🤔

i’m doing both bc you know i can’t take decisions

battle born

the first song from this album I heard: runaways do I own the album?: yes, battle born deluxe edition my beloved my favorite song: battle born and flesh and bone my least favorite song: from here on out a song I didn’t like at first, but now do: flesh and bone (didn’t like is too strong, but i thought it was only fine but look at me now with flesh and bone brain worms to the point i wrote about it in the zine!) a song I used to like, but now don’t: here with me, i’m my defense i was in a long distance relationship so the lyrics Don't want your picture / On my cell phone / I want you here with me were highly relatable my favorite lyric: bro... all of flesh and bone but i’ll quote only some highlights: Somewhere outside that finish line / I square up and break through the chains Cut from the cloth, of a flag that / Bears the name of "Battle Born" (This could decay) / This could decay / Like the valley below / Defences are down / The stakes are high... the ending verse??? absolute masterpiece??

We used to look at the stars and confess our dreams / Hold each other to the morning light / We used to laugh, now we only fight / Baby are you lonesome now? / At night I come home after they go to sleep / Like a stumbling ghost, I haunt these halls / There's a picture of us on our wedding day / I recognize the girl but I can't settle in these walls

Maybe a thief stole your heart / Or maybe we just drifted apart / I remember driving / In my daddy's car to the airfield / Blanket on the hood, backs against the windshield / Back then this thing was running on momentum, love and trust That paradise is buried in the dust

I can see the time drippin' down the clock / We've been trying to hear that ancient refrain / It's the one that knows just when our heads are down / And reminds us of the place from where we came Many doors, knock on one / Standin' still, time is raging / Staring down the mouth of a hundred thousand guns / And you're still here, you're still here Deep in the night, I feel the presence / Of something that was long ago told to me / There is a hand, guiding the river / The river to wide open sea / And deep in my heart, in any game, / On any mountain, no I'm not afraid / Standing on stone, you stand beside me / And honour the plans that were made

And may your limits be unknown / And may your efforts be your own And if they drag you through the mud / It doesn't change what's in your blood (Over rock, over chain, over trap, over plain) / When they knock you down

When you shine you're a hilltop mansion / So how'd you lose the light? / Was it blown by the wind, / In the still of the night? When they break your heart / When they cause your soul to mourn / Remember what I said / Boy you was battle born Come on show your face / Come on give us one more spark / Sing a song of fire / Lest we fall into the dark You never live, / You never learn / You never shine / If you never burn

I've been living in a fantasy / Slip and slide ahead trip heaven / Self-denial is such a wonderful and powerful thing / But I'm not the one When you self-destruct you wind up looking for a glimmer of hope Just how thick is your skin? / Just how sharp are your teeth? / Oh, you've got a lot to learn / Is there somewhere else that I can win / Is there something else to start over again / From the summit's edge to the cutting room floor / I will be afraid no more overall rating out of 10: 10/10 bb deserved better tbh imploding the mirage

the first song from this album I heard: caution do I own the album?: yep! my favorite song: my god and my own soul’s warning my least favorite song: ugh... maybe blowback for the slightly yeehaw sound? a song I didn’t like at first, but now do: running towards a place a song I used to like, but now don’t: caution, too overplayed my favorite lyric: If you could see through the banner of the sun / Into eternity's eyes Like a vision reaching down to you / Would you turn away? / What if it knew you by your name? / What kind of words would cut / Through the clutter of the whirlwinds of these days?

But she's gonna break out, boy, you'd better know that / It's just a matter of time She fights back / Breathing in the blowback Can you cast out a demon? / Can you wrangle the wind? / Will you stay when she's breathing the blowback again?

They say no one's gonna save you / You've gotta make it on your own / But I called from the dark / And you picked up the phone / On my back in the raging blue / I looked up, and you cut right through

Give me a song that I may sing / That cuts like a canyon and rides on a wing The moment we met / Burst like a star / Onto the canvas of the skyline Purple and gold / We're in this together / I ain't never letting go

Don't talk to me about forgiveness / My God, just look who's back in business / That weight that dragged you down / It has been made light / And I'm at the top of my lungs / 'Cause big love cannot be understated / Don't push, control is overrated / I know that if we stick together / My God, it's like the weight has been lifted

Reach for the summit / Of an ancient design / On the verge of eternal / On the heels of divine / If you stumble and fall (If you stumble and fall) / If the way can't be found (If the way can't be found) / We'll just follow the moon, to the stars / To the sun, to the ground / And around, and around / And around / In the light, in the heat / Through the folds, and the bends / And again, and again / And again

overall rating out of 10: 10/10

send me an album!

#i put so many lyrics no one is going to read them all #and i had to refrain myself to add some from a matter of time and deadlines #brandon really snapped on this album lyric wise and i'm right #ask games #buttshapedpillow #dany answers #if you saw me hit enter too soon you didn't #also i don't make the rules tk make only banger albums

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kattegat-kittycat · 5 years ago

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Fates Entwined, part IX: Claim Me

The story so far and a short synopsis are over here.

A/N: Fun fact, the Head Meadow at Ribe is in fact believed to be called “head meadow”, “Hovedengen”, because the Vikings used to display the heads of pirates and criminals on stakes in said field as a warning to others. Depending on who you ask, people will tell you they *might* have done that or they *definitely* did it.

Fair warning, there is a slight dub-con scene in this chapter, also, sex, but nothing shocking really if you have watched the show. But if something like that bothers you, then this might not be for you. Also, this one became kinda long, you might wanna bring snacks ;)

Lastly, thanks to the people who asked to be tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @xnnskwjeheb2j @blonddnamedhandz it’s appreciated and I hope you’re not already regretting being tagged in here.

You love to bring me down But I'll stay to hear you out Some might say that I'm the fallen one

Free me now Crawl out of my soul

Bring it on Tear me down May the world go round and round At the end of desire Your world falls down and dies

(Entwine – Break Me)

It was a short ride to the marshes beyond the Head Meadow, where the remains of my uncle’s head and the heads of the other traitors could still be seen. But once I had reached the edge of the marshes, I had to leave my horse behind and go on by foot, too treacherous were the paths through here and more than once did we lose a good horse to the bogs. I had felt around my head for Ivar, but he wasn’t there, so he was probably awake planning things somewhere in Kattegat. I set my foot on the sandy path that led me past small bogs and ponds, until I saw the first signs of the völva’s homestead. There was a large wooden frame that held the hide of a horse, a few feet further down the road a ram on a similar wooden construct. Then I saw the small hut, which – to be honest – reminded me a bit of Floki’s home. Yrsa was sitting in front of it, sifting through herbs she was preparing to dry. Her head shot up, when I moved closer, the sharp green eyes in her ageless, yet old face scanning me and trying to see through me. Even from where I was, a couple hundred meters away, I could see the shock in her features. This was nothing she had ever expected to see walking across her doorstep.

Still, when I reached her, she silently motioned to a rickety stool across from her and made me sit. I stared at her; she was still the same weird old lady, I remembered, but how could that be? It had been at least ten winters since I had last seen her, but she hadn’t changed a bit. Her long white hair fell onto her shoulders, which were warmed by the pelt of a white wolf. Beneath that the same dark brown clothes she had worn a decade ago.

She shook her head. “Those are similar clothes, my child, not the same. But that is not why the two of you are here today, is it?”

Confused for a moment, I looked around, but couldn’t see anyone except for me and her. She sighed, slightly exasperated. Then I caught on. She was talking about me and Ivar. I almost groaned about my own stupidity, which made her chuckle.

“So, you are not stupid, only nervous, but why is that?” she asked me, her eyes studying my face with unveiled interest.

“I… I always thought you to be scary, to be quite honest. And I don’t even know where to start, what to ask you, what to tell you…” I started rambling.

She chuckled. Again. “My child, I understand that we and our way of life might seem scary, but all we want to do, is help the living. Help folks like you, caught in between issues of the divine. And when it comes to what to tell me, you can tell me everything. Or nothing at all. Most of it I already know just by looking at you and feeling your…cracked aura. So, the easiest way to start this is to tell me what it is you want to know.”

I looked at the earth to her feet and felt incredibly vulnerable and helpless for the first time. For the first time, I realised how deep this thing went and how little Ivar and I knew.

“What… what is happening to us? What has been done to us? Why?” I had to hold back tears. Speaking those three questions made it real. Something we had no power or influence over had been done to us, and it did something to us, and we didn’t even know why Aslaug had done it.

Yrsa smiled calmly. “She didn’t know any better. She was afraid of things she had seen and she wanted to save her little son. That is why she did it. But why the things which happened and are happening to you are going on, that is written on another page. She invoked magic, she had no experience working and the Gods grasped at their chance, because the seeds she sow fell into readily plowed and fertile earth. You and Ivar have been favoured by the Gods since you have come into this world, they had plans for you, so calling upon them to bind you into an unbreakable union was like unleashing a beast.”

My eyes found hers. “So, what exactly did she do?”

Yrsa took my hand into hers and her long and bony fingers followed the veins on the back of my hand up my forearm into the crook of my elbow. There she pressed on the most prominent vein, then pricked it with a long thorn from one of the spindly rose twigs that lay to her side. A thick droplet of blood came from the little wound and she dipped her middle finger in it, then spread the blood over the whole tip of her finger with her thumb. I looked at it, fascinated by the deep red of my own blood.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at me, then shook her head. “This is not your blood. Not yours alone. Not anymore.”

I frowned. I meant to show her the wound on my shoulder, but she raised her hand and motioned me to stop. “I know. I know all about that. I know more about you than I want to. More than I am allowed to share. But I can tell you a few things. Do you know what blood was used in the blót ritual during your wedding? Which God was supposed to watch over your marriage?”

“I was told we were going to sacrifice a goat’s blood, so Thor, I guess?” Margarete had told me about the goat that had been bled dry, so they would have enough blood for the ritual.

“A lie. Your marriage was consecrated to Freya with the blood of a sow being sacrificed. Aslaug had the blood swapped out. She wanted to make sure you would have children, I suppose. What she didn’t know or didn’t care enough about, was the fact that the blood that runs through you is that of a magical woman. Like Aslaug, your mother was a seer, and we völvas and seers are under Freya’s protection. What this did to you, was amplify the powers that lay dormant within you in one single moment, making you something more than a seer but less than a völva the moment the blood touched you. And weddings to magical women, they are tricky. Are you familiar with the stories of Hávamál?“

I tried to remember the things my mother had taught me, but the name did not sound familiar.

“It is said within its verses that you risk getting trapped in a magical bond. Which is exactly what happened to the two of you. This magical bond is only hinted at in the Hávamál, but either the two partners are suitable, which means they will be bound together and share one life for the rest of their life and in the afterlife, or they are not, which means that the husband will die a slow, drawn out and painful death. You can probably already tell, what happened in your case.”

I blinked a few times. “So Aslaug made me…”

Yrsa smiled an unsettling smile: “Yes, she made you one of us.”

“And then she bound me and Ivar together for life.”

“No, you will not be able to escape each other in the afterlife, either. He dies, you die. You die, he dies. Where ever one goes, the other will follow and nobody will be able to keep you apart.”

I swallowed hard. Sat in silence for a moment. Looked out over the marshes around us. This was all too much too fast.

“And is there any possibility to break this bond?” I did not exactly want to end things with Ivar, I just wanted to know if it was even possible to not get a flesh wound everytime he decided to ride into battle.

“For that, you would have to wage war on Asgaard and defeat the Gods, I fear.”

“Huh”, I pondered for a moment. “And this connection we have? Why do we keep seeing what is happening in the other’s life?”

She shrugged. “That’s part of your unique bond. But mostly it is things that move you on an emotional level, the two of you will see. And I believe with some practice of your abilities, you could gain more control over it, maybe even guide and control the thoughts you let him have a part in. The things you see and access.”

I took a deep breath. “My abilities? And what exactly are those?”

And this was, where Yrsa smiled broadly. “So many questions… I have given you a lot of answers today and I believe you have heard a lot your mind needs some time to work on. This is also the one question I am unable to give you a straight answer to, because the truth is, nobody knows until you start practicing those. So, if you want to know and explore the answer to this question, you know where to find me. For today, it has been quite enough for your pretty little head.” She got up and went into her hut, and I was wondering if I should just leave, when she came back and gave me a small vial with a greenish-yellow liquid.

“If you wouldn’t mind, you might want to give that to your friend from Hedeby. It helps with physical trauma. She might need that sometime soon.” I got up, slightly confused, then went to pay Yrsa for her services, but she held up her hands.

“It would be enough if you came here and worked with me when the dust has settled. See your husband off to fight the Saxons, afterwards we will meet again.” And with that she turned around, making it clear that now, now she wanted me to leave.

Ivar knew everything she had told me by the next morning and seemed taken aback by some of the information. He had not thought that his mother had done something that went so deep without telling him. Then again, he knew that she had wanted to save him by all means and the völva had told me that Aslaug hadn’t known herself how deep the consequences would run.

I, on the other hand, had hesitated to tell Ragnheiđur what I had come to find out. After I came back from the marshes, I found her waiting for me at the market. She jumped up as soon as she saw me riding across the bridge into the city, greeting me with an easy smile, as always. She took the reigns of my horse as I jumped off, then cocked her head.

“Did she tell you what is going on?” she then prompted.

I shrugged. “Yes. And no. I am supposed to come back when we are done with…” I waved my hands around in the general direction of all the busy goings-on around us: “With all of this. But she gave me something for you…” I felt around in my pockets for the vial and as I found it, I handed it to Ragnheiđur.

She looked at it, puzzled. “What is it?”

I frowned. “She told my, you might need it. It is for treating physical trauma.”

Ragnheiđur looked all the more confused. “But why? Am I going to get injured or hurt?”

I shrugged again. “I don’t know, all she told me, was to give it to you and well… I did. I thought maybe you knew.”

Ragnheiđur shook her head. “No, but she might know more than me, so I’ll take it. Who knows what it might be good for.” She grinned again. “Are you ready to see your husband again?”

I sighed. “Yes”, I smiled, “I am actually looking forward to seeing him again. He might not share the sentiment, though. But I never know with Ivar. I guess, Ivar never knows with himself, he is so unpredictable.”

Ragnheiđur gave a small nod, as we started toward my estate. “Just take all the time you need. I will keep everything in order over here with Ole and the council by my side.”

I looked at her profile as she led my horse and looked straight ahead. “I still don’t know how I earned that level of support from you. What do you want for your life? Why are you here?”

She looked to the ground. “I don’t know”, then she looked straight at me, “But something in me tells me that this is the right place for me to be. For now.” She smiled.

I shook my head. “You know, I would give you your own estate if you decided to stay here.”

She gave a laugh. “I might just take you up on that offer if life leads me that way. You know I love the old Hviding estate.”

“Noted.” I smiled, half hoping she would decide to stay.

The next morning, we were on our way to Bork by boat. We did have some longboats, but as Earl Magnusson had promised to take some of the warriors on his boats, some of us also travelled aboard smaller trading ships, which also meant that we took some trading goods to Bork, maybe not to repay Magnusson for the ships, but to show good intent and work toward good neighbourly relations. I really disliked politics.

We were given a warm welcome and were able to see the forces Jutland had sent to Bork first hand. It was a proud sight, an army by itself, but only part of the greatest army our countries would ever gather. Ragnheiđur and I were still looking upon the camp all around the towns walls, when Earl Magnusson appeared behind us.

He seemed chipper enough for someone who had just had to pry his look away from my lands, lands he had wanted to incorporate into his own. But then again, if the stories were true, he and his two younger sons would leave for Northumbria and probably hoped to gain wealth over there.

“I hope you found your way to my humble lands well, Earl of Ripa?” he asked more than just politely.

I smiled back at him. “Very well, thank you very much. It was an easy enough trip with the boats. Your lands are beautiful with the fjord and the sweeping meadows. And your fleet of ships, it is impressive.”

He patted my back. “You sound just like your father. He had a knack for boats, but you knew that.”

I bowed my head and smiled to myself. My father had always been fascinated with boats and their building, that much was true.

“He was a good friend of mine, and I hope we can continue that tradition.”

I wasn’t sure how forceful I could react, but I decided to mark my territory clearly. “As long as you stay on your remarkable lands, I don’t see anything that could stand in our way.” I smiled friendly enough to show that my comment was not meant as a threat, but more of a friendly reminder.

Earl Magnusson barked a laugh. “Forgive me for that, but you will find that we all have a tendency to test boundaries, especially with a new earl in our midst. But you did well. Had I known who you are, I might have reacted differently. Then again… probably not.” He laughed again.

I shook my head with a crooked grin. Maybe I might like him a little. “I appreciate your honesty. Thank you for that.”

He shrugged. “Oh, you’ll learn about these games of power, little annoyances and small arrangements soon enough. I have always quite enjoyed politics.”

I looked at Ragnheiđur and rolled my eyes, when he looked away, something that made her smile.

“But Earl [Y/F/N]sdottir, Ragnheiđur Tokesdottir, where are my manners? Would you mind joining me and my sons for supper?”

We followed his invitation and soon found ourselves around a small table eating some meat, vegetables and bread with only him, his wife and his three sons.

“You might be a little confused as to why I asked you to be our guests this evening, but there are several things that I thought we should talk about without an audience.” The earl started after we were finished with most of the food.

I looked at him, now a little suspicious. “I am all ears, Earl Magnusson.”

He smiled at me. “You truly are your father’s daughter. He raised an intelligent woman. And I have to tell you that it plays into my cards pretty nicely, because I have to ask you a favour.”

Ragnheiđur became slightly unsettled and nervously moved in her chair, but I tried to remain calm. We had to hear him out before we could see if there was anything we had to or should do. I gave him another nod, to proceed with his request.

“I am going to join the raid against the Saxons, I guess you heard that already. I decided to stay home when Ironside wanted to explore the Mediterranean and I am still mourning the chance, but somebody had to stay here and take care of my earldom. Now, fate has intervened and my son Birger cannot join the raid, but he can very well hold my place here in Bork. I hear you are staying in Ripa as well, is that true?”

I gave him a crooked smile. “My husband doesn’t think it safe for his wife to traipse around the battlefields in a foreign country, so I will be staying in Ripa. But I will come to Kattegat to say my goodbyes to my husband, Ivar Ragnarsson. It might be the last time I will see him alive.”

Earl Magnusson smiled fondly. “Yes, yes, you should come to see him off. It is a rare gift to have a husband care so deeply for your safety. I trust that you will leave Ripa in the capable hands of your second, Ragnheiđur Tokesdottir then?” His eyes darted to her, just as she was stuffing her face.

Ragnheiđur looked up, gave a nod and tried to swallow quickly. “The one and only. I will return to Ripa as soon as our troops are off and will have a watchful eye on all matters of the earldom.”

Birger now entered the conversation. “I heard you learned to fight under Queen Lagertha, is that the truth?”

“Lagertha taught me far more than just to fight. I was her second in Hedeby before she asked me to come here with Y/N, so I learned everything necessary to lead an earldom and its people from her. She is an extra-ordinary woman, Lagertha is.” Ragnheiđur beamed.

Birger smiled at Ragnheiđur. “You sure make it sound like she is.”

Earl Magnusson looked from one to the other. “Would you be willing to help and advise my son if need be, as he will take care of Bork for me?” Birger wanted to protest, but his father shushed him with a gesture of his hand. “It’s not that I don’t trust him, but his wound is still fresh and other Earls might see it as a weakness. I don’t want to come home and find my earldom claimed by usurpers. Also, he has been away for a long time and it wouldn’t hurt for him to be able to ask the opinion of one or two people in matters of ruling a people and preparing this town for the winter.”

Ragnheiđur smiled uneasily and I frowned. Then she looked at me, looked for my stance on this matter. This conversation had taken a turn I hadn’t expected and I knew that Earl Magnusson could read it on my face.

He sighed. “To be honest, I would have asked you to consider marrying my son, but seeing that you are already married and that my son is a cripple, I cannot do that.” He chuckled, but I knew it was to hide the insecurity and slight shame he was feeling.

I cocked my head to the side. “You haven’t met my husband yet, Earl Magnusson, but I believe your son is more than able to manage your estate and earldom. However, I do understand your fear of your son seeming weak in the eyes of possible usurpers. But you should keep one thing in mind: it is always an advantage if people underestimate you. Just ask my husband and you know what I am talking about. I believe that because people are going to underestimate him, Birger will be more than fine. You have our support, but I sincerely doubt that you will need it.”

I heard Birger whisper to Ragnheiđur “What is wrong with her husband?” and Ragnheiđur answer “Nothing, he is just a cripple that cannot use his legs.”

Birger chuckled nervously, not sure if she was being serious or making a joke, but he didn’t dare ask and Ragnheiđur just shrugged and grinned at him.

“So, we will set out tomorrow morning and you will be coming with us to Kattegat, and in the meantime, Ragnheiđur will take care of Ripa and any issues Birger might experience. Do we have a deal?” Earl Magnusson asked.

I gave a nod. We had a deal.

Never before had I approached Kattegat by ship, but it was an impressive sight. The city in the heart of the fjord gently stretched across the coastal line and even a few of the rolling hills surrounding it. A shiver ran down my spine, when I smelled the familiar scent of the fjord; its sea, its fir trees, its craftsmen’s fires. It felt right to come back here, like coming home, even though deep in my heart, I knew that the only thing that made it feel that way, was the man waiting for me in this town. Even before I saw anybody else, I saw Floki stealing looks at the different boats tied in the harbour, judging their handywork, looking for differences in technique, ways to improve his own ships, if he wanted to or found anything worth adapting. I jumped off the longboat I had been on to the jetty and walked toward him, smiling, but shaking my head.

“Floki, did I just catch you stealing trade secrets from my people in Jutland?”

He jumped, looking at me with wild eyes. “I am not stealing any….Y/N! It is you!”

He took a step toward me and gave me a hug that smelled of tar and wood and I would not have wanted it any other way.

“Does Ivar know you are coming?” he then asked. “He might be in need of a little lightening up. He seems pretty intense these days.”

“I know Floki. And he should know. He should have felt me coming deep in his bones.” I smiled at the boat builder.

He shook his head. “How did Aslaug know that you would be the Skagerrak to Ivar’s Kattegat? You two are crashing into each other in heavy waves, but one without the other? Impossible.”

“How is Helga?” I asked him and his smile became strained.

“Good, she is good. She found herself a child. Tanaruz. But…” his voice faded.

“But what?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know.” He giggled. “Speaking of Helga, I should see how she is. But it was great seeing you again.”

I smiled after him. “You too, Floki, you too.”

Earl Magnusson appeared behind me. “So, you know your way around here, don’t you?”

When we reached the Great Hall, Torvi told us that Lagertha was in Hedeby, but also took the troops off my hands and showed them where they could set up camp. As she went with them, to show them the site, I made my way through the narrow lanes of Kattegat to see if I could find Margarete somewhere, but I didn’t exactly know where I should start, because she was no longer a slave and probably didn’t stay in their quarters anymore. Just as I considered to go to our home and look for Ivar, I bumped into Björn who came sneaking out of a house that I knew was not Torvi’s. He looked at me with wide eyes, then put his finger to his mouth. I rolled my eyes at him and we started walking a few feet into the direction of the harbour.

“Y/N, it is great to see you…I…” he began.

I just looked at him and then could not keep from breaking into laughter. He looked dishevelled and his shirt was half open and he still tried to act like nothing had happened.

“Björn, you smell of sex. And that was not Torvi’s door. It is none of my business, though, you don’t need to try to get me to keep my mouth shut. Whatever there is between the two of you should stay there. I got enough drama in my life.”

He laughed, relieved. Then threw me a sharp look. “Are you here for Ivar? Because he is going mad. He thinks father chose him for this, he wants to be our leader on this raid.”

I gave Björn a level look. “Well, he did. Your father, I mean. Still, you are not wrong in not trusting him with all that power by himself. But you would do well to consider his input. He is not as inexperienced as you assume. And he is a brilliant tactician. But you knew that already.” I smiled coldly.

Björn looked at me for a long time then shook his head. “Forever his advocate, aren’t you? I will never understand the two of you.”

I shrugged. “Somebody has to be on his side, when he is right. But can you tell me, where I can find Margarete these days?”

He pointed me into the direction of a small house Ubbe had built, and there she was, hanging the laundry. I slowed down my steps when I saw her. She looked so happy, I had to smile. When she looked up and saw me, her mouth fell open, then she started toward me, gained speed and before I could think anything of it, she hugged me tight, tears in our eyes.

“You are back! I thought, Ivar had driven you away for good!” she exclaimed, taking a little distance to look into my face.

I shook my head. “I had to take care of important business back home and Ivar just happened to speed up my departure. I cannot stay long, but I had to see you and wish my husband good luck on his raid.”

Her eyes were big and blue and innocent when she looked at me, absolutely frightened: “You cannot go back to him. You should avoid him as best you could, he is even worse than he was before he met you!”

I closed my eyes. “It is not as easy as that. Leaving him does not resolve any of our problems.”

She swallowed thickly then smiled a brilliant smile: “But you can come to our wedding! Ubbe asked me to marry him, we are getting married tomorrow. Are you coming?”

A laugh bubbled from my chest. “How could I stay away?!”

I tried to think of other people I might have to meet, other ways to delay the reunion with Ivar, not because I did not want to see him, but because I did not know, which version of him I would find today. Not even today, but the moment he saw me. Had I wronged him with the way of my departure? Probably. Had he wronged me with the way he tried to manipulate me into staying? Probably. In the end, I thought, it shouldn’t be so hard for two people who wanted to stay together, to be together. It should not be so hard for two people to love each other. I sighed and my feet slowly but steadily carried me to our home. The garden was a little less cared for, but other than that, it looked the same. My chest felt slightly compressed, which made it harder to breathe. I closed my eyes against the pictures of the past that threatened to wash over me, slightly shook my head. There was the slight prick of tears when I thought about the way we had left things. I had left things. There had been so much else to do that I had never confronted my own feelings of guilt until I saw the place it all had happened. I took a deep breath, exhaled and stepped closer, then entered the house.

“Ivar? Are you home?” I asked into the dim light inside. There was no fire in the fireplace and only little light filtered in through some cracks in the wood. I looked around the living area. Ubbe had moved out of the family home since I had left for Ripa, but judging by the belongings strewn around, Hvitserk and Sigurd still lived here with Ivar. I groaned. No wonder everything was in disarray and chaos, I shook my head, but smiled. “Hvitserk? Sigurd?” I asked, just to be sure, I was alone.

I entered Ivar’s space and put my bundle of clothes onto the bed. I looked around and found Ivar’s room unchanged, there were still the table and the stool I had sat on, when he had first washed me. I smiled a small smile. Then I saw a wooden box in one corner that hadn’t been there before. It was beautiful, probably Floki’s work. I went over and wondered what it held inside, wondering if Ivar would be angry if I had a look inside. I looked around again, as if to make sure that Ivar didn’t hide in some corner of the room, then I opened the box and peered inside. It drew the air from my lungs and I had to sit down on the ground before it, when I saw my meticulously folded wedding dress and the dried flower crown I had worn inside. I took the crown and placed it carefully on the table, then took out the dress and held it up, held it to my cheek to feel the material. We hadn’t been able to get the bloodstains out, so I had never been able to wear it again. When I looked back at the box, I saw something else inside. It was a beautiful necklace that held a moonstone in its center. I knew it, it had been my mother’s and I had given it to Aslaug when I had arrived in Kattegat. I stared at it on the bottom of the box, when I heard his familiar sing-song voice from the door.

“Look who finally came home.” His voice was neither hostile, nor friendly, but then he saw what I held in my hands. His eyes widened and his mouth set in a strict line. “Put that back.” He demanded.

I took a last look at my mother’s necklace then folded up the dress as neatly as I could and let it as well as the flower crown drop into the box, which I closed.

Ivar gave a small snort. “Look at you, listening to what I tell you. Must be the first time.” He crawled into the room, then dragged himself up onto the bed.

I looked at him from my spot on the ground. His face had grown sharper and his eyes seemed darker than before, though that might have been the light. I smiled slightly at his sight. Looking at him still made me feel like I was right where I was supposed to be.

He looked down to the ground. “Same with me.” He said, answering to my unspoken inner monologue. Then his eyes went wide and the two of us just stared at each other.

“She could not tell me how deep and how far this goes.” I told him.

He gave a nod. “I know.”

Then the two of us just looked to the ground, two people wanting to be close but too torn apart by the words said and deeds done before. So we simply breathed and sat together in our awkward mixture of feelings. I could feel my own feelings echo within Ivar, which made me breathe a little easier. If neither of us knew how to go on from this, we could choose a path together.

“Ivar, I…”

He shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t try to explain anything. It’s not worth it. I will be leaving for Northumbria in a few days and you will be back in Ripa. I know why you had to leave. But you also have to understand why I have to leave.”

I hung my head. Then looked up and smiled at him crookedly.

He closed his eyes and let himself fall backwards onto his bed. “For what it is worth, you are a good leader. Politics? You are better at it than I thought.”

“Please, come back to me.” was all I said. It was all I really wanted. For him to be with me. To really be with me.

Another snort. “And how do you imagine that? Me settling down with you in Ripa? Leaving Kattegat to that murderous snake on the throne right now? Or her son, the ‘oh so brave and strong’ Björn Ironside?” He sat up and looked at me with fire in his eyes. He was too consumed by his own mission right now to talk about us. So I changed the subject:

“Speaking of Björn, who is he bedding now? I ran into him sneaking out of a house that was not Torvi’s. He tried to keep me quiet.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “His mother’s lover, that Astrid. But well, at least he is not offering up his arse to other men.”

I was slightly confused at that comment. “What?”

“Sigurd. Where Björn doesn’t care about his lovers’ other partners, Sigurd doesn’t care if they are men or women. He just… he’s into people.” Ivar said with a playful lightheartedness that sounded false.

I shrugged. “Well, I can see no fault in that.”

“Not unless you let yourself be mounted like a donkey. He is too submissive to be a son of my father.”

“You never liked him and he never liked you. Don’t let that cloud your judgement when it comes to his sexuality. Remember, you have to be a united front if you want to beat the Saxons.” I replied.

“I hate it when you try to reason with me, because sometimes, you are right.” Ivar whined, but then grinned.

I laughed. “Well, somebody has to be the voice of reason in this madness.”

Ivar groaned. “But sometimes, I don’t want to hear it.”

Hvitserk’s voice came from the door. “Ivar, get your cripple ass to the Great Hall, we have people to meet, Y/N sent a whole fleet from Jutland to support us!”

Ivar’s eyes met mine and he nodded slightly impressed. “Did you now?” he asked me.

“Who are you talking to?” Hvitserk’s voice came again, slightly annoyed. Then his head popped in the door. As he saw me, the whole viking followed and he quickly made his way to me, still sitting on the ground, hugging me tightly as he reached me. I hugged him back and grinned broadly.

“I heard that you were seen around town, but I thought people were making it up.” He said with sparkling eyes.

“You mean, you saw Margarete and she told you, but you thought, she had dreamt it, because it’s her wedding tomorrow.” I chuckled.

Hvitserk shrugged. “Maybe that as well, but it is great to see you. Now come on, you two, there is going to be a feast for our troops.”

I looked to Ivar, who inclined his head, even though he rolled his eyes. “You go first, Hvitserk, we’ll be right behind you.”

Kattegat did not hold back on its hospitality when it came to the Great Army and its supporters. The whole town seemed to be in a constant state of festivities, but the feast that night was impressive, even to me that had seen a few feasts in this very hall on several occasions. I said as much to Earl Magnusson, who had found me after the dinner was over and everybody had started to greet each other.

“So this is where you spent your days after you had to flee from your uncle? You could have had it worse.” He smiled and for the first time it was open enough that I did not get suspiscious of any ulterior motives. “It is good to see that you were well cared for.”

“Oh, but Kattegat has grown, even since then. I assume some of the warriors coming back from the Mediterranean just decided to settle here as well. And the feasts were definitely smaller back then.” I laughed lightly.

“I definitely think that an alliance with Kattegat is not the most stupid thing you could have gone for. They have capable craftsmen here, not to mention the trading goods…”

He trailed off, as the crowd to our left parted and his glance fell on Ivar crawling towards us. He tried to hide it, but a frown appeared on his forehead.

Before he could say anything that might infuriate Ivar or just annoy him, I decided to introduce him.

“Earl Magnusson, that is my husband Ivar Ragnarsson, one of the sons of Ragnar leading the army. Ivar, this is Earl Magnusson from Bork, he is the one who supplied us with most of the longboats we have.” I bent down to give Ivar a cup of mead from a nearby table, so he could drink with us.

Ivar took it, while he eyed the earl suspiciously. He knew that man had meant trouble for me, but he also saw us relatively relaxed with each other, so he decided to give an appreciative nod.

“Earl Magnusson. I have heard a few things about you, it is nice to finally make your acquaintance.” Ivar raised his cup.

The Earl of Bork however gave a short laugh and clapped my shoulder. “This is what you meant when you said that my son would not be too crippled to marry or lead my people when I meant to offer you his hand.” He seemed honestly delighted that Ivar was living proof that his son could still amount to something.

I saw Ivar’s jaw set, though. He did not like to hear that I had been proposed to, even if he did not know the circumstances, because somehow I had been able to keep this detail from him.

“It is great to see you, Ivar Ragnarsson, and I hope you can show me how you overcame the obstacles your…circumstances confronted you with.”

Ivar smiled superficially, but it was a cold, reptilian smile that let cold shivers run down my spine. “It is always a pleasure to be a good example. If you’ll excuse me, I believe my brothers wanted to see me.”

And with that he crawled away.

Earl Magnusson looked at me, slightly unsettled. “I hope I did not offend your husband.”

I shook my head and closed my eyes. “Don’t worry about it. He just has a lot on his mind at the moment. I am sure he has some important business to sort out with his brothers. One of them is getting married tomorrow, so I am actually surprised they showed their faces tonight.”

That was when Lagertha waved me over and I had to excuse myself from Earl Magnusson myself. In a corner of the room I saw King Harald and Halfdan talk to someone I had never seen before. When he turned to look at me, I felt slightly nauseous and I didn’t know why. Probably just too much ale and not enough to eat, so I shrugged it off and walked over to Lagertha, who wanted to know how Ripa fared and if Ragnheiđur was well.

I left not long after my conversation with Lagertha was over, mostly because I could not shake that feeling of nausea. Shortly after I had left the hall, I could feel a presence that I knew all too well by this point. I didn’t even need to turn around and look at him, I could feel it in the air, when Ivar was close. It was a certain electric quality to the air around us, it was charged with his anger and my stubbornness and a pull towards him that almost made me afraid.

“Wait up, Y/N! You might remember I am not as fast on my hands as you are on your feet.”

“I do remember you being faster than people tend to think you are.”

He reached me and looked up to me with his unbelievably blue eyes that even shone in the dark of the night out here. There was something like hope in them for a moment, but that was quickly washed away by his constant guardedness and an anger, I could not place this time. Normally, I could at least tell what angered him. But all emotion was shut away right now, I had to navigate blindly.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” he asked me directly.

I started walking in the direction of our – his? – home.

“Our home.” He said softly. “It will always be our home, that small room in my family’s house.”

I looked straight ahead, carrying a small smile in the corner of my mouth.

“I had to…no, that is wrong. I wanted to say my goodbyes, wish you luck and see you off. This is your fight and I wanted you to know that I am on your side.”

He chuckled. “Funny. For someone claiming to be on my side, you are gone quite a lot. And you are rather quick in telling me how wrong I am in what I do.”

I chuckled. “Because I love you, Ivar. I only want, what is best for you. And sometimes that means giving you an opinion you don’t want to hear when I believe you are going down the wrong path. Sometimes loving somebody means not letting them get their will, but telling them they are wrong to keep them from harm.”

We had reached the threshold I had carried him over all those moons ago and I heard him laugh.

“So, you claim you love me, but why should I believe you?”

I was getting annoyed. I had honestly told him how I felt and he contested it. With a dark look at him, I entered our room and sat down on the stool to take off my shoes. “I guess you just have to trust me on this one.”

He shook his head. “But how do I know that nobody else is calling you their own?”

Incredulously I stared at him. “How do you come up with things like this?!”

His voice sounded almost reasonable when he explained: “You have been away quite a while, my wife, and now I have to hear that you have been offered the hand of another man in marriage. And even though I know everything that is going on, you decided to hide that fact from me. What do you think, how does that make me feel?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ivar, stop the games, I was never actually offered the hand of Earl Magnusson’s son, because I told him I was married. Besides, you know what I have been doing most of the time I was away, you probably just overlooked it.”

His jaw clenched. It actually bothered him. “I have seen how they looked at you. The men from your town. The earls at the Thing. Do you have any idea how many of them wanted to claim you and that earldom of yours?”

Still sitting, I started taking off my jewellery and put it on the table. “But I am not interested in them and I am very well capable of defending my honour. I am only interested in my earldom and in you, my husband.”

He came up behind me and I could feel his hot breath on my neck. “So, you have not come to stay in Kattegat and wait for me to come back? You are still holding on to that little earldom of yours?”

“Ivar, you are going to Northumbria, you won’t even notice I am not in Kattegat.” I tried to reason with him. With his jealousy of my earldom.

“So, you will be here when I return?” he asked darkly.

I gave a sigh. “If I…”

He groaned like a wounded animal. “No! There is no If! You are mine! You don’t belong to that earldom of yours, you belong to me!”

I turned around on the stool to face him. “I have seen your thoughts, Ivar”, I said, sounding as menacingly as him, “I know that you don’t plan on coming home after you have had your revenge! I know the schemes you are putting together; while your brothers only want revenge for your dead father, you want more. You seek glory, fame and notoriety!”

Our faces were only a few breaths away from each other and his eyes glittered coldly, his lips were pressed together tightly. He exhaled a quick breath through his nose.

“What is it to you? You are not here, so don’t tell me that you will miss me!”

“Did it ever occur to you that it numbs the pain of you being away when I have something else to do than to just wait for your return? I do miss you, I miss you badly. And if you want me close then take me with you to Northumbria! Let me fight by your side.”

His eyes were wet. “No.” he simply said. Then crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No!”

“And why not?”

“We have talked about this, Y/N.” he growled. “You are mine!”

My stare became furious and I wanted to hurt him. So, I pushed his shoulder. “Then stake your claim, cripple!” I snarled at him, pushing my face even closer to his, baring my teeth. “Show me that I am yours, Boneless!” I shoved him a second time -

It was as if a switch had been flipped, as white-hot anger washed over Ivar and he only growled deeply, before he leapt forward kissing my lips hungrily, so he accidently bit my lower lip. Then he shoved me so hard, I toppled backwards off my stool. He grabbed it and threw it aside, before I felt his familiar weight on me, his lips back on mine, then on my neck, biting, drawing blood. His hands pushed up my skirt and pulled down his pants. He looked at me, eyes dark and a feral fury within them. He only gave a gutteral grunt when he suddenly and unexpectedly pushed into me. My eyes went wide with shock at what was happening and I drew up my knees, as if to shield me, but it only helped him to push deeper. A moan was drawn from my lips and I dug my nails into the fabric at the back of his tunic. He didn’t care, didn’t stop to think, fumbling at my still clothed breasts, as he started to move faster and harder, chasing for release. I crossed my ankles over his ass, to answer his rhythm, let my head fall back and my eyes fall closed. His fingers caressed my cheek and then his mouth was at my throat again, kissing, biting, licking. I moaned again. Let his name roll from my lips. He rolled his hips more violently to answer. Once, twice, and as his hips started to stutter, he finished with one final, deep push that made me bite his collarbone to keep from screaming, not from pain, but from pleasure. As suddenly, as it had begun, it was over and Ivar collapsed on top of me. His eyes found mine, as he exhaustedly mumbled:

“You are mine, Y/N. Mine alone.”

We lay in a heap on the floor and didn’t move for a moment. I did not argue.

“And you are mine.” I sighed and let my head roll back, exposing my neck, so Ivar could see the marks he had left. I was about ready to drift off to sleep, when Ivar pulled himself off the floor and said my name.

“Come on, get up from the floor, you’ll get sick.” He said in a weird tone of voice, I had never heard before. I glanced up into his face and found genuine concern in it, so I reluctantly got off the floor, took off my dress and brushed off the sand off my legs and butt, then quickly dried off the juices from between my legs with the dress, before getting into the bed and beneath the furs. He followed quickly after, but kept a safe distance. I felt his hand touch my shoulder hesitantly.

“Did I… did I hurt you?” he asked, still in that weird tone. I turned around to face him and frowned.

“No Ivar, you didn’t. Why do you ask?”

“You… you screamed. And not quietly, like…really loud. And then you bit me and almost passed out.”

I looked at him. Was that what had happened? I tried to clear the warm fuzzy feeling in my head.

“No, it was… it felt… I have never had sex before, but I guess this was not bad.”

Suddenly, his eyes went wide and then his whole face lit up with joy. “I am not boneless.” he whispered in awe.

I smiled before I rested my head against his strong chest. “No, you are definitely not.”

He chuckled. “I don’t even really know what happened.”

“You lost control, that is what happened. You were scary angry, Ivar.” I told him in a level tone of voice, to cover my concern. Then again, I had pushed him into this fit of anger.

“I could say I am sorry, but that would be a lie.” He grinned smugly.

We lay in silence for a while then he asked:

“There is no getting out of this? You die, I die, right?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathed in his scent. “Yes. Also, your mother made me a völva or something more than a seer and the Gods might have plans for us.”

“You have to admire my mother’s handiwork. She did not hold back. The way she brought chaos to our lives, she did it properly.” He said quietly.

“I don’t think it was all her fault. Someone must have given her the idea.”

“Oh, believe me, my mother had that idea all by herself. She did it for me. She did everything for me. She loved me.”

I gave a small nod. “I will go back to Yrsa, once I am in Ripa. She wanted to practice with me, teach me how to controll our bond.”

Ivar looked at me curiously. “And why would you do that?”

I hid my face in his chest. “To be able to check in with you at will. See what you are doing.”

“Winning battles of course. The Saxons won’t know what is coming for them.”

I smiled sadly against his body. “Promise me to come back alive.”

Ivar kissed my hair and smiled into the kiss. “Even if I die, we will go to Valhalla together. No one can keep us apart.”

My arms wound around his torso and hugged him firmly to my body. “Yes, but I would love to spend more hours like this.”

“When I get back, we’ll see.” He replied hesitantly.

The next couple of days flew by in a rush; Margarete’s and Ubbe’s wedding went by quickly, it was a beautiful ceremony and I was happy I was able to attend it. Hvitserk gave her away and I could feel there was something going on there, but I did not want to snoop and I had a lot on my mind already. I promised Margarete to meet her when we had said our goodbyes to the men and then left the festivities rather early to get some time for myself.

I went down to the beach a little outside of town and looked out onto the sea. It was a clear day, yet the sea was restless, just like myself. I closed my eyes against the breeze and took in a deep breath. Suddenly, I felt snowflakes on my skin, was back in the city, looked around the new reinforcements of the city, there was a shieldmaiden lying in the newly fallen snow. Her blood had tinted it a dark red, molten it in places. There were people fighting all around, Kattegat was under attack. I opened my eyes and was back at the late autumn shore I had been a moment ago. This was new. And unnerving. I sat down on a piece of driftwood in the sand, when I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder.

“You are awfully alone out here on a day your family is welcoming a new member.” Floki said, before he dropped down onto the log as well.

“Well, shouldn’t you be at the wedding as well?” I looked at him with a cocked eyebrow.

He shrugged and giggled. “Maybe. But I don’t feel much like celebrating these days. There’s a change in the wind and strange tides are coming in. But I don’t need to tell you that, now, do I?” His grin was replaced by a serious and questioning look.

“Floki, do you believe our Gods are on our side? That our Gods are friendly?”

“I don’t know if one necessarily includes the other. I believe they test us. Some more than others. Some are born into greater fates and have to fight harder than others. I believe that you and Ivar are two people that will have to fight a lot. Not with each other, though you keep getting better and better at that.” Again he giggled.

“Oh, Floki, where do we go from here?” I didn’t expect an answer to that question, it was just a genuine question I asked myself, and he understood and we sat in slience for a while.

Then he cleared his throat. “I have a feeling, Y/N, that I won’t return to Kattegat. Helga says, she is going with me, she is taking Tanaruz. There is nothing left for me here. Ragnar is gone, all of our old friends, they have gone to Valhalla before me. Only Lagertha remains, but she is not the same. Kattegat is not the same. I am tired of the constant fighting and scheming, everybody wants to be king or queen. It hasn’t been like this in the old days. I feel like our lives were easier back then, when Ragnar was just a farmer and I was just his boat-building friend.”

Floki’s eyes searched for mine then I gave a slight nod. “The tides will turn once again in Kattegat, but also in Northumbria. Nothing will be as it was. I feel it as well.”

Floki took my hand. “Don’t tell Ivar what I told you. It would hurt him and he would not understand. He is young and looking for infamy, just like his father when he was younger, but with more to prove.”

“I don’t know if he hears what I am saying. I try to save him from the path he is sliding down, but he doesn’t want to be saved. It is like trying to sail a boat in a storm. I fear I will lose him out on the waves.”

Now Floki giggled. “Y/N, use that pretty little head of yours. What do we do when there is a storm while we are out at sea? We wait for it to pass and cut our losses. Maybe you will have to take a step back and let Ivar’s boat take a few hits. You can still send a boat to save him when the storm has passed. You don’t sail into the storm.”

I had to laugh at his comment and shook my head. “To see the world through your eyes for only a day would probably change how I look at a lot of things.”

He cocked his head. “If you don’t go crazy in the first couple of hours. It is funny in that head of mine.” He giggled again and I only shook my head.

I stood in our garden when Ivar came home from the wedding and he saw me instantly. I could feel a sense of nervousness radiating off of him and his movements toward me became more urgent. I frowned at that. And it broke my heart when I understood where his reaction came from. His eyes scanned the garden quickly and I knew, he thought I was leaving again. Still, as soon as he had made sure that there were no packed bags and I did not intend to leave, his pokerface returned. We were broken in a way. Tied together, but broken apart.

“Back home, my husband?” I asked him playfully.

Ivar smiled back. “And happy to find you here. What are you doing out in the garden?”

I shrugged, looking around. “You know what I always loved about this garden, small as it is? In the spring it was so full with Blåveis blossoms, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was just, maybe looking around if I could find any of its beauty right now.”

Ivar scoffed. “It’s almost winter, there’s nothing blooming right now.”

I let myself fall to the floor next to him. “Yes, but it will all be in full bloom again next spring, even if we would never suspect its beauty right now.”

He let his head drop to the side and was facing me now. “Why do I feel like you are not just talking about flowers?”

I wriggled my eyebrows and smiled at him. “Because maybe, my dear Ivar, I am not just talking about flowers.”

Ivar looked at me and could not surpress a small laugh. “You look ridiculous when you do this thing with your eyebrows.”

I wriggled them again. “You mean this?”

He let his head drop back in mock-exasperation. “Y/N, why do you have to be like this?”

I grinned. “Because I know it annoys you. No, come on, let’s get inside. It is getting cold out here.”

Ivar followed me inside the house and we noted that neither Hvitserk nor Sigurd were home. The house was quiet and dark except for the two of us. We quickly washed off the day and got into bed. Today, Ivar moved closer to me as soon as we were beneath the furs. He kissed my shoulder.

“I would love to try the thing we did yesterday again.” He whispered close to my ear and I felt a shiver running down my spine in anticipation, as he started to kiss along my spine. Then I turned around and looked into his eyes and kissed him slowly. I could feel his hands on my body and let mine explore as well, as I started to kiss along his neck and collarbone. He started playing with my breasts, but after a while I noticed that something was off.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him, as a deep furrow started to form between his eyebrows.

“It’s…”, his voice was small and pressed, “…nothing is happening. It’s like before. I don’t understand…”

I looked at him and felt my heart break for him once again. My hand found his cheek and I pulled him closer to me, as I closed my eyes.

“It’s okay Ivar. You are just putting too much pressure on yourself. Let’s just… let us just be for a moment, okay?” I kissed his cheek and I felt a hot tear falling from his lashes. He was feeling ashamed and worthless again and buried his face against my shoulder. I kissed his temple. I was there with him, but I knew that this broke something in him he had thought fixed. I saw him fight with Sigurd, but I beat down the images, because I did not want to see them now. Or ever. I had seen how that situation played out the moment we got married. Maybe the Gods had tried to warn me back then. But even if they had, by now, I was too far down the rabbit hole to get out of this. Right now, I felt my broken husband cry against me and tried as hard as I could to hold the pieces of him together.

“I love you, Ivar.” I whispered against his hair.

I felt him laugh humorlessly. “How could you ever love a cripple like me? How can you say that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. And believe me, sometimes I don’t know why. But I do. I do love you.”

I knew that right now, he did no believe me. But I also knew that he needed to hear it before he left.

#vikings fanfic #history vikings #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #fates entwined #tw: dubious consent #tw: dubcon #ivar ragnarsson

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