#which prompted his entire family to go on a witch hunt after me but i hid in some pretty secluded park from where i could also watch them

[razorblade180]

Not really in the mood for writing a prompt so I’m just gonna ramble about how cool Weiss is in TSF AU

I basically made her the closest thing to a witch I could without stepping into magic territory. It always bugged me how her semblance and Dust was so compatible but it was never tested to its limits, so I imagine Weiss learned to basically be a pro in the field of dust manipulation. Has a real intuitive sense for it, which is why her kids are so good for their age. A lot of it stems from always getting unarmed in battle.

She learns that she can grab a dust cartridge and put a glyph at the end of it to pull it out and construct things like a saber of pure Dust. Eventually she gets creative enough to throw vials and catch them with glyphs to trigger timed explosions.

In crystal form, Weiss gets the hang of making glyphs and simply pushing the crystal into it to create a flame thrower affect. The most reckless and dangerous trick is using the refined powder state. Even with gloves on, the margin for error when throwing or outlining a pattern with it is small cause a chain reaction could lead the effect back to her hands.

Dust for water isn’t actually a thing, but through countless trail and error, Weiss knows how combine fire and ice Dust to create the desire effects. She even helped researcher and companies create vials with ratios already mixed so other huntsman and individuals could have access to the element.

Is the one who helped teach her brother how to use their semblance. Also started the idea along with Ruby to plan “hunting trips” where Weiss or any of her relatives would go off to kill a powerful a Grimm to add to their summon abilities.

Weiss has in fact killed a dragon. Took her an entire month and she did it for free. She learned create magma during this time and gained a fondness for more practical uses of rock Dust. Eventually she learned to make constructs out of most materials. Even lightning.

Is the manger and agent for both of her children when it comes to their professional lives. Most collaborative works don’t make it past her before she even thinks about bringing them up to her kids.

Regularly considered Penny’s science partner in the study of Dust and its utility. One of them is also pitching ideas to the other and showing rough blueprint ideas. Their most popular hit and meaningful success is modern dust weaving into clothes. Suddenly, winters in Mantle weren’t as harsh and Weiss’s daughter could live an easier life with her condition.

Helped fund Oscar’s therapy practice. Was also his first patient. Some might conflict of interest. Those people don’t know Oscar “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it” Pine. Was a super big help in her darker moments after adjusting to parenthood and old family trauma.

Occasionally surprises her friends and family with appearing in a modeling catalog or runway. It helped her gain some confidence back after having twins. She also likes to make a point that Jaune’s wife is incredibly hot so there’s no point in random women thinking he’s going anywhere, and to make any guy that looked down on him feel shame. Jaune matches the energy by also looking gorgeous when the opportunity arises.

Weiss also makes no effort to hide any scars. That includes wearing a half shirt or bikini that shows where Cinder stabs her or the two scars on her face. That way her daughter and even her brother, feel more comfortable about their scars.

If you ask her what her biggest sacrifice is, it’s making sure she never matches hairstyle or clothes with her daughter. Weiss kinda misses the ponytail but Summer will look at her a little funny despite them not being the same kind. Eventually Summer will stop caring and rationalize they look alike regardless of anything they do. They’re both just two pretty ladies other people get jealous of. She doesn’t have this attitude with Winter!!!

The top of everyone’s emergency contact list. Also the only adult aside from Ruby that every child (except her own daughter) feels immensely comfortable with emotionally. Even Yang’s kid is pretty soft around Weiss. Practically karma for how much Weiss’s son adored Yang when he was little.

[hydrasaura]

does this to whoever pisses me off 😩

[flamingpudding]

I have a new prompt idea and it's dark

So the Nightingale / Fentons are a pretty curse family and one of the curses is one where any Nightingale that tries to leave behind the family name will either greatly disappoint their family or Die because of being curious

It's a long curse starting all the way back to there great great great uncle Kingsley (Klarion) Nightingale because he was the sibling of the original Nightingale it started the The witch Hunt because he didn't get magic but Klarion he started killing which is one of them curses entire family not knowing that the rest of them were witches

Which cost to chain reaction to every Nightingale that tries to walk away from a family suffering a terrible fate like Thomas Fenton Nightingale who ran away and change his names in Thomas Wayne and was able to rebrand his entire but died with his wife after they got too curious of the Court Of Owls

Cursing his family for always being on the bad side of History cuz a few of his cousins were working with the court of owls

So when the original Nightingale started to finally pick off his family that was trying to run away from The Nightingales Kingsley was burned alive cursing the Nightingale Fenton name

Or Danny Fenton who died in the portal accident came back alive and disappointed his parents were setting with the ghost instead of hunting them

How this is all figured out is Constantine is checking over Batman for curses when he's like oh you have a family named curse and I like oh the lame one he's like no your father's real name he ends up finding out all of this information

Can you even affect Jason because he was adopted by Bruce making him technicality a nightingale and he died being mad at Bruce for not saving him and came back still cursing Bruce

So this could be a crack prompt or a really angsty one depending on how you view it because Batman is finding out that he's really into all of these people but he somewhat knows or realizing that he definitely affected all of his robins due to a family person to give no he actually had

Which continued

Interesting Idea... I like some of the premises... here and many ideas are really interesting!

> So i took a spin at this throughout several weeks. yes this has been sitting in my drafts for a long time and i added things slowly but in the end it still is a pretty short piece... sorry... writing really has been hard for me lately again...

Though I think i might have gone a little astray from what you originally had here though or didn't include it enough.

Hope you will still enjoy the following!

------------------

John Constantine sometimes really hated having to work with the Bat and not just because he was one of these spandex wearing goody two shoes heroes. Okay maybe goody two shoes was a stretch but Bats was one of the heroes that annoyed him still. There was also another reason. Something he had slightly noticed since the first time he had meet the man. But back then he had ignored it.

Like hell was he going to get involved more than necessary with the bat suit wearing hero.

Well with the passing years it more and more became something he couldn't ignore any more. Especially since whatever it was had a certain stink to it that John really hated right now. Not just because he was forced to sit in one of these many Boy Scout meetings because Zatana was busy. It tickled his mage senses, but not in a good way. No it was the way that really made him want to take a swing of his flask, he would take one if he wasn't running the risk of his flask getting taken away from him by one of these heroes.

"Yre fucking cursed to hell and back, mate." John decided to speak up instead anyway with a dead-stare at Batman and interrupting whatever else Sups was going on about. Okay so maybe in reconsideration, John should have waited until after the meeting to say anything at all, really. But in his defense, Batmans curse was stinking even more now. Like it had been freshly activated by something.

Great thing, whatever the meeting had been about before got completely forgotten as everyone focused on the fact that THE Batman apparently had managed to get cursed given his history with magic. Bad thing, Batman pressured John into investigating what kind of freaking curse stuck to Batman. And boy, can he say that explaining to Batman that he was stuck with a centuries old course that was pretty much affecting anyone he sees as family was not fun, nore was explaining that this wasn't a recent curse but one he had very much inherited from his father.

"Nightingale, the name ringing any bells Batsie? Curse is tied to that name apparently." Was what he ended is explanation with only to get a stoic stare and a grunt as answer. Sometimes John really wanted to wrangle that hero in particular.

"Can you trace it back?" John side eyed Sups who looked worriedly between him and Batman.

"Can you trace it back..." He repeated with a mocking mutter, who did they think he was? Of course John could trace it back, he wouldn't even need to sell his souls for the x-time to do that. Not like he would for Bats of all people, but then again, he had sold his souls for less before. "Of course I can trace it back, mate."

John took just a little bit of pleasure in the fact that he was in a position to demand something from Batman when he pestered the man for a bit of his hair or fingernail clippings to use as a medium to trace the origin back. It wasn't nice anymore when he traced it back to an area that was the magical equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle. Ground Zero. A No-Go. Do not Touch with a ten foot pole. The Do Not Enter of the magical world.

To say the heroes weren't impressed when they saw him taking a very needed swing from his flask was an understatement. Because seriously John needed a stronger Whiskey for this shit.

"What the hell do you have to do with Amity Park!?"

Danny meanwhile felt a shiver going down his spine, but he shock it off as he souped Skulker for the 3rd time this month. His eyes surveyed the area for a moment wondering what was going on before he once again choose to shrug it off. His legs turning into his ghostly tail as he flew back towards Fenton Works. Unaware of the storm brewing far away, while Clockwork was cackling in his tower contemplating if he should give his ghost child a heads up or not.

[katnissmellarkkk]

how about Katniss’s birthday before the Quell — do we hear much about that? if anything? if not, what about Peeta taking a timeout from his trainer persona to bring her something like a cake? 🥺

I’m always a little insecure when I do post prompts because I don’t know if it’s exactly like the prompt but I actually think it’s like 99 percent close? Which is like, amazing for me because I always twist prompts a little 🤏🏻 and I don’t think I did here! Anyways! I finally wrote this soooo. Well actually I wrote most of it a while back but I finished it and cleaned it up. But anyways, yay! I hope you and everyone else who blesses me by reading enjoy this! It’s short — at least for me. I don’t know the exact word count but … probably too long for a drabble but a short oneshot. Okay anyways, if I keep talking the AN’s going to be longer than the oneshot.

Since the morning after the Quell was announced, I’ve done my best to not cry again about my given fate. Going back into the arena a second time—this time with all experienced killers, who have been friends for decades, no less—was daunting, but one morning of weeping is about all I could afford.

Not that I truly had time to wallow in my own misery. Peeta had me and Haymitch on a tight regimen. Every day he pushes us further, every day he orders us to cut the breaks between circuits shorter, to keep on running, to not lose our momentum, to hit the target again and again and again. And again.

It’s even gotten to the point, as of late, that Peeta’s mother, the witch herself, has forbidden our usage of her precious flour sacks as weights, claiming she still needs the ingredients to keep the bakery running and we’ve already wasted enough.

Her son is rather put out with her — to put it lightly — but for perhaps the first time ever, I’m grateful to the sour woman. Last year, when I cited Peeta’s ability to toss a sack of flour over his shoulder, I didn’t recognize what a true feat it really was. Even after two weeks of attempting to lift the stupid, heavy objects, it still took all of my strength to even get the stupid things off the ground.

Haymitch and me so much as shared a conspicuous smirk when told we no longer have to endure that particular activity.

Of course, Peeta still insists on heavy lifting to gain muscle, trying to find a substitute for the flour sacks in way of buckets filled with gigantic rocks and overfilled water jugs. This doesn’t seem to be of much strain to him or Haymitch — and therefore, not of much help to their training — but I can visibly see the difference in my arms day to day. Having never done much lifting in the past, since it’s hardly necessary for hunting or trapping, it’s particularly fascinating to me, watching my biceps grow larger as Peeta’s insistent training plan marches on.

But Peeta still feels the need to push himself further. Perhaps even more so than me — or our now very sober mentor — he feels the urge to always put additional strain on himself, more and more with every day that passes on by.

And as of today, his dissatisfaction with the lack of heavy weights available for his training finally reached a head when he casually pitched the idea of using me as a weight.

At first, I thought he was kidding. For a solid minute, I just stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

It was only after I glanced at Haymitch’s uncharacteristically earnest face that I realized there was no joke in the matter. I debated refusing for a moment before I sighed, resigning myself to becoming a human leverage.

It took over an hour of Peeta lifting me over his head, of being swung up in his arms, being whirled over his shoulder or seesawed up and down, for me to realize this was actually a nice break for me from the rigorous training. By the day’s end, I’m perfectly content to let my fake fiancé bench press me, throw me up like the sack of flour he covets so badly and whatever else he deems necessary.

It was only later on the walk home, right after Peeta said he needed to stop by the bakery to see his father, that Haymitch predicted the true reason for my day of leisure.

“I suppose that was the boy’s birthday present to you.”

My head whips upwards towards him, shocked. No one has mentioned the date at all as of late. The acknowledgement of the sparse time left until the games is weighing heavy on us all. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “Because I do,” is all he says finally, as he turns in the direction of his own house now. Just as he reaches his door though, he murmurs, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” before heading inside.

Ever since the announcement that I’m doomed to be reaped again, my mother and Prim have done just about everything to make things seem okay around the house. Beyond that even. They’ve dedicated themselves to always appearing cheerful, to always having dinner ready for me, to always having a remedy for healing my achy muscles or advice for putting on more weight.

But if they’re usually chipper, tonight they’re downright ecstatic when I cross the threshold. And the reason is all too obvious.

This is likely going to be the last birthday we spend together. And not just of mine, but any of ours.

It strikes me unexpectedly that I’ll never see my own sister grow up, I’ll never see her into adulthood, I’ll never be able to watch her become the talented healer, the wise beyond her years young woman, the nurturing mother she’s doubtlessly destined to be.

And I almost get choked up at the thought. My resolve to not break down into tears like the morning after the president’s announcement nearly crumbles. But I hold it together somehow. By some inexplicable strength deep inside, I hold myself together.

My mother did her best to recreate the lamb stew dish from the Capitol I loved the best and I practically lick my plate. Not just to make her feel good but because all this training has exponentially increased my appetite.

Prim tells me all about school and Lady and a funny man she healed this afternoon, who had a proclivity for telling jokes while she stitched his bleeding arm.

She’s just getting into a pretty fabric she saw in town today when a loud knock interrupts us. My mother glances at me meaningfully, as if urging me to go get the door.

I shoot her a puzzled look, as I’m the least personable member of this family and surely, no one is here to visit me.

“Go on,” she says though, nodding towards the entryway. “Go see who’s there.”

I stand from the table and hesitantly humor her, unsure the entire walk there what could be awaiting me on the other side.

The answer dawns on me as the most obvious thing in the world, as soon as I turn the knob.

And see Peeta standing on my porch. He’s still in the same white shirt he wore earlier, still damp with sweat from the heat outside and the added exertion of lifting my body weight countless times.

But that’s not all I notice. Right off the bat I see that he’s holding something delicate in his hands. I blink once before recognizing what it is.

A birthday cake.

A birthday cake that has been meticulously frosted into a deep pine green. My favorite color, as he knows.

I realize after a moment that my name is cursively splayed across the top in white icing.

“Peeta,” I open my mouth to say something, to say just about anything, but much to my dismay, nothing comes out and I’m stuck fumbling like an idiot in the doorway.

He gives me a tight smile though and it’s the first smile he’s really showed me in weeks, and as he gently pushes the cake into my hands, it strikes me just how much I’ve missed the sight. “Happy birthday, Katniss,” he whispers, his baby blues lingering on my face only for one beat before he quickly turns to make an escape.

Before I can think it through, I’m calling after him. “Peeta, wait!”

Very slowly, he swivels around to face me. “Yeah?”

I freeze, dumbfounded. I don’t actually know what I wish to say now that I have his attention. That I miss him even though I don’t know how I really feel for him? That I plan to trade my life for his in only a few weeks time and all his work and effort to prepare me for the games is useless because it’s him I intend to come back home? That I hate his trainer persona so much and I wish he’d go back to just being my friend again?

That I really miss it when he acted like friend?

Instead all that comes out is a choked invite. “Come in,” I urge, and the plea in my tone is palpable. “Please come in and share this with us.”

He thinks about the proposition for a long moment, leaving me still standing there like an idiot, holding a cake too big to fit in my hands. Finally though, he graciously relents to my request. “Okay,” he murmurs and I swear I see something akin to excitement in his eyes.

And I wonder in the back of my mind how many nights Peeta spends alone, eating these delicious desserts by himself in his too grand dining room.? I wonder if, deep down, he secretly wanted to join me and my family for cake? If he misses our attempt at friendship too?

He generously takes the cake back into his hold, having the advantage of strength over me. Lifting bread-trays and flour sacks all his life made him reasonably strong before our first games. The current training regimen him and I — and Haymitch too — are currently doing has made him remarkably strong.

“Thank you,” I whisper again as he brushes past me in the doorway, as he enters my home and heads in direction of the dining room where Prim will doubtlessly be overjoyed at the sight of the sweet treat.

“You’re welcome, Katniss,” he says again, and flashes me one more smile. This time it’s less shy and with teeth. “Happy birthday.”

Yes, I think to myself as I shut the door behind us. Happy seventeenth birthday to me.

[haidyn-reeves]

Lie to Me

Summary: The classic truth spell trope with a wicked twist.

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4948 

Warnings: Dean’s an asshole. Angst makes the world go ‘round. Insecurities briefly mentioned. Did I mention Dean’s an asshole? Fluff if you squint.

A/N: I’m back! This is my entry for @jawritter‘s Make Me Cry challenge and @deanwanddamons 2k Celebration! My prompts are in bold. I hope y’all enjoy!

It was no secret that Dean had changed since he took the Mark of Cain. He was more reckless than normal, which only progressed after taking out the entire Stine family for what they did to Charlie and almost did to Y/N. Y/N was in the bunker when the Stines invaded, resorting to hiding in one of the trunks of the classic cars in the garage to stay safe. Once Dean left Castiel bloody and battered in the library, he raced to the garage, having told Y/N not to move until he came for her. When he found her, his features only softened once he saw how terrified she was of him; the amount of blood covering his clothes and hands was enough to turn her stomach. Y/N, as usual, did her best to clean up the older Winchester, using it as a way to distract her from what happened only hours prior. When it was time to say goodbye to Charlie, Y/N separated herself from the brothers, the tension between them so thick you needed a chainsaw to cut through. Dean tossed some heated remarks to Sam and Y/N sank to the muddy ground, furious that this was happening in front of the pyre that held their dear friend. Dean stormed off and Sam came around to help her up, the pair watching the bow-legged hunter climb into his Impala and drive away.

Dean was angry, and the only way he knew how to release that anger was to hunt and kill whatever he could. He scoured the news, desperate to find something he could take down, preferably alone. He couldn’t look at Sam, blaming his brother for the death of his surrogate sister. He didn’t want to bring Y/N with him, he just wanted to drive, hunt, and kill.

Dean found a case, one that would hopefully settle the Mark’s need for blood and his own anger. The fact that it was a witch was an added bonus.

He left in the middle of the night when Sam and Y/N couldn’t try to stop him or tag along. He felt a little bad leaving Y/N behind but the Mark stung too badly for him to care at the moment. He wouldn’t be gone long, the case was only two states over, he’d back soon enough. 

In the bunker, Y/N was pissed that Dean was ignoring her calls. Sam expected it, he knew how angry Dean was, so he expected for his brother to ignore him, but Y/N? He adored her, for Dean to ignore her was unlike him. Y/N was confused, she wasn’t part of the plot to save Dean, Sam explicitly kept her out of the loop because he knew asking her to sneak behind Dean’s back was out of the question. She was loyal to the older Winchester, to a fault, and asking her to go against his wishes was more than even Sam could muster. 

Ever since the Stines invaded and killed Charlie, Y/N was thinking about her feelings for Dean. She called him immediately when they broke the door down and he’s the one who instructed her to hide in the garage; it was a plan the two agreed on for these situations. While she was hiding in the trunk of one of the vintage vehicles, all she could think about was that she could die and never be able to tell Dean how she felt. She decided then that she’d tell him, and soon. That’s why she was so upset that he left without telling her, it just prolonged her getting everything out in the open.

While the two waited in the bunker for Dean’s return, Dean handled the witch with ease. She tried at the last minute to hit him with what he assumed was a spell of sorts, but the witch killing bullet was in her before she could finish the incantation. He felt better, the Mark’s hunger was satiated, and there was one less witch causing trouble. A win all around, in his book.

Y/N was sitting in the library researching when the bunker door opened three days later. She was trying to keep the hurt and the anger at bay, still upset that Dean was ignoring her for reasons she couldn’t figure out while she was ready to tell him how she felt. Sam was out grabbing dinner, she assumed it was him.

“That was fast,” she remarked, getting up to help him unpack, until she was face to face with Dean. “Oh, not Sam. Welcome home.” She moved to greet him with a hug, only for him to step back out of her reach. Her face fell, Dean never rejected her touch, even with the Mark. “Dean?”

“Don’t touch me,” he growled, “I hate it when you throw yourself at me like that.”

“You…what? Since when?”

“Since forever. Just shows how clingy you are.”

Y/N stared in shock before letting her eyes cast to the floor, the heat in her cheeks so warm coupled with his venomous glare that she was growing physically uncomfortable before him. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t realize…I thought we…I thought you and I…“

“What? You thought there was something here?” Dean motioned between the two of them. “Far from it.” He looked her over, his eyes running over her figure. “You think I’d ever want you?”

“I…I thought m-maybe…”

“Well I don’t. I don’t even want you here.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered, knowing if she was really that unwelcome, he’d have no problem kicking her out.

“True? You want the truth? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t handle the truth. But I’ll give it to you. Don’t you think if I wanted you, I’d have done something by now? You’re just another burden that was dumped on me that I didn’t ask for.” He paused, circling the war table, Y/N visibly shaking before him as she tried to keep herself composed, though it was obvious she was already broken at his words. “You’re always in the way, you know? You’re one more person I have to protect on hunts, since you’re not exactly reliable these days. Maybe if you were in shape you’d be less of a liability, then I wouldn’t have to constantly be saving your sorry ass-“

“Dean!” Sam barked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Y/N hadn’t even heard him come in, the blood was pounding in her ears as she fought back tears, refusing to cry in front of Dean for fear he’d throw that in her face, too. He already implied she was fat, using her biggest insecurity against her, she didn’t need him throwing another one her way.

“What? I’m just saying,” Dean shrugged.

“You don’t just say that,” Sam glared before shooting a knowing look to Y/N, nodding his head towards the kitchen. She took the hint and all but ran out of the room. “What the hell could she have said to make you say that to her? She didn’t do anything to you.”

“She’s just annoying, another mouth to feed, a cockblock at the bar. We don’t need her here bringing us down. I wish she’d just leave.”

“Do you even hear yourself? That’s Y/N. She’s done more for us than anyone else has. She takes care of us when we’re sick and hurt, she puts up with our shit, specifically all of your shit and you…what the fuck Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes, picking up his bags and turning to leave the room. Sam watched in disbelief before joining Y/N in the kitchen finding her with her head in her hands at the table. “Hey, hey, shhhh,” he whispered, sitting down next to her and pulling her into his arms. She sobbed harshly into his flannel. 

“He h-hates me,” she cried, the words muffled against his shirt. Sam shook his head, furious with his brother.

“He doesn’t, he couldn’t.” He rubbed her back soothingly, gently rocking her from side to side. “That wasn’t my brother.”

“I…I d-don’t understand,” she whimpered, sniffling.

“What exactly happened? Can you tell me?”

Y/N sat up slightly, wiping the tears off her cheeks and taking a deep breath to steady herself. “I thought he was you, I said hello, went to hug him. He backed up and when I tried to see what was wrong, he just started in on me.” She looked down. “I was finally ready to tell him, Sam.”

His eyes widened, knowing exactly what she meant. “Oh fuck no,” he muttered, pulling her back into his embrace. “Something must’ve happened while he was gone…but even then he had no right to talk to you like that. For everything that he’s been through, even with the Mark, he’d never, ever, talk to you like that. If it was anyone else, they’d be dead. If he could’ve heard himself…“ Sam stopped, shaking his head in anger. “Something’s not right.”

“Am…am I clingy, Sam?” Y/N asked quietly, Dean’s words echoing in her head.

“God, no, Y/N. You’re not. A few hugs and cuddles here and there doesn’t make you clingy.” Sam smiled sadly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You are one of the best things to happen to Dean and me. You look after us, keep this place running, you help with hunts and research. You’re incredibly important to us and you’re a part of this little family, regardless of what my brother said. I love you, he loves you…hell, the real him adores you. You’re the little sister I always wanted, I always want you around. You’re not a cockblock or another mouth to feed and you certainly don’t bring us down. You build us up and help us keep going, every day. And before you say anything, no, there is nothing physically wrong with you, so please don’t get back into that headspace. You’re doing so well, don’t let this bring you back into that dark place. I’ll talk to him.”

Y/N smiled weakly, eyes brimming over with tears at Sam’s reassurance. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “How about you go take a bath and relax a bit while I try to figure out what’s going on, okay?”

She nodded and he squeezed her in another hug before letting her go, watching her leave the kitchen and make her way towards her room, which was unfortunately next to Dean’s. Y/N tiptoed passed his room, terrified of doing anything to set him off on her again. Once in the safety of her bedroom, she gathered her comfiest pajamas, slippers, and her favorite bath soap to bring to the bathroom. She set those items aside, rummaging for her duffle. She didn’t like being so close to Dean after what happened, so she decided to throw her necessities and some clothes into the bag, topping it with her favorite pillow and blanket. She knew the bedroom next to Sam’s was empty, for now she’d make that her room until she felt comfortable being around the older hunter again.

On the way to the bathroom, Y/N dropped her bag, blanket and pillow into the spare room, closing the door behind her before heading into the private, smaller bathroom in the bunker. She turned the water on in the tub, adjusting the temperature before plugging the drain and adding her bath soap before shedding her clothes and sinking into the water below the bubbles.

Down the hall and a few twists and turns away, Sam was making his way to Dean’s room, having already sent a quick prayer to Castiel in hopes he could help him figure out what was wrong with his brother. 

“Sam,” Castiel greeted with a flutter of his wings, “what’s going on?”

Sam sighed heavily. “Something’s wrong with Dean, I don’t know what but the way he just lashed out at Y/N tells me it’s bad.” They stopped outside Dean’s door, Sam knocking hard three times before opening the door, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

“Get out,” Dean growled, ripping his headphones off his ears. 

“Not until you tell me what happened when you were gone to make you come back a grade A douchebag,” Sam shot back.

“Nothing happened, now get out.”

“Dean, you’re not yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Dean glared, his eyes on Castiel. 

“The Dean I know never would’ve said what he did to Y/N, so that’s bullshit,” Sam argued.

“She had it coming,” he shrugged. Sam’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared with anger. “Oh, calm down.”

“You know what Dean? Maybe you should leave for a while,” Sam started, advancing towards Dean, “sort your shit out.”

Dean rose from his bed, glowering at his little brother. “You’re really gonna kick me out? For her?”

Before Sam could respond, Castiel took the opportunity to move around Sam, placing his fingers to Dean’s forehead to see if he could use his grace to identify the problem. “He’s under a spell.”

“A spell? What kind of spell?” Sam asked, looking between the angel and the thoroughly pissed off hunter.

“I’m not sure, but it’s there, clinging to him.” Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead again to try and ease him a bit to get him to cooperate better. Dean sat back down on his bed, a little more relaxed.

“Dean, you have to tell me what happened when you were gone,” Sam pleaded.

“I was on a hunt, it was a witch.”

“Do you remember anything that she said?”

“She was chanting something but I killed her before she could finish.”

“Or maybe you didn’t,” Sam sighed. “I’ll call Rowena, see if she can maybe give use insight as to what kind of spell the witch used.” He pulled out his phone before looking at his brother again. “You stay the hell away from Y/N, got it? You’ve done enough damage.”

“I’ll watch him,” Castiel offered, Sam nodding in agreement before shooting his brother one last look and heading to the library, dialing Rowena’s number.

“Samuel,” she answered.

“Rowena, I need your help.”

“You seem to be needing a lot of that lately, Samuel. And yet you’ve done nothing for me in return.”

“I’m working on it,” he responded curtly, “the quicker you get to the bunker, the faster I finish the deal. It’s about Y/N.”

The witch sighed, having developed a soft spot for the girl. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there soon.”

After her bath, Sam informed Y/N that Rowena was coming and that there was some sort of spell involved. Y/N cringed at his brother’s name, her body tensing. Sam explained that he knew the spell wasn’t an excuse for what Dean said to her, but it helped piece a few things together. Y/N just wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at the hunter the same way again.

Until Rowena arrived, Y/N stayed in her new bedroom, locked away from everyone but Sam. He brought her meals, knowing she wasn’t up to wandering the bunker halls and risking the chance of running into Dean. As strong as he knew she was, even he didn’t think she’d be able to handle another run-in with the older hunter. 

Two days later, Rowena made her way down the steps of the bunker. Sam did his best to fill her in on what little information he got from Dean, which was a terrible pronunciation of whatever the young witch chanted at him, plus the crap attitude he’d been exhibiting ever since, including what he said to Y/N.

“But here’s the thing, I know my brother and I know how he feels about her, and it’s…it’s like everything he said to her is the exact opposite of what he’s ever said to me about her. He’s said some pretty fucked up things in his life, even to me, but to her? He’d never. It doesn’t make sense, he said the witch didn’t even finish the spell.”

“Perhaps your brother changed his mind.”

“Rowena, no. Cas was able to detect the remnants of a spell that seems to be stuck to him. That’s why I need your help, I don’t know what spell it could be.”

“Your brother, he possesses the Mark of Cain, correct?” Sam nodded. “Then whatever spell she cast…the Mark in a way protects the person who bears it. The person can’t die, as you know. In this case, it sounds like the Mark warped the spell that was thrown at Dean and it’s now sticking to him instead of wearing off like it normally would after a few days.”

“But what kind of spell? A truth spell wouldn’t make him say all that…”

“No, but the Mark could twist a truth spell into making him lie, instead. Do you know anything about the witch?”

“She was casting truth spells and tearing couples apart around town,” Dean answered, making his presence known as he entered the war room. “She was angry that her husband had an affair and she took it out on everyone else.”

Sam groaned. “So that’s it. It was a truth spell but the Mark made you lie instead of actually tell the truth.”

Rowena rolled her eyes, “and turned you into quite the dick.” Dean shot a glare at the red-head, ready to bark a nasty reply when Sam stepped between the two.

“You don’t speak unless we ask you to,” he ordered, staring down his brother. Dean’s eyes widened before he cocked a brow, smirking.

“You don’t think there’s more I could say to you this time?”

“I don’t care what you say to me, I know it isn’t you. But Y/N? She’s off limits.”

“Too late for that-“

“ENOUGH,” Rowena yelled, both hunters jumping in surprise, “now, Samuel, you can fetch me these ingredients and Dean, well, you can sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

As Sam went to the storage room to gather the ingredients needed for the spell to reverse the one stuck to Dean, Rowena followed him to Y/N’s makeshift room, knocking on the door. 

“Go away,” Y/N answered pitifully.

“Someone’s here to see you, honey,” Sam answered, “its safe, I promise.” He unlocked her door and left her and Rowena alone while he went to find her supplies. Y/N sat up on her bed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the witch.

“Hi,” she smiled weakly, moving over on her bed to make room for the witch.

“Oh darlin’, Auntie Rowena will fix it,” she soothed, sitting at the foot of the bed. “You see, Dean was hit with a truth spell, but because he bears the Mark, the spell backfired and made him lie instead. Sam’s fetching me the ingredients I need for a reversal to get rid of the spell that’s clinging to him because of the Mark.”

“So…all the things he said…”

“I’m guessing whatever he wanted to say, he said the opposite. Apparently the witch was cheated on by her husband and due to her anger she took it out on everyone, especially men, and cursed them to tell the truth. But in Dean’s case, he was cursed to lie.”

“And be a douche,” Y/N muttered. “He said some awful things, Ro.”

“The man’s not exactly kind on a good day if you’re on his bad side,” Rowena noted. “I’ll fix him. He’s going to remember everything and run in here and apologize, you’ll see.”

“I’m not sure I can look at him, I mean, he was so cold…so brutal. If I look at him that’s all I’ll see.”

“I think once he realizes what he said and how badly he hurt you, you’ll see a side of him you’ve never seen before. Dean’s very protective of you, we all know it, so once he realizes he’s the one who hurt you, he’s gonna be devastated. You just have to remember, it wasn’t him.”

Y/N nodded, though still apprehensive. Rowena smiled warmly, patting her legs before leaving the room to see if Sam found everything. Y/N curled back up under the covers, thinking about what Rowena said. Knowing that a spell made him say those things made her feel the smallest bit better, but it was still replaying in her head since it happened. She could still see Dean’s look of disgust and hear the hatred dripping off his tongue. The idea of facing him, even after he was cured of this spell, still terrified her.

In the library, Dean was sitting at one of the tables nursing his whiskey while Rowena and Sam worked on the spell. Cas was on standby, ready to intervene if Dean got out of hand somehow and also to see if the lingering spell faded. 

Minutes later, Rowena was chanting the incantation for the reversal, Sam and Cas on either side of Dean as a precaution. A beat passed before Dean’s stoic expression faded and his eyes glowed green. Rowena sighed with relief and Cas pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead, nodding. The spell worked, Dean was back to normal.

And oh, what a crash it was.

Dean blinked a few times, looking around at their worried faces as he registered what had happened. When he realized who was missing in the room, his eyes widened as it all came flooding back like a movie scene in his head. 

“Where is she?” He choked, a wave of panic washing over him as he realized the magnitude of what he said to her.

“You remember?” Dean looked at Sam, shame and regret on his face.

“Everything.”

“She’s in the room next to mine, just go easy on her, Dean. You really did a number on her.” Dean nodded, hastily leaving the library and racing down the bunker halls until he got to the room Y/N was in. He took a deep breath before knocking softly.

“Come in,” she called, voice quiet. Dean turned the knob slowly, opening the door to find her curled up on the bed. The blatant fear on her face didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, the grimace leaving a sharp pain in his chest.

“Sweetheart,” his voice was barely above a whisper, “we need to talk.”

“I think you’ve said enough,” she answered, less bite in her reply than she would have liked.

“That…that wasn’t me, you know I’d never-“

“I thought I did, Dean. But that…even with a spell…,” She looked away from him, shaking her head. Dean’s face fell, eyes filling with tears. He really fucked up and it wasn’t even his fault this time.

“Y/N, I swear on Sam’s life, I didn’t mean a single word that I said to you that night. That wasn’t me talking, that was the spell. It’s like everything I wanted to say to you came out the complete opposite, the Mark completely took over and I’m so fucking sorry.” Dean paused, slowly making his way to her bed. When she didn’t object, he sat down by her feet.

“Sweetheart, I need you to look at me,” he begged. Y/N looked up from the spot she was fixated on on the floor, her eyes meeting his teary ones. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, you are perfect exactly the way you are. I wouldn’t be able to go on day after day without you supporting me. You aren’t a burden and I never want you to leave even though I think you deserve better than this life. Selfishly, I can’t let you go. You make this place feel like a home and I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re not clingy…you mean so much to me, Y/N. I can’t tell you how sorry I am and how much I hate that I’ve hurt you. I’m supposed to protect you and you’re…you’re scared of me.”

“You looked at me with such hate,” she whispered, cringing. “I can’t unsee it no matter how hard I try.”

“Sweetheart, I could never hate you,” Dean breathed, “not when I’m too busy loving you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You…what?”

“When I got back that night you said you thought there was something between us and I told you there wasn’t because of the spell’s influence. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve agreed with you. There’s always been a different connection between you and I. I don’t see you as a little sister the way Sam does. I know what I said, but Y/N, how could I not want you?”

Y/N blinked, trying to process what he was saying. “Uh, well, for starters, look at me.”

“I’m always looking at you. I think you’re beautiful exactly the way you are. You take care of me, you put up with my shit, and you’re my best friend. I can’t see myself with anyone else.”

“Dean…I-“

“You don’t have to say it back. I put you through hell, I don’t expect you to feel that way about me anymore.”

“No, I do, and that’s been the hardest part.”

Dean smiled sadly, reaching out to cup her cheek. “If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life, however long that is, proving to you that I mean everything I just said.”

“It wasn’t you,” she whispered, “you don’t have to.”

“But I’ll do it if it means you’ll forgive me.” He wiped a few stray tears off her cheek, his thumb grazing her cheekbone. “Can I hold you?” He asked meekly, biting his lip. She nodded into his palm before getting scooped up in a hug, her face buried in his neck as Dean finally broke, tears landing in her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, squeezing her to him.

“Dean,” she mumbled, her lips against his skin sending shivers down his spine. “Please don’t cry.” She rubbed his back softly, trying to soothe him. She didn’t expect this. 

“I hate this thing so much,” he muttered, her eyes casting down to his forearm where the Mark was hidden by his henley sleeve. “All it does is make me angry and it’s getting harder and harder to control it, especially after…”

“I know,” she nodded, knowing he meant Charlie and the Stines. “That whole thing…that’s what made me want to tell you how I felt about you. Waiting for you in the trunk of the car felt like an eternity and I knew I would be okay as long as you got to me. I always feel safe when I’m with you, Dean, always. But I was so scared that they’d find me first and I’d die before getting to tell you. You were so angry and it felt wrong to tell you right after we lost Charlie, but I gathered the little confidence I had while you were gone-“

“And then I came home under a spell and said what I said.” Dean sighed, his grip tightening on her. “When you called me and told me the Stines broke in, Y/N, I’ve been in awful situations like that before with Sam but this…this felt so different. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, not until I saw you and knew you were okay. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion, no matter how fast I drove.” Y/N shuddered at the memory, digging herself deeper into Dean’s chest, face pressed against his neck. She inhaled deeply, relaxing as his scent that can only be described as Dean calmed her senses. “You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered, kissing her hair. He laid them down on her bed, tucking her under his chin.

“Dean,” she whispered, fisting his henley. 

“Yeah baby?”

“I do love you, you know.” She could feel the chuckle rumble through his chest.

“I maybe had a small feeling, or at least hoped I was reading everything right.” He ran his fingers through her hair gently, breathing in her shampoo. “Will you give me a chance to make it all up to you?”

She pulled back to look up at him, cupping his cheek. He nuzzled against her palm, eyes locked on hers as his stubble tickled her skin. “Of course, handsome.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to her palm as she blushed. She couldn’t stay mad at Dean, never was able to. But knowing how he truly felt about her, that everything that happened was the work of a witch, she knew she couldn’t hold a grudge. That wasn’t her Dean, the man who sang her back to sleep when her nightmares took over even though he hated singing to anyone but Baby’s steering wheel. The man looking at her so intently, holding her so tightly, this was her Dean. “And Dean?” 

“Sweetheart?”

“I forgive you,” she smiled, Dean’s eyes softening as he let out a breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling her impossibly closer. He kissed her forehead and her nose before softly kissing her lips, pulling back and brushing his nose against hers. Dean knew what happened wasn’t his fault, and Y/N may have forgiven him anyway, but he fully intended on spending the rest of his life, however long it may be, making sure she knew just how much he loved her, and doing his very best to deserve someone as incredible as her.

[the-fandom-fuckup]

Kirikacchako? Please

I'm not sure if this is referencing a specific prompt from like.. An older post or not, but I've been on a bit of an au kick lately so I'm gonna use this as a plug for some of the aus/ideas I've had, so I hope that's alright ^-^

(I'd offer a doodle for your troubles but... I don't have any to offer rn gjskfksjfkak)

One of the most recent ideas I've had is Kirichako sirens x hoh/ace pirate Baku, in which Kirichako are a mated pair of sirens that travel the seas together to prey on unsuspecting sailors and Baku is a pirate that spends a bit too much time around the cannons n explosives, resulting in hearing loss over time

Upon meeting Baku for the first time Kiri n Ochako are both fascninated and peeved. Fascinated bc no one's ever looked them in the eyes during their song and resisted them like he has, and peeved bc immediately after staring at them Baku tried killing them with explosives

Like sure, they've met people on the seas that have been resistent to either their song or bodies before, but never someone who was unaffected by both. They didn't know whether to be more interested or insulted honestly

((They go with interested, but tell themselves they're insulted bc it's easier to admit))

N honestly I don't have much here, but they end up following Baku's ship around bc it has some good benefits (provides them with protection from bigger sea creatures, food from all the ships they destroy/people they fuck up), and also they just like bothering Baku until they get a reaction from him

They don't sing to him anymore, but they chitter at him n throw pretty sea trinkets up against the ship/into open cannon flaps for him to find later

The last thing I have for this idea is the courting process probably starts bc Baku tripped on the sea trinkets one too many times while carrying out his duties n gets pissed, so he goes up to the main deck to get their attention before chucking some sparkly, garbage thing back at them hoping to distract them enough to get them to fuck off. But the sirens look at their new gift and go wait... Returned gift?? A courting gift?? Which goes to kickstarts a whole new wave of bullshit lmao, rip Baku's sanity

Another idea I wanna shoehorn these guys into is my EnjiRei/TodoDeku mafia bodyguard au, but I'm not too sure on how to go about it tbh like

One one hand, I could have Kiri in with the Todorokis n Ochako in with All Might's group, and have Baku be the unsuspecting civilian just trying to live his life but has attracted the attention of both gang members, who then treat it as a rivalry of who gets Baku first but end up seeing each other as more than just rival groups when the gangs actually start working together n they get paired to run jobs, and has everyone spiralling into a mess of feelings and highjinks before leveling out to smth manageable

On another hand I could have a similar idea with Kacchako as the rivaling gang members and Kiri as the unsuspecting civilian, or maybe even some other underground member like an underground ring fighter or a runner or whatever, who gets scouted by the groups bc his reputation in the ring gets him a gig as some extra muscle or smth for an outside job

And then on the last hand I could have pre-established Kiribaku as the gang members (in the same gang this time) and Ochako as the civilian making bad deals with shady people for extra cash to try and help her family out of their shitty finacial situation, taking jobs she has no business taking (probably from the rising group that's fucking up everything for everyone else tbh) n catching the boys' attention bc "what's a pretty little thing like you doing in the sleazy part of town? Don'tcha know shit gets dangerous around here?" And they're endeared by her spunk n unwillingness to crumble under pressure so they take her under their wing to show her the ropes but also gives them their kicks bc they get off on corrupting her innocent n naive moral compass, all while being hunted by the other group bc she ditched their jobs n now has to face the consequences or smth, Idk idk

It would help if I had any understanding of how mobs/organised crime shit worked or even watched those kinds of shows/movies lmaofnakfmdjs

I'll finish it off with the modern fantasy au I've been thinking about bc I love it dearly, staring alpha werewolf Baku, alpha dragon Kiri, and bamf witch Ochako

At some point or other Baku gets the entire Bakusquad + Deku, Tetsu, Camie, and Ochako living in his packhouse bc he takes a great deal of pride in caring for his pack members and it's actually really easy for his alpha to categorise people as pack, but you'd have to pull out all his teeth before he admits it

Some of them just decided they lived there now n didn't leave, but both Kiri (+Tetsu) and Ochako were brought in by Baku bc his alpha's love language is acts of service/providing and clearly they both benefitted from the move so "why tf are you making such a big deal about it?? Just pack your shit n get it moved in, you've got a week"

Kirikacchako dance around each other hardcore in this au, to the exasperation of everyone else. The alphas try to play off their urges to provide n scentmark as subtly as possible, and since Ochako isn't aware of the meaning it goes pretty well. But literally everyone else is rolling their eyes n making bets on how long it takes them to get their shit together lmaojdidudj

A scene I have pictured for them (and the first one I came up with for this au) is Ochako going out somewhere and Kiri n Baku both casually scent her before she heads out, thinking they're all slick n shit. But as soon as she leaves Deku levels them with the most deadpan expression he can make n says "that was the least subtle thing I've ever seen in my life", and as Baku snaps n goes "I dunno what you're talking about" Kiri replies with a smug "I wasn't trying to be😏"

And like. Realistically the alphas know Ochako isn't really an omega, but she does share some traditional omega qualities that have their alphas going wild (period cycle=heat cycle, round n squishy but will fight you=strength n size for providing healthy pups + the ability to protect them, etc.) so it's understandable that their alphas would slip up n refer to her as their omega, right? Right??

It also doesn't help that after taking Ochako with them on full moon runs, she's been chatting with some of the betas n omegas there and asking how to better communicate with the boys (to avoid miscommunication, she says). But they've both marked her so much that the betas n omegas think she's their courted omega, so they teach her vocal cues n what they mean coming from an alpha, and teach her how to purr and chirp in response.

They don't think to mention the significance behind some of the cues they teach her bc why would they? Smelling as strongly as she does, there's no way those alphas aren't going to give her their bite n bond with her. Why would they need to explain some of the more provocative noises they teach her? They're just helping her for when her alphas decide it's the right time to mate her, is all

I haven't gotten around to how their tension n dancing breaks, but it does eventually n they do get together n bond and all that good stuff, and eventually they have werewolf/dragon/magic hybrid babies bc I have quirkbabes design in another au n I'm obviously dropping them into every au I possibly can bc I love them n put a lot of work into them (and they're super pretty, so I'm showing them off where ever I can assuming I actually draw smth for this au eventually rip)

And wow, this is getting kinda long n rambly so I'm gonna end it here, but I hope that this was kinda what you were looking for landkwidjdkwbf

If you wanna know more about any of the aus just let me know, I could ramble forever

Or if you have any other kirikacchako ideas you wanna hear about feel free to drop them off, I don't mind!! ^-^

[morganaseren]

Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU

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

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

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

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

CliffNotes version of what goes on:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interested so far? Click below to read more!

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

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

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

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

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

Kirkwall had lacked such sincere enthusiasm.

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

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

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

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

…which was the exact opposite of her.

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

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

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

But the choice wasn’t hers to make.

Very little ever was.

---

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wonderful. Now—”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Sorry!”

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

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

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

“What song was that?”

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

“Stroud said your name was Hawke, right?”

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

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

---

After that, Bethany settles into Vigil’s Keep.

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

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

As partners, they slowly become closer.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Every day is always an interesting adventure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s never met another mage so intriguing.

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

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

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

And that’s how Bethany learns about Morrigan.

---

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

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

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

Oghren had heard of their latest visitors and was—

Bethany squinted in confusion.

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

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

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

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

Bethany bit her lip.

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

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

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

Bethany sighed soundlessly.

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

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

It couldn’t last forever after all.

---

Spoilers: it does.

---

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

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

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

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

"Do you?"

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

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

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

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

---

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

Several months pass.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Niamh wasn’t petty, however.

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

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

Bethany still felt badly over the situation however.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Things pretty much go back to normal between them.

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

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

It fascinates her.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Bethany’s mother was murdered.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Now she’s not so sure.

---

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

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

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

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

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

---

“No.”

"Niamh—"

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

You.

Not us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bethany!"

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

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

Nothing of the taint in Niamh's blood.

No sound.

No magic.

Just... nothing.

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

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

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

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

But her cry fell on deaf ears.

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

Just like everyone that ever entered her life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...are you alright?"

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

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

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

That was how the other Wardens found them later.

"There they are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Warden-Commander—”

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

---

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

Bethany and Morrigan basically take turns looking after her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Niamh’s answer suddenly changed everything.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

But Bethany did want to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you the answer this entire time?

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And that’s changed?"

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

It was… quite the confession.

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

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

"Yes?"

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

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

“You can wait?”

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

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

---

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

---

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

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

“Just one.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

---

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

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

“Yes, it would have!”

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

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

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

“Warriors…”

“Indeed.”

---

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emrys followed her gaze. “You seem happier."

"I am."

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

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

---

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

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

---

And that’s pretty much it.

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

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

[unholyhelbig]

Hosie where Hope finds out that Josie is dealing... Oregano?

A/N: I wish I had some oregano to get me through this quarantine... 

Title: Searching for a Deal 

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Josie Saltzman 

Request prompts here | Read on AO3 

Magic had a scent to it that reminded Hope of home. She could never pinpoint the exact smell, it was more of a feeling than anything, a memory that pulled at the very back edges of her mind until it felt familiar.

Her aunt carried a dark mahogany box; its wood was soft and finished and hot like sage. And that’s exactly what magic reminded her of. Of course, she kept weed in that box and hid it behind the books she knew her family wouldn’t reach for. But not everyone was as cunning as Rebekah. Hope was.

She would reach her hands past the spell books, feeling that cold energy along the way, and pull out the box. It didn’t take much convincing to get one of the witches in the quarter to teach her how to roll the paper around the herb, she would sit on top of the toilet in her bathroom near the small window and blow the smoke through there. Hope probably inhaled more off-brand air freshener than the actual weed.

There were parties at the Boarding School, kids who had a handle on where to get drugs, but part of her always felt horrible about drawing smoke into her lungs and passing it back to the person who had paid for it. She was used to doing things herself, and she had gotten to the itchy point in time where she wanted it on her own.

She couldn’t call her Aunt Rebekah, she had gotten away with too much as a young teenager and she was nice enough not to say anything. And going into Mystic Falls to con Maya out of her supply wasn’t an option either. She needed to find a hook-up within the walls of the school.

Hope tried Lizzie first.

“Oh come on,” she whispered harshly, sandwiched between romance novels and a shelf of non-fiction Norse magic. The blonde let her eyes flick from the finely printed spines to Hope before going back to her task. “I know you have some.”

“And what makes you think I do?”

Hope shrugged and tested her luck “There’s no way in hell that therapy is the only thing that has mellowed you out this much, Lizzie. Just give me a name.”

The blonde blinked slowly at her, fingers running against the nearest textbook. She swiped it from the metal shelf and piled it on top of the other one in her arms before letting out a small breath. “Even if I was about to tell you, which I’m not, insulting me isn’t the way to get answers, Hope.”

“Then what is?” She arched a brow.

“Simple. Ask someone else.”

Hope let out a groan of frustration and the taller Saltzman twin went back to her book report. The library was mostly empty at this time of day, golden strings of light bouncing from the shelves. She wouldn’t be able to find an answer with the librarian behind the counter or the young vampire lounging in one of the leather chairs with oversized headphones.

She was agitated, and albeit, desperate.

That very desperation leads her to the gym; it was vastly different than the study. Its floors gleamed and the sound of rubber against glossed wood pounding against her already existing headache. She lingered by the doors for a few moments, watching a few of the wolves pull themselves effortlessly up the ropes.

As soon as Rafael met her gaze, she beaconed him over.

“Not a chance, Hope.” He said, breath caught in his throat. A fine layer of sweat dripped through his shirt. “Dr. Saltzman is strict about that stuff. You think I would be caught with that in my system?”

It hadn’t stopped him before, not at the same parties that Hope had gone to. He was often sitting right next to her, blunt between his teeth and smoke clouding his lungs. “Fair point, but you know who sells it?”

He stalled for a moment, clenching his jaw and glancing back at his teammates. “No. But I know who might.”

Penelope Park.

Hope was growing exhausted of this game of telephone, and even more wary of rushing around the Salvatore school. It wouldn’t be hard to track down Satan herself, she stuck to the dark corners of the school and often camped out under the bleachers, letting the coolness of her perch soak through her jeans as she breathed in the sharp smoke. She reeked of it, and Hope lingered at the entrance. She kicked a metallic can of off-brand beer to get the woman’s attention.

Two other witches lingered, one with his arms stretched above his head, he clung to the bars like a vice and narrowed his glowing eyes at her. The other witch grabbed the rolled paper that Penelope jutted out to her. Hope despised the smug look on her face and the sloppy grin that followed.

“You have a moment?” Hope asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Penelope stood from the cinderblock with little hesitation. With the nod of her head, the blunt was handed back to her and the two witches exited from their position at her flanks. They never took their eyes away from her. Hope hated being alone with Penelope.

“You want a hit?” Penelope asked, stretching out her hand.

Yes, she did, more than anything. She nodded and took the rolled cigarette before taking a deep breath in. The toxic taste coated her lungs and instantly made the tension release from her shoulders. “Thanks. I actually… Raf said that you know where to get this?”

“mm, try in town.” She grabbed the blunt back and then dropped it into the wet soil, using the tip of her toe to ground it into nothing. “The humans at Mystic High thrive on it.”

Hope shook her head “I know someone here supplies it. Just not who.”

Penelope laughed and she hated the sound of it. It was something that mocked her and kept her up on certain nights when she was forced into the same social situations as the girl, which wasn’t often. It made Hope cross her arms over her chest defensively.

“Relax, dude. I just think it’s funny that you’re just now hunting this kind of thing down. Even funnier that you have no clue who sells it. It pays to have friends around here, you know?”

Hope glared at her. “I just need a name, Park.”

“Fine, fine.” She shrugged her shoulders in defeat “Josie.”

She wanted to tell Penelope Park to crawl back into whatever hole she had dug herself last. To lay down and cover herself in dirt because there was no way in hell she had spent this long talking to the girl for a bullshit answer like that one. Josie Saltzman. Yeah right.

Penelope must have read the expression on her face. “You asked for a name, Red. I gave you one. She doesn’t’ sell the best stuff, but it’s high quality for Mystic Falls. And even better, you don’t have to travel into town for it.”

Hope waved her off and walked out from under the bleachers, back into the sunlight. She was instantly washed with an easier scent of freshly mowed grass and off-brand sports drink. Maybe she would find Josie, because if Penelope lied, at least it was about Josie. Soft lipped and kind-hearted Josie. She might get scoffed at, but that was the extent.

She found the girl in her dorm room, the door cracked open as she drew little swirls in her notebook.  Ukulele was on her right side. She had been scrawling notes and lyrics but took a creative break, it seemed. The girl glanced up with a stunningly potent stare, setting everything aside as the tribrid knocked sheepishly on the doorframe.

“Can we talk?” Hope had asked, and she knew the answer before she even parted her lips. Josie had a certain vulnerability to her eyes that spelled everything out. Of course, they could talk. Hope could speak for hours without a breath and Josie would listen.

Josie scooted over at the base of her bed and patted the spot on the carpet with a slight nod. Hope was feeling the few breaths she pulled in under the bleachers, the taste still thick on her tongue. Her mouth was dry and she would kill for one sip of water, but this seemed like the most important place to be right now.

“I’ve been asking around the school,” She started. Josie nodded, her slight curls bouncing “and Penelope Park of all people told me that I could… buy something off of you?”

“Like what?”

Josie got this adorable little crinkle in her nose when she was miffed, or when she was lying. Hope never noticed it at first, but she did after once too many dinners with the family. Josie didn’t like lemon and she didn’t like fish either but she would eat it if they were in a fancy enough restaurant because that was the polite thing to do. Her nose crinkled now.

“weed Jo. I’ve been searching through this entire school, and so help me God if Penelope is fucking with me,” She stilled and sighed “I’m stressed. I need something.”

“I don’t even smoke weed.”

“Christ,”

Hope pinched the bridge of her nose, because she knew this meant having to go into town. She didn’t like Lizzie Saltzman much, but she disliked Dana even more. All the townies had something against each and every one of them, and she wasn’t prepared to drop a good amount of money on something so small.

Josie shifted as she turned towards the bed and pressed her shoulder against the floor. She was reaching blindly under her bed for something, letting out little grunts of exasperation. She said something, but it was muffled by the carpet. Finally, she pulled a small mahogany box from the darkness.

“I asked if you could close the door,” Josie emerged, breathless.

Hope just nodded dumbly and got to her feet before following the order. She remained there, her back against the mahogany as she rose both of her eyebrows. Josie hummed in gratitude before unlatching the container.

“I hide it in my sage because people like you can’t smell it otherwise.”

“I thought you said you didn’t’ smoke.”

“Oh I don’t, but I can recognize a good business venture when I see one. There’s not a dealer within fifty miles of this place. Simply no competition so my margins are great.” She stopped rooting around and pulled out a little baggie, a portioned clump of browns and greens.

“I never would have figured.” Hope laughed.

“That’s kind of the point,” Josie beamed “First ones free.”  

[ambidextrousarcher]

Sarcastic StarBharat Reviews-Episode 22: In which horny deer rishis set off a chain of events.

Hello everyone! I’m back after a VERY long hiatus, had some real life issues to deal with, along with the aggravation of changing an url and some online drama too. And I’m right in time for Diwali, too, yay! Happy Diwali, people! Also Happy Children’s day!

Tagging my usual taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @hermioneaubreymiachase @hindumyththoughts @chaanv @ratnas-musings @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @justahappyreindeer @milesbianmorales @allegoriesinmediasres @pratigyakrishnaki @iamnotthat @adishaktis @ratnas-musings. Enjoy your day, everyone!

Review is under the cut.

PS: Nila updates- The Sarcastic StarBharat review of episode 18 is missing from my blog for some reason, I’ll reupload it. Also, for anyone who’s listening to my song covers, the next items are Karam Ki Talwar from Arjun the Warrior Prince, Moh Moh Ke Dhage from Dum Laga Ke Haisha and Jo Beji Thi Dua, from Shangai.

 Okay. Rehash is in order, along with some new nicknames. Till the last episode, Madri has reached Hastinapur, the precap of the last episode makes it clear that this is the episode with horny deer rishis.

I had made a numbering mistake in counting the number of canon fails, my bad, so, as of now, we’re at canon fail #49.

Here’s the nickname rehash and additions to be made-

1. Bhishm-Mr. Paragon of Perfection

2. Dhritrashtra- Mr. Drama Queen (Honorary mention-DisasterRashtra, courtesy of @iamnotthat)

3. Pandu-Honey Boy/Lord of Cheesy Lines

4. Gandhari-Ms. Always Patnidharma

5. Shakuni-Mr. Ominous Music/Mr. Annoying Poseur

6. Karn-Mr. Glitterwash

7. Kunti-Ms. Melodrama/Lady of Cheesy Lines

8. Amba (deceased)-Psycho Princess

9. Satyavati-Psycho Mum

10. Vichitraveerya (deceased)-Drunk Kid

Here are the new additions:

11. Vidur (finally)- Picking the line where he likens himself to a thorn during Pandu’s coronation, he’s Mr. Weepy Thorn.

12. Madri-Ms. Smarmy Tears

13. Krishn-(Parody version, anyway, also, FINALLY) Mr. Excess Gyaandaan.

Now, let’s get to business.

Alright, so, last episode, Gandhari was told that Drama Queen wants her in his chambers. Being the aadarsh, Ms. Always Patnidharma that she is, she goes immediately, and that’s where today’s episode of choice begins.

She stumbles in and stutters out her usual ‘Husband?’ (International viewers, please note, Hotstar has rolled out the English subtitles for your most unfavorite show. It translates ‘Arya’ as Lord, but I’m keeping the ‘husband’ variation, because no.)

Anyway. He shushes her. ‘Don’t say anything, Gandhari, just listen. The mind is so weird, isn’t it?’ Okay…why this sudden volte face? Ah, he’s trying to apologise, I guess? He says that he was absorbed in his negative emotions of hurt, grief and jealousy, but when no news of Honey Boy came from the battlefield, he realized that he still worries and cares for his little brother, and that he was merely unfortunate, not conspired against, concluding that he was unjust to Honey Boy. O…kay? Should I count this as a canon fail? Canon Dhritrashtra can be two-faced, so eh, leave it.

Ms. Patnidharma is shaking her head next to him, because of course, she’s that much of a doormat. ‘I was unfair to you too. I had rejected you, Gandhari, but if I realise my mistake, will you accept me?’ Ah. I see what this is. Anvil-shadowing. Just before Pandu ‘loses’ his ability to ‘be a husband’ Drama Queen and Patnidharma make up with each other. Newsflash, writers: Nothing is this clean cut.

Of course, that was precisely the opening Ms. Patnidharma was waiting for, so she feels her husband up as they hug. Drama Queen’s heart, apparently, very anomalously, is overflowing with happiness, now that he has unloaded his weakness onto Patnidharma, or so he says. Don’t believe him, though, don’t be the naïve idiot Patnidharma is, because that weakness of his wreaks bloody wrecking ball havoc in the future.  

‘So what if I don’t become the King?’ Excuse me. I just choked on my water. What’s up with this volte-face? Just what? ‘I have more respect here than the King himself!’ I think I’m gonna count this as canon fail #50 because nah, he ain’t gonna say this in any adaptation that’s sane. And of course, since he’s randy too, it seems, he goes ‘When you give me a son, he’ll be the eldest son and King after Pandu. I’ll also get the pleasure of being a King. Will you give me the gift of such a talented son?’ Ah. So that’s what the volte-face is for. Canon fail #50 cancelled. Drama Queen would say anything at all to get his way, that’s right. Patnidharma, predictably, goes all gushy. ‘Yes, husband, for your sake, I’ll go to the portals of Yamlok themselves!’ Ah, sheesh, sometimes, watching this show makes me think that I should projectile-yeet myself to Yamlok.

He laughs. ‘When the time comes,’ he says, ‘we’ll go to the portals of death together, Gandhari.’ Well, that, at least, is true. He continues that they still have many happy moments to experience. She nods, melting into his embrace.

Scene changes to a green vista, the whickering of horses heard. Madri, henceforth known as Ms. Smarmy Tears, is laughing, Ms. Melodrama being stony faced and stoic. (That’s a change, though the music manages to make even THAT dramatic) The camera focuses on a deer, and Smarmy asks Honey Boy to stop, because it’s a beautiful deer. Okay…I know what’s coming up next. Anvil-shadowing, anyone? I realise it was very long ago when we were introduced to Ms. Melodrama, but I’ll give you a short rehash. She was introduced saving a deer from hunters. Anyone got the hint? It’s an obvious ‘Madri is an evil witch!’ gambit. Please do not take it. I know that in canon, Kunti and Madri probably had a fractious relationship given the whole fracas over the boon, but I refuse to believe Madri would be this transparently biatch-y.

And…bingo! Smarmy says that the deer is absolutely unique, and follows it up with a request for its skin. Melodrama, of course, is having none of it. She passionately launches into defence of the deer’s children who’d be orphaned, basically echoing her very first piece of dialogue on this show. Do you think there’s a chance that they dubbed it in? I mean…I wouldn’t be able to say that twice with a straight face. But, whatever gives, I guess. Fawn get orphaned often, goes Smarmy. It’s not like I’m asking you for the position of the Queen, can’t you do this much for me? Since StarB has a thing of making women either bitches or doormat ditches, its Honey Boy who cuts in. ‘Speak of good things alone.’ Did this guy get a theology class between the ‘war’ and this moment? ‘I’ll get the deer for you, the rest of you please stay here.’ And then the show takes yet another opportunity to set Melodrama as good and Smarmy as bad, as Melodrama tries to give Smarmy a moral lesson about abstaining from killing for no reason, and Smarmy going all casteist (not sure if that’s the right word, since afaik Kunti’s maternal family are also Kshatriyas? Yadava is not one family. It’s an entire dynasty.) And here’s canon fail #50 and #51. #50 is the fact that Pandu, in canon, hunts the deer because he wants to. Madri has nothing to do with it in the text. #51 because the jibe about Yadavs being shepherds that Madri makes smacks of a misconception about politics in the MBH. The idea of ‘Yadavas’ being shepherds is present because of the lore of Krishn and Balaram in Gokul. While I’m sure there might be some branches of the family that may dabble in those pursuits, typically, considering the social structure of that time, Kunti’s family is of quite royal pedigree.

The scene switches to Honey Boy looking for deer, listening attentively to the rustling leaves. Really, this question goes for canon too, haven’t these guys learnt a thing at all from the whole Dashrath/Sravan Kumar fracas? That it is TOTALLY not a good idea to just randomly shoot in a random forest, anyone? At least sight the prey a little, no?

Regardless, he shoots an arrow, the tell-tale thunk is heard, followed by a human scream (the typically serial-ish ‘nahi, nahi!’ aka ‘no, no!’). Alarmed, he sets off in pursuit of the sound. The camera focuses on a bloody arrow then showing us a rishi and a rishin. ‘Maharishi Kidam?’ exclaims Pandu. ‘It was you?’ ‘What have you done? You shot an arrow without recognizing me! I was dallying (read: deer hanky-panky-ing) with my wife in the form of a deer, and you shot an arrow without considering that the grace and the form of the deer could only mean it is such?’ Okay, for all that I want to call this canon fail #52, I’ll be honest…because such a scene, at least one of Pandu killing Kidama when he’s in sexual congress with his wife in the form of a deer does happen. Sometimes, *sigh* canon itself is quite strange.

But…in the whole of this thing, I have an observation to make, a few questions to ask, in the context of this serial:

1. Madri saw only one deer? What was the deer rishi doing, a deer mating ritual of some sort? Where was the wife then?

2. Does what he said mean that there might be…other rishis doing deer hanky panky?

3. Kidama was a rishi, right? He’d have figured out Pandu wants the ‘deer’ when he saw them and vanished? He could have, IDK, sprinted off real quick, or turned back into human, or just vanished once more. Why escalate it this much?

Honey Boy is very contrite and begs for forgiveness. Canon fail #53. In canon, he basically goes, well, Kings hunt deer, why cry about it? (That is, the dialogue given to Madri to establish her as ‘bad’)  The deer rishi brings up the Dashrath point I gave above and says that Honey Boy’s crime can’t be pardoned, that he shouldn’t have killed a man in congress with his wife, so he curses him that he’ll die the moment he’ll have congress with any woman. Canon fail #54. The original curse specifies ‘his loved one’ not any random woman.

Cue dramatic panoramic shot and dramatic title bgm. Honey Boy is in tears. The rishi dies.

Scene changes and we’re back in Hastina, where the court fool is entering. He says he has a lot of questions. Mr. Weepy Thorn prompts him to ask his questions. So there’s this long drawn out riddle session that’s set up to predict that Gandhari is pregnant, and Drama Queen will be experiencing the love of a son soon. There’s happiness all round, lots of hugs too. Of course, this show takes no rest from anvil shadowing either, so exactly at this moment enters Honey Boy with his wives. Honey Boy is welcomed with joy and immediately apprised of the news. In his head, the dying deer rishi’s words echo, even as his wives smile by his side. (Ah, apparently, there’s anvil juxtaposition, too! Whee!)

Anyway. Satyavati notices he ain’t looking happy and she asks him if he got what she said. He manages to sponge her off, hug his brother and congratulate him. When he does that, Annoying Poseur closes his eye.

As he ascends the throne, deer rishi’s words come back to him, asking what kind of a King he is. Honey Boy refrains from climbing the final stair, turning. He says that he has something of great importance to announce, confessing that he has killed Kidama and is no longer worthy of being a King.

His announcement is met with shock all around, as he renounces the throne of Hastina. Cue dramatic title bgm again. Camera focuses on Satyavati (who’s quite less psycho nowadays), then panning one by one to Drama Queen, Paragon of Perfection, Smarmy, Melodrama, Patnidharma, Ambika, Ambalika, a grinning Poseur (both eyes open), back to Honey boy and Mr. Paragon as he drops his angvastr limply.

Scene changes as Mr. Perfection walks inside Honey Boy’s chambers and they have an argument about his responsibilities. Honey Boy puts forward that for all that Satyavati wants a worthy King, he is no longer worthy, that even Indra renounced heaven for the killing of a sage and meditated for eons, that mere charity and abstinence as suggested by Mr. Thorn and Kripacharya won’t be enough. He continues that the duty of a King, the man who holds the royal scepter is to dispense justice to his people. He asks who would mete justice out on a King? The camera pans out to Mr. Perfection, standing mute, ending the episode.

Alright, this whole thing is canon fail #55. Pandu does not go back to Hastina, he sets out immediately to atone. Also #56, his wives know everything as he does. He doesn’t keep it hidden from them.

Precap: ‘But the crime was ours’ says Smarmy. ‘the punishment, however, has to be borne by our yet unborn children!’ ‘You can’t ever have children.’ Announces Honey Boy, going on to inform them of the curse.

[pipsqueakparker]

first line meme

i saw @annabellelux and a couple others tag me on this, so i’ll try to do this as well (if tumblr doesn’t destroy everything 😂) 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line.

I’ll go ahead and put these under a cut, there’s gonna be a weird mix of smut and non-smut, so be warned (i don’t think any of the opening lines are too graphic, but fics are)

And I’ll tag @caitybuglove23, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @krisrix, @sharkmartini, @scone-lover & anyone else that wants to do this!

breaking routine 

I don’t know what’s gotten into Baz lately, but whatever it is, it’s a blessing in disguise. Or whatever the saying is.

thank you steve jobs 

“I’ve got an idea.”

Those words frequently scare me when they come out of Snow’s mouth, but somehow even more so when we’re on separate sides of the city, connected only by the small screens of our phones. My screen is mostly dark, with a flash of light or color here and there as Snow walks through his flat. He’s living with Bunce and I’m still staying at Fiona’s—it’s just easier right now, to be this way.

the one with the frogs 

We’re meant to be putting up the Christmas decorations tonight, but Baz won’t let me off the sofa. Our Christmas tree is still boxed up somewhere in the flat, mixed up with some other boxes of decorations we’ve brought in recently. And Baz is nestled into my side, both arms wrapped tightly around my middle, his nose pressed into my cheek. We were going to watch a film while we decorated, but I think he’s gotten a bit distracted.

“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, my voice soft and low. I want to turn to look at him, but I feel the tip of his nose press deeper into my cheek and find myself laughing. He gets especially soft and silly around the holidays.

twinkle 

It’s dark, nothing lighting up the night except for the sliver of moon peeking out over us. Stars twinkle among the wisps of clouds, in and out of my field of vision.

The only thing clear about tonight is the swell in my chest when I watch Simon swoop down over the treetops, wings beating powerfully as he makes a sharp turn. Thank Crowley for my heightened sight; I can make out the individual bones in those mighty wings, the way his curls get tousled by the wind, and the grin split across his face.

Simon Snow is a vision.

love’s not a competition (but we’re winning) 

Baz is on top of me, pressing me into the mattress with his entire body.

reconnecting for christmas 

I’m not a grinch, or a scrooge.

I don’t hate Christmas; I just hate all of the ridiculous expectations that come along with it. The ugly jumpers, the secret Santas, the grown adults trampling each other and trading blows over toys.

The annual holiday parties held at my university that I’m always forced to attend because my cousin is a fucking horror.

chore negotiation 

It started as a joke.

Well, mostly a joke. I hate doing the washing up after dinner; the only thing worse than the Humdrum is a sink full of dirty dishes. Every moment I spent in front of the sink felt like a special kind of torture. (Maybe that’s an exaggeration.) (But not much of one.)

scary movie 

“Let’s watch a scary movie,” Simon suggests. At seven in the morning.

His face is just inches away from mine, eyes bright like it isn’t seven in the fucking morning.

I glare at him.

And then I turn my back to him and go back to sleep.

Because it’s seven in the fucking morning.

poorly timed christmas decorations 

Someone has taken it upon themselves to decorate Mummers for the holidays.

I’m actually fairly certain it was a group of someones, and I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that my ridiculous cousin and his roommate were at the helm of the poor decisions. Niall genuinely wants to start celebrating Christmas as early as possible, but Dev just wants to create chaos.

There are lights wrapped around the railings and hung over the walls, wreaths on every door, and poinsettias on each landing. If it weren’t the middle of October it might be nice. However, it is the middle of October.

carving pumpkins 

Baz is good at a lot of things. He’s smart, fit, athletic, flexible, charming, etc. He’s an expert at nearly everything, at least that’s what he’d have you believe. It’s what he’s had me believe for the longest time. It’s part of what made me hate him so much. (Suppose that wasn’t as much hate as I thought initially, though, was it?)

Anyway, Baz is good at shit, and it’s annoying.

spooky ghosts 

I don’t know what prompted me to open my mouth as I was leaving Watford.

I don’t know what possessed him to accept such an offer.

But somehow, by the grace of either Merlin or Crowley (potentially a little of both), Simon Snow is at my family home for the winter holidays.

black cats 

Sometimes Snow can be a mad genius.

And sometimes he’s just mad.

witch hats 

It’s our next to last day — well, my last day, I suppose — at Watford.

We’ve a whole ceremony to deal with, us eighth years. It’s strange to be preparing for this without Snow or Bunce.

new candles 

Coping mechanisms are something we’ve been talking about a lot in therapy. Healthy ones and unhealthy ones.

Apparently I had a lot of unhealthy ones for a long time. I didn’t even realize until my therapist pointed them out to me, but we’re trying to replace them with healthier ones.

cinnamon spice 

Simon’s working late tonight.

He got a new job at this little bakery on the other side of town. He positively loves it, I swear he came home after his first day already best friends with the entire staff. I don’t blame them, Simon’s a delight.

warm apple cider 

“We should get lunch,” Simon says, swinging our joined hands between us as we follow a dirt path toward a picnic area.

Bunce asked us if we could find our way out of the flat today, she and the Normal wanted some alone time. I was just going to take Simon back to my flat, but Fiona decided she would be coming back early from her trip, knocking that option out. (Not that I don’t love my aunt, but sometimes it’s just easier to keep her away from Simon. For my sanity’s sake.)

We were just going to drive around for a bit, maybe find somewhere to spend some time, try to have our own day to ourselves. Simon ended up looking up events happening around and found this little autumnal festival, which is where we ended up.

fuzzy socks & a book 

Snow always teases me when I wear these socks, but they’re soft, and warm, and nice. They run up well past my ankle, about mid-calf, and they’re sherpa-lined so they’re especially insulated and soft. They also have two little vampire teeth at the top, and two little leathery black wings that stick out from the ankles.

Mordelia picked them out when she was around six or seven, Daphne was just properly tickled by them and put them into my stocking that Christmas. Several years later I’m still wearing them.

They’re nice.

take two 

We’ve not talked about the clone incident since that day.

In fact, we’ve not talked much since that day. Full stop.

We kissed until our lips were sore, until we were both gasping for breath, until the sun went down and the shadows lay over us and we fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up in his bed. He was nowhere to be found. He didn’t show up to breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. He was absent from all of our classes. I didn’t see him again for nearly two full days.

baby animals 

Baz is letting me hunt with him.

Well, not hunt with him, really. But he’s letting me go out with him. Into the woods behind his family house.

I know how hard it is for him to let me in on this part of him, the whole vampire thing. He’s trying.

(basil the) scarecrow  

Simon Snow was well into middle age now, as he carried his two youngest to bed.

[skrltwtch]

The Cat

Prompt: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail. The cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

Secondary plot twist: The woman is a shapeshifter. She is the cat. (Source of prompt in link at bottom of post.)

Word count: 1,840 words

Author's note: This is more of a little tale starring George as the lead and you as the mysterious woman, as opposed to a story about George MacKay the Actor. I kind of had Jack Marrowbone's look — and nothing else about him in that movie — in mind while writing this.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

‘Let’s play a game! I will grant my hand in marriage to the person who succeeds in taking this key off my cat’s neck and unlocking my front door with it. Oh, won’t that be such fun?’

Only she can pull off such a stunt. She has put the village under some kind of spell, and I am one of its victims. One of the more prudent ones, at least, in the sense that I know well enough that I’ll never be able to win her heart. She has an entire village of men to choose from, most more remarkable than I in looks and/or calibre. I am but a simple baker of average frame with blonde locks that wishes for no kinship with a comb and blue eyes that gleam with neither transcendental allure nor immense potential; unless she were an ardent consumer of bread and pastries, I have nothing to offer her. I simply admire her from afar, pine for a connection that is real only in my wildest dreams.

No one quite knows what it is about her that sees a constant line of suitors supplanting her shadow whenever she comes into the village. That is to say, she isn’t not beautiful, neither is she not gracious. She keeps to herself mostly in her quaint cottage on the edge of the village. Her isolation and magnetism have made her the subject of many a fevered whisper: she is a witch, an enchantress, a nymph. Despite what one may think, the women of the village don’t resent her for the effect she has on their eligible male compatriots. The wedded men remain capable of remembering their vows in her presence. In that vein, her paramours are on equal standing: single, virile men who want to have the unhaveable.

Her game has sent the men into a frenzy. It’s amusing to see adult males chase after a cat, one just as unassuming as its owner. They hunt it, as if it were game. They harass it, as if it were a nuisance, an obstacle to their perceived prize. They seek to capture it with elaborate traps. They line the fishmonger’s pockets with gold for her finest catch of the day. It’s all for naught. The cat is, they’ll never admit to themselves, smarter than them. The days pass. She continues to wander around the village without a ring on her finger. The cat continues to taunt the men with its presence, parading the key around its chest like a gibe at their failures. It’s curious that they are never seen together.

Me? I don’t try. I’m not presuming myself to be above this endeavour. I do slip into reveries about emerging victorious every now and then. But see, the other men had never grown up with cats. The thing with cats is, you don’t try. You don’t try to get it to do what you want. You don’t hound a cat. And, as with all living things, you certainly don’t antagonise it. So, I bide my time.

That day soon arrives. As a customer leaves, the cat makes a mad dash into the bakery, maintaining the balance of two beings inside. It glides over the counter, its tail a hair’s breadth away from toppling the display of sourdough bread, and seeks refuge behind some boxes. Shortly after, Edward, its tormentor for today, it seems, enters and calls for the cat. Edward is a cheesemaker, with whom I interact solely out of business necessity. Our families go back a long way, our trades intertwined with one another’s. I do so long for someone else to assume the mantle from Edward.

‘Where is it? I saw it come in here,’ he says.

‘It’s behind here with me,’ I say, ‘but I’ll be damned if you dare make a scene on my premises.’

‘I can respect that.’ His response takes me aback. It seems I am not a contender, much less a threat, in this game of cat and mouse. Edward’s never been one to mince his words. ‘That cat will have to leave eventually, and when it does, it’ll be mine.’

‘Good luck, Edward. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, George. Thank you for having the good sense not to participate in what would be a futile endeavour for you.’

There it is.

I wave at him. He doesn’t reciprocate. It doesn’t matter: watching his outline fade into the distance and out of my sight for another day will never not be the highlight of our interactions.

I feel a warm presence weaving in and out between my legs. I kneel down to meet the cat’s gaze, two yellow diamonds set onto a doll-like face coated in pure onyx. I have wondered on occasion if some of the men’s malice toward it arises from the mere virtue of its colour. How preposterous, I imagine them thinking, that something as divine as she should possess such a vile creature. I offer it my finger. It gives it a tentative sniff. Two. Then it turns its head so that my finger is on its cheek, and it starts rubbing it. Its eyes are closed in contentment; its throat rumbles with soft purrs.

‘Did Edward hurt you?’

‘Meow.’ A once-over confirms it.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘Meow.’

I take that as a yes. No one has ever answered otherwise to this question while surrounded by MacKay creations. I grab a pumpernickel bagel from the counter, tear off a chunk, and lay it at its feet. As it eats, a metallic glint almost blinds me. The key. It calls to me. What’ll happen if I reach for it? What’ll I prove to Edward, who is patrolling the street outside, waiting for the chance to resume his reign of terror? No. I won’t. I don’t.

I speak to turn my attention from the small sheet of metal that’s turned the village upside down: ‘Are you having fun being the centre of attention? She must be relishing the peace, not having men fawn over her for the first time in a while. Is that why she hasn’t been visiting lately? I don’t fault her. It must be exhausting,’ I say, as I continue to ply it with bits of bagel.

It looks up at me, and it sizes me up and down. Its head cocks at what it’s registered in its mind’s eye. Of course. How rude of me. ‘I’m George,’ I say.

It rubs its head against my outstretched hand.

‘Nice kitty.’ I give it the rest of the bagel and lead it to the back door, through which it can avoid that scoundrel Edward and find safe passage home. ‘You can bring it back for her. Your mistress. Then maybe you can let me know if she liked it.’ I smile wistfully. ‘We’ve never actually met.’

‘Meow,’ it promises, then runs off.

Over time, more and more people quit the quest — Edward included. The unhaveable isn’t as appealing when it becomes haveable at the expense of hard work at best and deep gashes at worst. Her increased bouts of absence, too, seem to have made people’s hearts become less fonder, as if her glamour is wearing off. In contrast, the cat and I grow closer. We bond in my bakery. Then it stops coming to visit. I worry over whether it’s because someone else has succeeded. I work up the courage to go to her house. Seeing the cat play in her garden, the key still around its neck, fills me with relief, and I pick up from where I left off here in the grace of her garden. Oddly, she is never around when the cat’s there.

I make it special baked goods no one else has or will have access to and tell it to keep some for its mistress. I never find out whether she likes what I bake, but the cat definitely does. I tell the cat about myself in the hopes it’ll tell its mistress about me. I play with it using toys I buy from Christopher the merchant; he is happily married and has never shown interest in her. The men who gave up have spurned me for not taking the key when I’ve had ‘so many’ chances. They talk among themselves. I know what they say about me.

The truth is, I don’t know what’ll happen if I do take it. The cat and I have befriended each other. Will it think lesser of me for taking the key? Will I think I was befriending it under false pretences? It’s silly, I know, to care this much about what a cat thinks. But I suppose the cat is an extension of her. I feel so close to meeting the woman I’ve adored for the longest time, the woman who I knew in my gut from the moment I laid eyes on her is my soulmate. Sometimes I sneak glances into the house to see if she’s there, watching this. The cat redirects my attention to it when it catches me doing this, and I’m all the happier for it.

‘You’re lucky,’ I say to the cat. ‘You get to be with her while she doesn’t know I exist. I’ve loved her since I first saw her in the village. It’s foolish to feel like this about someone you don’t know, doesn’t it? But I know she’s kind and patient and has a good soul, and I know my heart flutters every time I see her.’

The cat jumps onto my lap. Its yellow gaze burns into me. It’s right. I don’t know what I was thinking, pouring my heart out to a cat. ‘You just want rubs,’ I say, and I’m happy to oblige.

It turns itself over, exposing its belly to me. I feel … honoured. In all our time spent together, this is the first time it’s done so. I slowly reach for its belly. When there is no sign I’ll lose my livelihood from what I’m about to do, I stroke it generously, fervently.

Then it uses its paws to nudge my hand toward the key.

I stop. ‘Are you … sure?’

‘Meow.’

I repeat my question. My hand has found itself an inch away from the key.

‘Meow.’

If it says so.

I undo the chain the key is on.

Suddenly, I am blinded by a white light, and — the air starts to smell of roses. It is a familiar aroma. I don’t need to use my sight to know why that is. But I don’t understand.

‘Hello, George.’

Before I can answer, I find myself in the kind of embrace reserved for lovers. My lips press up against hers, and I feel my world fall away in bliss. The warmth of her skin is unlike anything I ever felt. It’s magic. Pure magic. And now I understand.

‘We will have the rest of our lives to know each other better, love,’ she says, smiling, her eyes shining yellow under the sunlight. ‘Now, would you like to come in?’

[thehollowprince]

Writing Ask: 2, 3 and 20?

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

Oh, I have so many different projects bouncing around inside my brain. A combination of fanfics and original works that are all vying for my attention, so much so that I don't know which one to actually sit down and write first.

Like, I have three different fixit fics in mind, for The Vampire Diaries, Star Wars and Captain America: Civil War, and the sad part is, I have them all planned out, but I lack the motivation to sit my ass down behind a computer and actually type them all up.

Then there's the idea I got here on Tumblr, from a writing prompt blog, about a serial killer stalking a group of teenagers out at a cabin in the woods for the weekend. The twist is that the teenagers are a pack of werewolves and I'm having so much fun with this one. I'm thinking of attempting to write it as a script, because I think it would make a fun movie.

And then there are the two big projects I've been working on for years. The first one is something I started with my best friend back when we were both freshmen in high school. It involves a vampire hunter trying to hunt down and kill the vampire that ruined her life, complete with a whole gaggle of supernatural sidekicks. It was very Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but if it was rated R. And the other is something I've been working on for the past few years, more YA oriented, and the premise is a witch-centered murder mystery that takes place in New York City.

I'm actually considering combining those two into one project, seeing as how the premises of both, and the characters of both, are so similar.

The thing is, I'm easily distracted, and every time I see something on a show or in a movie or book, I love it so much I want to do my own version of it, which usually leads to these giant clusterfucks that I have to untangle.

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Okay, so there's this scene from the YA I've been working on that was really my whole inspiration for the entire project.

Tara waited impatiently by the entrance to Central Park, garnering strange looks from the few people out and about at this hour. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. The whole point of this was to not attract unwanted attention.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Quinn approached from the direction of the subway station, dressed in ripped jeans and a buttoned up flannel shirt, a leather satchel bouncing against his hip as he jogged closer to her. Once he was close enough, he looked her up and down with an incredulous look on his face that she's sure was mirrored on her own.

"What the hell are you wearing?" They asked simultaneously.

"Excuse me?" Tara spoke first after a moment of stunned silence between the two.

"I didn't realize we were on our way to he extras on the latest Matrix movie." Quinn quipped, mocking her all-black ensemble.

"Oh, because you're one to talk." Tara fired back. "Where's your guitar? Shouldn't you be serenading some college co-eds with your rendition of Wonder Wall?"

Quinn's brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "At least I don't look like I'm about to go commit a felony."

"We are about to go commit a felony!"

"That doesn't mean you need to advertise it! Seriously, why didn't you just hang a neon sign around your neck that says 'Off to defile a corpse'?"

Tara quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard what he'd just said before responding. "Forgive me, I'm new at this whole breaking-the-law thing."

Quinn closed his eyes and took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. Without a word, he let his satchel slide orr his shoulder before he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, revealing a plain white t-shirt that really emphasized that there wasn't a gym exercise that this boy didn't like. Seriously, it wasn't fair! Witches were supposed to be old and ugly with warts and liver spots and broken teeth, not young men that doubled as models in their spare time. Her entire educational experience had been a lie!

"Here." He held out his shirt, black and yellow flannel, Tara stared at it. "What?"

"What exactly do you want me to do with it?"

"Put it on." He shook the shirt at her until she took it gingerly, as if it were a bomb, or about to turn into a snake, the latter of which was probably an actual possibility. Slowly, she slipped it on over her black shirt and realized it was too big for her. A few adjustments with the buttons and a couple rolls of the sleeves later and she was much more presentable. Quinn, for his part, reached out and quickly snatched the beanie from her head, letting her hair fall about her shoulders.

"Better," he said after giving her an appraising look before he slipped the beanie over his own curls and adjusted it to be more chic. He leaned down and plucked the satchel off the ground, slinging the strap over his shoulder. "Okay, all set." He held out his left hand, which Tara just stared at.

"What now?"

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"You hold it."

"Why?" "Because for the next ten blocks, I'm your boyfriend."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't be such a prude." Quinn snapped. "Trust me, this isn't ideal for me either." Tara slid her right hand into his left, something that left both of their dominant hands free. She could feel the bracelet he wore on his left wrist

"Why wouldn't this be ideal for you?" She asked after a few minutes.

"Well, no offense, but you're not my type."

"Oh?" She tried not to sound insulted.

"Yeah, not unless you suddenly sprouted stubble and maybe grew eight inches." Tara looked at him, confused, and he simply shot back a raised eyebrow and a smirk, his gaze traveling down. The moment her brain caught up with his words, Tara immediately looked forward, her face burning in embarrassment. Quinn laughed and Tara cursed him. Even his damn laugh was attractive!

I think it works really well, even without context or build-up, and I think gives a great feel as to who these two characters are.

Oh, and the names are just place holders right now.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

This is the type of thing that I excel at, the world building for the stories I want to tell. I usually get so caught up in this that I neglect the actual story.

I realized that the worlds for the two stories I mentioned in the first answer were so similar that I should just combine them, because it was a lot easier than trying to maintain two separate worlds that were so similar.

Anyway, as you can probably guess, the story is supernatural related, particularly the witchcraft element. I've always been Team Witch and I wanted a story that put that at the front, especially in a genre that's so focused on Vampires. I wanted to have almost everything circle back to witches in some way. For example, I came up with the idea of a Hag, a witch from which (ba dum tsh) the legend of vampires comes from. In my story, a Hag is a type of witch that extends their own life (and vitality) by a combination of bathing in blood and dark magic.

I love the idea of werewolves being the result of an actual curse as opposed to something that can be transmitted by a bite or a scratch. Although I also love the idea of lycanthropy being transmitted via sex - an STC, Sexually Transmitted Curses.

In regards to the witches themselves, I have them broken down into the three Cs: Cradle, Contract, and Cunning. Cradle witches are the ones who are born with an innate sense of power. Contract witches are those who get their power by making deals with demons or spirits or fey. And Cunning witches are those who "crack the code" on magic by just being obnoxiously smart and relentless.

And then, since I have this set in New York City, I had the idea to have the supernatural world run by the Five Covens (sort of like the Five Families of the mafia).

[onceabluemoonwrites]

Cursed Kiss - Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Title: Cursed Kiss Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Author: OnceABlueMoon

Rating: T

Pairing: Bianchi/Chrome Dokuro

Tags/Warnings: There is some violence

Prompt:  Cloud day: royal au  for @khrrarepairweek

Summary: The tale of Kuromu Dokuro is an old one, perhaps preceding even the existence of the monster hunters. To think the woman in the tale- the monster she became- is here, in front of her? Bianchi shudders to think of it.

Still, she has no choice. Her grip tightens on the knife in her hand, but before she can start to make her move, Kuromu- Chrome?- raises her hand, shaking her head. ‘’No need to fight your way out, darling, if you want to buy your brother’s freedom. All you need to do is take the geas on in his place.’’

~~

Monster hunter Bianchi bargains her freedom for her brother’s and has to stay in the vampire Chrome’s castle. But the horrors within are not the shadows that whisper and follow Bianchi wherever she goes- no, to the contrary, the horrors are inside the mind of her captor.

AO3 link

Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

It wasn’t, Bianchi thinks later, when her mind is clearer, that she did not want Chrome to take her hand. She had desperately wanted to take her hand, to feel what it would be like to squeeze it, or to simply take it, softly hand in hand, skin to skin.

Somehow, the thought of it makes her ears and cheeks go red and warm. She doesn’t really know how to interpret that. Her entire relationship with Chrome is already complicated enough without the warm feelings in her belly interrupting, let alone the butterflies whenever she thinks of the lovely woman, vampire or no.

It's why she’s staying, now, even when she doesn’t have to anymore. The geas is gone, and it confuses her so much, because if geas wasn’t what was holding her here anymore, then what was? It’s clear as the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s Chrome. Chrome, all by herself.

Bianchi likes Chrome. She really does. She likes their little games of property destruction that are actually just them training side by side in inappropriate places. She likes the way a drop of wine so often clings to the corner of her mouth at dinner. It makes Bianchi want to go up to her and lick it off her face. She likes the way her eyes follow birds like she’s hunting prey. She likes shooting at them with her.

She’d just wish she’d be able to reconcile the hunt of birds of prey with the way Chrome’s obviously hunted humans before too. But that’s the thing too- before. Bianchi’s not sure if the preying on humans is actually a thing of the past, but she hasn’t seen Chrome do anything of the sort in the past few months she’s lived with her, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with that. Does she not hunt humans anymore? And is there even a way to ask Chrome that without immediately ruining Bianchi’s romantic prospects with her?

It makes Bianchi laugh at herself, high and mean. Romantic prospects? Who is she kidding? She knows she hurt Chrome a lot, that night when she told Bianchi about her past. Bianchi would be lucky if she’d be able to salvage their friendship at this point.

As much as she’d like to say the opposite, while Bianchi likes Chrome, she’s not sure she likes her monstrous nature. And that isn’t fair to Chrome, not fair at all, because it’s simply who Chrome is. That’s not something you ought to judge a person for, except what Chrome is eats humans and Bianchi… Bianchi is frustrated and angry and a little sad to because she just doesn’t get what she’s feeling right now.

It helps, that Hayato writes to her. Every week, a hawk arrives at her window. She reads his letters  dutifully, like an older sister ought to, and writes back. He writes of his friends, all vividly described long before it comes out just what they are. Yamamoto, she already knew of. The witch, who enchants right and left. Hibari, the taciturn vampire who protects his little town with fevour. Tsunayoshi, who Hayato is so, so weak for. Bianchi startles when she finds out he’s a goddamn mountain lion shifter. Ryohei, loud, so loud, his caterwauling often described before she is told he is a siren, though one that’s rather bad at his job. Mukuro, who Hayato dislikes, but can’t help but respect, a mage that has mastered the art of the illusion.

His tales soften her heart towards them, make her life vicariously through him. Her life isn’t bad. Far from it, even. She enjoyed her peaceful days here, together with Chrome before Bianchi let her down, but sometimes she did wish for a little more excitement.

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It doesn’t matter, because she’s alright here with the stupid mess she made of her own feelings, and Hayato is free and happy. She might not trust all monsters, but she has accepted that not all of them are bad, and if his friends are as good and true to him as Hayato describes them, then surely he is well protected. He’s fifteen, by now. She has missed his birthday. He’s an adult now and he has the right to roam wherever he wishes.

She misses him, though. She misses him terribly.

Thankfully, Chrome is very good at distracting her. There’s been a wall between them since the incident, but when Bianchi pulls her to the kitchen one evening before dinner, Chrome doesn’t protest. Bianchi starts handing her ingredients to chop before she gets the fire going. There are no words between them, not about why Bianchi’s still there, despite the geas being gone, nor why she’s doing this.

Bianchi doesn’t explain.

Chrome doesn’t ask.

The cold regality in both her demeanour and posture reminds Bianchi of Chrome’s past as princess. That hurts. But it shouldn’t. It really, really shouldn’t.

Chrome is a person so lonely that she placed a geas on the entrance of her castle, as if catching herself a companion with a geas was the best option she had. It worked, of course, but that’s another issue all together.

When they bring their dinner to the table, it’s been perfectly set by the shadows already. Bianchi pets them when they leave them be, her quiet love for Chrome’s strange servants warming her inside out and lending her courage.

Eating the food they’ve made together, Bianchi’s dawdled enough. She needs to put her big girl panties on and talk to Chrome.

After dinner, for the first time that week, she takes Chrome by the hand and leads her to the huge stuffed chairs in front of the hearth. ‘’Get us some wine, please,’’ she asks the shadows. They comply immediately, getting the hint.

Chrome is looking at her. Her eyes are no longer wary, like they were before, but they’re… Soft, almost mellow in the low light. Possibly because she knows Bianchi is still here even though she doesn’t have to be. Because that means something, even if Bianchi has a hard time saying it.

She swallows as she receives the wine glass from the shadows, Chrome getting one as well and the bottle being deposited on the table. Bianchi clears her throat. Chrome watches her calmly, which isn’t good for Bianchi’s nerves at all. ‘’So,’’ she starts, ‘’I know I’m not the best at being… emotionally available at times.’’

Chrome snorts.

‘’Ouch. But I can’t deny I deserve it after our last talk about feelings and our pasts. You told me about your issues and I reacted badly. I’m sorry about that.’’

Chrome doesn’t make any excuses for Bianchi, and Bianchi loves her more for it. She doesn’t need others to excuse her actions. She needs to learn from them.

‘’Go on,’’ Chrome says, ‘’I suppose you’re going somewhere with this?’’

Bianchi nods. ‘’You told me about your issues, now I’m going to tell you about mine.’’

Chrome takes a sip of her wine and peers at Bianchi over her wine glass. Bianchi takes that for a go ahead.

‘’So the first thing you’ve got to know is that I became a hunter because I’ve dealt with monsters before. That includes the monster that killed my family, but also the human monster that was my family.’’ Oh god, this is hard to talk about. But she has to, if she wants Chrome to understand.

‘’When I was seventeen, I found my mother floating in our well the night after a were attacked our village. He’d killed countless amongst our neighbours. My mother most likely just searched for a place to hide as the were went to town on them. She drowned after not being able to swim more after hours and hours of hearing the onslaught above her go on.’’ Her chest hurts and her voice is thick, but she soldiers on. Chrome reaches for her hand and Bianchi squeezes it, thankful for the warmth the skin-to-skin contact brings her.

‘’Here’s the thing: I hate my mother. Hayato’s my half-brother, you know. She hated him. And I can’t understand how anyone could want to hurt Hayato, let alone kill him, drown him in that very same goddamned well. I wondered whether it was karma when I discovered her corpse in it. I remember that so clearly. So vividly. It was bloated, her body. So bloated, as she was floating on top of the water.’’ She stares into the fire, the only thing grounding her the pressure of Chrome’s hand in hers.

‘’I hate the woman who did that to Hayato. I do. But I also love the person who sang me the very same lullabies I sang for Hayato later, who tucked me into bed, who rocked me through my every nightmare. The woman who kept my milk teeth in a box because every part of me was precious to her. I love the person I remember her being before Hayato.

But then again, I loved Lavina, Hayato’s mother, too. Thinking of her is painful. I was too young at the time to really understand what was happening, but I remember the look of betrayal on mt mother’s face the day my father came home with a bastard and the news that my baby sitter- Hayato’s mother- had died.

Sometimes I wonder, you know,’’ Bianchi stares into her wine glass before taking a gulp. ‘’Sometimes I wonder if Hayato’s conception was even something Lavina consented to. I mean, I’m not a nine year old snot anymore. I’m older, hopefully a little wiser and definitely a whole lot more jaded. Lavina became a bit of a social outcast among the adults when she got pregnant. Nobody knew who the father was. There used to be lots of children at her house during the day when their parents worked, but there were a lot less after that. She never really seemed like the kind of person who would sleep with a married man to me. At least not if she knew he was married- and Lavina knew, without a doubt, as the one who minded me.

The last memory I have of her is actually of the very same day Hayato was born and she died. I and the other children had no concept of the scandal she was, seeing our age, so we loved listening to her stomach, pressing our ears against it trying to hear the child’s heartbeat. We loved touching her stomach too, if she let us, trying to feel the kick of the baby’s little feet. Of Hayato’s little feet.’’ She gulps down the rest of her wine, before turning her head and looking straight into Chrome’s eyes, watching the strange shadows the flames in the hearth cast upon her face and her curious purple eyes.

‘’Chrome, I loved my little brother before I even knew he was part of my family. But that was a weak love. But that day, seeing my awful father thrust my baby brother on my mother so callously, drove something home to her if no one else would love this little ugly creature that my mother hated so, then I would.’’

Bianchi is tearing up, the tears starting to roll down her face, but she can’t stop now. She has to ask, otherwise it will always remain in between them, an invisible wall of unasked questions and hurt that cannot be spoken of.  ‘’I can’t condemn you for your nature, but I also can’t let me tear myself apart further with not knowing. Please tell me: do you still hunt humans?’’

Chrome looks up. ‘’Not innocent ones.’’ And then, because Chrome is cruel, as much as she is beautiful, she says: ‘’You can’t say that about your hunting of my kind.’’

And that hurts, but Bianchi swallows the lump in her throat and says: ‘’Yeah. Yeah. That’s more than I can say.’’ Her voice cracks on the last word.

Then she cries into Chrome’s shoulders until she falls asleep, warm against her side. Chrome lets her, snot and tears be damned, handing her a handkerchief to clean herself up.

It feels like an absolution.

~~

She wakes up in a rather uncomfortable position, with her neck in a crick. She groans, massaging her neck as her eyes slowly blink open. Violet eyes are staring at her directly. She blinks again. No, Chrome’s still there, pressed up against her in the very same chair. They’re lucky the furniture was large enough to allow for it. Bianchi’s slid down to Chrome’s lap at some point, feet over the side of the chair, Chrome staring down at her. She has the most longing expression Bianchi’s ever seen on anyone’s face and her breath catches in her throat.

The small hitch in her breathing seems to shake Chrome out of her reverie. The expression leaves, once again gone behind her mask, but it doesn’t change that it had been there. Doesn’t change that Bianchi has seen.

With her heart beating in her throat, Bianchi reaches up, wraps her arms around Chrome’s neck and pulls her down to kiss her.

It is soft. It is warm. It is beautiful.

It’s all Bianchi ever needed

~~

The cooking together becomes a regular thing, but with a lot less coldness, more talking and a lot more kisses sneaked in between passing each other cooking utensils. There is laughter and love in the halls of Chrome’s dark castle, and even the bare stone doesn’t seem as cold as before. Bianchi catches Chrome humming a cheery tune in the hallways when she thinks no one is there, and the whole thing is so sweet she has to kiss her for it.

Bianchi has started growing flowers, both of the poisonous and the non-poisonous varieties, and they brighten up the gloom of the castle. Were the shadow’s whispers used to be haunting, they are now almost never found without their giggling. This is both wildly annoying and pretty endearing, the exact same category as Bianchi knows from experience little siblings fall into.

She’s thinking of inviting Hayato to the castle. She writes a letter, with a proper map and all to the castle, sending it his way. Do NOT enter through the main entry has been underlined twice, despite the fact she knows Chrome removed the geas sometime ago. There are undoubtedly still spells on it, though, so she doesn’t want to take the risk.

Another new addition to her and Chrome’s daily routine are the walks. The moonlit walks, where they leave the gate and roam the land. One of these days, Bianchi wants to take towels with them and go skinny dipping, though she hasn’t quite told Chrome that yet. Perhaps it will be a surprise.

How far can she tempt Chrome before Chrome devours her alive? A year ago she would not even have thought of such a thing, especially not in combination with a vampire. But Chrome is her vampire, and that makes her giddy and happy and oh-so reckless.

Just how reckless is clear when they are ready to depart on their walk for the night and the beating against the castle gate starts.

Bianchi startles. ‘’What- What’s going on?’’ But she hears the voices outside the gate and she knows. ‘’Oh my god, they’re here. My former colleagues- the hunters, they’re here. How?!’’

Chrome stares up at the gate. ‘’I smell the blood of your hawk.’’

Bianchi presses her hand against her mouth as if to keep herself from vomiting as her stomach begins to roil. ‘’Oh my god, I sent Hayato instructions as to how to get back here to visit. They shot Queen down and found the fucking map. This is my fault!’’

The banging upon the gate is like a heartbeat. It’s so consistent, the battering ram colliding with the wood and steel, the precision almost inhuman. It would make Bianchi laugh, if the fear didn’t close up her throat. She reaches down, taking Chrome’s hand, not taking her eyes off the courtyard before them. ‘’They won’t take you.’’ She says it with desperation colouring her words. ‘’They won’t take you, I won’t let them!’’

She promises it with all that she has in her. It has been so long since she’s felt actual happiness. Now she has it, she won’t let go of it so easily. She’ll fight to the death to defend it, to defend Chrome, if she must.

Chrome laughs and it startles Bianchi. She’s so much older in soul, and yet her body seemingly younger than Bianchi’s. Her gothic dress swishes around her feet, showing her pale, naked feet as she lets go of Bianchi’s hand and begins to circle her, as if taking her in.

Bianchi feels naked. She hasn’t worn her armour in almost a year now. It hadn’t exactly been meant for anything more than hunter raids, far too stiff for the necessities of daily life. It had to be, in order to be strong enough to defend against the monsters of the night. The dresses that Chrome had stored in the castle weren’t exactly the kind that could be worn to battle, but they’d been good enough for a quiet life here. Good enough for spars with Chrome and writing letters to her brother.

God, Hayato. What is she going to tell him if she dies here tonight? He won’t understand. He never did.

Or, perhaps, he is the only one who can understand. Nobody loves monsters as much as her brother, after all, and even if it landed her here, in this moment, she can’t resent him for it. She loves him. She loves him, just as she loves Chrome. Tears well up in her eyes. She hates herself a little for that. This is no time to cry. This is the time to fight.

Chrome quits circling around her, to stand on her tippy toes to reach up to her. ‘’The thing you keep forgetting, Bianchi,’’ Chrome breathes into her ear, a hand creeping up her sides, caressing her chest, ‘’Is that before there can be hunters, there must be prey.’’

And with the soul of a hunter far older than any kind of human hunter, she pounces as the gate breaks apart in pieces.

Their enemies never even make it past the threshold.

~~

There are, Bianchi muses later that evening, definitely perks to having a vampire girlfriend. One of them is her tearing apart your enemies, which is way too hot and probably also illegal because of the murder. Not like anyone’s going to be able to tell, though. The castle is hidden far too well for that.

Chrome returns to her, dripping in guts and all kind of gory bits, but Bianchi doesn’t mind. She leans down and kisses her, deeply and with tongue.

Chrome laughs when she lets go. ‘’What did I deserve that for?’’

‘’Being amazing!’’ Bianchi smiles back.

‘’We’ll need to get the location of the castle to your brother,’’ Chrome says, leaning her forehead against Bianchi’s. Bianchi sighs and leans into it, closing her eyes. ‘’After all, I can hardly marry you properly if I don’t even know your family.’’

Bianchi’s eyes fly open, meeting mischievous eyes. ‘’You!’’ she slaps her arm, but the pleasure in it is evident.

‘’This time,’’ Chrome states, ‘’We’re bringing him the letter ourselves, though.’’

Bianchi fully agrees with that.

Hayato and all his monster friends come to the castle for the wedding.

[kolhearted-archived]

WANT. || So this is my copying-Lia post about the things that I really want to do! If you have any interest in doing any of these sorts of things, let me know! 

VERSES. || 

BODY JUMPER AU. || I have two body jumper AUs which take place and diverge directly at Kol’s death in TOs2. The show doesn’t take into account that Kol had made friends with a lot of witches, and in fact, may have had one of the best relationships with the witches out of his family, even in modern times. These AUs take this into consideration and play out with there being a handful of New Orleans Ancestors who are willing to give him one last chance at life. They find the supernatural being in NOLA who died the closest to Kol’s death and placed his soul inside, giving him a second lease on life. In these arcs, Kol generally stays away from his family, not wanting to get sucked back into their dysfunction. This is the first time he’s alive that there isn’t someone putting a shackle around his ankle.  These arcs also don’t by default use the Kolvina arc; he doesn’t go looking for her right away ( unless plotted otherwise )

Crescent Wolf Arc: the creature who died soonest after Kol was a Crescent wolf named David

Quarter Witch Arc: once again, Kol’s in the body of a Quarter witch, though this time, he doesn’t know how tangled he wants to get into his family’s dysfunction.

REINCARNATION AU. || One of my faves! — I say that about everything. Anyway, this diverges in TOs3 when Davina sacrifices herself to take down the Ancestral hold on the living, after Freya had sabotaged her resurrection. In this, Kol refused to leave Davina’s side when she asked him to, and helps her take down the Ancestral hold while their souls are caught in the backlash. The amount of cosmic power created by an Original soul being damaged while the Original body was not was enough to get the attention of bigger entities, and they chose to give Kol and Davina a second chance. About nine months later, give or take, two Salem witches are born in Massachusetts. Kol is reincarnated as Adrien Harwood, a direct descendant of powerful Salem witches who had come from Celtic witches traced back to at least a thousand years.  Because his soul is, in fact, so old, the cosmic wall between this incarnation and his last has been beginning to crumble down, and Adrien is beginning to understand who he was in another life. 

He doesn’t know 100% about Kol, but he’s been having more and more vivid dreams about his past life due entirely to the fact that his soul was alive in one incarnation for a thousand years, and the walls between lives were not made to hold that much information back.

The Davina reincarnation doesn’t have the same issue, or has not had it yet. 

Only character who is locked down in this verse is @seesgood​‘s Caroline as Adrien’s aunt. 

HERITAGE AU. || Based on this prompt, Kol was never Esther and Mikael’s to have. He found out when Mikael had been hunting his family, but he had a block put up in his mind in order to continue the charade for his own safety. When he was killed in TVD and resurrected in his original body in TO, the block was broken. He kept this secret until a strong magic broke the blood bond that had been put on him at the time of his birth, allowing his true heritage to show through. Now... he has to deal with it.

This verse can take place before the blood bond breaks or before, depending on plot

In this verse, Kol was born to a young Celtic couple; his mother had asked Esther and Aya to midwife her birth as she had had a difficult pregnancy. She had died during the birth, and Aya had convinced Esther to use the baby to heal her crumbling marriage. Esther blood-bound Kol to Elijah — why they look the most physically similar in the family — and used magic to convince everyone that she had been pregnant that summer. She told Kol’s biological father that the baby had died with the mother during the birth. 

Mikael found out about this when he was Turned, the memory spell on him breaking ( though it did not break on the others since they had been so young when it was placed on them ) which was why, when Kol was traveling with himself, Mikael didn’t care. Kol wasn’t his to worry about, but he also wasn’t a symbol of Esther’s infidelity. He just wasn’t his. 

ASGARD AU. || When Kol was born, she dedicated him to the Norse god Loki, one of the gods of magic. And the god had accepted. When Kol was turned, desperate to find magic again, he went in search of his patron. After a forever of looking, Loki came to him and, recognizing his own blessing upon the vampire, realized that they were both in a bit of a predicament. Kol was neither fallen, nor mortal, nor had a place in the hall of warriors. So he instead brought Kol to Asgard as his ward. Kol has been in and out of Asgard since this time, studying every kind of magic, of man and beyond, in any realm that will allow him in. His ultimate goal? Return to humanity and to magic itself. 

Not tied to Marvel Loki, thanks. 

Fudges mythology in that Loki is not tied up in a cave ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

Kol often acts as a messenger for Loki or other gods, though there are no stories written about him. 

His family assumed he was dead until he showed back up in the 1700s with no explanation for where he had been. 

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

A Study In Eye-fucking

PROMPT:

So I have this hc that when dean and cas are doing their whole staring-at-each-other-for-far-too-long thing, that cas is actually communicating with dean telepathically. He only does this with dean, and dean secretly likes that it’s their own special thing so doesn’t tell Sam. But when everyone else thinks they’re having eye-sex, they’re actually having their own private conversations. Feel free to write about this or not-no pressure either way❤️

HI, and first of all, I absolutely loved @xcaitlin-mayx 's headcannon, and was completely swept off my feet thinking of what direction I wanted to take ~ but then, uh, Life approached and I was thrown off my track. So, uh, I’m truly sorry for the really late answer ~ but I finally wrote something, and I really hope this is kind of what you had in mind, friend!

Edit: Posting this fic was a real task, because this is the third try, and it's finally ready. I'm sorry for the delay. And we need to thank the asker and @zoerayne2426 for their help in getting it here, after I lost it yesternight! Fic starts here:

***

Dean Winchester was pretty goddamn sure that he, Sam and Cas together were the best damn hunters in the World.

But not every hunt defines you as a hunter. Some days, you take out an entire coven of witches within a couple of days, or hunt down a century-old god, who had recently taken to being a dick.

Other days, a single vampire nest could take a long and tiring week, and you could still end up handcuffed to rusted barrels in an abandoned barn with your angel, trying to stall them from drinking you dead until your brother could figure out where the both of you were kidnapped to, and save the day.

“We aren’t giving Dean Winchester up in exchange for you, blue-eyes.” The apparent leader tossed her head, her attention completely taken by Cas. “Everybody knows you can’t sucking off an angel isn’t fun, right, gorgeous?” She added, in Dean’s general direction, making him want to knock her out even more than he already did.

If she wanted to make an innuendo, she didn’t even do that right.

“But that way, you’d at least have one of us.” Castiel reasoned, but Dean recognized his voice as insincere. At least he hoped. The plan was to waste time. Not give themselves over to dumb, evil bitches.

“What do you mean, right now, we have both of you?” She threw back.

“Not for long.” Dean spat, from his position on the ground. His hands were tied behind him, and he was unable to look up straight without the shooting pain at the back of his neck.

“If this is about Winchester XL, lemme just say, that he’s not coming to save you anytime soon.” She smirked.

Dean saw red, instantly. “Listen here, you -”

“Come on, Ken, you stay here with these two. I’m going to go take a look at the others,” She commanded, and the guy walked over in Cas’s general region, the proximity uncomfortable, as he waited wordlessly with his eyes on Dean, and his hand on the iron pole to which Castiel was tied - they had angel cuffs tying his wrists to chains and their bulkiest vampire assigned to the task, while Dean had been simply punched until he was rendered the equivalent of a sack of swearing potatoes and cuffed on the stone cold floor. It wasn’t exactly fair.

Moreover, the new guy didn’t look like he’d take any of their shit if they tried to negotiate him into a get-out-of-jail-alive card, and who was content enough to be a breathing stone pillar as he was told to be.

Oh, curse God for villains who didn’t monologue or had ambitions.

Listen!

A voice suddenly hissed at him, though he couldn’t hear it, and he raised his head harshly enough to get whiplash. He let it fall once more.

What was Dean’s conscience trying to tell him, right now? (Don't get caught by demons the next time, or you end up with a helluva crick in your neck?)

Dean!

The voice in Dean’s head usually used less flattering curse words for him. It didn’t call him Dean.

We can get out of here! Dean! Can you hear me?

Wait a fucking minute, this sounded like Cas.

And not in the my-family-is-my-voice-of-reason sense. Not even in the angel-on-my-shoulder sense.

Dean could, honest to god, hear Castiel’s voice in his head. It was not quite Jimmy’s voice though, it was all in all Cas! How Dean could tell them apart, he had no speck of an idea.

But - how?

You can hear me, can’t you?

Dean painstakingly raised his head to meet the angel’s eyes. Ken, or whatever his name was, wasn’t looking at Dean anymore, he was looking at Cas. Cas, on the other hand, had his eyes focused on Dean for sure.

Dean nodded, in response to the question from before.

Is it really you? He thought real hard, and saw Cas wince a little bit.

You don’t need to shout! We’ve already established that the connection is stable. And of course, it IS me.

Dean could feel his head whirring towards a more paranoid headache.

What connection, what the fuck is even happening? How are you doing this? He breathed.

Cas gave him a glare, that looked awfully like, that’s not a priority, though Dean didn’t hear it ring through his brain.

Dean. Listen to me. When these vampires were disarming me, I made sure to push my angel blade away. It’s got to be somewhere near you. You need to get it.

Dean instantly began to fumble around, clumsily. The vamp in the room turned sharply to him.

“Just an itch.” Dean excused, before going very still. This time, his eyes didn’t leave Dean. He still held onto Castiel’s iron chains.

Dean looked down at himself, to avoid eye contact. Are you sure it’s somewhere behind me?

There was no response.

No voices at all.

Dean looked up again, and suddenly Cas’s voice came in again. You need to keep looking into my eyes.

An involuntary heat rushed up Dean’s throat. He suddenly paid an extraordinary amount of attention to the blue, blue eyes of his friend. Castiel went on. I’m not an archangel, only they can communicate without it.

Dean swallowed, and forced a smile at the big lug who still glared at Dean, before he met Castiel’s eyes again. He was careful to not be expressive. Cas had it easy, he rarely looked like he meant something he said, or thought. He repeated himself. Are you sure it’s behind me?

No. Followed by a distinct, But you need to look. It's our only chance.

Dean almost nodded but remembered that the vampire still had his eyes on him, so stressed out an Okay.

Don’t scream your affirmations in my head, please. Castiel deadpanned, even his voice adorning a very Cas-like tone. Dean felt the twitch of a smile.

He began to look, much more subtle this time.

I’ve got it. He thought softly, before realizing he didn’t need to whisper in this - whatever the hell this kind of communication network was.

Use it.

Castiel didn’t even have to think it at him, his eyes did the job. A single touch of the blade to the ropes had them loosening. Hopefully not melting, though, but Dean couldn’t turn his head to see. Angel blades were apparently multi-utility tools.

Once the ropes were severed, it was Dean Winchester’s turn to shine. Ken got an elbow in the face, and a kick in the shin before Dean began to cut off Castiel’s chains, and when Ken showed up again and had Dean in a surprise headlock - what an ideal villain - Dean stabbed him with the blade, and deftly cut his throat off.

The tale of how the hunter and his angel, freshly freed and armed, got from there to the motel room, was one which has been told several times.

***

Sam was very much asleep when Dean and Castiel had time to talk, Castiel had healed him but he had bled out a lot, and Dean’s insistence that he take some rest, had resulted in sam beginning to use his laptop whilst on his bed - and soon slumping off to sleep, with it’s screen still lit.

Dean later shut down the computer, while Castiel pulled the sheets over his legs.

Being a hunter had very few perks, but it had several drawbacks, such as having to go out of the small room to have a serious conversation - lest you risk waking up your brother who, as all hunters, was prone to light sleep.

Dean almost pulled Castiel outside, and deciding that talking outside the door would be ridiculous, so they walked all the way outside the motel. Dean leaned against the impala, and Castiel stood straight and watched him.

At the moment, it had been easy enough to get over the realization, that he and castiel were communicating through thoughts. There was pain, and there was danger - and there was the factor of time.

Now under the starlit sky, it was just Dean and Cas, and like hell, there weren’t questions.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “What the hell was that, back in the barn? With the-” His eyes were wide with shock, when he met Castiel’s again. “With the goddamn mind reading, Cas!”

“I..” Castiel didn’t sound as sure as Dean would’ve assumed he was going to. “I just tried something. And it worked.”

“What did you try?” Dean pursed his lips.

“To see if I could tell you something,” Castiel was still uncertain how he would explain something like this to Dean. “Without saying it aloud.”

“Yeah, well, your dick-ish brothers and sisters have gotten into my head often enough,” Dean snapped. “This was different. I was in control too! I could send things back that route through!”

“I agree,” Cas nodded. “It was like a telepathic connection.”

“I’m not.. Psychic or whatever, Cas! I can’t do this shit, eye contact or not!” Dean recalled.

“Dean.” Castiel sounded more firm. “It was a moment of distress. Those vampires would’ve turned you, and found the blade soon enough to kill me too. And I felt like - there was something I could do.”

“Just like that?” Dean was quieter.

“It was like a string, within reachable distance, and I strained my grace to get to it. And I could pull it. So I did, and..and you picked it up then, by looking into my eyes.” It was as if Castiel was explaining it to himself too, not just to Dean.

“I don’t know how I ‘picked’ anything up.” Dean wondered aloud. Helpless. “I don’t it know how it worked, at all-”

“Dean” Castiel suddenly walked towards him. There was only a foot of distance between their chests, and Castiel blinked clearly at him. “Look at me.”

Dean hesitantly raised his eyes from the ground, and felt them flicker all over Cas’s features. He was embarrassed, because Cas may be dense in general, but anyone would understand if a dude’s eyes kept flitting back to your lips, right? Rigidly, Dean made himself focus on Cas’s eyes. They were ocean blue in the sun, but tinted with the grey of the late evening right now. It was certainly not the first time Dean noticed the angel’s eyes. “I am.”

“Would you… could you really look into my eyes?” Castiel asked, he sounded so sincere, that Dean didn’t have it in himself to make a lewd joke.

He simply obeyed, letting himself drown in the black pupils, not letting his sight wander past the beautiful hues of the iris, or-

Dean!

Dean blinked suddenly, and Castiel clasped his bicep with his right hand, to make him focus. His eyes sought all of Dean's attention.

Dean?

So now, this is apparently a thing. Dean thought, and somehow it was enough. We’re telepathy buddies, who think into each other’s heads.

For a long moment, Cas simply looked into his eyes. But Dean didn’t hear anything from him. There was a pleasant silence of all of Cas’s attention on him.

It was when Dean began to wonder if the connection had broke, or if Dean was suddenly incapable of hearing Cas’s thoughts anymore, that a small, mellow voice he hardly recognized as Cas came floating through the front of his brain.

It was unsure, and almost a little timid. Maybe even sad. It wasn't what Dean expected.

Is this so bad?

Of course it wasn’t, who was he kidding? But Cas’s face had crumbled into an apologetic look, though his eyes stayed focused on Dean’s- and Dean understood that not everything he thought was audible to Cas. It was - it was perfectly under his control too!

However, that meant that Cas believed that Dean hated this- except the truth was far from it. It was unbelievable, yes; but this was Cas. It wasn’t - it couldn’t be… bad. Dean suddenly wondered how much of his thoughts were audible to Cas, not quite having a good hold on it yet.

I never said that. Dean swallowed, as if testing waters. It’s weird, not gonna lie, but it isn't exhausting, and it could be helpful. And okay, maybe it could be fun-ishh too.  

Castiel smiled a bit, and his eyes suddenly seemed to light up literally, and a wave floated through the ‘string’ apparently, uplifting Dean’s spirits too. He smiled too, realizing that he’d never seen Cas smile, this real and beautiful, up close.

And then he suddenly stopped smiling, realizing that he’d never seen Cas smile, this real and beautiful, this up close, and that had just made him smile.

Whoa, Winchester - bring it down a notch. He looked away, almost on instinct, a heat crawling up his neck.

“This is gonna need some getting used to,” Dean declared, putting his own hand on Castiel’s shoulder - because apparently two grown men staring deeply into each other’s eyes in the parking lot of a cheap motel, wasn’t inappropriate enough to be considered gay, with only one of them touching the other.

(If someone were doing a commentary on Dean’s life, they’d need to pepper in the fact of how the oldest Winchester was truly prone to being a helping hand to bring about situations which embarrassed him infinitely, in the confines of his own head, later.)

Dean pulled off his hand, almost that very next moment, and turned away from him, towards Baby. Thinking. There was so much to think about.

“Can I tell you something?” Castiel spoke up, his voice ever so thoughtful. “This is not… the first time I saw this. Angels can do it, angels who were raised together, who have fought together. Archangels find it simple. But seraphs like us?” He sighed. “Uriel had recently discovered we were able to do it, just a few decades back, but we tried it rarely, and now he..”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean meant it, and he bit his lip. “But, what about me? I wasn’t - I’m not him, and I wasn’t raised with you, angel.” It didn’t strike him that he’d just called Castiel angel until sufficiently later, half-asleep in bed and replaying the conversation, and it was a miracle that he didn’t panic out of sight when it happened.

“I’ve never seen this before,” Castiel spoke, after a pause. “But there were stories. Of humans being able to do this, rarely. Very rarely.”

“What did I do -?” Dean stopped, not saying ‘wrong’, because Cas would probably not understand he meant it as a joke. And not saying ‘right’ either, because that wasn’t something he’s say out loud.

“It wasn’t something you did. I do not know why it happened for you and me, Dean. But,” Castiel stared at him keenly. Dean looked back at his eyes, and once again, he could feel them relapsing into their own bubble, where words didn’t need to be uttered to be understood. It was kind of fascinating.

Castiel paused, as if testing the string again, or maybe just wondering how to say it. When he finally does, his voice trembles a bit. And he’s searching in Dean’s eyes, some sort of reassurance; involuntarily.

I have heard it happens for those who are bonded.

Dean was suddenly grateful that Cas didn’t say that out loud, because Dean would have been absolutely incapable of responding with anything at all. But since this was just between them, there were only traces of a boundary, yet no intrusion- Dean felt the courage to think distinctly.

Then maybe you do know why it happened for us.

*

That's why, when Cas throws the 'profound bond' line at Sam, Dean instantly panicked. Castiel met his eyes, sending a, What's the matter?

Dean could only scoff his denial out loud, and glare a Not in front of my brother, jackass, into Castiel's irritatingly blue eyes.

*

In his defense, Dean doesn’t know how long Sam has been noticing it. But it’s got to be in the middle of a fight that he calls them out on it. It’s the middle of the goddamn showdown of the hunt. It’s the Winchesters and Castiel against dozens of demons; the angel whirred around, killing plenty, with expertise and his bright blade; Sam was exorcising loudly, from memory, as he fought off more demons using Ruby’s knife, and Dean shot at all the monsters in between.

When Dean gets a spare second - the Winchesters look like they’ve almost already won, and most demons are fighting to lose now - he whips his head in Cas’s direction. The latter is always majestic when he’s in his element, a glorious warrior.

Dean watches Cas flung a demon over, and pin him to the ground with a flourish, extracting a dying gasp as Castiel lands next to him with a palm on his sternum, displaying strength that should’ve been impossible; and Dean gapes. As if on cue, Castiel turns to face him, and there’s a triumphant spark in his eyes, and a smirk dangling tangent from the corner of his lips. It’s an absolute scene to die for, and he doesn’t look past Dean.

Dean. Castiel suddenly speaks, directly into Dean’s nerves.

That was so cool! You flipped him midair, it was something else, dude! Whoa! Dean lets out, in a hurry.

Castiel’s eyes don’t leave Dean’s, but they crinkle into a smile. You have blood in your hair.

I could do with a compliment too, but sure, worry more about my hair, why don’t you? Dean runs a hand violently through his hair, to get it off.

You’re an excellent fighter, and you know it. The fact that there was dry blood in your hair was something that you didn’t know, so I mentioned it. Castiel almost teased, and it stunned Dean how natural it felt suddenly. To have the voice of an angel echoing through his head, delivering lines in a deadpan. All while he got to stare into those fantastic baby blues, which starred in more dreams than Dean appreciated.

Come to think of it, Dean had no idea what he looked like, right now. Frozen in the middle of a fight scene, with eyes locked with Castiel’s, and no will to look away. His jaw basically hung, rapt in attention.

Don’t be that way. Dean sent back. Listen. Will you stay after the hunt tonight, Cas?

Do you need me to? Instantly resonated.

Once again, Dean surprised himself. But he was also beginning to realize that he could be both spontaneous and brave, when it came to saying the stuff he wanted to, when they communicated this way. Dean proposed, swiftly.

Nah, I was just thinking. If you were living with us tonight, we could make plans, you know - maybe a movie, some classic, of course; or maybe burgers and -

DEAN! Turn around, and SHOOT! HE’S BEHIND YOU!

Dean spun around as fast as he could, following thoughtlessly and firing away. His thoughts returned to him slower, still stuck on the way Cas’s eyes widened with sheer worry, when they saw Dean was in danger. Before he could think ahead, the body of an armed demon dropped at his feet, with a bullet in his head.

Castiel had sounded terrified for his sake, eyes suddenly wide and his booming baritone piercing through Dean’s bodily systems to make his muscles move just right. Never had Castiel’s voice overpowered all of his senses again - not once, after that one time in the abandoned shack, after the former raised him from hell.

”…Dean!“ Came Sam’s voice, trailing closer, and it was as if he’d been yelling for long - though Dean could only hear it now. "Are you okay!?”

“Yeah,” Dean touched the corpse with his boot. “Just peachy.” Their surroundings were silent, and all the demons had been killed. Sam ran towards him, frantic, and stopped as he began to yell, harshly clutching his brother’s shoulder, to get himself back together.

“You - you idiot! Both of you! Well, if you hadn’t been staring at each other’s mugs,” He declared, turning his head to include Castiel in his reprimand. “You’d have seen the demon coming sooner!”

Dean swallowed, suddenly overcome with the realization of what it looked like, each time they did it. Fuck. He hadn’t been thinking.

Sam wasn’t done yet. He’d been keeping it in for too long. “What is up with you, Dean!? I would think you got enough of looking at each other from what you keep doing, all frigging day!” It was as if Sam had taken the panic he felt at seeing his brother almost killed, and combined it with the frustration piling since almost a fortnight now into a mound of anger, that he shoved in their faces. “I mean - it doesn’t matter to me, you do you and be happy being yourself - but at least put the pining away when you’re in the middle of a fight!”

“It’s not pining, what the fuck do you mean?” Dean objected indignantly. “It is -” And he suddenly stopped mid-sentence. He looked at Castiel, but the angel was looking at the ground, almost as if he believed he was responsible for Dean’s almost-murder - while clearly he was the reason Dean was still alive!

Dean commenced on a trail of thoughts himself.

Didn’t Sam know at all? Well, should he? Did he really need to?

Okay, if he thought about it, probably not.

It wasn’t about this being a Dean-and-Cas thing. No. It wasn’t about that at all, that’d be ridiculous. It was plain and simple about keeping Sam from being a smartass about it, for forever later.

So that settled it.

Sam didn't need to know.

Were you telling me something? Castiel suddenly popped up in his head, sounding grave.

I was trying to think something at you, but never mind, Dean got swept up in the feeling of replying to the angel through his thoughts, feeling himself put every emotion through a channel to get to him, to remember that Sam was still right there -

“Oh, there you go again!” Sam whined, before beginning to storm away. “Don’t try to stop me from driving away in your car, Dean! You can just keep staring,” He snarked. “And try to get it out of your system before you return to the motel!”

Castiel walked to Dean, slowly, once Sam had left, leaving his rant in the middle. “Your brother -” He began.

“Obviously you don’t do this with him, because he has no idea,” Dean remarked, if he didn’t already know.

“It isn’t intentional.” Castiel defended.

Dean nodded. He walked a few steps on the path where his brother had marched off, seconds before. He knew Sammy - and knew that that was just an outburst for no reason but venting the sudden adrenaline, and he was just being the regular prissy cares-for-Dean’s-life bitch, he’s always been trying to be. It didn’t bother him as much as it would’ve, if Sam knew about the ‘bond’; especially what Dean thought of it as, inwardly.

Castiel blinked, bringing him back to the present. “But, Dean? What does Sam think, then? What do we do, when we look at each other’s eyes?”

“…uh, just look, I- I guess.” Dean stammered, fidgety. “It’s not a big deal, c'mon, let’s get back to Baby before the kid actually leaves. And hey, uh, about the heads-up about the demon, back then? I didn’t get ganked totally because of you, so - thanks.” Castiel looked at him like he didn’t make sense, which was pretty unfair, because he totally did, right? He was being extremely clear about all of this. Was dealing with all his new feelings like a pro.

He’d obviously been giving off the vibe, that meant that Dean was completely over the freak out phase associated with the fact that what their telepathic crap meant was that they were ‘bonded’ - or whatever, who cares - and was only attached to what that meant for him ~ that Cas could hear Dean’s thoughts and he had a choice to not let him, but he did let him, so that was supposed to mean something - and he saved Dean’s life almost periodically at this point, so that was another perk of having him around, except for the fact that he got to look into his eyes - and Dean was going to keep this entire complicated thing from his brother, as if it were his overdue gay panic, to be later referred to as a mid-life (sexuality) crisis.

Okay. Maybe it was the opposite of out in the open.

But perhaps Dean could ask Cas to look into his eyes, and go over these (that were so hard to actually say out loud) again, because yeah, that was a thing that they did now.

Dean Winchester had a weird life, and he was extremely happy to be living it right now, as Cas blinked at him and said, “Of course, Dean, always,” in response to the thanking, and followed him out of the room where they’d just killed an entire troop of demons and saved the state of Kansas, and as Dean plotted to push Sam right of the driver’s seat, and mentally made a note to start paying more attention to the setting before he starts staring at Cas. Apparently.

~~~

And that’s it! I know it’s an abrupt-ish end. but will you be fine if I post editions of this, separately? There’s an angsty one, with mentions of Purgatory, Naomi and Steve - and there’s probably also a crack one, with shipper!Sam, shipper!Charlie and shipper!Kevin, and some breakfast Destiel. Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed this fic, and am so glad you sent me that headcannon, Caitlin!

Here’s my taglist for Destiel, and though this is pretty general, I guess it counts: @all-or-nothing-baby @petrichoravellichor @adventurous-blob @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @legendary-destiel @ladywaywarddsc @styggtroll @moderatelypanickedbisexual @trenchcoatsandfreckles @noemithenephilim @naitia @ctrl-alt-destiel @a-mess-of-many-fandoms and @3dg310rdsupreme, uwu, Special Mention: @zoerayne2426

[oriorchids]

Ouma Month Day 14 - Magical Boy AU, Transformation

In which there are Madoka Magica spoilers, though I feel most people know the stuff in here already. Alternatively, in which Ouma Kokichi watches his friends die, and the transformation prompt isn’t only for the magical boy transformation.

On a side note, the majority of me writing this fic has been me agonizing over Ouma’s wish. The other bit is me writing witch descriptions.

Y’know, I used to think that being a magical boy was actually a good thing. I guess I became a magical boy because I was about to give up. “Please make people care about me.” At the time, I thought that that wish would give me friends. And it did! I had DICE and the team. it didn’t last.

Sure, I made a few friends. However, people actually started thinking about everything I said. Every word I said that wasn’t right or ‘good’ was scrutinized. I’m pretty sure rumors started to spring about a week later.

I’m not really sure when I started egging on the rumors. All I remember is lying more often. I’m pretty sure it became a habit about six months in.  That was around when I met DICE, I think?

Anyways, I met the first member of the team a year after DICE, when I moved to Tokyo. BOY were there a lot of magical girls and boys there. I met Amami-chan on a witch hunt, where Amami-chan shot an arrow into the witch’s face. Since we went to the same school, he offered a truce. I accepted and the first link was in place.

Tetsuya ‘Call me Kiibo’ Iidabashi-chan was next. Honestly, we noticed the robot before the actual guy. He was the first guy we actually knew the wish of (since Amami-chan didn’t talk about his wish and I didn’t talk about mine), which was to be able to create a sentient robot. Honestly, it was nice having some more firepower, since Kiibot had laser cannons.

Saihara-chan and Momota-chan came after that. Momota-chan wished to be a hero, and Saihara-chan wished to know the truth. It was kinda funny seeing Momota-chan punching familiars in the face for a while. Saihara-chan usually stays in the back with his giant shield and a gun.

Oh! I forgot to talk about my weapon! It’s a yo-yo with spikes on the edges. Amazing, I know.

It was going pretty well for a while. I mean, apparently four months is a long time for these kinds of teams to last. Though I wish it lasted longer. MUCH longer.

--

Naomi, the Flowering Witch with a Blooming Nature. It appears as a tall, grotesque flower. It grows in its garden, absorbing the life force of people it traps in its barrier.

Her barrier was rather pretty, thorns and all. We had just started the battle, and we were getting a little cocky. Momota-chan rushed in, and Saihara-chan was using up a lot of his ammo. I was taking care of the familiars when Momota-chan was attacked. Large vines swept across the entire area, knocking us all to the ground. It threw a boulder at Momota-chan, and none of us could move. At least, most of us.

Amami-chan knocked Momota-chan out of the way. Amami-chan smiled at us and said he would be okay. Amami-chan was crushed by the falling boulder.

--

It was only a week after Amami-chan’s death when Momota-chan started going a little nuts. He stopped accepting grief seeds, got extremely snappy at everyone around him, and went on a witch killing spree, dropping off all of the grief seeds at our team’s base.

Saihara-chan took Momota-chan’s soul gem away from him by force, and Momota-chan dropped like a fly. That was how we found out one portion of the truth.

Momota-chan shouted at Saihara-chan. Momota-chan left to go home. We found Momota-chan’s body inside of a witch’s barrier, with his gem completely gone and a witch resembling a hero replacing him.

(Alistair, the Witch of Heroes, with a saving-people nature. It appears as a large eye with a person standing inside the pupil. Large hands with capes tied onto their fingers are used to rescue citizens. However, the hero is too strong, and hurts or kills all of the citizens it tries to save.

Madelina, whose duty is to report the hero’s exploits. She appears as a large bird with a camera around her neck.

Cordelia, whose duty is to cause mischief. It appears as a figure in a checkered scarf. It will often pull people into the barrier to serve as hostages. Lately, another has appeared looking like someone with a blue hat.

Evie, whose duty is to help the hero. It appears as a robotic human, a shadowy man in a hoodie, and a green-haired man with a bow and arrow. The green-haired man has gone missing, lately, so it’s up to the other two to help the hero.)

Iidabashi-chan died saving us from Momota-chan’s witch. There were only two members of the team left.

--

Maybe I shouldn’t do this. Maybe I should go on like there’s nothing wrong. But it’s not like anyone will miss me. I bet Saihara-chan is annoyed by me by now. He probably hates me. He should hate me. Everyone does.

If I don’t do this now, I’ll probably turn into a witch. Maybe it won’t be so bad, witching out. Maybe I’ll destroy the world. Maybe Saihara-chan will defeat me and I can help him more than I help him now. Maybe I can help for once. I did nothing when Amami-chan and Momota-chan and Iidabashi-chan died, after all.

Maybe the afterlife won’t be so bad, if it exists. Then again, I’ll probably go to hell. Or maybe there won’t be an afterlife for me, even if it exists. I’ll be killing my soul, after all.

My soul gem is turning black. I need to do this now.

I transform and bash my hand against the chair...

--

The body of Ouma Kokichi was found in the park by a young high-schooler. His cause of death is unknown.

A funeral was held by his friend, Saihara Shuichi, and nine people who may not be named. Ouma’s entire class attended, except for Amami Rantaro, who has been missing for a month now. Investigations have begun.

Momota Kaito and Iidabashi Tetsuya have also been found dead, both of their causes of death unknown. Their families have held funerals for both of them.

The school of Hope’s Peak Academy has been left devastated by these deaths.

--

One Saihara Shuichi is all alone fighting to save humanity. One Saihara Shuichi misses the laughter of all of his friends. He missed the bickering of Momota-kun and Ouma-kun. He missed Amami-kun’s cooking and Kiibo-kun’s naivety. He missed hearing the yells of others in battle giving orders and knowing they were all okay.

Saihara Shuichi eyes the rooftop, but doesn’t move closer. Instead, he walks away. Saihara Shuichi has decided to live.

He takes his shield out and enters the barrier.