#“i would be terrified to face him in battle” /romantic intent

[lazycranberrydoodles]

memes i drew on my phone (cause class is kicking my ass) / follow if you don't want to get drenched in blood

#this can be read as really any umbrella scene tbh... #i was thinking of the one in mount tonglu but this happens a lot actually #love the parts where xl will start a tirade about how hua cheng is so dangerous and sharp and deadly and menacing and striking and fierce a #“i would be terrified to face him in battle” /romantic intent #tgcf #art #tgcf meme #tian guan ci fu #hua cheng #xie lian #hualian #tgcf fanart #hob #heaven official's blessing #my art #lmao #etc etc etc etc

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3

Summary: With new love and broken trust to navigate, the tension between Xaden and Violet is at an all-time high after the battle beyond the Athebyne outpost. Two months after swearing Xaden off romantically, Violet finds he has her pinned to the mat again. And he has no intention of showing mercy.

AN: As promised, here's my first Fourth Wing fic.

CW: Smut, language

Violet grunted as her back met the gym mat for the third time in thirty minutes. "Damn." She wasn't so sure everything that she just heard pop was actually supposed to pop. "You know, I get thrown around enough during my daily training as it is. I don't need you beating me to a pulp after hours."

"Pull yourself together, Violence. If I realized just how sloppy you had gotten I never would have neglected this part of your training."

Negligence may not be the most accurate description of their current problem. The truth was that she had been brilliantly evading him since she had started picking up the tells her own dragon gave when he sensed his mate and her rider were near. Violet had seen Xaden face-to-face only a handful of times since his graduation and this was the first time in the two months since the wyvern attack she had let him close enough to spar. She thought it had been long enough—that her mind was set enough on the logical path that her leniency tonight wouldn't do any harm. She desperately needed to get her brain and her body on the same page when it came to Xaden Riorson. Because Violet Sorrengail never made the same mistake twice. She was not ending tonight by dragging Xaden to her private room.

And she was definitely not fucking him on the gym floor. Or any floor for that matter.

Eyeing her scattered daggers—the short blades he'd personally commissioned for her and had her take straight off his vest when he was still her supposed enemy—she shoved at his chest for the third time that night with every intention of starting again. He didn't budge. "Tell me what to do, Violet," he groaned. "You've been treating me like a damn plague every time I come back to the college with Sgaeyl."

"You said you'd give me the space I need, Xaden. Don't tell me you're already back to lying to me."

"I never—" He growled, his arms buckling on either side of her hips. "Fuck."

The steady tension of the night began to build far too rapidly for her comfort as need coiled within her. She tried to Ground herself. Tried to reach that door that would seal off the waves of Tairn's shameless arousal. But with Xaden practically trembling between her thighs she knew the night wouldn't be easy on either of them. If they tried to resist that urge rippling down the bond. They needed to separate now, or what Xaden was asking for she'd be all too willing to hand over. She hadn't tested his vow in those two months because she was terrified he would make a fool of her. But the logical part of her recognized he wouldn't hurt her again. It was a fear of her wounded heart. Hadn't he been the one to tell her that fear would only get her killed faster?

Her resistance shattered and she pressed a hand to his bare chest. "Xa—"

"Thank the gods." His mouth claimed hers in a brutal kiss as his shadows skittered out to clear the last of the unsheathed daggers off of the mat as he gripped her wrists, pinning them together under one hand and effectively immobilizing her upper body. "Thank the fucking gods and dragons too selfish to shield."

"You're welcome, Silver One." She stiffened, thinking back to how long it had been since she felt Tairn so prominently. "I can not fully protect you and see to my mate if you are at odds with her human."

This was a fucking setup. One Xaden was equally aware of if his smirk was anything to go by. "Meddlesome mother hens."

"Indeed they are." He hunched over her once again, his smirk somehow broadening as he used his free hand to lift the hem of her shirt, guiding it up to her bust as he trailed the path of his hand with those sinful lips. "So fucking beautiful," he praised her. Violet whined, giving a half-hearted attempt to free her wrists before he tightened his grip. "Just let me give you this, Violet. While we still have the chance." Before this war came to such a height where they'd never catch a moment alone. She nodded, aching for the familiar heat of his mouth on her skin. It had been a hard two months. Dipping his head, he trailed his lips from the top of her neck down to her collarbone. His hips shifted to pin hers as she tried to lift them to grind against him. It was fucking torture, feeling his hard body against hers and being able to do absolutely nothing about it. "Patience, Violet."

She glared at him, reading the slight taunt beneath his own need. He released her hands to peel her out of her top, chuckling when her free hands moved straight to his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers as he moved on to the buttons on her pants.

She followed that mental stream of night that she hadn't touched in months, likely broadcasting every emotion running through her at the moment. "I'm going to take my sweet time with you tonight, Violence. I'm gonna have you begging for me by the end of it all."

Fuck. "I don't beg," she retorted.

He pulled away from the kiss, giving her a wolfish grin as he peeled her pants down her legs to expose her damp panties. "We'll see about that." With that final piece of clothing gone, his attention returned to keeping her from gaining an edge, his shadows gathering to pin her arms again, leaving both of his hands free to touch her. She didn't bother fighting them. "Good girl."

She bit her lip, trying not to show what those two little words did to her. She honestly wasn't ready to identify it. The next time their eyes met she knew it was pointless. He could always read her too well. Still, he spared her the embarrassment of saying anything about it, instead reaching between them to stroke his thumb over her clit, two fingers dipping between her legs. "Fucking soaked," he growled out loud, shifting back until his head was between her thighs, those soft lips trailing up each leg as he positioned them over his shoulders. He was going to ruin her with nothing more than a stroke of his tongue. How the hell was she supposed to think of anything but this the next time she was training with another Rider on the mats.

Two fingers curled inside her and she gasped, the muscles in her legs tight enough to snap as Xaden hit that spot he knew made her see stars. And as that smirking mouth closed over her clit... despite what little time they had before everything fell apart, Xaden hadn't forgotten a single thing about how to please her. "Xaden, more." 

He kept his pace, his mouth still pressed flush against her as he returned his attention to the mental bond. "Are you asking or telling me? Because you're in no position to be giving orders, Violence."  He was moving unbearably slowly now, maintaining her need for him, but failing to bring her closer to orgasm. The bastard planned to edge her.

"This is my punishment?" she panted out. "This is what I get for avoiding you? Pinned down and edged until you get bored of the game?"

He raised his head to look at her, his gaze drowsy with his own lust as he met her eyes. "Violence, don't you know? This is a game I'll never grow bored of. Seeing you squirm is far too delightful and we both know you can't hold out for long."

He returned to his task, each stroke clearly at his leisure. "Now be my good girl and ask nicely for what you want."

There was the line in the sand. Xaden Riorson was a patient man, more than willing to take his sweet time with her tonight. He delighted in the game he created and didn't find any difficulty in a slow indulgence. She was the only one suffering tonight. 

Unless she folded.

Begged.

She twisted her wrists against his shadows, jolting the next time he brought her to the edge of release. "Xaden, please." 

He broke away and she whimpered. "Please what?"

"Please let me come." 

Satisfaction rippled down the bond between them and her body went white-hot with mounting pleasure. She clenched her jaw to keep from screaming as she finally fell over the edge, rolling her hips as best she could with her legs still slung over Xaden's broad shoulders. "So. Fucking. Beautiful," he murmured, silently ordering the shadows holding her to release. She could taste herself on him as he swept her into another feverish kiss, his fingers unwinding her braid and fisting in the silver and black of her hair. "I'll never get enough of you, Violet." He pulled away just long enough to ease out of his own leathers before seeking her mouth again. Knowing he'd be off balance for a few seconds, she took advantage of the time she had to get him on his back. "Vi—" Her name faded to a soft curse as she stroked the hard length of him. "Dirty tricks, Violence."

"Well-earned on your part, I'd say. You had your fun," she purred, sinking down on his cock inch by inch. Gods, she had missed that feeling. "Now it's my turn."

One hand anchoring at her right hip, he raised his other to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. "You want to ride me, sweetheart? Go right ahead. One way or another I still get to watch as you shatter on my cock." The words sent a shudder through her and he grinned as her nails bit into his shoulders. His hand fell away from her breast, his fingers rethreading in her hair and tugging just enough to sting her scalp. "Go on, baby. Ride me."

~~~~~

His few memories of watching Violet come for him didn't do the actual sight of it justice. No memory could hold the exact expression on her face as she reached the edge of her climax or the little sounds that left her when she realized she needed help getting there. No memory could quite hold the arch of her body or the scent of her skin as she pressed up against him. And no memory could quite hold this moment. His Violet, half-asleep on his chest as they both came down from the rush of what they'd done.

"I'm never going to be able to go to my hand-to-hand training again without thinking of this. You're a terrible influence, Xaden Riorson." 

He chuckled. "I suppose a gentleman would have taken you to a bed first. But I never claimed to be such a thing. At least this way you'll remember who you belong to when your squadmates start ogling you during training."

"I'm not an object," she growled, sounding about as violent as a kitten as exhaustion continued to weigh on her.

"No. But you're still mine. Just as I'm yours, whenever you're ready to claim me again."

The fog of lust that triggered this all was behind them. And in its place was an understanding. He had hurt her, but he would never make that mistake twice. This could be the time they start fresh, but only if she was ready. "Well, Violet?"

"I'm ready, Xaden."

#fanfiction #fourth wing #violet and xaden #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xiolet #this is only a minor obsession nothing to be concerned about #who am i kidding xaden is daddy

[reginarubie]

"She saw him(Hound) for a moment, all black and green, the blood on his face dark as tar, his eyes glowing like a dog's in the sudden glare."- Sansa(ACOK VII). "Fires glinted off the snout of his(Hound) helm, and made the steel teeth shine."- Arya(ASOS XI). Hound is described as some kind of feral dog(or a firey dog) in both instances. Both girls were terrified of Blackwater Battle and RW yet he decided to terrified them by manhandling them.

Ciao anon,

reason millemila why the Hound is a grey-villain in the stories of Sansa and Arya. Yeah he kind of fulfils the protector role as well (he saves Sansa during the riots and Arya during the RW) but he is also someone who scares them, threatens them, manhandles them and thus essentially traumatise and abuses them.

Both girls are especially scared of battles, like it's normal they would be, they are scared for their lives, for the lives of those they love and are traumatised by those battlegrounds. Sansa whole arc in KL is abuse after abuse of trust, physical and emotional; Arya survives emotional traumas after emotional traumas as well as physical traumas as well at times. And the Hound is helping none.

And while during the RW he is — in a way — protecting Arya (his source of income for he hopes, for he hopes to ransom her to her remaining family, if not the Starks then Lysa Arryn) during the Blackwater Battle he is seeking Sansa out with the intention of raping and terrorising her, and he succeeds in the latter; he threatens her to the point Sansa is afraid for her life in that very moment more than in the possible future of what will happen after the battle.

It's only the Hymn of the Mother which Sansa sings ‘Gentle Mother, font of mercy’ that stills his hand in his purpose of raping and terrorising her — not going to linger on the parallels of Sansa/Elia both in Maegor's Holdfast and a Clegane brother coming to their chambers with the intention of terrorise them, rape them and trying to kill them...but even in this instance Sansa has broken off the tradition of the princess held into a tower and killed (the parallel set by Elia and Lyanna, which both Arianne and Sansa are disrupting and upturning); and Arya doesn't give him the mercy of a swift death when she leaves him and departs for Braavos where she poses as Mercy. Maybe it does have a meaning — will Arya bring forth his end by mercy-killing him at the end after he has killed Gregor?

I don't know if the Hound will play some other role in the girls story — it's possible — but for sure, imo, he won't be fulfilling a requited romantical role or a parental role. Arya might have taken him off her list, but he's still the Hound, he's still a murderer and he has still traumatised both her and Sansa.

#ask the hag #anon asks #the hound and traumatising the stark girls

[leggerefiore]

Have you done anything for grimsley yet 👀 the submas jealousy drabble reminded me that he exists I love that weird gambling man…maybe some general romantic headcanons for him? Thank you!

i have not anon, my gambling husband has been ignored in favour of the train husbands... let's amend that.

♠Grimsley♥

♤ He's a strange guy to date, for sure. Occasionally, he feels like a glorified roommate than a lover. He's like a cat when it comes to affection. Sometimes, he's all over you and literally will not leave you alone, while at others he's full on 'do not touch me'. (Like an affectionate cat, he also bites. It's never anything mean, though. )

♡ He's busy with league work often, and usually disappears without warning. You have to call him multiple times just to get an answer, and he apologises for it. He gets so caught up in his work that he forgets about you. You'll either grow used to it or talk to him about. If you do talk to him about, he's better about leaving notes or texts. It was never his intention to cause you any emotional turmoil.

◇ He knows he looks pretty frightening and uses it to his advantage to scare off anyone who's interested. No one gets too flirty with you before they deal with his leering and unsettling smirk. He is the jealous type, as he knows how beautiful you are. Anyone would be stupid to not gamble for your attention. A bit possessive, watch out for his teeth.

♧ Indifferent to PDA for the most part, and it plays back inconsistency with affection in general. Sometimes, he's glued to your side with an arm around your waist, while at others you seem like complete strangers. Don't think for a second he doesn't love you, he's just feeling detached for now. It will eventually go away, and he's back to acting like he'll die if he doesn't have a hand on you.

♤ He shows his love with gift giving and time together. He's a busy guy, so him slowing down and giving you hit time means he likes you a lot. Whenever he's out and sees something that he knows you'll like, he'll buy it without hesitation and bring it home to you. You're on his mind constantly, as much as he hates to admit it. It's a bit terrifying that he has someone so important to him. (Someone could use his affections toward you to hurt him. What if they hurt you? The thought haunts him.)

♡ Teaches you card games! You quickly become convinced he's cheating, but he assures you he's not. He proceeds to put down a royal flush during your poker game, and you do not believe him one bit. Grimsley is a nice guy; however, he lets you win a few times (so you don't stop playing with him). Also, definitely, cheated at Monopoly. You have no idea why you let him be the banker. (Also, play board games with him. He's pretty good at them and gets overly competitive. Never will you see a more passionate scrabble player.)

◇ You've 100% been to a casino (as his arm candy basically) and seeing him active in his secondary profession is unbelievable. His calls are quick, he determines bluffs with ease, probabilities are broken down in his head frighteningly fast. You begin to think he might not have been cheating. His concentrated face is entrancing, you'll find yourself hypnotised should you stare too long.

♧ If you were a trainer, he demands at least one battle out of you. It's a wonderful way to read somebody and see unexpected sides of people. The Elite Four member does not go easy on you. He's bitter, yet amused if you win. You're a better trainer than he first expected, and now he has to know more about your style. If you lose, he has his signature smug smirk but offers to train you. Your potential is unmistakable to him, and he wants to see you grow.

♤ Overall, he's a strange guy who sends mixed signals, but does actually love and care for you. Grimsley just had odd quirks and ways of showing it. Communication is important with him, but you'll be left wondering if he'll listen. (He brings you an expensive gift if you tell him that. It's something that you had only mentioned in passing, so it proves he is listening. At least, a little.)

#grimsley x reader #pokemon grimsley x reader #grimsley/reader #pokemon x reader #he is my favourite sync pair in masters #sorry emmet until you stop marching around in the clown shoes gambling man has my heart

[bleachhaven]

Soutaicho’s Secret Admirer (Shunsui x Reader) — Part 5/6

Author’s Note:

It should be noted that this story is almost coming to a close...I’m sad to stop writing about Shunsui but it’s time to wrap this one up. So there’s maybe 1 or 2 more parts left.

Warning: A bit of smut ahead. One can only be seduced endlessly for so long without something happening about it.

–

Read Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3  and Part 4 first!

Uncharacteristically, Shunsui was late to arrive at the office. It was almost ten in the morning when he finally strolled in. Nanao would have admonished him without a thought but the dark circles beneath his eyes revealed he had already had a terrible night. She didn’t want to make it a terrible morning as well.

Shunsui didn’t have the excuse of drunken debauchery at some late night party for his tardiness. The last party he’d been to had been Lisa-chan’s Valentine’s Day celebration and that was over two weeks ago.

It was more or less about how his loneliness and melancholy had kept him up late into the night. Something he definitely didn’t want to burden sweet Nanao-chan about.

He had found himself strolling randomly in seireitei at around three in the goddamn morning because simply staying in his bed staring at his ceiling felt impossible. He didn’t have these kind of difficult nights too often but when he did have them, they were quite terrible.

Sure, he missed Juu. But his loneliness was a bit more than that this time.

It has been over two weeks since he had received anything from his beloved Secret Admirer. Fourteen whole days of complete silence from her was quite unusual, and he felt it acutely. Where was she?

The darkest of thoughts had plagued him at night. What if she was sent on a dangerous mission? What if she had been injured? He hated to think it...but what if she was never coming back? Hadn’t he honestly lost enough? 

The thoughts spiraled as the evening progressed into the wee hours of the morning, growing darker and more melancholy.

He knew he was not the greatest catch in the Soul Society. That title fell to Byakuya, uncontested. Shunsui was older than everyone in seireitei - a thousand years too old, he’d say. He was nobility too but he wasn’t one to truly fit into that mould, which deterred most noblewomen from considering him. 

He wasn’t what one would call conventionally handsome either. He knew he wasn’t ugly...but he wasn’t exactly...whole. Not anymore. Maybe once he would have held some appeal and he had many lovers who thought him handsome enough to have a tumble with him... but the eyepatch never failed to remind him that he was never going to be good looking, by anyone’s standards, with a goddamn hole in his face.

Most days, none of this would honestly bother him. But last night it did.

His beloved Secret Admirer probably came to the conclusion that he wasn’t worth all the trouble after all. Surely, there had to be a reason why he had never been able to have a long term relationship. He blamed it on his job but...was that all it was? Maybe he was just not meant to have a happily ever after with someone.

As romantic as he was, he didn’t really believe in the concept of happily ever after. He knew relationships were work. It was a commitment between two people who cared about each other to work on staying together through whatever. With time, he had put any thoughts of a relationship on the back burner. With his duty to the Gotei 13, and his responsibilities as well as the added burden of maintaining his reputation as the Soutaicho...it was a practical choice. 

But his Secret Admirer had made him want. Had made him yearn for a happily ever after for himself in a way he never had before.

He wanted to be loved and cherished as much as he wanted to love and cherish that one special person in his life. But did he really deserve it?

He knew it was her silence that had his latent insecurities rising to the surface keeping him up at night.

So as sleep deprived as he was, he came to the office with a plan. He couldn’t bear her silence anymore so he was not going to. With everything that had come up in the office, he hadn’t been able to finish up the letter he had started to write to her. At that time, it had felt futile considering there was no way to send it to her. 

But he had a brilliant idea. He would have it published in the next installment of the Seireitei Communication including just enough information so that she would know it’s him while withholding enough details to still keep it anonymous. He could trust Hisagi-kun to be discreet.

He had a plan, and it could actually work!

If only he could actually find that bit of lavender paper he had left on his desk.

“Nanao-chan, did you remove anything from my desk by any chance?” he asked, opening up drawers and bending down to check under the desk.

Nanao looked up from the training schedule she was working on. “Nothing more than the usual paperwork. Why what have you lost now?” she asked with an overexaggerated sigh.

“My, my, Nanao-chan. You make it sound like I lose things on a daily basis.”

“The only thing lost on a daily basis around here is my sanity,” she said, rolling her eyes. Still she relented. A distressed Taicho always meant a distressed Nanao. “Fine. Describe it to me and I will tell you if I saw it anywhere.”

“It was nothing official. Just a bit of lavender paper I had been writing on…” he trailed off seeing the look on her face. “What? Did you see it?”

“You lost the letter you were writing to you Secret Admirer?” she asked.

“Nanao-chan! How did you…?”

“You forget, Taicho,” she said quite matter of factly. “There’s nothing that goes on here I don’t know about. But I haven’t seen it. Maybe it got mixed up in some paperwork and got sent to another division. I don’t think anyone would recognize your flowery handwriting which you reserve for your personal correspondence anyway. So nothing to worry about.”

Shunsui simply stared at her. He has known his little fuktaicho for too long to not notice that something was off. All this time, he thought she was just laughing at his expense because he was mooning over someone he didn’t even know. But now...that look...the way she said it without even having to think about it...it all felt fishy somehow. Nanao-chan was up to something.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she huffed, correcting the papers on her desk that didn’t need correcting. A nervous habit that always gave her away. “If you don’t have any serious work, I have a pile of forms…”

“You know perfectly well who it is, don’t you, Nanao-chan?” he interrupted her attempts to distract him.

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“Please, Nanao-chan. It’s perfectly obvious you know exactly what I am talking about. Just...tell me…” he said.

He was so serious and intent. Nanao had only ever seen him like that in the heat of the worst kind of battle. She dropped her pretenses as well.

“She and I have both left enough breadcrumbs for you as it is. So if you’re so desperate to know who she is, why don’t you do the work to actually find out?” she asked him. “Clearly the girl cares about you but is terrified to approach you. Who wouldn’t be considering who you are and the position you hold. She is a nice girl, Taicho. But as things stand, she wouldn’t be the one to approach you so maybe you should find out for yourself who she is and do the approaching.”

So Nanao did indeed know who his Secret Admirer was. He understood her reasons why she couldn’t tell him. It wasn’t really her secret to divulge. Shunsui had to respect that despite his desperation.

“Is my sweet Nanao-chan giving her taicho dating advice?” he teased instead.

“Yes, I am,” she declared with a raised brow. “For even I can see how far you’ve fallen that you need advice from me to get yourself a date!”

Shunsui gasped, buying into the friendly teasing. “Nanao-chan is so mean to her taicho!”

Finally, they both got back to work, but Shunsui’s mind was still thinking about what Nanao had said. Apparently breadcrumbs were laid out and he hadn’t even noticed! He clearly had to pay more attention.

He tried to outline the facts in his mind. 

The letters were always lemon scented. It could be a shampoo or some kind of scented cream...but it smelled fresh, almost as if unintentional. Something to further ponder upon. 

The gifts were always elaborate but simple and he hadn’t been able to trace it through any vendor. The chocolates were handmade so his little Secret Admirer was probably very good with cooking and baking. 

The handwriting was very distinctive as well. Especially the way she looped all her Ls and Bs with a distinctive flowy curve. 

So far, the facts didn’t fit well into place to identify her as anyone he knew...but somehow, it felt like it was just barely within reach now. As if it’s only missing one final puzzle piece for the whole thing to come together.

__

That night, sleep evaded him once more. He couldn’t deny it. He missed her! He couldn’t help but wishing that she was right next to him, romancing him with more than just her words. He wished he could cherish her in all the ways he desperately yearned to.

 He took the letters he kept at hand in the drawer of his bedside table. He found that he liked to read them sometimes, and no matter how many times he read her words, they still managed to make him feel things. The shape of her words, the texture of the paper...it comforted him.

However, the sensual seductive ones were his downfall.

With all the time he has been alive, and all the experience he’s had, one would think he would be able to resist the temptation. But he often couldn’t.

Reading those letters, describing how she wanted to make love under the moonlight or how she yearned to taste him...it had him imagining soft feminine hands touching him. His hand would unconsciously reach into his hakama of its own volition and grasp his manhood, wondering what it would feel like to be touched by someone who ardently wanted to please him.

It wouldn’t take him too long at all. He would cum, gasping into the empty bedroom, wishing he had a name he could moan. Wishing she was here for him to hold.

Sated, he’d finally fall asleep. Yet though his body was satisfied, his mind wasn’t. He couldn’t help but feel alone on this big empty bed.

__

That coveted final piece of the puzzle arrived as, of all things, more paperwork. He was mindlessly flipping through some reports after lunch the next day when it popped out at him like well-lit beacon.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a request for more funds to be allocated for a better training ground for the 13th division. Except it was filled out by his beloved Secret Admirer. The handwriting screamed her identity at him, looping Ls and Bs and all.

“_____-san,” he whispered to himself, wondering how he could have missed it.

Suddenly, everything was perfectly crystal clear. 

Everyone knew that while Kuchiki Rukia settled in enough to pick her own fuktaicho, the 3rd seat of the 13th was acting in that role in an unofficial capacity, putting her in-charge of all the paperwork coming and going from that division. A reason why she was always showing up at the 1st...giving her ample opportunities to learn his habits well enough to leave behind those delightful missives without ever getting caught.

The lemon scent was from all the lemonade he knew she made for her division and for some special occasions in the seireitei. It was her specialty, a way of creating comfort and homeliness for her subordinates. He had tasted her chocolates twice - once at the Valentine’s Day party itself and then when she gifted them to him specifically. Both facts which had been pointed out by Nanao-chan while _____-san stood right next to him. No wonder she had flushed red then. It hadn’t been out of embarrassment but possibly from thinking she might get caught. The little minx.

He couldn’t help but remember every encounter he had with her in the recent past. Her cute blushes...the way she gasped out “Soutaicho!” Come to think of it, every time he saw her, he felt like she almost called him Shunsui out of habit only to change it to his official title at the last minute. He even recalled the twinkle in her eyes every time she looked up at him.

He couldn’t believe it. He finally knew who his Secret Admirer was and she’d been right before his eyes, had he only known where to look. He couldn’t help smiling, thinking about all the ways he would get back at her for running him around in circles. He would torture her so, so deliciously…

“You have that dopey smile on your face. Should I be worried?” Nanao asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm…? Of course not, Nanao-chan,” he said, not really reassuring her at all. “I am heading out. Be back soon!” 

“Taicho!” she called out but he was already gone.

__

...to be continued.

__

Tags: @seawater-aurelia-writing  @xerneussenpai​ @yakuzussian-3rd @94z-93 @anywaffle @flower98child @sadhoewinter @mindyourbaynay

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[cheesyficwriter]

prompt 4 i would DIE "I really want to kiss you right now." "Do it, then."

Hey there, @auroron! Thanks so much for the request. Hope you enjoy this post-Battle second kiss moment 💜

P.S. according to my count, this marks my 50th Tumblr drabble I've written. Thank you all for reading and sharing the HP love with me 🥳

The Madness in Between

Many believe that the big, sweeping moments are the only thing on the forefront of someone's mind when falling in love. In reality, taking the plunge into a new romantic relationship can be nothing short of terrifying — for Hermione, it's more like she's plummeting towards the ground on her broom without remembering how to pull up.

The experts may try to say that exploring a new relationship with someone you're crazy about will give you an instant rush of dopamine that only heightens those amorous feelings. For some people, the indescribable high they feel over loving someone permeates all facets of their lives. Hermione disproves this theory, finding herself going completely and utterly bonkers.

For a minute during the heat of the Battle, Hermione thought certain that Ron would be the person whose arms she died in. She didn't allow herself to think about anything beyond the defeat of Voldemort. Now that she has an opportunity, a future, she's thrust into a world of possibilities that she didn't allow herself to prepare for.

Her relationship with Ron is confusing, at best. Over time, they've managed to develop a deep and meaningful friendship, but how are they now expected to cross that blurred line from friend to friendlier?

She ponders this concern while running around the Burrow completing mundane tasks that, if Ron were to see, he would call her absolutely mental for doing.

But those moments are what keeps her going. She's never felt so out of control as she does right now, all because of the infuriatingly vague status of her love life.

In the few weeks that have passed since the Battle, Ron has not tried to kiss her again.

Not even once.

At first, she understood. He was coping with a profound loss, and all Hermione wanted was to be there to support him. She compromised on the hours she would usually spend alone getting lost in a book so that she could accommodate more time with Ron.

But now? She receives nothing more from him than furtive glances and half-hearted "goodnights" at the end of each day.

In Hermione's mind, she's already made the first move. She kissed him in the room of requirement, and he most definitely kissed her back. For all intents and purposes, the snitch should be in his hand, right?

Hermione finds herself in a secluded corner of the Leaky on a Friday evening, mulling over said ginger-haired man while gripping a pint that is still three quarters of the way full.

There are many social groups dispersed around the large, open pub, and Hermione is content with people watching as a disguise, even though all she is really doing is getting lost in her thoughts.

Her attention is diverted to the center of the room. Luna is there, with her waist-length blonde locks and a large sunflower in her hair. She has a distant and dreamy look on her face as she twirls her body around with her arms raised above her head.

Hermione smiles to herself, wishing that she could let loose and feel as carefree as Luna does. As if Luna senses someone watching her, the blonde woman’s gaze shifts to Hermione and she twirls her way over to her table.

Sitting up straighter as she approaches, Hermione prepares herself for the interaction that is Luna.

“You have a deep and concentrated face, Hermione. A knut for your thoughts?”

Hermione squirms in her seat. Luna always has the uncanny ability to speak the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it may be for Hermione to hear.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Luna. Just taking it all in.” At that moment, Hermione spots a flash of red off in the distance directly behind Luna’s head, and her eyes lock with a familiar set of azure blues.

Just as fast, she blinks and redirects her attention to Luna, who is regarding Hermione with a curious expression on her face.

“You are thinking about Ron.”

How does she…

Hermione nearly chokes on her ale mid-sip. “I’m sorry?”

Instead of answering, Luna stares off, her eyes glazing over. "I often think of you and Ron as a circle."

"A what now?"

"A circle." Luna draws the shape in the air with a single finger. "It's hard to tell how or why your relationship truly began but I don't see it ever ending. A true circle — always revolving around each other in this sphere of life."

Luna’s comparison of Hermione’s relationship to Ron with a circle is the barmiest, yet most sensical thing Hermione’s ever heard in her life.

"Luna, you are…so wise beyond your years, do you know that?" Hermione shakes her head in awe at her friend. Inspiration strikes, and Hermione scrambles to get up out of her seat. "Thank you. So much. I have to go."

“Be brave enough to be yourself!” Luna calls after her.

Hermione hightails her way over to Ron, who is standing in a group with Harry, Seamus and Dean. She marches up to him, driven by the insane impulse to go for it, a greeting spilling out of her mouth before she can even think about it.

"Hello."

Conversation between the four men seizes, and three heads swivel towards Ron’s beet red face.

"Hey."

Hey. It's such a Ron greeting that Hermione almost chastises herself for being so formal.

"H-hi." Oh for Merlin — you already said hello, Hermione!

Ron tilts his head to study her, as if trying to figure out why she's nervous, and smirks. "Hey."

Hermione has a response prepared, although she loses it completely after mistakenly looking at the amused expression on Harry’s face. "I...uh...you know what, nevermind."

She almost trips over herself as she races out of the pub in desperate need of a change of scenery to save her from her failed attempt to summon her Gryffindor bravery. Hermione is just outside the door when it swings back open behind her and a voice calls out,

"Hey! Hold on a minute."

It’s Ron. Hermione slowly turns, finding his eyes blazoned with a passion that usually spurs on a row.

“What were you going to say back there?” He asks.

She already feels mortified over the entire exchange, so she figures she might as well let it all out. Hermione crosses her arms and lifts her chin. "Well, I finally worked out that I'd have to be the one to approach you since you've clearly been avoiding me."

Ron's face contorted into anger. "Are you mental? You are the one who's been avoiding me."

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are!" Their bickering back and forth commences, drawing the attention of passersby. "You're always running around at the Burrow like you’re on a mission, you avoid your eyes when I look at you, and even when you are in the room, your mind is always off who bloody knows where.”

Hermione’s shoulders sag, realizing that all of the time she spent worrying over Ron was actually misinterpreted by him as avoidance. "It's just that...I kissed you, Ron. And, well, frankly, I thought for a minute it might be our first and last.” Ron’s eyes soften, and her heart constricts. Her voice grows quieter. “But we're here. We...I don't think it should be our last anymore."

Ron is silent for a long moment, although his intense gaze never wavers from her. Hermione starts to count the beats of her heart by checking the pulse on her wrist. One, two, three...

"I do want to kiss you."

Hermione lets her hands fall to her sides. "Wh-what?"

Ron takes a tentative step forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I really want to kiss you."

Despite the loud commotion around them, the only thing Hermione was buzzing with was happiness. She draws her lower lip between her teeth and closes the remaining distance between them until they are standing almost toe to toe and she’s craning her neck up to see him.

"So do it, then."

Time starts to move in slow motion. Ron visibly gulps and parts his lips. His eyes cast downward, threading their fingers together, tilting his head. Hermione stands on her tiptoes, inching closer and closer, ears pounding like her heart...

Their lips meet, and Hermione finds it impossible to believe how she managed to go weeks before feeling this sensation again. The spark is instant, natural, and Hermione is certain that while this may not be her last kiss with Ron, he will be the last person she ever kisses.

As they embrace in the middle of Diagon Alley, Hermione chooses her best friend.

Her best friend — her incredibly infuriating, yet kind-hearted best friend — chooses her back.

It's about time for her to stop fretting over doing every little thing right, and focus on what is most important: enjoying the madness in between.

#romione #romione drabble #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #hp fanfic #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley x hermione granger #ron x hermione #hermione x ron #post battle of hogwarts #second kiss #50th drabble #cheesyficwriter

[jennycalendar]

ok you know what i think it’s actually really vital that i talk a little bit about tea time. buckle up kiddos.

first off, a brief and relatively spoiler-free summary: the premise of the issue is very simple. the kiddos (aged up, if willow’s mention of being engaged is any indication) are hanging out in the library to help giles with research, swapping stories about what it would be like were giles a vampire. each of them, save giles, gets a chance to tell a detailed story -- xander tells two! -- and each story plays out in a way that says a lot about the scooby that’s telling it AND the way they view giles.

obviously this is a VERY character-driven issue, and it’s a really really interesting look at giles and how he is perceived as well! shit like that is my bread and butter, so this has honestly become one of my favorite things that boom has put out -- possibly my ACTUAL top favorite issue if we’re being real here. 

below the cut is a spoilery dissection of every story told -- a literal summary of Every Single Thing that happens in this issue, as well as what it has to say about the scoobies and their perception of giles, so definitely keep that in mind.

as can be seen in the preview, xander’s first story is about giles rising from the grave as an ineffectual british caricature, who is easily defeated by smoldering, sexy xander harris (and xander in turn walks off with buffy and willow draped all over him, cooing about how amazing he is). it’s more of an intro to the premise than anything, but it still sets the tone pretty clearly wrt how xander handles this situation: there’s some laughter and levity, and he’s center stage. obviously a lot can be said about xander’s self-esteem issues and how he overcompensates by casting himself as the main protagonist both in canon and here. however, i wanna save my more in-depth xander analysis for his second, longer, story, so i’ll stop myself there.

willow immediately responds with skepticism: she’s of the mind that giles would be an incredibly serious big-bad level threat. the tale she spins involves giles as a dangerous vampire cleric with access to a cryptic altar, killing xander almost immediately and slaughtering buffy as a sacrifice to create eternal night. her view of giles is more clinical than anything -- and, i would argue, the most perceptive and realistic from a threat standpoint. the guy knows a fuckton of magic and he is incredibly well-read and powerful. he’d have some kind of terrifying master plan. where xander goes for comedy, willow goes straight for logistics, already looking at the battle like it’s a battle rather than laughs aplenty. 

xander and buffy have a bone to pick with willow’s story (xander is indignant that he’s immediately and brutally killed, buffy is of the mind that she would easily defeat giles in hand-to-hand combat even if he IS a vampire), so (after one more teasing story where buffy lives and xander dies) willow gracefully alters her narrative to reflect her friends’ objections: after a dramatic tussle, xander helps willow and buffy unceremoniously stakes giles in the heart. still pretty straightforward and plausible. willow sees vamp giles primarily as a threat -- one not easily neutralized. one who could easily wipe them out.

buffy, about to tell her story, is interrupted by xander, who “had an even better idea!” the web he weaves is this time purported as realistic and entertaining: while partying at the bronze, buffy and co. are interrupted by a bunch of balding, greying vampires in curlers and bathrobes, led, of course, by giles -- who is wearing a hair bonnet and disapprovingly informing the bouncers how late it is at eight PM. a knockdown brawl breaks out at the bronze -- old people feeding on and decimating the young -- and culminates in giles and the geezers taking over the band to sing “some terrible song” that’s “probably something really old and bad!” the rest of the story descends into b-movie chaos, with buffy throwing a broken guitar neck up at the stage lights to send the whole thing crashing down onto vampire giles and his vampire old person band. it’s categorically absurd.

the thing that really sticks with me about this story is how dumb it is. xander’s take on giles is not even slightly serious and wholly underestimates him. fandom at large talks a lot about how giles dropped the ball with xander, but i think tea time explores an easily overlooked factor: xander constantly, consistently underestimates giles. in canon, xander’s view of giles is not often challenged: to him, giles is a bumbling, british librarian who regularly gets his ass handed to him by vamps and demons and the like. certainly part of his story’s intent is about laughingly entertaining his gal pals, but there’s a very real and consistent thread involving giles being hilariously nonthreatening. 

giles, taking umbrage at this particular tale, calls out both xander and willow: xander’s story, in giles’s opinion, emasculates vamp giles and turns him into a ridiculous caricature -- and willow’s story, though much more flattering, lacks the kind of imagination that vamp giles would clearly have. he then offers a suggestion of his own. it’s worth mentioning here that both xander’s and willow’s stories get gorgeous multiple-page spreads depicting the vampy action, but giles’s is a simple and chilling little thing: this is his vampire story. this meeting, called to ostensibly “research” a vampire altar, is really an excuse to get the scoobies to do his dirty work and find the thing for him. they’re tired and silly because the tea and donuts he’s given them are drugged, and their library location is to keep them out of daylight. he laughs it off when he sees they’re bothered, and the meeting is then adjourned when willow finally finds what they’re all looking for. 

buffy’s left her phone in the library, so she doubles back, and accidentally wakes up a dozing giles. just as she’s about to leave, he inquires, casually, “...you never did tell your version of the story.”

and good god here is where it gets interesting.

see, buffy’s take is simple: she’s fighting giles in a cemetery, she’s given the chance to kill him, and she is entirely unable to do it. they share a tearful embrace as she sobs about the unfairness of it all -- “you’re giles! and you’ll always be! ...how will i do this without you? without your guidance?” and as the sun is rising, giles turns her into a vampire, with no resistance whatsoever from buffy. the next handful of pages depict bloody, indulgent violence on the parts of giles and buffy, the two of them cuddled up together as they watch the world burn. 

buffy’s tale is the most emotive, the most loving, which makes me so damn soft! i love this girl so much! she is unable to even joke about giles as a foe to be taken down -- he is her watcher. he is her friend. she loves him endlessly and that does not change when he’s a vampire. vamp giles as she portrays him is gentle and understanding, holding her as she cries, because he knows that they’re connected. it’s easily my favorite part of this whole issue.

notably, there is a definite buffy/giles bend that the comic itself tries to contradict. the art is sensual in nature -- vamp buffy all dolled up in a way somewhat evocative of drusilla, giles tenderly caressing her face as he waits for her to wake up. “watcher and slayer connected forever” being the quote chosen to describe the situation. i think it’s kind of what naturally happens in a vamp giles sitch, especially if he turns buffy -- the childe/sire bond is incredibly sexual in nature, especially in canon, and a lot of frustrating human sentiment gets translated into something sexual as well. sex is a big BIG part of the relationships between vampires we see in canon; it would make a lot of sense for that to hold true for buffy and giles.

the comic is reticent about Going There, which i can understand -- though buffy is decisively aged up in this issue (willow mentions being engaged to a woman, later revealed to be tara), the buffy/giles bond is always seen through a father/daughter lens in canon. i do think it’s also important to always recognize how desperately giles wishes to escape the label of father in reference to buffy, pretty much entirely because there is no way to parent a child soldier who you’re also training, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish. point is, buffy very pointedly refers to vamp giles as her father not once, but twice -- once as a human, once as a vampire herself. it’s a very clear attempt, imo, to un-sexualize the vampy experience. the reason it doesn’t totally work, at least for me, is the fact that -- like i said -- the childe/sire bond is VERY sexual (spike and dru, angel and darla, angel and dru) and it seems just totally implausible that vamp buffy/vamp giles (two people who, as human were both VERY repressed) would chastely remain within the socially acceptable version of their relationship.

i can definitely understand why they did their best to blur that line, though. the idea of buffy and giles being romantically involved as vampires is 1) Kind Of A Lot and 2) not exactly the target demographic that i think this comic is going for. but the subtext is there, to the point where the issue itself has to actively obfuscate it, which i think is .... so interesting? especially as a counterpoint to the way i often see buffy/giles in fandom, wherein the father/daughter subtext in canon is at times actively obfuscated in fic in an attempt to push a preferred reading. 

the ending i particularly enjoyed: after buffy leaves, it is lightly and ambiguously implied that giles might really be a vampire. works GREAT as a standalone, imo, and the end is like the cherry on top. it’s a really REALLY interesting issue and i highly recommend it for any giles fan. 

#meta #btvs comics #buffy and giles #''a little bit'' they say. and write a full fucking essay #anyway i love this issue it's my prized possession i am dying for at least one (1) person to read this insane summary and talk to me abt it

[costellos]

how would la squadra act like when their crush (or s/o) has very soft features? like lips, hands, etc? would they go out of their way to touch you, even for just a second? ty^^

a/n: OH FRIEND.... ur speakin my language. I think all of them would be attracted to soft features (albeit for different reasons), and that they’d react in similar ways when pining. hence, I decided to run w their reactions w their s/o! I also tweaked the prompt just a tiiiiny bit, so I hope you don’t mind. enjoy!

tw: slight implied not sfw in Melone’s part

❥ ┋ ❝ la squadra & their favorite soft features!

risotto nero.

Risotto’s favorite soft feature is your eyes.

it took you a long time to become comfortable with his gaze. he does it so frequently and without shame ― during meetings, on dates, even just a glance as you stalk your next target in the streets of Verona. his vermillion stare is always on you, watching. you can feel it from a mile away.

it’s unfair that you don’t know what’s on his mind. it’s unfair that he doesn’t know how to communicate it to you. that even after months of dating, he still finds himself lost in your eyes. he falls more in love with you every time your eyes flicker toward him, your long lashes surrounding your irises like how art curators pick the perfect frame for a masterpiece.

Risotto swallows hard every time he sees your pupils dilate. it happens whenever you see him. it’s so endearing. he only has eyes for you, and you for for him. he doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone as lovely as you. ↳ “you should push your hair back more,” he tells you one day, tucking one of your locks behind your ear. “it... suits you.”

prosciutto.

Prosciutto’s favorite soft feature is your hips.

he would never outwardly admit that he likes soft things. like the rest of the hitman team, Prosciutto holds a terrifying reputation in Passione. not many people outside of the squad would approach him. and he’d like to keep it that way; he has a reputation that he can’t risk tainting. he can’t like soft things. he can’t.

that’s what he tells himself, at least. contrary to this, you often find his hands on your hips. sometimes it’s to turn your attention to a view in the city, other times it’s to pull you closer as he presses his lips onto yours. every moment he can spare (and every moment he can avoid the others’ gazes), he’ll rest his hand on your side.

he doesn’t know what it is he loves so much about your hips. maybe it’s because he loves how warm your skin feels. that fleshy bit reminds him that despite all the horrible things he’s seen, there’s still one familiar spot he can find himself. your hips remind him that you’re always within reach; all he has to do is pull you close to him. ↳ “I don’t know why you’re so self-conscious about this area,” he says, his hands on your sides. “what’s there to be embarrassed about?”

melone.

Melone’s favorite soft feature is your lips.

he gets teased by the rest of the squad for his stand. mostly by Formaggio, who tries to pull you away from Melone and Baby Face. “he just wants to use you for his creepy breeding shit,” your teammate reasons. and while that couldn’t be farther from the truth, Melone’s love for your lips doesn’t help.

most would think that it’s for salicious reasons. but really, it’s because the loveliest things come from your mouth. you’ve whispered so many secrets to him, shared the parts of yourself that you wouldn’t expose to anyone else... how could he not love your lips? it’s where the words “I love you” came from.

and sure, some of that fondness does have salicious intentions. sometimes he gets so overwhelmed from looking at you, he has to dismiss himself from the room. but can you blame him? you kiss him so sweetly. you whisper the prettiest words in his ear. and when he slips his hand under your shirt, your soft gasp makes his heart swell. ↳ “tell me everything that’s on your mind, amore,” he murmurs, his lips on top of yours. “tell me everything you want from me. I want to hear all of it.”

ghiaccio.

Ghiaccio’s favorite soft feature is your hands.

there are a lot of things that frustrate Ghiaccio. but this isn’t about what makes him mad; no, it’s quite the contrary. the quickest way to Ghiaccio’s heart is through touch. he revels in your skin meeting his, the pads of your fingertips brushing against his face. his eyelids lower every time you bring your hands to his cheeks, holding his face the way he adores.

he’s come to associate your hands with love. they’ve done so much for him: hold him, make him meals, write him notes. everything that you’ve passed off to him has come from your hands. they might be calloused from weeks of missions and scarred from too many fierce battles, but they’re yours and that’s what he loves so much about them.

during quiet moments, sometimes Ghiaccio will take your hand and bring them to his lips. it wouldn’t be something particularly romantic ― he’s not kissing it, per se ― but having your hand be close to such a delicate part of his body makes you blush. (just don’t tease him for it or he’ll never do it again.) ↳ “what? can’t I hold you close to me?” he huffs, avoiding your gaze. “I just... like it. that’s all.”

like this piece? here are some similar works! 🌑 🌒 🌓

#jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #golden wind #la squadra #risotto nero #prosciutto #melone #ghiaccio #part 5 #implied not sfw / #headcanons #Anonymous #long post

[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!

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

[quoj]

frailty, thy name is Roman

all right SO this is my FIRST time doing something of this sort so BE WARNED it will not be pretty I can assure you that much 

hurt/comfort

pairing: prinxiety (romantic)

warnings: a tiny bit of angst, descriptions of injuries, crying, hugging, descriptions of fight scenes

word count: 1909

(let me know if you want to be added to the taglist)

★  ★  ★

Sweat pooled at Roman’s hairline as he slashed furiously at the Dragon Witch’s roaring frame, swiftly ducking to avoid being hit. His sword, ruby-encrusted at the hilt, glimmered tantalizingly between the monster’s dripping jaws, its eyes glinting with malice. The prince jumped to catch hold of it, but only succeeded in getting himself caught in the Dragon Witch’s sharp scales, which cut deep gashes in his arms. Crying out in pain, Roman released his grip on the animal’s rough skin and fell to the ground, clutching his forearm.

He’d been defeated. Again. How many times had it been? He’d lost count, he thought to himself bleakly. As if counting made it any easier to bear.

The Dragon Witch, sensing his belligerence, slithered smoothly to his side, purring at him soothingly. It cocked its head, peering at him with curiosity. Roman struggled to stand, forcing a smile for his friend. He’d called it here to spar with him earlier. 

Lightly stroking its scales, he turned away. He couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact that he couldn’t win a fight with the Dragon Witch—the very creature he’d brought to life just to slay for a talking point.

It’d been so easy then. What had changed?

Grumbling, he dusted himself and readied himself for yet another match. 

“Hey, Dragon Witch—one more for fun?” he rasped out at the now retreating animal, whose ears perked up at the thought of some more playtime with its best friend. It hesitated, however, when it saw the state of him. Roman, undeterred, nodded reassuringly at the Dragon Witch, inviting it to crawl closer.

He was terrified he couldn’t live up to the glory set for him by the others. He desperately needed to prove he could, and he would do whatever it took to achieve that.

The Dragon Witch laid Roman’s sword at his feet. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was grimy and covered in blood. Roman closed his eyes for a moment, grasping the hilt.

He brandished it in the air with a fierce battle cry. The Dragon Witch reared.

Slash. The Dragon Witch was whipping at him with his tail. He could easily parry this.

A stab. The creature dodged the weapon easily, eyes glittering as if laughing at him. He couldn’t do this.

Another parry, a sidestep, a feint to the head and a stab to the underbelly, where it was undefended . . .

A furious roar from the Dragon Witch and he was on his back again on the cool earth. He groaned, drowsily examining his limbs and torso for any damage. He suddenly felt something trickling down his face, just as he began to get dizzy.

He patted the Dragon Witch’s ears, watching it purr and stretch underneath his hand. He was dimly aware of the growing pain on the side of his head. The fact that even after so many tries, he couldn’t defeat the Dragon Witch was tormenting him. Lost in thought, the last thing he saw before he passed out was the animal’s concerned eyes peering down at him tentatively. Then the world went black. 

The next few minutes (or hours, or seconds) were a blur of hushed voices and wings flapping hurriedly, but Roman was too tired to open his eyes to check his surroundings. What was the point, anyway? He’d never be the prince Thomas needed him to be. All he wanted was to keep his eyes closed and drift off to sleep, where there’d be no pressure at all.

The next thing he was aware of was soft fingers brushing his left temple, and the sharp voice of the teacher he knew so well. But the delicateness of the hand on his head didn’t seem to match with Logan’s lecturing tone.

Roman groaned as he came to, blinking groggily as he saw two faces looking down at him, one deeply concerned and the other tutting disapprovingly. The contrast was so sharp it was almost comical, making Roman want to laugh. And laugh he did, delirious from the pain. This only served to make Virgil crease his brows in even more intense concern and Logan begin to speak, purely to inform Roman that his actions had been reckless and foolhardy.

Roman knew the teacher had no malicious intent, but still the words cut through him like glass. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the criticizing words. He knew he hadn’t been careful. He didn’t need to hear it all over again, especially from Lo—he cut himself off. He simply knew he didn’t want the creativity he had stifled again and again. 

Virgil seemed to understand, surveying Roman’s face and getting up to usher Logan out of the room. He offhandedly recited some reassuring words to the teacher, letting him know Roman would be in good hands. The teacher’s face relaxed slightly as he saw Roman let out an audible breath of air. From his place on the bed, he could just barely see Logan smirking as he closed the door behind him.

Virgil said nothing, but avoided Roman’s eyes as he gingerly bandaged the prince’s wounds. Roman, still dazed with pain, watched mesmerized as the other Side’s fingers danced over his skin.

“So, Roman . . . how’d you get this scratched up?” Virgil chuckled lightly as he washed the other one’s injuries, taking extra care not to hurt him further. He was blinking quite a bit, worry etched on his face.

Roman felt his face heat up.

“I was . . . sparring with the Dragon Witch. Getting in some extra practice, you know.” The prince mumbled, trying to laugh it off. Virgil, however, kept pressing.

“Right, the Dragon Witch. I nearly had a heart attack when it came flying in here with you lying on its back.” Virgil exhaled, still noticeably avoiding Roman’s eyes.

“You looked so . . . dead.” The Side’s voice broke slightly on the last word, turning away from Roman, shoulders shaking lightly. The prince’s eyes widened.

“Virgil, listen—”

“No, Princey, you listen. We were all worried sick when the Dragon Witch brought you in here. I . . . I was worried too.” The side fidgeted with the ends of his jacket. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.” He was visibly choking up.

Roman tried to reach out to pat the other’s shoulder, but hesitated.

Abandoning all pretenses, Virgil suddenly grabbed Roman’s shoulders, forcing the prince to face him, his eyes decidedly wet.

“You need to be more careful,” he whispered.

Virgil let go of Roman’s shoulders, now beginning to pace the room, breathing quickening. The prince attempted to stand up, not sure what was happening.

“You can’t keep being this rash. Going and getting yourself killed isn’t going to help anyone!” Virgil’s volume was steadily increasing, causing the already-confused Roman to shrink back. 

Of course. It was more chastising, more scolding, more putting him down. He’d expect this from Logan, but from Virgil? It looked like his support was narrowing. And, like in all other cases of this, Roman let himself grow numb to the harsh words, painting on a nonchalant face.

“Thomas needs you, so you have to be more cautious!”

Virgil was close to shouting now. 

The prince flinched involuntarily, looking down. Then his gaze hardened again.

“It doesn’t look like he does, me being how I am.” Roman stated flatly, trying not to let any emotion creep into his voice.

Virgil stepped back, his eyes wide. Then he moved forward slowly again, his tone softening considerably. 

“Princey, you know that’s not true.” Virgil sighed. The prince was glaring vehemently at the other Side now.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Not based on how you and the others have been acting, I don’t.” This part was mumbled, the creative side deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Virgil stopped in his tracks. Then paused, and sidled up to Roman awkwardly.

“No, Princey.” The side was twisting his fingers together nervously. “We . . . I’m sorry.”

“It really hasn’t been looking like you are,” Roman choked out, fighting to keep his voice even.

Virgil kept playing with his fingers, looking nervous. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, only to apparently think better of it and close it. The next few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, until Virgil decided to make the first move, moving towards the injured prince.

“I’m sorry, Princey,” he said forcefully.

Roman let out a breath. He struggled to sit up straighter for a few seconds, until Virgil put his arms around his and steadied him, both their faces faintly tinged with pink.

“Princey, I said I was sorry.”

The prince put his head in his hands. “It’s fine, Virgil. I’m fine.” The prince desperately battled against the lump in his throat, only to lose to it in a humiliating show of emotion.

Roman wasn’t particularly surprised. He always lost, didn’t he?

Virgil gazed at Roman’s sentimental display, his breath catching in his throat. In a moment of abandon, the side gently settled himself on the bed next to the prince.

“No, Princey. You’re not fine.” Virgil quietly placed his arms around the other side, clasping them together and leaning his head on the Roman’s shoulder.

Roman was shocked by the other’s spontaneous move of affection. The extra strain pushed him over the edge, breaking the dam that had held his poise in place for so long.

The prince resignedly looked away. Virgil didn’t need to see him like this, a blubbering mess of emotion and insecurity. He fought to control his breathing, now with tears openly streaming down his face.

But Virgil was undaunted by Roman’s cracked façade. He merely squeezed the prince tighter, whispering words of encouragement here and there. After a few agonizing minutes, Virgil lifted his head to speak.

“Princey. Roman.”

Roman glanced up, surprised, but Virgil pushed on.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday.”

Roman made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl. It was unrealistic. He’d been apologized to so many times before, all of them meaning the same thing.

But something made this time different.

Virgil stroked the other side’s hair as he spoke, sometimes stumbling over words, but making it there through squeezes of encouragement from Roman.

“You were right, Roman. We haven’t been treating you well. But Thomas still needs you, I promise.”

Virgil stopped for a moment, then tilted up Roman’s chin with his hand. Roman felt his face flush, meeting Virgil’s eyes to see that his face was doing something similar.

His eyes. When had they become so captivating? Roman was spellbound, lost in the deep, brilliant purple.

Virgil faltered for a second, gazing at Roman’s face. Then he spoke.

“Roman. You’re not anything less than the perfect prince.”

He blushed. Roman’s heart was in his throat. He opened his mouth to disagree, only to be lightly shushed by Virgil.

“You should know that. I mean . . . it’s true. You . . . you are perfect, just as you are right now. I mean, that’s not to say you weren’t perfect before, you always are. You know that right?” Virgil was rambling now, his face completely red. He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes.

But Roman was grinning. He reached around Virgil’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Yeah, I’m perfect. And you’re adorable, emo.” 

★  ★  ★

taglist: @letsjustdieeveryone​, @nayrs-thoughts-13​, @deanbean-soup​, @someoneiwasnt​, @the17thmeatball​

#525 my writing #yeah it's a bit of a trainwreck #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides prinxiety #prinxiety #sanders sides roman #sanders sides virgil #roman #virgil #hurt/comfort #sanders sides hurt/comfort

[lucyskywalker]

Daenerys always had two soulmarks. Neither of them was her sun and stars. This was a fact that always made her sad. How could Drogo, the love of her life, the one who gave her love and a child - dead in childbirth - not be her soulmate?

She wished for the Gods, the old and the new, to change the mark on her shoulder blade to a stallion running on a field of stars.

But it didn't change. Remained the same. Two wolves near one another, one grey as a storm sky and the other as white as snow, the female being with the head under the male's throat, both of them howling to the sky, where a red black dragon was with its open wings, as it was about wrap them into its warmth and protection.

Dany always knew she was the dragon, but she had no idea who could be the the wolves.

When she met Daario, she tought about the mark, but the charming men was one of the few people, cursed by the Gods to not have a soulmate.

Of course, Dany knew, that even tho soulmarks were sacred, most part of royalty and member of great houses, usually don't end up with the ones their souls belongs to. It didn't stop making her sad, because maybe, just maybe she would never live enough to meet them.

Where they live? Westeros? Essos? The Summer Slands? In wich part? This world is so big. How could I ever find them? When would I have time? I'm a queen. My people comes in first place.

When she heard the wolf howling at the distance, she could feel that a part of her was gone, angst filled her soul and members to the point wasn't easy to breath, she just didn't know why.

What happend?

~*~*~

Jon always manteined a secret close to his heart. Something, he didn't tell to anyone, neither Robb, much less to his father. The only one who knew was Arya, his little sister. His heart.

Usually, the soulmate's mark appear when someone turns ten and two. For a bastard to end up having such a sacred bond, Lady Catelyn would take it as blasphemy.

Of couse, Jon always believed would be someone else and not Arya, his little sister, his half-siter, the one who always makes him laugh. She was a child, much younger to be half of his soul. Maybe would be a Karstark? Distance cousins of the starks. Maybe a bastard serving and devoting his or her life to House Stark. There were innumerous possibilities. (He was curious about the dragon, but after knowing that could represent a Targaryen or a Blackfyre, Jon's wish to remain it secret became even more serious).

But everything changed when he saw Ghost, and then Nymeria, he knew, he just knew, it was her. It was Arya. The one who was as wilfull and wild as her wolf.

It was the only single thing, he kept secret from Arya. She would know someday, after seeing his mark, but Jon was selfish enough to want to tell her goodbye, and not having her last memory being with tears rolling down her cheeks, but of a bright smile on her face.

He couldn't protect her. He couldn't and must not have her. One day she would hate him. One day Arya would be disgusted to share the soulmark with her bastard brother. But one day wasn't the the present, and in the present he would welcome the happiness.

He was truly cursed, as all the bastards should be. He was dirty. Having a sister as a soulmate. Disgusting. He deserved the Wall and all the stones in his path.

It didn't change that he always belonged to her. All his heart and soul since Arya said "I love you, Jon" for the first time. At time, he didn't expect that would turn to be much stronger than it should be.

When he heard about Ned's death, Jon felt his heart stop. The soulmark was still there. Arya was still alive.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Breathing. Warm body. Her laugh still existed. He could still hear it.

The relieve barely existed, because after this all the scenarios was running down his head. Was she beaten up? Starving? Haressad? Lost a member? Prisioner? Raped?

He had nightmares about every single thing about what could be happening with her. The only scape was the worrying, terrifying scenario with the Others, and of course, the wildlings.

And then he met Ygritte. Someone with red eyes, but a fierce and stuborn spirit. Something that reminded him of a little girl with the eyes of a wolf and a passion for swords and flowers.

Was not a secret that there were plantiful cases where someone ends up with someone who isn't your soulmate.

There were rumours Lady Catelyn wasn't Eddard's soulmate. Rumours that Lady Catelyn and Lord Stark smashed down easily.

Maybe he could have loved her if he hasn't taken the black.

"Would you bed your sister?"

He didn't answer. Would he ever? When Arya be older enough, would he desire her as a man should desire a woman?

Arya is your soulmate. His heart whispered. Shut up. Commanded his mind.

He didn't answer Ygritte. He didn't know the answer.

Ygritte died. Jon didn't love her, no, but he cared about her. She was important, and her loss was a sad event.

"I'm sorry."

Life goes on. The War with the Others approaching in the horizon, the free folk. So just everything collapsed upside down with a tiny letter.

"I want my bride back" was written, creating a rage storm inside his soul.

I want my bride back, I want my bride back, I want my bride back.

Ramsay would pay with blood for the day he laied his hands on her naked skin.

"Your sister is not lost to you, Lord Snow."

What do you know of my heart, priestess? He wanted to ask. What do you know of my sister?

And then, he died. He betrayed the Night's Watch and he died. He died thinking about her. About the last memory he had with Arya. Stick them with the pointy end. He would never see her face again.

It was one of a lot of regrets.

~*~*~

Arya Stark was not romantic. She was too young, she just wanted to play with her friends in Winterfell, and be with her siblings. Happily ever after.

The first time she heard of soulmate, was her sister saying that hers would belong to a shining knight prince like the songs and they would marry and have beautiful babies together.

Arya said it was stupid. How could you love someone without knowing them? Sansa replied telling that Horseface probably wouldn't have a soulmate in first, and if it had, would be someone as ugly as her.

Arya cried that day, and vengefully put Sansa's new dress in the stables.

Her mother was so furious. Sansa started crying saying how unfair Arya was behaeving. Of course, Arya felt sad, and tried to apologize.

It didn't work. It never did.

Maybe Sansa was right. Maybe she wouldn't have one. It was not like Arya wanted one in first place. She told herself.

Of course, Arya felt surprise to know that Jon also had a soulmark after she told him what happend. "It is a secret", he said, "just between you and I. No one can know about it. Promise me?"

"Neither dad?"

"Neither dad."

"I promise by the old gods and the new." She repeated what her father always said be the most serious and ubreakable oath a man can do.

And then she asked to see. Was beautiful, located in his chest, right on the heart. Arya loved the wolves together, and the dragon, something like coming from the battle songs she liked to hear.

Then she remembered what it meant. Someday Jon would let her go for someone else. She would be truly lonely.

And she hated his mark that day. She didn't tell him that she disliked the soulmark. Was special, a gift from the gods, by what she heard. And Jon deserved happiness after all the cruel things she heard her mother saying about him and to him.

So just, selfshly, she asked him to never leave her, to take her with him when he finds out who it is. Jon laughed, and hugged her tightly, but didn't answer.

Arya Stark was seven at the time.

Lya Snow was a mermaid about to turn ten and two. One of a few who served and helped the Merling Queen in Braavos.

She would dance, and play the musical instruments, since she was not good at singing. Learning how to read a man, and his intentions. How to seduce and manipulate someone with a charming smile on her face and false promises of a good night. Of course, was just a training move. She wasn't attractive for men with her younger tiny body, but one day, when she gets older, those lessons would be truly important and one more weapon to use, just like she have seen The Merling Queen use it so many times.

Lya wasn't found of dresses, but the ones she had used, after finally being used to the silk, was refreshing and didn't restrained her body.

This is why she was dancing with the other mermaids near the moon pool. Giggleling while jumping and spinning gracefully. The day was coming to an end, the sky painted in different tones of yellow and orange when she heard the saillors talking about Westeros.

Something about the Black Bastard on the Wall. About treason and a lady being kidnapped.

Lya was about to get closer, to hear what happend, but then one of the mermaids held her hand.

"It is getting late, Lya. We should go before the Bravos start dancing."

Arya wanted to say no. She wanted to know about the wall. About Jon.

Lya just followed the other girl back.

She had a target to kill.

The next day, there were whispers about the body hanged in front of the sealord palace. The collar around the dead man's neck saying that it was a slaver trader.

Braavosi despise slavery.

Nobody cared.

Lya was taking a shower for the next day, when one of the girls take a deep surprised breath.

"R'hllor, Lya! Your soulmark is beautiful!"

Lya's world stoped. A girl shouldn't have soulmarks.

All the followers of Him of Many Faces should be devoted only to Him.

A girl couldn't have a soulmark.

Lya was half naked, running to the mirror in the bath room, and there was it.

Similar of one she had seen a long time ago, on the chest of a loved brother, but different.

A soulmark.

A girl have a soulmate.

Lya have a soulmate.

Arya Stark have a soulmate.

The girls were speaking excited around her, wanting to see closer. Arya just could look at her skin, near the belly bottom.

The white wolf's furr seemed to be flames, with little delicates details in blue, and there were wings on its back, barely open, close to the body. And its eyes... Its eyes were open while howling, the color of blood. Ruby red.

Continue?

#arya stark #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #jon x arya x dany #jonerya #a song of ice and fire #soulmark au #jon snow #i wish i could write dany more #but i really don't know how to keep her character not ooc #im gonna try better the next #asoiaf fanfic? #should i continue this?

[2manyfandoms2count]

#LadynoirJuly Day 1

I’m back for Ladynoir July! I’m really glad I got an excuse to write something for this side of the Lovesquare :D Hope you like this first piece, it started out slightly angsty but then I decided to save most of it for the Breakdown prompt 😉

Thanks @ladynoirjuly2020 for organising the event!

---

Day 1: The Wall Between Us

“Ladybug, wait!” Chat Noir jogged up to his partner, who’d been about to yoyo away. 

“Yes, Chat Noir?” She interrupted her movement and waited expectantly. The patrol had been very quiet, for once, so it wasn’t as if she had to be somewhere. 

The pair had long abandoned their nicknames for each other, some time between their battle against Miracle Queen and their first relationships. It hurt somewhat, at first, but they’d quickly learned how to interact without them. There was something slightly uncomfortable about lying to Luka and Kagami about their comings and goings, which wasn’t helped by the fact Ladybug felt like she was cheating anytime she’d call Chat by his pet name. Chat Noir refrained from calling her ‘my lady’ or ‘Bugaboo’, afraid he’d slip up someday with Kagami.

Unfortunately for Marinette, the secrecy and sneaking around had  done little to help her develop a lasting relationship with Luka. Add to that the fact that her boyfriend had been singled out by Jagged Stone as a back up guitarist after a competition and was now touring Europe, one could say that long distance, both emotional and physical, had signed the death of romantic Lukanette. They did remain friends, Luka sending her postcards of every city he stayed in. They were gradually replacing Adrien on Marinette’s board. 

“Did you think about it?” Chat asked.

Ladybug sighed as she finally let her hand fall to her side. She should’ve known Chat wouldn’t drop the topic. The previous month, drunk on lack of sleep from repeated Akuma attacks and anxiety at the idea that her relationship was slowly, but surely unraveling, Ladybug had carelessly told her partner that she was getting tired of secrets and that they deserved to know more about each other, if only just to facilitate out-of-costume communication. She tried not to rely on Chat too much with the Guardian job, but she was determined to make him realise how important he was to her (and, incidentally, to Paris) by delegating more tasks to him. She was tired of the mystery that surrounded their identities, which prevented them from communicating as freely as they should’ve been able to. With all due respect to Alya, Chat Noir was her best friend, and something told her that she officially held the same place in his life now that he had a girlfriend. 

They were the only ones who shared the burden of saving Paris every day, while still having to juggle friends, family, school, and extracurriculars. All of their conversations, however, were censored by the looming wall between them, a filter which she thought it was high time to tear down. She couldn’t take the duality of their conversations anymore, either far too mundane or way too deep, the constant being the vagueness that surrounded their anecdotes. She just wanted something in between. Chances were they didn’t know each other anyway, so what difference would it make to be able to talk about the Françoise Dupont shenanigans without making the story convoluted enough that it couldn’t be traced back to the Collège?

At first, Chat had been ecstatic at the idea. He’d dreamed about this moment since the first time they’d gone home from fighting an Akuma. He’d daydreamed about a proper way to reveal his identity at least a thousand times, but scrapping all his ideas as either too sappy, stupid, obvious, in short not right. It had actually made him rethink wanting to tell her who he was. 

There was no way the person behind the mask hadn’t heard about him. His father had made sure of that by apparently buying the ad spaces on all the Paris billboards, buses and whatever else could hold a perfume poster (not to mention the fact Ladybug had saved him a good dozen times), and that was the problem. What if her opinion of him was tarnished by his celebrity? Worse, what if she started treating him differently because of it? He desperately wanted to get to know her, to share his whole life with her, but the wall between them did provide a shelter he was reluctant to give up. As much as he tried to be himself in his day-to-day life, he could tell he got special treatment from a lot of people, and many of the remaining crowd was intently studying his every move, waiting for him to slip up. With Ladybug, as Chat Noir, he got to be… well, not completely ordinary, but they did share a status. He could slip without worrying about what his father or the press would say, and he knew that the fall wouldn’t be long anyway with his partner around. He was terrified about losing what they had.

Ladybug shook her head lightly, looking at her feet. Chat Noir took her hand in a reassuring gesture, and helped her sit down facing him.

“I’m sorry.” She said, hiding her face in her hands. “There are a million reasons why we should do this, but I always feel like why we shouldn’t outweighs them all.” 

Chat placed his hand on her knee tentatively. “It’s alright, LB. I actually wanted to tell you… I don’t think this is the right time.”

Ladybug’s head snapped up. Of everything he could have said, this was probably the last thing she would have expected. She looked attentively at her partner, who looked more serious than she’d ever seen him before. 

“Really?” She breathed, squeezing his hand in hers. She didn’t quite know how to feel, frustrated that they were putting off something inevitable again, offended that he didn’t want to know anymore, or relieved by it.

He gave her a sad smile in response, his eyes filled with fondness and something else she couldn’t quite make out. “M’lady,” her old nickname rolled off his tongue before he could register what he was saying, his thoughts directed solely towards his very best friend. “If this was it, we’d know. And maybe it won’t even happen then, purr-haps we’ll be caught off guard when the time comes, but it should be something we don’t lose sleep about.” 

“I guess you’re right, Chaton.” She smiled softly, absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. “What made you change your mind?” She asked curiously.

“The reasons why we shouldn’t started being louder than the others.” He shrugged, his gaze losing focus as he looked into the distance.

“You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?” Ladybug said tentatively after a short pause. “Maybe we’re not ready to know who we are, but I still think we should loosen the rules a little.”

 “That could work.” Chat nodded. “How do we do that?”

“We could change the names of the people we talk about. And the exact story.”

“Okay, so for example… My girlfriend’s name is... Kelly?” He tried. She nodded encouragingly. “I met her because we both… play tennis in the same place. I like her very much, but I’m afraid she’ll get tired of me finding flaky excuses when the city’s attacked by Akumas. It’s not very honourable.”

Ladybug patted his knee with her free hand. “As long as you know you’re doing the honourable thing by protecting her and this city, I’m sure you can find a way to compensate. I promise that someday, she’ll know why you couldn’t stay by her side. And if you need me to talk to her, I’ll gladly do it! She should know how amazing her boyfriend is.”

Chat was thankful for the darkness around them, which concealed his blush. Ladybug’s compliments were becoming less rare, but they generally concerned his skills or actions, not himself directly. He cleared his throat. “What about you? Didn’t you say you have a boyfriend?” 

“Had.” She corrected. “Louis and I are still friends, but he left town to… study.” It wasn’t that far from the truth. “He’s a little older, so we didn’t get to see much of each other, anyway. Especially with the whole Guardian business and everything.” She gestured vaguely at the city at their feet.

“Was he the boy you had talked to me about before?” Chat pried. 

Ladybug thought about Adrien. Seeing him so happy with Kagami, she had abandoned her pursuit, which had led her to Luka. In both cases, she thought, the outcome would have been the same anyway, especially since Adrien had an even busier schedule than the blue-haired boy. They would have barely seen each other if they’d dated. “No. That was… Arthur. He was a very accomplished musician. He wouldn’t have been happy with me; like you said, I would’ve been very absent for a supposedly caring girlfriend. We’re good friends, though, and I’m satisfied with that.”

“His loss, I guess. And who meows, maybe it’ll work out someday.” He winked at her.

They continued chatting for a while, moving to the edge of the roof to get a better look at the illuminated streets. Soon, they had more or less rebuilt their lives and were talking freely, Alya becoming Alice or Audrey, Nino, Nathan or Nicolas, Marinette, Madeleine… The way they distorted things, or pulled up older events they’d meant to talk about earlier made them unrecognisable, although there were times where the stories felt familiar, without them being able to put their finger on it. They laughed, more than they’d had in months, talking about their excuses to justify their absence during a fight. It felt good to finally talk about something else than strategies, Akumas or Sentimonsters. 

When the Eiffel Tower flickered for the third time since the beginning of their conversation, Ladybug and Chat Noir agreed it was probably time to go home. As they walked away, both turned around before leaping off the roof, giving each other a small wave and a wide smile before leaving, already looking forward to the next patrol. Ladybug realised they hadn’t shared a moment like this in a while, if ever. 

Maybe they’d be okay sitting on their own side of the wall, after all.

#ladynoir july 2020 #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #mlb #ml #ladynoir july #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #the wall between us #elle writes

[eak8753]

May 14: Soulbonding/soulmates

It was said that humans originally had two heads, four arms, and four legs. Zeus being terrified of them used a lighting bolt and split them in half. Now people were cursed with the task of finding their other half; their “soulmate” as some put it. Damian had thought this to be utter bullshit, for two reasons.

From a logical standpoint it didn’t make much sense. Wouldn’t your “other half” be the same sex as you? Yes he knew that people of the same sex got together - quite honestly Damian didn’t even know homophobia was a thing, he didn’t understand why people were so concerned about something that had nothing to with them. Even then, wouldn’t that mean you were falling in love with yourself?

He had lived in a world where love wasn’t a possibility. After leaving Nanda Parbat, and being forced to attend school, he realized that most people had children with someone they were in love with. His Father wasn’t in love with his Mother -which he completely understood- and was only conceived because Talia had slipped Bruce a roofie.

Damian found this whole theory to be bullshit and wouldn’t be surprised if it’s what hopeless romantics tell themselves. No, Damian Wayne refused to believe that there was someone like him. That walking on this earth, or any planet, was his other half. It was illogical and stupid to think otherwise.

Then he met Raven

Originally he had thought that he was genetically modified to not feel the emotion of love. But somewhere along the way he found this thought to be wrong. At first he hated the way it made him feel, not having control over himself and experiencing new emotions. He knew his Father and Grayson would be happy that he was finally feeling something other than anger and was getting the chance to dive into the depths that are emotions. But he was not a fan of this one.

With anger or hate he could control it easily, flawlessly. This one decided it wasn’t leaving without a fight. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Raven and would sometimes have to force himself to look away. He knew she had caught him staring sometimes, luckily she never brought it up. He hated that it seemed like he had no control over his body, never getting the chance to just be himself around her anymore.

Somewhere in the midst of this war he grew to like the feeling. Sure it wasn’t fun seeing Raven get hurt or knowing that she was constantly fighting a battle within herself. But he learned that the fights and bruises came with the job and she could handle it. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. It was this warm fuzzy feeling, one that he had grown accustomed to.

Raven could never feel his emotion unless she really wanted to depict them. He had a good grasp on them and his true feelings were always covered by a thick layer of hate and anger. So he didn’t fear that she would find out through her abilities. He made sure not to do anything unusual or out of the ordinary. He had a lot of self control, more than most people realized.

He assumed that this feeling would go away; and while he waited he relished in this new emotion, liking the warmth it brought, in a way different from anger. Although he liked the feeling he knew that it would dissipate, thinking of his infatuation with Raven just that, infatuation. Just some silly, meaningless crush. He was wrong.

What he expected to go away in a couple of weeks had only grown in months that followed. Slowly the balance that his feeling had been under started to shift. Anger and hatred were no longer his dominant emotion. This new and unnerving emotion was.

Sure he had welcomed it when he thought that it wasn’t a big deal, but this was a big deal. He knew Raven could feel the shift in his emotions, and that scared him more than anything. Anyone else, if it had been anyone else he wouldn’t have cared. He might have even told them, but not Raven. Not only could he lose her friendship -which he valued more than he cared to admit- he would lose her altogether. Lose her trust. Lose those rare but breathe taking smiles that she reserved for him and him alone. Lose their early morning chats and afternoon tea. Lose seeing the grateful way she handled herself in battle. He didn’t want to lose that, any of that.

He needed to make sure that she didn’t know; to get away from her, then she wouldn’t be able to sense it. So one day he packed for The Wayne Manor. He knew that if he left The Titans without a word his Father would be upset, but he didn’t have time to gain his approval. It was around midnight when he started to pack and knew that by the time the rest of The Titans awoke he would be on a plane to Gotham. it was a flawless plan; pack when everyone was asleep, slip out of the tower soundlessly, arrive in Gotham later that day. Everything was going accordingly, that was until a knock came on the door.

Tensing up for a bit, he moved his duffle bag under his bed before going to open the door. The sight that beheld him was not one he had seen in a while. a trembling, on the verge of a panic attack, Raven. Most heroes suffered from some type of mental illness. None of them could go through what they did and be sane.

For most it was insomnia. For Raven it was anxiety; social anxiety, separation anxiety, anxiety anxiety. He had figured this out when she had rushed out of early morning practice one day. After that he made sure to keep a close eye on her, making sure to be there in case she had another attack. And she hadn’t, not in a while at least

He knew he couldn’t leave her like this. The fuzzy feeling he felt towards the empath wouldn’t let him. So -almost as it was an instinct- he wrapped his arms around her and let her rest against his chest, shaking. He never knew what triggered them, and he never asked. He knew one day that she would tell him and until then he was happy to be there for her. He knew he was risking everything by doing this. He'll be off schedule, but that didn’t matter. None of it mattered when the girl who had captured his heart was breaking right before his eyes.

Half an hour later and she had finally calmed down a bit. They didn’t talk, just stood, embracing one another. Slowly she released herself from his hold on her. It took everything in him not to reach out to grab her, to feel her against him once more. Silently she walked over to his bed and sat down, head in hands. Her hair fell down around her, covering her face in a curtain of hair. She looked so tiny, like she was fragile and if he made the wrong move he could easily break her. Then she looked up at him, eyes slightly puffy and red. Sighing deeply she looked into his maskless eyes.

“What's wrong Damian?” she questioned, motioning for him to come sit down with her. He wanted to be close to her again. But he knew that he had to be cautious and not do or say something that he might regret. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he replied. She shrugged before laying down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. “When you first came to The Titans I hated being around you” she said, still not looking at him. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. For the first couple of days she had avoided him.

“I hated being around you because you were always angry. No matter what you felt in that moment -sadness, excitement, happiness, relief- it was always overshadowed by your anger. Whenever I was around you it felt like I was being suffocated by hatred” although he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew that they were clouded over. Like she wasn’t really there with him. She wasn’t really in his room, laying on his bed; she was lost in her mind, thoughts and memories.

“Eventually I learned to bear with it, and after forming the bond I realized that it wasn’t misplaced anger. I wanted nothing more to cure you of it, release you of all of your pent up emotions” he knew what she was referring to. He had seen her do it once before. They were on a late night walk with Titus when they spotted a woman standing on the edge of a building, about to jump. They rushed over to her, trying to talk her down. Raven had reached her hand out for the lady to take, and after a few moments she did.

The woman had embraced the young teen, crying softly. Looking at Damian, Raven’s hands started to glow periwinkle blue. Quickly he realized that she was healing the older woman. He hadn’t seen any injuries, so he was curious to know what exactly the young sorcerer was healing. When the women pulled away she thanked the teens and left. After he had asked her what she did, Raven had told him that she had taken the suicidal feelings away. She said it was like she had allowed the emotions to be reborn.

“But I knew you” the young girl in front of him spoke. “You would never let me do it, so I dealt with the weight of your anger against my empathic shields. It was bearable and I found that I really enjoyed spending time with you. A part of me thought that I’d have to deal with it forever” she had no intentions of letting him slip by her, leaving her. She was going to fight for him to stay. She knew he was planning on leaving tonight, which had actually triggered the attack. Her Father’s nagging definitely didn’t help.

Moving her head to the side to look up at him, holding each other gaze she spoke. “I was wrong” his eyes went wide for a millisecond. She knew. The one thing he didn’t want, that he tried to keep conceal, and she knew. Of course she did, she always knew when it came to him.

Sitting up straight she continued. “I don’t know if you’re less angry, but that's not what I feel from you any more. Sure you still have a bunch of pent up anger but it is no longer your primary emotion. It's not the first thing I sense when I’m near you” she had pushed herself off of the bed. Bending down she took the duffle bag from underneath his bed, placing it on a nearby chair.

“You were going to leave” it wasn't a question but he answered anyway. “Yeah” he whispered, slowly she walked towards him. Stopping when there was only a few inches of space left and he couldn’t help but think about how if he leaned in a bit more…

“You weren’t going to tell me” again, not a question. “No” he said, looking into her impossible purple eyes. He knew that he shouldn’t -maybe it was the way her eyes pleaded with him not to leave- but for some reason he still had hope. Hope that they could continue the way they had, when all he felt was anger. She had known, for how long was still unclear, but she had known. She knew and didn’t treat him any differently, and if he didn’t say it, maybe life could go back to how it was. Alas, life was never that simple.

“Why?” she questioned, placing her hand on his cheek. He simply smiled sadly at her. “I didn’t want it to be you. To fall in love with my best friend, it’s the biggest cliche out there” he laughed humorlessly. “Anyone else. Had it been anyone else and I would have told them, but not you. Because I need you in every way; not just romantically. Platonically, physically, mentally. I need you as a friend and teammate, to have my back in battle and if I told…” he trailed off. Closing his eyes and sighing, he leaned in to her touch. Opening his eyes he could still see the question in them.

“Rejection is painful” he admitted, deciding to start again. “And I could handle it from anyone else. Anyone but you, I can’t handle being rejected by you” he said honestly. Lifting his hand up to hers, he wrapped his fingers over hers. He was about to move her hand off his cheek before she spoke up. “And why in Azar would you think I would reject you?” she asked him, a look of disbelief on her face. Before he could say anything more she closed what little space they had left between them, bringing her mouth to his.

Damian still thought the theory about Zeus splitting people in half was bullshit. But the idea that somebody was out there, that everyone had a soulmate wasn’t an unwelcoming one anymore.

#damirae week 2020 #fanfiction #damian x raven #damian #raven #teentitans #this was kinda long #day 14 #soulmates #demon birds

[vitaliciouscreations]

Untitled Miraculous Ladybug Short

With a glorious shout of “Miraculous Ladybug!” a swarm of magical, glowing ladybugs erupted into existence and flew all over Paris, fixing the damage the relatively short akuma battle had done to the city. Alya watched the wondrous sight with the same amount of glee she always did and trained her phone’s camera on the magical beetles. They faded away after fixing all the damage to Paris, and Alya cut the recording now that the battle was done.

She quickly uploaded the footage to the Ladyblog so her viewers could see for themselves how the battle had gone. She’d check their reactions to the footage later, but for now her focus was elsewhere. She started up a brand new recording and aimed her phone camera towards where Ladybug and Chat Noir were having a post-battle chat.

Ladybug was laughing, and she tapped Chat Noir on the nose with her index finger affectionately. He laughed too, smiling in such a way that Alya knew there was no place he’d rather be. Then he leaned in and—!

It was only Alya’s practice in holding onto her phone during akuma attacks that stopped her from dropping it. She barely held in a scream of excitement. Ladybug and Chat Noir, kissing! Again! This would get her blog so many views! Oh my gosh, what if they had finally made it official?!

Alya was abruptly startled out of her reverie when Chat Noir stumbled backwards and landed on his butt. Ladybug’s hand was outstretched in his direction, but she didn’t look like she’d been trying to catch him. No, it actually looked like she’d pushed him.

Ladybug stumbled backwards too, and it was only then that Alya noticed the expression on her face. She didn’t look happy. No, she looked horrified. Sickened. Betrayed.

“My Lady?” Chat asked from his place on the pavement. Ladybug took another step backwards, her movements jerky, and she brought a hand up to her mouth.

“Y-you,” she stammered between her fingers, her voice sounding shakier than it ever had during even the worst akuma attacks, and it was then that what must have truly happened clicked in Alya’s mind.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had just kissed, and Ladybug hadn’t wanted to.

Ladybug turned and threw her yoyo out, snagging it on a nearby building and pulling herself away. “My Lady!” Chat Noir called out after her as she fled, stretching a clawed hand out after her. Alya’s mind, frozen, barely processed this. Her body took over for a moment, pushing her into sprinting after Ladybug.

Phone firmly clutched in her tight grip, Alya raced through Paris’ alleyways until she caught sight of a flash of bright red out of the corner of her eye. She turned on a dime, nearly crashing directly into a wall, and jogged down the alleyway Ladybug was standing in.

Her back was to Alya, but as soon as she heard Alya’s footsteps she whirled around. Alya had no idea what to do, no idea what to say, as she caught sight of the unshed tears beading at the corners of Ladybug’s mask.

Ladybug’s expression changed in an instant from upset to terrified. She looked afraid. Afraid of Alya. But why would she be afraid of Alya?

Alya got her answer a second later when a quiet beeping rang through the alleyway. A beeping she recognized from her time as Rena Rouge. A bright pink light appeared around Ladybug, and Alya’s eyes went back up to Ladybug’s face. Her expression still frozen on her face, absolutely terrified.

Alya slammed her eyelids shut.

Silence. Complete and total. Alya stood there, eyes and mouth shut, and waited.

After several seconds, Ladybug spoke. “You closed your eyes?” Her tone was undeniably skeptical.

“Of course,” Alya replied. “I know how important your identity is to you.” The you can trust me part went unspoken, but was definitely implied.

Ladybug went quiet. Alya waited for several more seconds for her to speak, but she didn’t.

“I’m gonna come over to you,” Alya said. “We can sit back to back so you’ll know I can’t see you.”

A beat passed. “Okay,” Ladybug agreed.

Alya took a careful step forward, eyes still closed. When her foot didn’t hit anything she cautiously set it down and began to take another step forward.

“Here,” Ladybug said, and Alya felt a warm hand grab onto her arm. She let Ladybug guide her down the alleyway, trusting her favorite superheroine just as she always did, and soon enough she was sitting on the ground with Ladybug’s back pressing against her own.

Alya opened her eyes. A few feet in front of her there was an unremarkable brick wall. From what she could tell, Ladybug had the exact same view.

She stared at the bricks and swallowed. Licked her lips. Took a breath. “Ladybug,” she started. “Did you want Chat Noir to kiss you back there?”

Alya could feel Ladybug shifting behind her, but Ladybug didn’t answer.

“Or did you not want him to kiss you?” Alya continued. “Because if it was unwanted, that counts as sexual assault.”

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Ladybug said immediately. Alya’s face stiffened, and her mouth bent into a frown. She didn’t like how much that sounded like an excuse for Chat Noir.

“Besides,” Ladybug continued. “I’ve done the same thing to him during Dark Cupid.”

“That’s different,” Alya replied quickly. “Chat would’ve wanted that kiss had he been in the right mindset.”

Ladybug made a sound Alya couldn’t quite interpret. “That’s a dangerous path of thought to go down, Alya. And even so, it doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t want the kiss when I gave it to him.”

Alya went silent. She wasn’t quite sure how to refute that argument, but she knew it was wrong. She just didn’t know how to put it into words without giving Ladybug space to argue.

“Alya’s right,” a high-pitched voice said, and Alya jerked in surprise. She panickedly whipped her head around to check the alleyway even as she realized that such a high-pitched voice had more than likely come from Ladybug’s version of Trixx. What were they called? Kwami?

“You kissed Chat during the Dark Cupid fight because you suspected it would undo the curse on him,” Ladybug’s kwami went on. “Not because you wanted to. You did it out of necessity. Think of it more like CPR than kissing. You were saving him from something, not kissing him as a romantic act.”

“Exactly!” Alya exclaimed, glad to have someone else backing her point. “But there was no need for you two to kiss this time. The battle was over. The akuma was defeated. So if Chat kissed you when you didn’t want him to, then that is sexual assault.”

This felt so weird. Normally Alya would be the first to defend Paris’ favorite couple and would do so with everything she had, but here she was telling Ladybug that Chat Noir was wrong to kiss her. But he was wrong to kiss her. At least in this instance when Ladybug hadn’t wanted him to.

“But…” Ladybug said, her voice sounding uncharacteristically timid.

“Hey.” The voice of Ladybug’s kwami came again. “Alya’s right. ‘Sexual assault’ is a fairly heavy term and brings with it a connotation you might not like, but if Chat did kiss you without knowing for sure that you wanted him to do so, then that isn’t okay.”

“Tikki,” Ladybug said. Alya could feel her shaking her head, her pigtails brushing softly against Alya’s neck. “Chat’s a good person. You know he didn’t mean it that way.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he did it,” Alya said harshly. “Regardless of his intentions, he did do it. And that’s not okay. You don’t have to make excuses for him.”

Behind her, Ladybug went quiet. Alya wanted to turn her head and look at Ladybug, see what expression she was making, but she knew that she shouldn’t. She kept her gaze firmly on the brick wall in front of her, willing herself not to give into temptation.

Finally, Ladybug sighed quietly. Alya could feel the tenseness in her shoulder blades fade away. “Tikki,” she said. “You should eat.”

Ladybug shifted behind her, and Alya could hear a soft clicking noise. A few seconds later the smell of fresh-baked cookies tickled her nose, adding another temptation for Alya into this situation. Perhaps she would stop by Marinette’s on her way home and order something that would ruin her appetite by the time dinner rolled around.

“Are you feeding your kwami cookies?” she asked, a hint of amusement coloring her tone.

“They’re her favorite food,” Ladybug replied, and Alya could hear that same hint of amusement in her voice.

Alya huffed a laugh. “Huh. I didn’t know kwamis could eat.”

Behind her, Ladybug stilled. Alya stiffened up, careful not to glance behind her. Had she just said something wrong?

“Oh yeah,” Ladybug said quietly. “I forgot you didn’t know about that.”

Alya went quiet, waiting for Ladybug to elaborate on that, but she never did. They sat in silence for several seconds before Alya asked, “Didn’t know about what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ladybug said.

“C’mon,” Alya drawled. “Tell me. You can trust me.”

“Can I?” Ladybug asked, her voice a low whisper, and Alya froze in place. Everything seemed to freeze with her, too, even her lungs. Alya felt like she couldn’t breathe as Ladybug’s quiet words resounded through her head.

“Of course you can,” Alya forced out after what must have only been a few seconds but felt much longer than that. She stared at the brick wall in front of her, feeling shaky. “Why would you ever think you couldn’t trust me?”

Alya’s first time receiving her miraculous comes back to her in a rush. She’d hesitated to give it back because being a superhero was one of the best moments of her life. But she’d given back eventually! She’d wanted to keep Ladybug’s trust in her intact! So then why—?”

“Why did you post that video about all of the miraculous stuff in the Louvre?” Ladybug asked, abruptly derailing Alya’s careening train of thought.

“What?” Alya asked.

“That video on the Ladyblog,” Ladybug said. “About all of the stuff in the Louvre that might depict past holders of the Miraculous. Why did you post it?”

Alya blinked, confused. “Why wouldn’t I post it?”

Behind her, she could feel Ladybug stiffen. Alya waited, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’m a reporter,” Alya explained. “It’s my job to deliver the truth to the public. And the public deserves to know the truth about the Miraculouses.”

“Does Hawk Moth?”

Alya blinked again. “What?”

“Does Hawk Moth?” Ladybug repeated, louder this time. “Does he deserve to know that information? Even if it could put innocent people at risk if he did?”

Alya didn’t reply.

Ladybug sighed. “Alya, when I gave you the miraculous of the fox I thought you understood the importance of confidentiality and keeping secrets out of dangerous hands. I hide my identity even though it complicates almost every aspect of my life because if Hawk Moth discovered that information he could target my family and my civilian identity.”

“I know,” Alya said.

“And yet you posted that video on the Ladyblog anyway, for everyone, including Hawk Moth, to see. If that scepter had been in Tibet than Hawk Moth likely would have won thanks to information you helped put out there. And who knows what else he could find out if he begins scouring history for signs of miraculous users. I just—” Ladybug cut herself off with a sigh.

“Sharing the truth with the public is important,” Alya defended. “As a journalist, it's my duty to report the truth—”

“If the truth is so important to you than why did you publish that interview with Lila!” Ladybug snapped.

Alya fell silent. The urge to twist around and look at Ladybug had never been so strong. Her hands clenched against her thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Ladybug said, sounding exhausted. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Alya let herself relax a little bit. Just a little bit. “What did you mean by that?”

“Huh?”

“What did you mean by that?” Alya repeated. “When you said ‘if the truth is so important to you than why did you publish that interview with Lila’?”

She could feel Ladybug again stiffen against her back. A long moment of silence passed. “Alya,” Ladybug said. “Lila isn’t my best friend.”

“...What?” Alya asked. Ladybug was quiet, so Alya leaned back into her forcefully and again asked, “What?”

“She’s a liar,” Ladybug said, her tone surprisingly vicious. “And I despise liars, so you can be sure that she and I are not friends. And whatever other claims she’s made to you, no! Any other thing she’s ever said to you should be doubted.”

A long moment passed. “What?” Alya said again, this time her voice quiet.

“If you really cared about the truth,” Ladybug said. “You would have checked with me before posting any of those interviews with Lila. You would have posted that picture you took during Oblivio with full context. But you didn’t.”

Silence. Complete and total. And then, “Tikki, spots on!” and Ladybug jumped away.

Alya sat there, feeling shell-shocked. Feeling terrible, really. And feeling even more terrible for feeling terrible because deep down she knew that she had no one to blame for this but herself.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #ml fic #ml salt #alya salt #adrien salt #lila salt #please nobody come after me for this I just want to write stuff #also this is me clearing the air on my issue with the dark cupid episode lmao

[a-student-out-of-time]

Twisted Sister Arc Review Part 1

Hi guys I’m the Anon who does the reviews around here…guess you could call me the Review Anon? Wonder what the lore behind me would be…anyway that doesn’t matter! Point is, I have an Arc to review and Jesus is this a big one. So big that A) I’m doing submissions (with permission from the Mod of course) and B) I’m splitting the review into 3 parts. Heavy Arcs are Heavy and a LOT of stuff happens here so let’s get right into it!

So, the parts of the Twisted Sister Arc are first the Massacre, second is the Mindwipe and third is the Prison Break. Last one doesn’t start with M but I’m not doing rhyming here, but that’s enough time wasting let’s get right into it~

Massacre

Easily the darkest part of the Arc but given the Arc is basically Kanade being a Slasher Killer here, what do you expect? While Danganronpa is a franchise about murder, and we had serial killers in it both canon and fanon the nature of the Killing Game means that a full-blooded mass killing akin to many slasher films hasn’t really occurred in the franchise before. This makes Kanade’s bloody rampage here even more disturbing, as while we have had mass killings before, see Mukuro’s rampage through Giboua Middle School in Killer Killer, those are established as backstory drops for the characters, we never actually see one being carried out in action. And going back to that massacre, Mukuro only did it because Junko thought her sister’s killer intent might have slipped and it’s to prove to her she is still a killer, but here Kanade is killing for cold blooded revenge. And she doesn’t just kill a bunch of randoms as she brutally murders Iroha, Peko, Akane, Nekomaru, Sonia and Kokoro very brutally and very effectively. I knew something was up given that the entire school went into lockdown and all the fighters from Class 77-B were geared to fight Kanade to the death, and Kanade is such a pansy of a fighter that Sonia beat the living shit out of here, and Syo was taken down by the QC, and we all know how terrifying Syo is. But once the bodies started to drop, I knew that the first time that Hajime would reset on purpose was coming up and there were so many questions. Who set Kanade up for this? Someone had to be helping her…. but who and why? Juu could have let her out but he couldn’t have supplied Kanade with her tools and intel (more on that later) so it has to be someone else.

Within the darkness of this timeline there is of course your heroes. There are those like Peko who got a lucky shot on Kanade which set a chain line of events leading to Kanade’s death, Mikako who made Kanade’s injuries worse and Kokoro who stabbed Kanade in the eye. But those small victories led to total loses as even if Peko didn’t die, she would be crippled for life and moreover she failed to protect her classmates from Kanade’s wrath, and Mikako lost her mother, just as she started to finally connect with her. You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned two names yet, and that’s because they deserve their own paragraphs, I am of course referring to Nikei and Hibiki.

I’m gonna start with the next person who attacks Kanade and that is of course our Journalist boy here. To say this day has been terrible to him would be a massive understatement as one minute he is suffering an energy crash from downing one too many Red Bulls and having lewd thoughts, to running faster than if he happened to be in Mexico (Seriously, if you happen to be a journalist just don’t go to Mexico) to Hope’s Peak and thanks to Ankle Effects, arriving alongside Hajime to a bloodbath. There’s his constant refusal to accept that Iroha is killed, even though we as the audience knew that given Iroha tried to stop Kanade as soon as she arrived at Hope’s Peak and that Kanade was seen by Sonia and co chopping up security guards, the likelihood of her survival was next to none. This carries on from the conversation Nikei had with Yoruko in the previous Arc where he still believes he is dangerous and that he doesn’t see the other Voids as friends or equals, but rather he took the role as leader because he wanted to have power for once in his life, something he alluded to in the Void Theatre during Chapter 5. However, his reaction to Iroha’s unknown safety, and eventually the truth that Kanade really did butcher the poor painter, proves otherwise. While Nikei’s relationship with his fellow Voids canonically won’t get revealed until LINIQ decides to get around to doing the Onmake mode, in which one of the stories in that is going to be about Void pre Mikado- with someone, most likely Nikei, being the POV character, here the fact his first thoughts upon finding out his ‘little sister’ is dead is to disregard the no-killing rule and just beat Kanade to death, proves that he does care about his fellow Voids, but is in several layers of denial. Out of all the Voids, Nikei is easily the most guarded and paranoid of the lot, and while the others have loosened up around Hajime and co, Nikei still has a lot of inner demons he has to deal with before he could truly open up to the rest of the QC. And Kanade chopping his right hand off, doesn’t help matters though I do give Nikei credit that unlike in the OG timeline, where upon his right hand been blown up by his exploding gun, he just broke down crying, here, he tries to carry on the fight regardless, or he would have had the other person I need to talk about didn’t show up. This is pretty important to establish that while most of the Voids now are pretty far removed from their canon selves and are unlikely to regress back in that, Nikei is still closely tied with his bastard canon self and more work needs to be done for him to detach from that.

But moving on from someone who needs to get some work done, let’s move onto someone who has seen the natural conclusion of their character development, Hibiki! Ever since Hajime and Chiaki rescued Hibiki from her twisted sister (*rim shot*) back in July, she has been making a ton of progress, firstly coming to terms with what Kanade did and her true nature, developing friendly healthy relationships with Class 77-B, the QC and of course a romantic relationship with Hajime. It seemed kind of cliché for Hibiki to fall for Hajime but then again a) Danganronpa can be cliché at times and B) As a Danganronpa Protagonist Hajime cannot turn off his swag. Then there is her officially joining the QC, learning how to fight and being a complete and utter badarse and a caring lover when needed as she confronted Hajime back when he died the second time. We all knew it was only a matter of time when Hibiki had to confront her sister and when Kanade broke into the school, we saw fully, how much Hibiki has grown in the past 3 months. The old Hibiki would have curled up in a corner terrified, crying and probably going into the Puppet State. Here though, Hibiki’s FIRST THOUGHTS upon finding out that Kanade is more dangerous now is to done some armour and get some weapons, and face her sister head on with no hesitation. All without going into the Puppet State at least once, which probably means that its more or less gone now. Kanade tried to talk her sister out of fighting her, but Hikibi isn’t buying Kanade’s insurance anymore and a fight breaks out. If this ever gets animated or becomes a visual novel, I would love to see the Hibiki vs Kanade fight animated as its brilliant, its epic and it’s just so satisfying to see Kanade getting the living snot beaten out of her. You could argue that Nikei’s mauling of Kanade was like that but there, Nikei was more or less in grief due to Iroha’s death and the whole thing was as painful to watch as the final fight in Captain America: Civil War, not saying what because spoilers ahoy. Here though is a glorious battle, as Hibiki gets to deliver justice onto her demonic sister and it is SO SO satisfying, given that a reset happens shortly afterwards.

And sadly, with that, we come to easily the weakest part of not only this part of the arc, but the arc overall, Yasuke’s multiverse theory. It could be written better, and even the Mod agrees that the way it was presented shouldn’t have been the way it worse, that having Umeko throw some ideas at Hajime and him coming to the conclusion that they might have been living in a multiverse be better narrative then Yasuke be like ‘Oh hey I am suddenly an expert on Time Travel now’. It would make Hajime breaking his no kill rule that much more impactful as he doesn’t have the excuses of not only Nikei’s who was currently going through a mental breakdown, and in the current plot where Yasuke more or less planted the seed of doubt in Hajime’s mind. Yasuke still has a role to play in this arc but during the Massacre timeline, I feel like he could have been removed entirely from the plot and not only would it have made no difference, but then most readers wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as Yasuke being a general A-hole wouldn’t tick them off. I’m not saying ‘THIS IS AS BAD AS ONCOMING STORM’ as that Arc was just a giant clusterfuck of a mess, and aside from this one part, the arc is very strong overall, but I will give criticism when due. I’m not mentioning my thoughts on Yasuke as a whole here because he’s more relevant in other parts of the Arc. However, Hajime killing Kanade and himself at the same time is brilliant and seeing Kanade begging for her life as Hajime throws her out of the window is so satisfying given not only all the crap she has been dealing up until that point, but also because in SDAR2, she was 100% fulfilled with the events at that point and given it was HIBIKI who was begging for her life then, let’s just say karma is a bigger bitch then Kanade is.

And that concludes the Massacre part of the Arc as Hajime kills himself and Kanade at the same time and he goes back to just before Nikei started to have indecent thoughts. No time to look at the 3rd page of the national newspapers’ boy, we got a serial killer to stop! And with that I’m stopping here as the Massacre part is finished. But this review is far from over, this is just here because otherwise my, the Mod’s and everyone else’s brains won’t be able to process all of this. Stay tuned for part 2 when we cover Kanade’s capture, a scrum debate among the QC and a bold move by the Mod which I do wish will come up more! Until then, Adios! - Review Anon

//Part 1 of 3

//Finally get to submit these

#mod talks #a student out of time #submission #review-anon

[fontofmercy-archived2]

Rethinking The Unkiss: Sansa Stark and Trauma

“The Unkiss” refers to the (confirmed as intentional) inconsistency in Sansa’s recollection of her interaction with Sandor at The Battle of Blackwater. Many fans interpret that this inconsistency is a sign that Sansa is romantically interested in Sandor, but I would like to offer a different perspective. The perspective of Sansa not as a self-insert for adult women who are attracted to Sandor, but as the traumatized child she is in canon.

I’m not going to explain in depth that Sandor is verbally, physically, and sexually abusive to Sansa because that is just blatantly in the text; it’s not a debate or a theory, it’s a canonical fact that Sandor is Sansa’s abuser. Just because he had a few good moments and is arguably a little better than other abusers doesn’t change that. There is a great meta that does explain that though if you want a refresher: https://stardyng.tumblr.com/post/181474608232/a-song-of-birds-and-burns-anti-sansan-meta by @stardyng

1.) First things first, let’s just take a look at the actual scene:

“The blood masked the worst of his scars, but his eyes were white and wide and terrifying. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched and twitched again. Sansa could smell him; a stink of sweat and sour wine and stale vomit, and over it all the reek of blood, blood, blood.

"I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.” - A Clash of Kings, Sansa VII

Does that sound like a girl who wants to be kissed? No. That is a child who is genuinely afraid for her life. She thought he might kiss her (planting the seed for the false memory) and she wanted it to be over. It is clear here that Sansa is disgusted by and terrified of Sandor, not attracted to him.

2.) Sansa does not have adult desires

Sansa Stark is not an adult woman fantasizing about kissing someone she likes. Firstly, she is not an adult. Even if child sex was the accepted social norm in ASoIaF (it’s not, it’s a rarity and frowned upon) that still wouldn’t change the fact that children’s sexual development is based on their brain development not social norm. Children who live in locations where child sex is the norm are not adults, they aren’t magically ready for sex just because adults think it’s normal to rape them. The reader cannot analyze Sansa’s sexuality as if it is developed, it is not. Her sexuality is premature and being warped by prolonged abuse.

Secondly, Sansa is not fantasizing about kissing Sandor, she’s not actively choosing to indulge the thought because it’s pleasant; she truly believes that the kiss happened because her brain altered the memory without her conscious knowledge. Sansa’s memory of The Battle of Blackwater is a trauma memory and cannot be treated as a normal memory. For a child to be restrained and held at knife point by an adult who is threatening to kill her and verbally belittling her, for a child to truly believe she may be murdered, is a trauma. There is no child in the world who is “mature” or “understanding” or anything enough to not be traumatized by that.

Let’s look at when Sansa thinks about The Unkiss, because it’s not when she is daydreaming for fun and certainly not for arousal:

“If I close my eyes I can pretend (Sweetrobin) is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.” - A Feast for Crows, Alayne II

Here, Sansa is being nonconsensually kissed by Sweetrobin and tries to think about Loras (who she was attracted to). If Sansa’s memory changes were a result of her desires, she would have remembered Loras kissing her but she can’t because none of her memories with Loras were traumatic and therefore she remembers them correctly. It is trauma that causes Sansa’s memories to be warped, they are not warped by Sansa’s desires.

Now, let’s go back to right before the above quote so I can further explain why Sansa’s Unkiss memory coming up here is not her using it as escapism:

“Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy...” - A Feast for Crows, Alayne II

Anything that reminds a PTSD survivor of their trauma can be a trigger, and what Sweetrobin does here is almost step-for-step what Sandor did at The Battle of Blackwater:

“Then something stirred behind her, and a hand reached out of the dark and grabbed her wrist.

Sansa opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped down over her face, smothering her.” - A Clash of Kings, Sansa VII

Sansa is suddenly grabbed and prevented from calling out...then kissed without consent? It is not uncommon for trauma survivors to imagine the abuse that’s happening to them happening in a “better” way or even just in a different way so it feels more under their control. That’s what Sansa is doing, Sweetrobin triggered her and she thought of a romantic version of BoB. Another example:

"Oh, yes. He died on top of me. In me, if truth be told. You do know what goes on in a marriage bed, I hope?"

She thought of Tyrion, and of the Hound and how he'd kissed her, and gave a nod.” - A Feast for Crows, Alayne II

Here Sansa is feeling uncomfortable and trying to feel like she has more experience than she does. Notice that she doesn’t think of Littlefinger or Sweetrobin here even though they’ve both already kissed her, and she glosses over Tyrion’s groping: because those were sexual traumas that really happened, it’s easier to imagine The Hound. A kiss that was “cruel” and unwanted like the rest in her life, but one that is at least under her control because she subconsciously knows it’s not real.

3.) Why The Unkiss?

So, I’ve established that Sansa’s change in memory is a result of trauma and not her desires, and that she doesn’t remember The Unkiss in positive context, but why would she remember the trauma as a kiss at all?

If The Unkiss were real, it would have been Sansa’s first real kiss. It would have been a kiss before Littlefinger’s molestation began. Sansa inventing The Unkiss was not because she wanted Sandor to kiss her, nowhere in the scene is that the case, but because when Sandor is safety far away from her the memory is a convenient way for Sansa’s brain to kill two birds with one stone; to establish autonomy over her sexuality and to repress the trauma of that memory.

I’m no expert in the human brain, but I am a psychology student and I do know a lot about trauma and I know that the human brain loves convenient compartmentalization, especially when someone (like Sansa) is in a situation where she’s captive and unable to escape danger. From a psychological standpoint, Sandor’s assault is the ideal opportunity for Sansa’s autonomous first kiss to have occurred because no one else was there during that interaction, Sandor is far away, and she told no one about it. That event is a secret place in Sansa’s mind, a perfect place to hide a little piece of autonomy from other abusers such as Littlefinger.

If The Unkiss were real, it also would have happened in place of the most traumatic part of the memory when Sandor puts the knife to her throat and she thinks she’s going to die. Look back at the scene and you’ll see Sansa thinks Sandor is going to kiss her right before he puts the knife to her throat.

I could not find one single line where Sansa thinks about Sandor putting the knife to her throat, where she thinks about her mind going blank with terror and internally begging for her life. Instead, Sansa remembers the kiss and the cloak and the times Sandor protected her because that’s easier. Sansa clings to the parts of that night that are easy to romanticize, that are not actually linked to her feelings of terror and violation.

4.) Other SanSan “evidence”

Beyond The Unkiss, other “evidence” of SanSan all boils down to Stockholm Syndrome. Sansa has been a captive most of her storyline and no one around her is truly on her side. Anyone, especially a child, who is trapped in a dangerous environment with no one on their side is going to cling to anyone who can offer any relative safety even if that means compartmentalizing the abuse they’ve inflicted.

Sansa does this with every single one of her abusers. To say that there’s something romantic and genuine about her Stockholm Syndrome symptoms towards one abuser but not all the others is just pure bias.

Sansa thinks of Littlefinger as being half-Petyr who is her friend and half-Littlefinger who does deeply troubling things. She despises and fears his sociopathic behavior, but she still has to think of him as her protector because if he’s not then she has no one.

Sansa looks on Tyrion’s moments of protecting her and ignores the fact that he forced her to marry him and groped her. Tyrion isn’t as bad as the other Lannisters and she doesn’t have a choice but to be around them so she ignores all he’s done that harmed her.

Sansa thinks about the times that Sandor protected her and his Knight’s cloak and ignores the fact that he made her fear for her life and was constantly abusive towards her. If Sandor can’t protect her, none of the other Knights will and so she minimizes the terror he’s caused.

Sandor is no different. It is not romantic longing for Sansa to “wish The Hound were here” because she doesn’t want to be beat. That’s just survival.

I don’t know how to end this but please stop reducing my girl’s arc to “saving” some abusive man from himself. Sansa Stark is a main character, Sandor isn’t, and her arc is so so much more than becoming a consolation prize to a man who literally abused her as a child ok bye.

#my meta #ch: sansa stark #asoiaf meta #anti sansan #sansa defense squad #sansa stark