When is a Feather Not a Feather?
The original prompt inspiration.
Format is like this because this was originally a series of tweets.
Dean’s brow knitted as he stared at his empty palm, ‘Cas, what am I holding?’
There was an invisible weight resting gently in his left hand, soft and subtle between his fingers as he tried to grasp it with his right.
Whatever it was, it both did and did not exist.
Castiel tilted his head as he looked at him, confusion clear on his face, ‘one of my feathers’ his brow furrowed, ‘but you shouldn’t be able to see or feel it.’
Dean felt his eyebrows climb, ‘An angel feather? I didn’t even know you had real feathers; we’ve never seen them.’
Castiel frowned, ‘I don’t; it’s not a feather.’
Dean sighed with barely-concealed exasperation, ‘Cas, you literally just said it was a feather.’
The angel took a step forward and reached out as if to take it, but Dean pulled his hand away, ‘if it’s not a feather, what is it?’
A slight frown curved Castiel’s lips in frustrated, ‘It’s a piece of my true form.’
‘A piece shaped like a feather?’ Dean clarified.
‘Yes.’
‘A piece that 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 like a feather?’ he asked, a light, playful curl to his voice.
‘Yes’, Castiel replied curtly, already annoyed.
Fighting to keep the slight quirk from showing on his lips Dean pressed further, ‘A piece of your true form that acts 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳?’
Castiel’s stony silence was deafening, and Dean basked in it with barely concealed enjoyment.
‘So, a feather then?’
Castiel huffed lightly, putting his hand out, ‘Just give it back Dean.’
‘Why can I feel it?’
Dean didn’t realise the curiosity had been eating at him until the question had slithered its way out of his mouth unbidden.
When the angel didn’t respond he prompted him again, ‘Cas?’
The smaller man threw his hands up in defeat, ‘Just keep it then Dean, do what you want.’
The hunter looked down at his hand, only to stare transfixed at the pale ghost of a downy shape that now lay shimmering in his palm, soft and iridescent.
‘Cas, why can I see it?'
When his question was met with more silence Dean looked up, surprised to see a shocked look on the angel’s face.
‘Cas?’
Castiel rubbed his eyes wearily, quiet for a long moment before he spoke, ‘It means our bond has grown more profound. It means that I…trust you intimately.’
Dean quirked an eyebrow slightly at the choice of words, but he still didn’t follow, ‘Why would that have changed in the last two minutes?’
Castiel sighed tiredly, ‘Because you’re an idiot...’
...𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
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Spill the beans on Black Raven! Spill the beans! Spill the beans!
(in regards to this ask game)
You are going for the THROAT, my friend.
Black Raven is the working title for a truly old, deeply teenage angst inspired power fantasy I haven't actively worked on in quite some time. It's based on me and my older sibling. It came to me in a dream. It's so old that I wrote it in German, okay, which should tell you something about how deeply I cringe when I have to go back through the earliest parts.
But it's also... kind of cool?
Explanation of magic system and my fucked up birdgirl of a protagonist under the cut.
First of all, there's the magic system. Creating new spells is a lifetime effort: They're personal things, confined to the bearer. They're also weak, powered only by the emotions and dedications of one person. But - upon the bearer's death they do get passed on. That's when they get stronger.
Noble families have Spells that have been passed on through countless generations. They're powerful and unwieldy and highly regulated. Lesser families might have developed a spell of their own: they can develop spontaneously, but they rarely reach the kind of strength that is cultivated in a family with preparatory studies and passing-on ceremonies.
It is possible - if dangerous - to hold multiple spells at once. They interact with each other in unpredictable ways, and can rip away your humanity as easily as make you stronger. It is therefore highly illegal.
It is also possible - if difficult - to force someone to pass their Spell on to you. If you are the only person present at their death, well. Who else could it go to? It might not work as well as a proper ritual, but it does work.
And there is one surefire way to ensure that setup, isn't there? You just have the one who kills them.
Unsurprisingly, being a Spellripper is even more illegal than just holding multiple spells. Of course, those who make a career out of it tend to do both.
Second, there's my certified little freak of a protagonist. Care's parents died young and she was raised mainly by her sister; until Aria was offered a job for which she had to leave the country. We know Aria only agreed to it because it gave Care the opportunity to go to school. We also know that that did not work out as well as they thought.
Fast forward by ten to fifteen years. Care is a quiet student of thaumaturgy; known to be a commoner whose family came into money late in her life. She rents a room from an old lady outside of Campus, who has decided to give the clearly anxious girl as much family time as she possibly can. When that lady figures out that Care's missing sister is the famous singer Ariadne, she tries to get the sisters to reconnect.
The problems, in order, are these:
Aria feels incredibly guilty about having ever left Care behind, and vows to take her along this time.
Now she feels incredibly guilty about keeping secrets.
This would be because Aria's work as a singer is only a cover. She was actually scouted as a spy all those years ago.
Care is very well aware of this.
Aria doesn't know that Care knows about it though.
She also doesn't know that Care ran away from school as a mere teen, turning instead from petty thievery to serious burglary, to full on Spellripping.
Or that at some point throughout this, Care was actually caught by the city's government, and force pressed into working for them.
Meaning they are now opposite sides,
only one of them knows about it,
and both are being eaten alive by guilt.
And that's that!
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