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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 12 FINALE

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: How lovely it has been, to go on this journey with you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to every person who has liked, reblogged, or left a kind comment on this story. Combined, you all have genuinely changed my life. I'm writing more than ever, more consistently, and I'm having a blast. So if you like this story, and wish it wasn't ending, well... maybe don't worry too much. There will be a sequel of sorts, same timeline but new reader, instead focusing on Cassandra. Also oops this is hella long. And mostly dialogue. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB, Pt 11: Cadence

Chapter 12: Cadence (Reprise)

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

Truth be told, she had never expected much of anything to come from this. ‘Twas not that she thought her daughter to be talentless, or that she denied the capabilities of the servant-turned-teacher, rather that she knew just how difficult it was to keep Daniela’s attention for any measure of time. Even as the weeks went by with undeniable progress, there was a part of her awaiting the collapse of it all. How long would this instructor last? How long before they were drained of blood, either for some perceived insult, or merely out of boredom? Surely, in the end, Alcina would not need to lift a single finger.

And yet here she was, at the end of a concert, pride roaring within her chest. What had she missed? What clues had eluded her, what had changed within her child’s nature? She knew that there were hints of deeper affections, fragments of a would-be love, but she had thought them miniscule. Thought that those feelings were doomed to crash and burn, unable to live up to the expectations set by decades of romance novels. Well, maybe they had failed. Maybe, somehow, Alcina had missed something else entirely.

The thought might have sent a shiver down her spine, if she weren’t so readily distracted by praising her youngest child… or by the looming shadow of a life-changing revelation.

“Mother… we need to talk. I… I have a confession to make,” Daniela explains, hesitantly slow, but with a conviction she rarely ever showed. Taken aback by the unexpected announcement, Alcina pauses, silently awaiting some form of elaboration. Instead, Daniela takes her hand, pulling her towards a set of chairs. They sit gingerly, each feeling the weight of terrifying possibilities upon their shoulders. When she at last continues speaking, she does so without a trace of showmanship or false bravado, trading it in for heartfelt sincerity. “I love them. All of this- these lessons, this concert- has been for them. For my sweet, innocent little songbird.” So here it was, the birthplace of her fears, brought forth from her mind into reality.

“I was afraid you would say that,” Alcina muses, leaning back into the chair with a deep sigh. Something itches in the back of her throat, and she yearns for her pipe, or even just a normal cigarette to distract herself. Without one, she is left to metaphorically chew on her thoughts. Realistically, there has to be some way to deal with this, some way that she can convince her daughter of the sheer foolishness of this mess. “Daniela… how can I put this in a way you will understand, hmm?… The two of you have only known each other for three months. There is no chance that you truly love them, or them you. How close can you possibly have become?”

“When have I cared about anything for three whole months? I dedicated myself to-” Daniela is cut off by the sound of the door opening, revealing the rest of her little family. It was guaranteed that they would have heard the conversation from outside, seeing as they were all inhuman, though they perhaps intended to intervene. A single hard glance from both of the room’s occupants convinces them to change their minds. “Wait, Ava, can you get us some tea, please? Something tells me I’ll need a soothing drink soon.” Hesitating in the doorway, the butler in question eyes the both of them, naturally tempted to stay and fill the role of a therapist.

“I do believe my daughter gave you an order, Ava. Don’t tell me you have forgotten the stipulations of your agreement with Mother Miranda?” Alcina interjects. With that said, the butler finally moves, exiting with an apologetic bow. An awkward silence hangs in the air once xe closes the door behind xerself, as Daniela takes a moment to recall her place.

“Three months is a long time for me. I put all of my energy towards both them and what they taught me, almost every single day. Even when their work kept them busy for too long, I still practiced, because I wanted to make them proud! For all my flirting, I’ve never bonded with anyone this way before now,” she says, hating the way her voice gets a little shaky. No matter how much confidence she has in her own writing, it is another thing entirely to be convincing out loud, with a truth she had been hiding for so long. All of her practice had been with lies. Now she had to contest with the hope that the strength of her emotions would be enough. “That song we played together, at the end, they wrote that for me. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Oh, my dear… I want you to be happy more than anything. But we both know that your ‘history’ is stained with a number of incidents. You have always been absorbed within those books you read, and the fantasies that they provide for you. It is one thing to enjoy these stories on the side, but another matter entirely to let them corrupt your relations with others. As your mother, it is my duty to keep you safe, first and foremost,” Alcina proclaims, sitting up straighter, trying not to let her frown evolve into a full out scowl. Beneath the table, her hands ball into fists, clutched tight to stop herself from breaking the table. In the back of her mind she could think of little other than dismembering that damned piano instructor. Focusing on the discussion at hand, she takes a deep breath before finalizing her point. “You don’t know what a healthy relationship looks like, nor what it feels like. Your books are not ideal models for reference. One- or both- of you are going to end up suffering, and that is something I cannot allow, regardless of how ‘happy’ they make you before then.”

“You’re right,” Daniela whispers in defeat… or a feigned version of it. A split second later she’s making eye contact with her mother again, lips curling up into a smile. “I didn’t want to admit it, especially not to someone as attractive, talented, and charming as my Songbird, but I didn’t have to. They understood from the very start. We talked about it, about my expectations and my shitty behavior, and we worked on it. We’re still working on it. Maybe there will be bumps along the way, just like in every relationship, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be worth it in the end. What we have is still real, and they make me want to be a better woman. I know they’ve already helped me make the change.”

Once more the door opens, making the conversation pause, as Ava near-silently brings in the requested tea. If a pin had dropped at that moment, it would have felt as ear-shattering loud as a gong. Every second that passed felt like it dragged on, stretched out by the tension in the room, as though xe was moving in slow motion. The ‘clink’ of ceramic against the table makes xer flinch, almost spilling the tea. Neither Alcina nor Daniela react, or even acknowledge xer presence with anything more than their eyes, instead remaining impassive until xe makes a hasty retreat.

“Use what you’ve learned on someone else, then. Perhaps another one of Miranda’s experiments will someday provide a suitable match. But this ‘songbird’ of yours? They’re nothing. A human, a servant, they are not worth your time, nor are they worth mine. No matter what words or songs they weave, or illusions of grandeur they show you, you will end up getting bored of them. I’m afraid it is inevitable, my dear,” Alcina says, as soon as the door is closed once more. Then she attends to her tea, with the composure of someone convinced that they had just won an argument. On the other hand, Daniela was not so quick to give in, some of her worry melting into anger.

“How can you say that? How can you be sure? We were all human, once! Even Mother Miranda was human. And my Songbird is no mere human- they are wondrous, with flowery prose and lovely melodies, with soft-lipped smiles and reassuring eyes, and don’t even get me started on how beautiful they are!” She rambles, voice getting louder with every word. All at once it is too much for Alcina, who sets down her glass a little too hard, nostrils flaring as she stares at her daughter. When Daniela speaks again, she does so with love coating her tone. “We have weathered each other’s anxieties with no signs of stopping. I promised that we would weather yours.”

“I only want you to be happy. I need you to understand where I am coming from. This may be your longest lasting infatuation so far, but you have yet to honestly convince me that this is any different from your past ‘distractions’. I’m sorry, Daniela, I simply cannot allow this to continue,” Alcina sighs, hating to break her youngest daughter’s heart like this. There was only one thing that Daniela had yet to try. Maybe two, if she was willing to resort to begging.

“Can’t you trust me enough to give us a chance? Cassandra of all people seems to understand. Bela went as far as to lie to you, for our sake! She never does anything she thinks will hurt me, or you, or any of us. Please, mother, please. How can you ever know if what I have will last, if you cut it down now? Are you going to wait forever for some ‘perfect candidate’ for me? And what if that person loves someone else? Or what if the ‘perfect’ person doesn’t exist! What if we’re stuck waiting for them like Mother Miranda waits for another child, hmm? Would you have me spend another century alone, my only memory of genuine romance being poisoned by the thought that you broke us apart?” Daniela’s words ring throughout the chamber, echoing a damning accusation, somehow more bitter than the taste they left in her mouth.

All at once, Alcina’s heart takes a hit like no other. Her hands damn-near tremble, her lungs ache, her lips purse, and her brow furrows. So be it, she thinks.

“Bring this ‘Songbird’ here. Let me talk to them.”

—————————

Goddess, you are practically vibrating at the speed of sound, palms sweaty, nervousness trashing your mind. What the hell had Daniela done? Last thing you knew, she was determined to keep your secret, even if meant being unable to celebrate with you. But now you were getting tugged along by her, while tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She had said something about “mother” and “important”. That was all the context that you had been given. When you round one last corner, pulling up in front of Lady Dimitrescu’s study, you are shown a sight that somehow makes you feel worse: Bela, Cassandra, and Ava are all resting outside of the room. They appear exhausted, and motion for you to be quiet as you approach.

“They’ve been listening in on our conversation,” Daniela admits with a whisper. Then she’s pulling you into the study, ensuring that the door doesn’t open wide enough for the eavesdroppers to get spotted. Something told you that Alcina was already well aware of their presence. “Alright, mother, here is my Songbird. What did you want to ask us?”

“Daniela… leave us. My questions are for ‘Songbird’ alone,” Alcina replies, seemingly confirming the absolute worst of your fears. This was where you would die. By her hand, without your lover by your side, after what could have been the happiest night of your life. Of course. But Daniela is not willing to go without a fight. As soon as the words leave her mother’s mouth, she is moving between the two of you, just as she had when she first called you her teacher. Before she can speak, her mother stands up and stares her down. “Don’t make me ask again- there will not be a third time.” When she still hesitates, it is your turn to be brave.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll be okay,” you promise her, reaching out to take her hand. Instantly she’s returning to your side, hand cupping your cheek, eyes filled to the brim with sadness. “Firefly… ‘Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days’. I love you. Nothing is going to change that, not now, not ever. We’ll be okay.” Maybe not now, you think, but you’ll be okay eventually. Cassandra and Bela, and Ava I suppose, will make sure of it.

“Okay. We’ll last until the end of days. I love you too,” Daniela says, swallowing the lump in her throat. With one last kiss she pulls away, wishing that her departure didn’t feel so much like a betrayal. She pauses in the doorway, meeting your gaze, unable to bring herself to move until you give her an accepting nod. The door swings into place with a click, sealing the room and your fate.

“So,” Alcina begins, returning to her seat as she does. For now you stay standing, unsure of just about every part of this situation, especially your upcoming role in it. “You have been deceiving me. That alone is a crime worthy of severe punishment, and yet you stooped so low as to do far, far more. I had hoped you had, somehow, managed to teach my daughter a real lesson, that you had inspired a love of music in her, that you had made an honest difference in the way she learns. But all this time… it has been nothing more than a ruse.” The last word comes out dipped in venom, acidic enough to make you flinch. Thankfully, your beloved was not the only person who had a gift with words. More than that, this was a topic that you had spent numerous nights thinking about, making you as prepared as you could ever hope to be.

“You know, as much as I desire to claim that I am that interesting, or that Daniela felt so strongly from the very start, I can do no such thing. The truth is this: Music is what brought us together in the first place. It was the catalyst for our first real interaction, the first time she ever looked at me as more than just another servant or bloodbag. We bonded because of it, and so when we went to play together, to learn, Daniela honestly did connect to it,” you explain, despite the fire in Alcina’s expression. To your surprise, she does not interrupt you, and you take it as permission to keep going. Which was very good, considering that being nervous only made you ramble more. “Music is something we’ve shared for the entirety of our relationship. Even if it’s not something she would do much of on her own, I know that she’s grown to care for it more than she might be willing to admit. And, well…

“Even if you decide that what I’ve done is unforgivable, even if I’m destined to die within the hour, I know in my heart that everything the two of us worked on still matters. Because, like it or not, she is capable of growth, of change, of progress. And even if I die, someone else will come afterwards. Daniela will get to use music as a way to forge connections for the rest of her life, now that she knows it works, now that she knows how it works. And every goddamn time that she plays, or Bela plays, or you play, she’s going to remember me. She’ll remember every moment we spent together, every piece we ever played. I’ll live on in the melodies we made. In the song that you can’t quite place, that gets stuck on loop in your head. In the song the maids sing to themselves between shifts. In the quiet evening when the rain against the window feels so much like a familiar rhythm that your daughters can’t help but start humming along, without even thinking, muscle memories in sync.”

“Are you trying to convince me that there’s no point in killing you? That, regardless, you will be in my life until the end of time?” Alcina’s eyes are narrowed, but there isn’t even a hint of anger in her tone. Just curiosity.

“No, not really. Guess I’m just making peace with my fate the best way I know how- by remembering the echoes I’ll leave behind,” you answer, pausing to wipe a few tears from your eyes. All you can think about is how much Daniela will miss you. How much pain you think she’ll go through. Because at this point, who are you trying to fool with your hope? Yourself, or the people listening?

“Hmm. I think I understand. Now, tell me… what was that you said to my daughter a minute ago, before she left the room? It sounded familiar, though I cannot place it,” Alcina questions, idly toying with her glass of tea. You’re not entirely sure why it matters to her, but you have no qualms delaying the inevitable by answering. Besides, it was a chance to talk about how much you loved Daniela (and you’d never skip such an opportunity).

“It’s a line from a poem she wrote for me. “Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days”. A promise. The song Daniela and I played together… I wrote it in response. My way of doing what she asked of me, I guess. Like I said, she’ll always have the music we shared,” you answer, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Damn this… I can hardly believe I am asking this, yet I feel I have no choice: Tell me, do you love my daughter? Do you honestly, with your entire being, desire a future with her? Or was this a game of survival you couldn’t afford to lose, that turned out to be more ‘fun’ than you had anticipated? Show me your heart, as it is, bare as it would be if I tore it from your chest, this very moment.” There’s no room for argument in her voice, using the very same tone she reserved for maidens who got a tad too close to refusing her.

“Alright. It was a game. At first. Daniela wanted a distraction, something to entertain her. I didn’t want to die, like I had heard so many of her ‘playmates’ did. I can’t tell you when things changed, at least not for her,” you confess, with a shaky breath. Did that make you a monster? One worthy of death? If so, you wondered if it actually made you more fit to date Daniela. “For me… I just remember her smiling wide at me, hand on my cheek, having just cracked some lame joke. Next thing I knew, well, I knew. We had a spark of something, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to make her happy, you know? All the sudden there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I just wanted to see that smile again, everyday for the rest of my life.

“To answer your question: Yes. Goddess, yes. A thousand times yes. A ‘yes’ for every smile she’s ever shown me, for every butterfly in my stomach, for every time she’s held my hand, for every breath she’s stolen from my lungs, and for every single time my heart has skipped a beat in her name. I love her. I know we haven’t been together long, but the things I feel are undeniable. I will give her every part of myself, for as long as she wants me, for as long as I am blessed to live,” you pour your heart out, weaving your heartbeat into every turn of phrase, spilling your lifeblood onto the very conversation.

“And what will you do if she does change her mind? If she grows bored of you, as she has done with a dozen others?” Alcina counters without hesitation.

“I will weep. I will fall to my knees, and mourn this beautiful thing. But I will cherish every memory she leaves to me. Every moment where I am hers is a moment worth living, worth remembering. It will be better to have loved her with all my heart for a little slice of her immortality, than to love another, lesser so, for all of my life.” With that, Alcina sets her empty glass of tea onto the table, eying you with an unreadable expression. Something seems to stir in her chest, and at last the mask crumbles. She smiles.

“I see. Daniela, you may come back in now. Do not bother pretending that you have not been eavesdropping.” Not even a full second passes before the door opens, revealing a shaking Daniela, both of her sisters quite visible behind her (though they quickly move out of frame, leaving behind Ava, who gives a cheesy thumbs up as the door closes in xer face). She rushes to your side, taking your hand, looking stunned that you were still alive. But what shocks her more is what her mother says… “Of all the women I have ever known, family or otherwise, you are, perhaps, the most determined. Normally only in… ‘spurts’. Yet here you are, defying what I have come to expect of you. It almost feels as if I have been fooling myself this whole time, falsely believing that there is more than one possible outcome. So, ‘Songbird’, I say this: Three months ago, I agreed to give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of my daughter, for the sake of her happiness. Now, I suppose it is only fair that I do so once more.”

“Wait. Are you saying-” Daniela is once again cut off by her mother, who seems eager to avoid a trademark rant.

“Yes, yes I am. For the time being, the two of you have my blessing. I cannot say that I am entirely convinced of your chances at success, but, having seen the strength of your affections for one another, I sincerely hope that you will prove me wrong. Now come here, Daniela. I never got to finish telling you what I thought of your concert…”

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In the glowing comfort of your girlfriend’s room, with the fireplace keeping things warm and cozy, you lay with your head against Daniela’s chest. One of her hands absentmindedly plays with your hair, and you release a sigh of bliss. Ava had assured you that xe would let Daphne know the good news, as xe thought that having one of the castle ladies visiting the servants’ quarters might cause a stir (and Daniela was far from willing to let go of you so soon). Now the two of you were just enjoying time holding each other close. Regardless of Alcina’s concerns, you knew that everything would be looking up from here. Assuming that Daniela didn’t have any more surprise confessions to involve you with.

“That was one hell of a surprise, Firefly. But I’m glad we don’t have to hide anymore. I love you, and I don’t know how long I could have survived without being open with it,” you say, a light teasing to your voice. Beneath you, Daniela chuckles, but holds you just a bit tighter. Then she places the softest of kisses to your forehead. “I’m always gonna love you, Firefly.”

“Until the end of days?” She asks, in a delighted whisper, grin practically audible.

“Until the end of days.”

—————————

Elsewhere in the castle, a caring mother takes another long, hungry drink from her glass of wine, staring intently into the fireplace. By her side is a silver-haired servant, who wordlessly watches her every move.

“There’s still a chance that this will all end horribly. Only time will tell, of course… but I can’t help worrying for her, she’s my daughter,” Alcina proclaims, gripping the glass hard enough for a web of cracks to form along its bell. But it does not fully shatter. No, it remains just steady enough to still be of use to her. For now. “Of course, you knew about this all along, didn’t you, Ava?... I know that you value how close you are with my children, and I know that they trust in you as much as I do… but if there are relationships or entanglements that I am unaware of, I expect you to tell me, or there will have to be consequences, regardless of your affiliation with Mother Miranda. Do you understand?”

Sighing, the mute servant pulls a notebook from xer pocket, opening it up to pen in a fresh script. There’s much tension in the air, and it only gets worse when Alcina catches a glimpse at what the note reads. As xe hands it to her, she scowls, and the wine glass fully breaks into countless shards. Immediately, Ava gets to work, picking up the largest of fragments with xer bare hands, refusing to complain about the resulting cuts. All the while Alcina stares into the fire, thoughts racing, wondering if maybe this time she could end her daughter’s problem before it was too late. Beginning to brainstorm ideas, she sets the notebook aside. Inside, in perfectly penned cursive, is a very, very dangerous piece of knowledge. The sort that could affect not only Castle Dimitrescu, but the entire village.

“In that case… there’s something you need to know about Cassandra- and Mother Miranda’s lovely little ‘pet’.”

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #it's really here lads #this is it #gonna go cry now #oh my god #i can hardly believe it

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goineedsleep · 3 years

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this is just as bad, if not worse, than my previous idea

-olberic is a soldier of... what do i call it... goshdang it i'm just calling it atlasrule, and he does it really well

-erhardt and he are excellent at it, but they prefer sticking to one area: olberics hometown of... i'm calling it hornburgia(that's an awful name, i know)

-they're called to the capital for a meeting, and they aren't very happy about it but they accept anyways

-olberic just wants to pet his cat, goddamnit

-and they go there to complete mayhem

-nobles are out on the streets, screeching about how their rivals are dirty liars! That they never betrayed the capital, and that everyone who claims so is a "dirty fool who hasn't seen money once before in their lives"!

-olberic and erhardt: -_-

-they head towards the meeting location and are yelled at by those people. it's one hell of a saturday

-they ask the guard captain what in the name of jesus christ is going on -he heard that a group of nobles conspired against prince cyrus after he came out of the closet, and they didn't manage to take him out. -olberic and erhardt, bisexual disaster besties they are, are like "...well they had it comin" and move on to what they're needed for

-they need to be the bodyguards for prince cyrus because he's being attacked

-erhardt declines because he wants to protect hornburgia. olberic accepts because he can

-and so he meets the prince of atlasrule. and happens to get along with him very well

-they accidentally match clothes one day and the king just stared at them like

-and over the course of a month they start crushin HARD

-it's a problem for no one but the kings advisor, werner

-he's constantly reminding the prince that he needs to focus on his studies, no matter what emotions he may face

-olberic literally has to carry cyrus out bridal style from the library a few times a week, which allows the maids of the house to flip the hell out every time he has to ensure cyrus doesn't sleep on a desk

-the things he does for his crush, am i right?

-then olberic finds out that the attack on cyrus for coming out of the closet was orchestrated by a person still in the castles service, and rightfully freaks the fork out

-he alerts cyrus, and tells him to keep it a secret. they need to know who it is before exacting their revenge on this perpetrator

-cyrus lets werner know about this mysterious perpetrator, having trusted him for years

-cyrus is kidnapped the following week

-olberic starts investigating like. all the time -even on weekends

-boi is stressed as hell, and is out of a job

-he follows the advice of cyrus to go ahead and look for the master sword

-he goes to the water kingdom for their key to the sword first -alfyn, an amateur doctor, shows olberic where to find the key: inside the stomach of their queen, who has been incredibly unwell for the past few months -he's analyzed the causes again and again, and can find only one cure: an herb only found in Bolderfall, where the Gorons live -olberic agrees to go there- there's another key to the sword in the region anyways

-they get to Bolderfall, and things are in a royal mess -the people there are sick too, but from a completely different ailment -alfyn's able to treat it, and he goes around helping people all day -he's incredibly tired, and olberic pays for his inn stay for once

-the next day, they wake up to alfyns bag being stolen -olberic and alfyn track down the thief, who is attempting to treat some of their accomplices -alfyn properly takes care of these individuals, and questions the thief as to why he stole the bag -thief was trying to take care of these people, since no one's even bothering with their own family and there's no apothecary that'd dare take care of the low income portions of the city -alfyn insists otherwise and makes conversation with the guy while olberic gets his first key

-the next day, they head back to clearzoras domain, with the thief named therion in tow -he's tagging along because he wants to, he claims. they don't want to push their luck, so they aren't prying -they save the queen in the brink of time, so she regurgitates the key and olberic's off to find the last one -alfyn and therion accompany him- alfyn to travel the world and help more people out, therion for undisclosed reasons -on their way to the forest, they encounter primrose -she travels with the rest of the group because she is heading that way anyways

-the third area is not in trouble until primrose stabs someone and werner chooses violence at the same time -one of his underlings, a naive fool called darius, lead the charge of an assault on the entirety of atlasrule -werner's attempting to take over the kingdom after imprisoning both the king and his son -they're to be killed once werners conquest is done and over with -therion interrupts darius's monologue with a very violent kick to the nuts -and then therion wins in combat against a darius on a horse -olberic grabs the third key with the assistance of a huntress known as h'aanit in the middle of the commotion

-therion explains that darius was an old friend, and he heard from rumors that he can not only kick him in the nuts, but also destroy everything he's ever worked for. after what he's done to therion, it's only fair at this point -alfyn and co. learn about therions trauma and alfyn becomes a lot more protective over therion -it makes olberic chuckle a little bit- reminds him of his own crush on cyrus

-primrose describes her own dilemma with avenging her father, and is now accompanied by haanit wherever she goes -she doesn't mind it, either

-olberic unlocks the master sword, and now the group can challenge werner and tressa, the spirit of the sword, is constantly talking to olberic in his head -he wants this to be over ASAP- he is terrified for cyrus's life -he and the rest of the group storm through the castle, fight redeye, cassandra(is that tressa ch4 boss or is my brain f-cking with me), simeon, lucia... all those fellas, and then they fudge werner up -it all goes off without a hitch- cyrus is freed from his prison cell and fights with the rest of them as well -fudging werner up is a successful mission

-following the events of this, olberic and cyrus get together -they get married in the far, far future, but they do start dating after werners insurrection -they get the countries shit back together, and say gay and trans rights -a few months after the insurrection alfion occurs

and yeah this is something i wrote impulsively

i couldn't even be funny with erhardt going to femboy hooters. this is truly humorless

i am going to bed now tho, so enjoy it i guess

#octopath traveler #cyrus albright #olberic eisenberg #olberus #alfyn greengrass #therion #alfion #primrose azelhart #h'aanit #tressa colzione #legend of zelda au

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fishfingersandjellybabies · 4 years

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For the Flame Always So Loved the Stars - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Kara Kent, Clark Kent, Lois Lane Pairing: jondami Summary: Nothing stays the same forever. But fairytales always end the same way. A/N: This is just a whole fucking lot of self-indulgent garbage. Takes place over 5 years, Damian is 18-23, and Jon is 15-20. The last section is just their superhero way of saying ‘I love you and always will.’ but like. Subtly. I wrote this for myself, but I’m pleased with how it came out, so I hope you like it too. Sorry not sorry for literally the first line of this fic haha. The legend was googled so I took the most similar parts in all the wikis I read. I ignored the part where they all said ‘their story always ends in tragedy and betrayal’ but I’m going for happy endings dammit.

Dick Grayson died when Damian was eighteen.

He wasn’t there. No one from the family was. It was a simple carjacking gone wrong. A single bullet, straight to the chest, from a scared kid who thought completing the initiation to the local gang was his only option to survive in this life.

It was almost funny. A single bullet. No poison, no torture. No evil mastermind, or world-ending apocalypse. No battles against armies, or lives and loves at stake. Not anything they dealt with daily.

Just an old car with a purse left on the passenger seat that someone saw. Just a weak spot in aged armour that was going to be replaced in the next year or so.

Just a single bullet.

Damian doesn’t remember much from after he was told, after he came home from class and found his siblings and Stephanie waiting for him in the parlor. He remembered knowing it must have been bad; Tim’s face was blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Stephanie was the one who told him. Cassandra held his hand. But that was about it. That was all his mind supplied.

That, and the fact that his first thought after being told was: ‘But that’s not fair.’

Not fair because Dick was the best of them, in every way. Because he was funny, smart, kind, and every single thing a hero should be. A good person.

Not fair because Damian only got eight years with him, his closest confidante, one of his only friends. Because Damian decided at age ten that a world without Dick Grayson was not one he wanted to live in, and yet here he was, in the worst reality he could think of.

He doesn’t remember much from after he was told. He remembers Stephanie saying: “Dick died, Damian.” He remembers thinking: ‘But that’s not fair.’

Then...he remembers a pain in his knees. Remembers blinking and finding himself staring at the floor, which was much closer than it should have been. He remembers his sister kneeling in front of him, allowing him to press his forehead into her shoulder. Remembers Jason next to him, rubbing his back, asking if they should get him water, or take him upstairs.

He remembers hearing Tim sob, and that might be the most memorable thing of the moment, because his body registered that that’s what he wanted to do too, he wanted to cry.

But he couldn’t, because you don’t cry over things that weren’t real. And that’s obviously why he collapsed, why he couldn’t form words to come out of his mouth, why his mind was refusing to remember this moment.

Because it wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Jon was antsy. Nervous.

Alfred had called days ago to inform him and his parents what had happened. And Jon had already been halfway out the door when the butler interjected to request that none of them visit, not right now. The Waynes and their closest companions were grieving, and needed to be alone.

And he hated that – he hated being away from Damian on a good day, but now, when Damian was going to need him? It was pure agony.

So two weeks later, when Clark gave him the okay, he took off to Gotham faster than he ever had before, and bypassed every bit of security measures that Bruce asked him to complete upon arriving.

He found Damian in the cemetery, and he had a feeling it was a place Damian didn’t often leave anymore.

Jon said nothing as he approached. Just plopped next to Damian and silently wrapped his arms around the other’s neck. Damian didn’t say anything either, but he leaned gratefully into the embrace, reaching up to cling to Jon’s forearm.

“I’m so sorry.” Jon whispered, leaning back. He didn’t leave Damian’s personal space, though. Kept their shoulders touching, knees keeping each other warm. “I…I don’t know what else to say. To think.”

“Me neither.” Damian murmured. His voice sounded dry, and Jon wondered when he last drank anything, or ate. “But…I’m glad you’re here.”

Jon let himself smile a little bit, and reached out to hold Damian’s hand. Damian didn’t refute the gesture, and even squeezed Jon’s fingers between his. “I wish I’d had been allowed to come sooner.”

Damian shrugged. “It was better you didn’t see any of us as we…were.”

“Were, huh?” Jon asked dubiously. He glanced forward towards Dick’s grave. Flowers and statues covered it as a makeshift memorial, and the flowers were starting to wilt. “…How are you doing with all this?”

Damian absently shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

Jon waited, sensing there was more. Had a feeling that in their grief-induced isolation, not many feelings were shared amongst the Wayne family. That they probably all suffered in silence, despite being together.

“I…I didn’t get enough time with him.” Damian continued, just like Jon knew he would. Because Damian didn’t trust easily, but when he did, he trusted you with everything. And Jon knew he was one of the few Damian trusted. Maybe the only one, now. “Eight years. That’s it.”

He squeezed Jon’s hand again.

“If I’d had known that’s all we would have gotten, I…I wouldn’t have wasted it. There was so much I wanted to do with him. Learn from him.” Damian sniffed, and Jon looked up at his eyes. But he didn’t see a hint of tears. In fact, he saw nothing. Damian’s eyes were empty. “But now I’ll never get the chance. I’ll never get to ask how he escaped Father and Gotham. How he survived on his own, and found himself, or how can I do that too. How I can leave Robin, and start over somewhere else like he did. How he rebuilt his life, how he became and remained kind. Did he think it was possible I can remain kind too? Did he…did he believe in me? Or what about how…”

Damian trailed off, and Jon was almost glad he did. Because in his ramblings, Jon heard something, and he wasn’t so sure Damian meant to let it slip.

“You want to leave Robin?” Jon asked softly. Damian’s mouth clamped shut. “Since when?”

Damian stared at the stone in front of him for a moment, before sighing and looking at the ground.

“A few months.” Damian admitted. “I…just don’t fit in it anymore, I don’t think. Or it doesn’t fit me. And I can’t stay in Batman’s shadow forever, no matter who is wearing the mantle. Besides, Grayson left it when he was around my age. As did Drake, even if it wasn’t by his choice. I might as well follow the tradition as well.”

“…Does your dad know?”

“…No. No one does.” Damian frowned. “I was going to speak with Grayson about it next time I saw him, but now…now you’re the only one who knows by default, I suppose.”

“Well, thanks for telling me.” Jon smiled. He waited a moment, then looked up at the sky. “So…what do you want to do after you leave Robin? Find a new name? Quit and go on the straight and narrow?”

“I don’t know. That’s…what I was going to speak to Grayson about.” Damian admitted softly. “I want to still help, of course. But…is behind a mask the best way? Is Gotham where I’m best utilized?” He sighed, and curled his knees to his chest. Though he never let go of Jon’s hand. “But now…now I am even more confused.”

“Why?”

“Because Batman needs a Robin, and I can’t leave my father now, Jon.” Damian almost snapped, like it was obvious. “He’s grieving, and he’s lost. He shouldn’t be alone. He shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Absolutely not. I agree.” Jon nodded. “But…it can’t all fall on you, D. Just like it can’t fall on Alfred or Tim. He has his family, no matter where in the world they – you – are, and he has his friends. He has my dad, and Diana.”

“This is different. This is the loss of Richard. And not even Superman can heal that wound.” Damian shook his head. “Not to mention��if I left now, would my father see it as a betrayal? Abandonment? Would the family?”

“They wouldn’t. They couldn’t.” Jon argued. “You’re growing up, and they all know how it is. You can’t be stuck as the Boy Wonder forever, that’s not fair to you. Does the timing kind of suck? Maybe. But also…maybe this is the best time.” He hesitated, but squeezed Damian’s hand and said his thoughts anyway. “Maybe this is exactly what Dick would want you to do. Spread your wings and fly, so to speak.”

Damian stared at the ground. “…I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, Jon. I truly don’t. What if, without his guidance, I’m tempted by my mother again, and actually consider any offer she makes? What if I stray, and Batman cuts me loose, like I was burden in the first place? What if-”

“Hey, hey – stop. Don’t talk like that.” Jon shook their clasped hands. “None of that is going to happen, okay? Despite the fact that it won’t ever happen at all in the first place, I won’t let it. I promise. Alright?”

Damian didn’t look at him. But after a moment, he let himself tilt to the side, and lean his head on Jon’s shoulder.

“…Thanks for being here, Kent.” Damian whispered. “It means a lot.”

Jon let go of Damian’s hand, only to wrap his arm around his shoulders instead. He looked at the tombstone at their feet, sent a silent prayer up to Dick himself. “Don’t even mention it, D.”

A few months later, Robin had all but disappeared off the streets. It prompted news articles and primetime specials. Conspiracy theory websites and Twitter hashtags.

Jon liked to print them out and bring them to Damian every time he visited.

He was still in Gotham, and even still going out on patrol with Batman and the rest. But now his uniform was all black, and he stayed in the background as much as he could. This new shadow of Batman’s was never mentioned in the papers, never caught in a photo. A ghost, almost.

That wasn’t Damian’s new moniker, though. He still hadn’t chosen one.

“Not even a general idea?” Jon asked one day, as he and Conner visited. Tim had taken the newly printed article and was reading it over with an amused smirk, Conner cackling behind him. “Or like, a motif?”

“Not a priority.” Damian had shrugged. “Maybe I’ll never pick one.”

“Now you’re just being stubborn.” Jon pouted. “…How’s Bruce doing?”

Damian shrugged again. “Same as always. Attempts to lock himself in the cave, or in his office with work from Wayne Enterprises. I drag him out of the house at least every other day.”

Jon pursed his lips.

“But he’s been smiling lately. Like real smiles. So, it’s a start.” Damian promised. He knew Jon didn’t like this, Damian caring for Bruce. Because he knew that same care was not being reciprocated in the way it should.

“How long are you going to stay?” Jon asked, as he did every visit. “In Gotham, I mean.”

“I don’t know. Also not a priority.” Damian sighed. “I’m needed here, both in uniform and at home. When I feel I’m not necessarily needed, then I’ll start considering my options elsewhere.”

Something felt different when Jon was nineteen.

Clark and Conner found him sitting in the kitchen, staring fiercely into a soda can when they arrived home one afternoon.

“Hey, champ.” Clark hummed, leaning down to kiss Jon’s temple.

“Hey, Dad. Hey Kon” Jon sighed. “How was Gotham?”

“Gloomy, like always.” Conner chuckled, plopping down across from him. “Damian said hello, by the way.”

Jon felt himself blush a little bit. And he shouldn’t have, he’s known Damian forever. But lately, it felt like the two of them were growing closer, in a way he never expected when they were just teenagers trying to live up to their fathers’ legacies.

In a way that included flirting, holding hands in a park, in front of paparazzi. A way that included what may have been a date, since it ended in a quick, barely there kiss.

“He said he was going to give an answer to a question he knows you’d ask.” Clark continued, drawing Jon out of his reverie. “No, he has not decided on a new codename yet.”

Jon groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “He knows this isn’t like a blood contract or something, right? It doesn’t have to be permanent! It’s not that big of a choice!”

Clark held his hands up. “Don’t shoot the messenger, son.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jon sighed. He sat back up and watched his father grab a glass and start to fill it in the sink. “Speaking of codenames and all that…”

Clark tilted his head as Conner sat up.

“I don’t…when do you think…” Jon huffed. “Conner, when did you realize you didn’t want to…be called Superboy anymore?”

Conner pursed his lips, looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Guess I never really thought about it. Just…stopped using it. And eventually everyone else did too.”

“I don’t think I knew that.” Clark mumbled sheepishly. “What do you go by now, may I ask?”

“Nothing, really. And not like Damian where I’m still deciding something. But just…Kon, usually. Different enough from Conner, honestly.” Conner grinned. “A lot of people also seem to think it’s Con – as in Pros and Cons? Works real well for the taunting wordplay and all that too.”

Clark snorted. “I’m sure your friends love the puns.”

“Bart does. Cassie, depends on the day. Tim is like a disappointed dad all the time anyway, so he doesn’t count.” Conner waved off. He returned his attention to Jon, whose attention seemed to be drifting off again. “Why do you ask, squirt?”

Jon frowned at the name, and that was new. Normally he didn’t mind the random nicknames his older brother gave him. “Because…I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t think…I want to be called Superboy anymore.”

Clark joined them at the table, sitting down carefully. “Why not?”

“Because, I’m not a boy anymore. I’m a teenager. I mean, I’m…I’m practically an adult!” Jon sounded exasperated already, like he’d had this conversation a million times. “It’s…it’s demeaning, and childish, and…and…”

He trailed off into a huff, slumping in his chair.

“I don’t even know if I want to keep the Super part, honestly.” Jon glanced at Clark. “Sorry, Dad.”

Clark shook his head, raising his hand. “None taken, Jonno.”

“Especially since I don’t feel all that super most of the time anyway.” He sighed.

“…If you want out of the life, Jon, I wouldn’t blame you.” Clark offered. “I’d love it, honestly. It’d just mean you’d be safer.”

“No, no. I want to be a hero. I want to help. I just.” Jon leaned back forward, hiding his face in his hands. “This is stupid. I feel stupid.”

Conner smiled and leaned forward, slapping his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Not stupid. Pretty sure every hero has gone through it at least once in their tenure. Even Batman.”

“And he settled on Bat. Man.” Clark winked. “So obviously not all names are winners.”

Jon looked over to Clark. “…You’re not disappointed?”

“That you want a new codename? Not at all.” Clark grinned. “My only request is…don’t take over four years to decide something like Damian is.”

Jon smiled. “I’ll try.”

“Maybe I’ll just go by Krypto.” Jon lamented from the bed. “He’s a dog, so I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“If you started going by Krypto.” Damian countered from the bathroom doorway. “I’m disowning you as my friend.”

Jon rolled to his side, deeper into the blankets. “What about as your potential bedmate?”

Damian’s face twisted, even as he came forward. “Christ, Jon. We haven’t even done anything, how do you still make that sound so dirty?”

“Because I know what annoys you. And if you’d just let me say boyfriend-”

“Which we are not officially.” Damian countered. “…Yet.”

“-Then I wouldn’t have to say things like bedmate, or friend with benefits.”

“We haven’t done anything, there is no benefit for either of us at this point.” Damian reiterated, even as Jon tugged at his arm when he got close enough. Damian sat on the edge of the bed, and almost smiled when Jon shimmied over to place his head in his lap. “Though I am finding your company less beneficial by the minute…”

Jon cackled, even as he felt Damian’s fingers twist into his hair. “Hey, if nothing else, I’m a good cuddle buddy, right?”

“My cat is better.” Damian shrugged. “Probably.”

“I’ll take the probably as a win.” Jon grinned. “…But hey, think about it this way.”

“Hm?”

“Even if I went by something dumb like Krypto, at least I picked a new codename.”

Damian frowned, and pulled his hand back. “For as charming as your parents are, neither of them taught you how to flirt properly, did they?”

Jon immediately pulled his arms out of the blanket, latching on to Damian’s waist. “You hate when I sidetrack a conversation. I was getting back on point.”

“…Fair.” Damian sighed. “I’ll allow it.”

“…Are you any closer to picking anything?” Jon asked. “According to Barry, you’re throwing off everyone’s betting pools.”

“I...have an idea.” Damian murmured, keeping his gaze away from Jon’s. “But I still need to think of a backup.”

“What? Why?” Jon asked.

“…Personal reasons.” Damian murmured. “And I don’t wish to get my hopes up.”

Jon watched him silently.

“But we aren’t talking about me.” Damian countered. “Have you thought of any other suggestions for yourself?”

“I don’t know. Something related to my dad, like Krypton? Or even like your dad – he named himself after what he was scared of, right? Or weakness. So, Kryptonite.” Jon listed. “Or maybe I should just be lazy and follow everyone else’s lead. Starman, or Sunguy or something stupid like that.”

“Hm. Well. Those are certainly…options.” Damian tilted his head apologetically. “I’d offer assistance, but…well…”

Jon laughed.

“Be my distraction instead, how about that?” Jon suggested instead. Without warning, he used his momentum to throw Damian back onto the bed, cocoon him in the blankets as he loomed overhead. “Because there’s totally a lot of other things I’d like to be doing than thinking of new codenames.”

Damian smiled as Jon leaned in for a kiss.

He didn’t know how Damian had lasted four years without a name. It’d only been a few months for himself, a few months of not using any name, and he felt like he was going crazy.

He also felt like he was a total letdown.

He was a Kent, for crying out loud. Son of Superman and one of the world’s greatest journalists. And here, he couldn’t choose a name, couldn’t pick a damn word.

Not to mention, it was detrimental in the field. When he didn’t notice an enemy coming behind him, or someone needed his help – he had no name to be called. And they couldn’t just shout Jon.

How did Damian make it look so easy? Because Damian and his family were freaks. They all moved too in-sync, too well trained. They were like animals themselves – they didn’t need to speak, movement was like instinct. Communication could be silent, because all of them were always three steps ahead of each other.

He let out a guttural groan as he entered the apartment, slammed the door behind him a little too hard. Heard the squeak of the chair in his mother’s office as she stood to greet him.

“Hi honey.” She called, walking into the room. She took in the annoyance on his face and gave him a sympathetic, knowing grin. “It’s not the end of the world, Jon. Names aren’t that big of a deal. So long as you’re helping, who cares what your name is?”

“I know, I know.” Jon mumbled, kicking off his shoes. “I’m just frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard! Why doesn’t anything feel right?”

“Because it’s not.” Lois shrugged simply, leading the way into the kitchen. She motioned for Jon to sit, and got out a mug for him. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. It might take a while, but – when you know, you know.”

Jon groaned again. “Mom, I love you – but that was literally no help whatsoever.”

“Sometimes, the truth isn’t helpful.” She laughed, pouring him a glass of ice tea. She set it in front of him, and kissed his head. “But if you’re really struggling with this…talk to your father. He’s helped a young hero or two discover a new path before. You’re no different just because you’re his son.” She paused. “In fact, I’m a little surprised Damian hadn’t told you.”

“Told me what?” Jon stomach nearly dropped. “Dad finally helped him decide on a name too?!”

“Of course not. Damian is as stubborn and tight-lipped as his own idiot of a father.” Lois rolled her eyes, but it was fond. “No, his brother – Dick.”

Jon blinked.

“Nightwing was a Kryptonian name. From the Kryptonian legend of Nightwing and Flamebird.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Even if you don’t want you father’s help on a name, ask him about the story. It’s very good.”

Tim found Damian in the cave alone, and his gut immediately told him that something was off. Not wrong, but…not necessarily good.

“Hey.” He offered. “What’s up?”

Damian didn’t move from the computer chair. He looked too much like Bruce in that moment – slouched, hands steepled in front of his face, looking too thoughtful for someone so young.

“I’d like to talk to you.” Damian returned, just as vaguely.

“I’m all ears.”

Damian hesitated a moment. Dragged it to two. Tim was about to speak, to push the conversation along, when Damian sighed. “I…we didn’t do it right last time. And I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Not here. Not with you.”

“…Damian?” Tim asked, moving towards him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No, no. I just.” He sighed. “I wanted to ask your…opinion.”

“On?”

“I think I’ve chosen a new moniker to go by.” Damian murmured. “But I want to make sure I had permission first.”

“Permission?” Tim repeated, bewildered. “I mean…as long it’s not like Red Robin or Red Hood or something, I think you can go by whatever you wa-”

“Nightwing.”

Damian’s voice was so quiet when he said it, Tim almost thought he’d misheard, or that maybe Damian didn’t actually speak at all. That it was maybe a breeze, or a ghost.

But when Damian said nothing else, eyes still not on him, Tim realized he said exactly as he’d heard. “…Really?”

Damian nodded, but seemed to swallow a lump in his throat.

“I mean, those are quite some shoes to fill, especially after all these years, but…” Then Tim paused, replayed what Damian already said. “…Wait, why would you need my permission to use Dick’s old name?”

Damian still didn’t look at him. “Because last time I changed names, I took yours.” He frowned. “I stole yours.”

Tim shrugged. “It was over a decade ago. I know you and I have held a lot of grudges in our lives, but trust me. I’m over that one.”

“And I know Todd would never want Nightwing.” Damian continued as if Tim never spoke. “But…you were next in line. You loved Grayson like I did.” Finally, he looked up, eyes boring into Tim’s. “And you’d deserve it.”

Tim stepped back like someone had punched him in the chest. “Damian…”

“You do, and you know it.” Damian continued. “You’ve fought tooth and nail for respect in this family, for every title you’ve ever carried. You fought for your independence, and have thrived as Red Robin. In a way, you are everything Nightwing embodies, and you deserve the title most.” Damian’s gaze dropped once more. “And I don’t want to take that opportunity from you. Not like I’ve taken everything else from you too.”

Tim just stared.

“He would have chosen you himself. I know it. If he were…” Damian trailed off. Seemed to have to take a moment to compose himself. “…If he were still here.”

Tim lowered his own eyes at the thought. It’d been five years since their beloved older brother died. Despite what the world tried to say, time didn’t heal all wounds, and the loss of Dick Grayson was a wound that seemed almost infected now, especially for Damian.

The world was less without him. Less bright, less kind, less happy – less everything.

Just…less.

After a moment Tim smiled. Picked his head up and moved forward so he could crouch next to the chair, leaning his arms on it. Despite being twenty-three years old, Damian turned his head away so he didn’t have to look at Tim, just like a child.

“I don’t want Nightwing.” Tim said honestly. “I’m happy with where I am and what I’m doing. But I appreciate you asking. I’m…honored, in fact.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I guess.” Damian mumbled.

“But I have to say I disagree with you.” Tim leaned his chin on his arms. “Dick wouldn’t have picked me to succeed him. He wouldn’t have picked anyone. But he would have been so proud to see you take it on after him.”

Damian closed his eyes, sucked his lips between his teeth.

“Because, for once, I’ll toot my own horn a little bit. I won’t disagree with you on this one. Maybe I do deserve the Nightwing name.” Tim admitted. “But I’m not the only one.”

Damian didn’t answer, but shook his head.

“You do too, Damian.” Tim reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. “You’ve overcome so much. You’ve done so much. And Dick was proud of you for it until the day he died. I know he was.”

Damian opened his eyes and looked at Tim. The tears immediately fell down his cheeks.

“And he’d be honored, knowing you wanted to follow in his footsteps, and carry on his legacy, for a second time.” Tim chuckled. “Especially after your first words to us when you were a kid was how badly you wanted to be Batman.”

“One day I still will be.” Damian blubbered with a laugh. Tim laughed too.

“I know.” He hummed warmly. “But that was all a long, surprisingly emotionally-charged way to say: while it’s not mine to give, yes you have my permission to become Nightwing.”

Even as his tears continued to fall, Damian stared at Tim for a few more seconds, before leaning forward and, once again to Tim’s surprise, enveloped his older brother in a hug.

“Thank you, Drake.” He whispered. Tim just let his smile widen as he held Damian just as tightly back. “Thank you so much.”

“Tim told me Damian finally picked a new name.” Conner said one morning, as the two of them sat on a rooftop overlooking Metropolis. “…He also mentioned you two might be dating?”

Jon’s eyes widened slightly as he tried to keep his heart rate in check. Damian had told Tim?

“He hasn’t told me about choosing a name.” Jon said instead. “When did this supposedly happen?”

“The other day. Maybe he hasn’t made it official yet.” Conner shrugged. Then he grinned. “Though you’d think he’d tell his boyfriend about it anyway.”

Jon frowned. “We’re not dating.” A hesitation. “Officially.”

“Ooooh.” Conner mocked, scooting closer. “Tell me everything.”

Jon rolled his eyes, but laughed as he pushed Conner’s shoulder. “First off, not your business. And second, there’s nothing to tell? We hang out. We hold hands. We…do things.”

Conner wiggled his eyebrows.

“Stop.” Jon chuckled. “I just…like being with him. Being close to him makes me feel happy. Safe. All that cliché stuff.”

“Has he reciprocated?” Jon nodded. “Then why not official?”

“His choice. I think he feels like he’d be judged for having actual emotions or something.” Jon shrugged. “I also think he feels like he’s…not good enough? Or a bad person, or something, and is hoping I might find someone else before we’re legit.”

“Ouch.”

“It sucks, but…I get it.” Jon sighed. “And he just…has stuff going on. Mentally, I think.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we started flirting a little bit right before Dick died. So our whole relationship so far, romantically, he’s trying to deal with the loss, with the vacuum that loss created in his family, and growing in his role as a hero.” Jon listed. “He’s stuck in his own head so much that honestly I’m just happy when I can get him to smile some days.”

“That’s sweet.” Conner grinned. “And proof you’re head over heels.”

“I mean…did I ever deny that?” Jon grinned back, but it was sad. Conner’s own smile fell slightly.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Jon exhaled a bitter laugh. “That obvious?”

“Does he know?”

“I think so?” Jon thought out loud. “And I think that’s why he thinks himself such a terrible person.”

“Because he doesn’t love you back?”

“No, no. I think he absolutely does.” Jon said confidently. “It’s just like I said – he thinks himself as a bad person, and that I deserve better.”

“That’s…” Conner pursed his lips. “…quite the conundrum.”

“Yeah.” Jon smiled wistfully. “But anyway, the name. Did Tim say what name he chose?”

“Nope.” Conner kicked his feet against the building. “Tim said it was incredibly personal, and he wasn’t the one to share it.”

“Interesting.” Jon muttered. “Wonder what it could be?”

He was twenty, very much an adult, but oh boy, did he feel like a rebellious teenager right now.

After all, how else were you supposed to feel when you and your not-quite-boyfriend were lying almost naked, cuddled up in your parents’ bed?

Somewhere in his mind he was panicking. If – when – they found out, he was doomed. He’d never live it down.

(But at the same time, it was also totally not his fault. Their apartment was closer to downtown than his was, and the room he still had here only had a single bed. There was no way they’d fit. And since his father was in space and his mother in the Philippines, the bed would have just gone to waste being empty, so…)

Though, simultaneously, any fear of repercussions was drowned out by the utter bliss he felt at being cocooned in Damian’s arms, and using his collarbone as a pillow while they watched the nightly news.

Under his ear, he felt Damian’s heartbeat slowing, a clear sign he was falling asleep. So it was the perfect time to ask:

“I hear you picked a new codename.”

Damian stirred a little and hummed, “Yeah.”

“What name did you pick, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Damian hesitated a moment, then whispered, “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Never.”

“…Nightwing.” Damian answered sheepishly. Quietly, like he wasn’t allowed to say it. “I…decided to carry on Grayson’s legacy.”

Jon turned and looked up at him. Without thinking he cupped Damian’s cheek in his hand. “Oh, Damian, that’s wonderful.” Damian kept his gaze over Jon’s shoulder, face heating up in an embarrassed flush. “He’d love it, he’d be so happy.” He stroked his thumb across Damian’s skin. “I’m so proud of you.”

Damian snorted. “Nothing to be proud of. It took me five years to pick a name someone had already used.”

“For good reason.” Jon countered. “And an homage to a great man.”

Damian allowed himself to look at Jon now. He stared at him for a moment, taking in his face, then carefully took hold of Jon’s wrist, and leaned in for a kiss, which Jon ate up greedily.

After a moment, they separated, and Jon twisted back to stare at the TV, Damian’s arms still tight around him.

“…What about you?” Damian asked softly. “Any ideas?”

“I don’t know. Superdude is sounding better and better every day.” Jon said dryly. “But I guess I haven’t really been thinking about it either. Been focused on some other more important things lately.”

“Oh? Like what? School?”

Jon grinned, kept his eyes on the weather report now lighting up the room.

“You.”

Damian didn’t answer, but Jon felt him gently kiss his temple, and lean their heads together.

“Mom said I should ask my dad.” Jon hummed as he paid for their coffee. “But we haven’t seen each other in a while, and you know more about Krypton and all that stuff than he does, you know?”

“Sure.” Kara smiled, taking her cup from his hand. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re so interested in some old Kryptonian legend?”

“Just curiosity, mostly.” Jon shrugged. “Dad helped Dick Grayson become Nightwing back in the day, and now that Damian is taking the title on, I figured I should learn a little bit about it myself.”

“To support your future husband?” Kara smirked.

“Stop.” Jon groaned. “I should have never told Conner the truth.”

“I’m just glad to know you’re happy.” Kara squeezed his hand as they walked outside. “And also that I now have a viable reason to beat Damian up.”

“And that reason would be?”

“For the honor of my littlest cousin.” She winked. Jon found himself laughing. “Thanks for walking me back to the office, by the way. I’m sorry we couldn’t have lunch today.”

“I totally understand. I have to get back to campus for class soon anyway.” Jon waved off. “Rain check for a movie night, though?”

“Absolutely. Go buy a lot of tissues, wine and chocolate, because I am in the mood for some tearjerkers.” Kara demanded. “And…Damian is more than welcome to join us, if he’d like.”

“He’d never.” Jon promised as they jogged across a crosswalk. “But he’ll appreciate the invite.”

“Are you just saying that, or would he really?”

“Honestly, he really would.” Jon swore. “He’s trying not to take little things like that for granted anymore. Not since…well. You know.”

Kara frowned. “…I miss him too.”

“Everyone does.” Jon murmured as they stopped outside a building. Some people waved to Kara as they exited and jumped into a taxi nearby. “He was the best of all of us.”

“Give Damian my regards, and a hug for me. Tell him I’m sorry about Dick, if you think it’s appropriate.” Kara murmured as she turned to her purse, and began digging in it. After a moment, she held out a book. It looked old, and pages were misshaped, almost like they’d been gnawed on, or burned. “First, last and only edition.”

Jon took the tome, marveling at the etched green cover, and symbols seemingly floating around the image. But then he frowned. “Kara.” He sighed. “You know my Kryptonian isn’t that good.”

“Well then this will be a great tool to learn.” She smiled, squeezing his bicep. Someone suddenly called Kara from the door. She smiled and waved back before glancing to Jon. “Gotta go, kiddo. It was great seeing you! Tell your pops hi for me!”

She turned, and began to jog away, when Jon called after her. “Kara, wait!”

She did, glancing over her shoulder.

“Give me a quick summary?” He tried with a lopsided grin. “You know, to keep me interested?”

Kara twisted her lips in thought, then smiled. “Nightwing and Flamebird always find each other in the end.”

She took a sip of her coffee and disappeared into her office.

By two o’clock in the morning that very night, Jon sat at the desk in his apartment, tears pouring down his face.

The legend was magical, breathtaking, awe-inspiring…but heartbreaking. The most heartbreaking thing he’d ever read.

But it also made him realize exactly what he needed to do. Exactly what his future was.

Exactly who his future was.

Without thinking, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and laughed as he stood, turning towards his window.

It would be a quick flight to Gotham, and surely Alfred was still awake at this hour.

Damian stood on the top of Wayne Tower, staring at the city below him. The city he’d come to think of as home. The city that was…his.

He felt weird without the cape, without the hood. Was still getting used to the tight, plain bodysuit. The lighter armour. The dip of red across his chest.

He could take Grayson’s name, but he could never take his colors. That blue was too pure. Damian refused to taint it.

He inhaled and held his breath, then exhaled slowly. It was his first night in his new gear – would the villains know who he was? Would they mock him? Could he live up to his brother’s standards? Would he honor his memory?

“Damn.” He heard off to his side. “You look good.”

Damian glanced over, and found himself at a loss for words. The other man was in a similarly simple bodysuit, though instead of black, it was a deep blue. Opposite of the downward red arrow on Damian’s chest, the bright, near-blinding golden arrow on the other pointed upwards, almost looking like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Damian stared for a moment, taking it in, before meeting Jon’s eyes. “This is new.”

“You like?” Jon asked, practically shy. “Alfred helped me make it.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” Jon stepped forwards. His boots, which matched the shimmering yellow on his chest, seemed to flicker as he walked, like fire. “I mean, he helped make yours, and it’s only natural our designs match a little bit.”

“Why would they need to match?” Damian asked. Then he squinted. “Jonathan Kent, have you chosen a new moniker?”

“I did indeed.” Jon grinned. “Surely Dick told you how he got his name.”

“He did.”

“Did he tell you the story behind it?”

“He did not. But I’ve heard of it.” Damian found his voice going quieter, his throat drying up. “Your father told me, I believe.”

“Mhm.” Jon reached out, gently taking Damian’s hand in his, raising it between them. “And do you remember how it goes?”

Damian blinked, then smiled. “Refresh my memory.”

“Nightwing can’t exist without Flamebird.” Jon smirked. He pressed his lips to Damian’s knuckles. “And no matter the universe, no matter the situation, they always find each other in the end.”

“…Well, Flamebird.” Damian whispered softly. “I’m glad you found me.”

“I’m glad you found me too.” Jon stood back up. “Ready for our first official patrol in the new digs? Say goodbye to Robin and Superboy forever?”

“Do you want to call it our first official patrol?” Damian let his grin widen. “Or perhaps our first official date?”

Jon gaped at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “For real?”

“For real.” Damian promised. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting-”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Jon surged forward, wrapping him in his arms and lifting him off the tower’s ledge as he smashed their mouths together. Damian let his surprise linger for only a second, before grabbing both sides of Jon’s head and returning the gesture.

The moment felt like it lasted both an eternity and no longer than a blink. When they parted, they were both out of breath, and trembling from the emotional adrenaline.

“Flamebird.” Damian breathed as Jon lowered him, his hands still on Jon’s face. “I think I like it.”

“Good. Because I didn’t have any backups.” Jon chuckled.

“It suits you, I think.” Damian smiled.

“Nightwing suits you just as well.” Jon countered. “…Dick would be so proud.”

Damian just lowered his gaze, but allowed himself to keep smiling.

“…Well.” Damian exhaled, looking out into the city. “Shall we?”

Jon bowed, holding his arm out. “After you, ‘Wing.”

Damian laughed and turned, stepping off the building and allowing himself to freefall. “Follow me, ‘Bird.”

Jon smiled, and jumped right after him.

#jon kent #Damian Wayne #jondami #Tim Drake #conner kent #kara zor-el #clark kent #Lois Lane

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love-killed-the-superstar · 4 years

Text

what the hell is this i’m so LATE for the last day of cassunzel week but here, take it

CASSUNZEL WEEK DAY 7 - HOME IS WHERE YOU ARE

Cassandra has been everywhere at this point. She has climbed mountains, drifted for days on the open sea, trudged through deserts and forests, passed through quaint town after quaint town, bustling city after bustling city. Every life is so very different from her own.

Still, after just over six years of walking this earth, nothing quite feels like home when she’s alone. Letters from Rapunzel find her easily, thanks to Owl, scrawled with child-like excitement; they document long days in the palace court and fun little mishaps with their friends in the same chipper tone, all while telling her each time without fail how much she misses her… how much she loves her.

Cass, in return, has done her best to keep Rapunzel in the loop in regards to her travels. There’s a letter sent from the peaks of the Koto mountain range, slightly blood-stained from scraping her hand on a rock during her climb; a postcard reading With Love, From Arendelle! on the cover, with warm regards from Anna and Elsa along with her own; several letters that are more ink prints of various fish she’s caught than anything, with a few words about how good they tasted and a vague grid location of whatever woodland she’s been wandering through between settlements. She’s even sent Rapunzel crude copies of maps she’s made, spinning the tale of how she’s made a small side business out of selling her maps to travellers she meets on her journeys. They don’t sell for all that much, with most travellers being just as broke and starving as she is, but it’s a small, honest living, and it does feel good to have her efforts appreciated.

She never used to be much of a sentimental type, but if Rapunzel is good at anything it’s rubbing off onto others, so for every loving letter that Rapunzel writes to her, she saves it in a small wooden box and sends her own back in return. Cass is pretty bad at writing mushy things to Rapunzel, but she does try to throw in an I-Love-You on occasion. More often than not, she writes what she knows, waxing poetic in her own special love language.

One such letter comes to her tonight, as she winds down for the day and watches the sky darken overhead.

Hey Raps,

It’s been another long day of travelling. Fortunately for me, I mapped out this area the last time I travelled through, so as long as I keep my wits about me I’ll be out of the woods in no time. For now, I’ve made camp. Owl is out hunting, so I will wait until he returns to entrust this letter to him, and Fidella is just outside the cave, grazing. I’m at the mouth, just sheltered enough so that my fire doesn’t blow out, but still with a view of the night sky. I hope you’re looking too.

I often find myself staring up at Polaris these days when the nights are clear, and I’m ever thankful for all those times you’ve taught me what you know about stargazing. I don’t have quite enough time or patience to chart the skies each night, but that’s why I’m grateful for navigational stars like Polaris. I LOVE that it doesn’t move. The other stars will stray from port, but no matter how far they go Polaris is always there like an anchor until they pass by once more. In that sense, I suppose that makes you the Polaris to my own fleeting skies.

Thank you for that. I love you.

Always Yours – Cassandra.

As she awaits Owl’s return, Cass watches that star like she does every night – the star that burns so brightly night after night, as though holding up an oil lamp, waiting in the darkness for something, some one – and hopes that maybe Rapunzel is watching that same sky with matched wonder.

Rapunzel’s reply comes a few days later, and Cass is knee-deep in a river trying her hand at spear-fishing when Owl swoops overhead, a letter clutched in his talons. She hoists herself out from the water and reaches for the letter, uncaring of the mud that squelches uncomfortably between her toes. She wastes no time in tearing open the envelope with that familiar purple royal seal.

Parts of the letter are nearly illegible; Cassandra can only imagine that Rapunzel scrawled it feverishly, so as not to keep Owl away from her for too long. But her reply is as lovestruck as ever, and Cass is unable to hold back her laughter at the adoring response.

My Darling Cassandra,

I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. Your letters have grown a little infrequent lately, I thought maybe you were somewhere new and remote, and perhaps too far away for Owl to fly or for the courier to travel. I’m grateful you wrote to me. I treasure each and every letter you send my way, I hope you know! I scrapbook them so that I can flick through and read them whenever I miss you. They’ve filled up almost an entire journal at this point.

Castle life is as it always is: hard. Everyone is wonderful and I feel like I’m making good strides, but gruelling work is gruelling work, as you perfectly well know. Entertaining allied royals and diplomats is always a treat, but they ask after my absent wife often since you’re rarely back in Corona these days. (I’ve also heard rumours that a few don’t truly believe you exist, because you’ve alluded their notice. Lucky you! They can be very boring. Oh, I know that sounds mean, but we’re just incompatible people! I’m sure they find me boring too!)

Cass laughs aloud at that. Rapunzel may be many things, and they certainly might not enjoy her company, but the notion of Rapunzel being boring, even to people who don’t understand her, is just too ludicrous.

But anyway. Let’s talk about stars.

Your words on Polaris moved me when I read them. Eugene thought I had seen a ghost! I will gladly treat you to another astronomy lesson the next time you come home. I never knew you to be such a poet, Cass, but here you are! I find it hard to pick a favourite star, but now that I know your favourite I’ll have to watch Polaris each night too, and hope you’re also looking. Watching the same sky does make me feel closer to you now. I just wish there was some way to fully bridge that gap. Do you know that I miss you when I climb into bed at night and you’re not at my side, ready to hold me? I’d give anything to have you in my arms right now.

I love you so much. Please be safe, wherever you go next.

With all my love, Rapunzel.

PS. Eugene says hi. Well, he’s actually working right now, but I’m sure if he was here he’d be saying hi.

With a heavy sigh, Cass leans back, bringing the letter up close. It smells faintly of Rapunzel, somehow – a trace of her perfume or something. Just enough that if she shuts her eyes tight, she can pretend her wife is hovering over, a playful smile on her lips, ready to kiss her.

She can’t wait any longer.

“We’re going back to Corona,” Cass tells Owl and Fidella, who seem unsurprised that the change of plan comes so soon after a letter from her sweetheart. “At first light, we’re heading east.”

I’ll be home soon, she thinks to herself, resolutely. Wait for me, just a little longer.

…

A week later, home is in sight. She passes through the Corona gates just as night is about to fall. The guards at the gates are pissed that she’s slipped through at this time of night, grumbling that it makes their life harder having to carry out ID checks by lamplight, but when she says as sweetly as she can that she’s the princess fucking consort and hasn’t posed a threat to the kingdom for many, many years now, they shut up surprisingly fast.

Cassandra feels a little bad for them, in all honesty; she used to be just like them, after all, and they’re only following orders. So she thanks them for their service and crosses over the bridge, choosing to ignore Fidella’s disapproving snort. After all, she’s so damn close.

She rides through the courtyard, nodding towards Stan and Pete and asking breathlessly if they’ve seen Rapunzel this evening. She’ll catch up with them later, but she’s on a mission that leaves no time to stop and smell the roses.

“The princess has already retired to her room for the night,” Stan begins, and Cass gives him her thanks and swiftly rides on, giving a quick wave as she goes. Owl, who has been silently perched on her shoulder the entire time, takes off into the sky and soars upwards, past the balcony of Rapunzel’s room. Cass and Fidella wait at the bottom, watching with bated breath as he disappears from sight.

She feels… disheveled. Maybe she should have freshened up a bit first? But then again, Rapunzel has seen her in just about every state of dirty, sweaty and tired known to mankind, so to pretend that she’s been fresh as a daisy this whole trip would be a little ridiculous.

Cass reaches up to smooth down her hair, self-consciously trace a thumb across the crows feet that have become more noticeable in the last few months, and for a moment she considers turning around and heading towards her old quarters to freshen up.

But then there’s the creaking of a window pane, and suddenly Rapunzel’s face, flung over the edge of the balcony, stares down at her in starry-eyed wonder. Cass stares up at her, a beacon in the fading light.

Ah, Polaris.

“Cassandra, you came back?!”

“I am! Didn’t I tell you?” Cass calls up to her, cocking her head in confusion. “I could have sworn I wrote another letter.”

“No,” Rapunzel says simply. “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, then Cass stretches out her hand towards her. “Hey, come for a ride with me?”

“Are you sure?” Rapunzel asks, craning her neck a little further. “It’s getting late.”

“Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time we snuck out at night, would it?” Cass grins up at her. “Come on, Raps. Let’s go on an adventure.”

Rapunzel matches her grin with equal glee, and nods.

“Okay, okay, yes! Give me a moment to change, I’m in my nightgown.”

She blows a kiss and then turns, disappearing from view. Cass waits patiently, reveling in the silence of the empty courtyard, before seeing another figure peeking over the edge, looking more pasty than usual.

“Oh, look what the cavalry dragged in.”

Cass can’t fight her eye-roll back. “Evening to you too, Fitzherbert. What’s that on your face?”

“It’s an oat facial,” he retorts. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, I’m just glad to hear it’s not mould, because from here…” She waves her hand in an uncertain manner, earning a harsh laugh from him. Her face softens. “How have you been?”

“Oh, just great. I’m training some new recruits and they’re right cocky little shits. You planning on sticking around for a few days? I need someone to scare ‘em straight and you look like you have at least six facial scars at this point. I’ll tell them you were barred from the guard for extreme war crimes.”

“Sure, it’s a better story than choosing not to join after having all of my extreme war crime charges dropped in court because of my quote-unquote ‘emotional issues’.” She clicks her tongue. “So an oat facial won’t help my cause, then?”

“Cass, if you want to do facials with me all you have to do is ask, I’ve been dying to set you up with a skincare routine for years.”

“I’ll pass, but thanks for the consideration,” she says dryly.

“Rapunzel will be down in a second.” Eugene hesitates, and for a moment Cass gets the sinking feeling he’s going to ask to tag along on their would-be date, but then he adds, “You’ll keep each other safe?”

Cass cracks a smile.

“We can handle ourselves,” she promises. “I’ll be sure to get her back in one piece.”

“You’d better, because I can’t be waiting up for you two, I have morning drills at five and I need my damn beauty rest.”

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Cass says cheerily. “I only came for my wife.”

“Our wife.”

“Details, details.”

Cass hears the heavy creak of the main doors opening and closing, and turns her head to see Rapunzel approaching. In terms of physical appearance, she looks marginally the same as always, but Cassandra is pleasantly surprised by the fact that she’s donned a pair of riding trousers for their big adventure, though has still foregone any shoes. They suit her, Cass muses. She finds her gaze lingering on Rapunzel’s legs a little longer than she should, but then Rapunzel is right in front of her and all thoughts leave her head as they lean down to kiss.

“Hey there, stranger,” Rapunzel whispers, giggling as Cass takes the opportunity to pepper her brow and nose and cheeks with quick kisses.

“Hello to you too, Princess. Here, hop on.”

Rapunzel reaches over to give Fidella a loving pat in greeting, and Cass outstretches her arm to pull her up. Rapunzel hugs her waist once she’s settled down, and Cass shivers happily at the contact.

“You kids have fun now,” Eugene calls, punctuated by a yawn. “I expect no funny business, all right? Make good choices!”

Rapunzel blows him an exaggerated kiss as Cass rolls her eyes, and they take off towards the gates once more. The guards from earlier are perplexed by the sudden appearance of the princess, while being revisited by the grumpy woman they’d only just ushered in; but after taking a brief statement as per safety protocol (“A romantic rendezvous with my wife,” Rapunzel says cheerfully, while Cass simply responds, “We’re going out, what other reason would we have for leaving?”) the gates are opened, and they take off into the night.

With Rapunzel clinging to her, whooping and cheering, Cassandra feels happier than she has in a long time. She encourages Fidella to go faster, faster… the thrill sets her heart aglow, the blood thrumming in her veins.

They soar through the country roads and follow the light of the moon, and Rapunzel is squealing with laughter, uncaring of any attention they may draw from shopkeepers locking up, or drunkards leaving The Snuggly Duckling. They glide past effortlessly, and Rapunzel asks, “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Oh trust me, you’ll know,” Cass calls back. They veer off the roads and into the woodland, heading west for a while. Rapunzel’s laughter dies out once Fidella begins to slow down, weaving through unruly trees. Under the cover of the forest, moonlight barely peeking through the high branches, it becomes increasingly difficult to see. Cass blinks rapidly, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness, thankful Fidella is having an easier time of it than she is.

“You didn’t find another strange cottage with a magic teapot on your travels, did you Cass?” Rapunzel teases. “Because wherever you’re taking us…”

“Trust me, will you?” Cass says again, tilting her head back to fix Rapunzel with a raised eyebrow. “You think I’ve ever gone to someone’s creepy magic shack after what happened out on the road with those bird-brains?”

Rapunzel giggles and leans forward to press a quick kiss to Cassandra’s cheek.

“Sorry, sorry. I trust you! Wherever you’re taking us, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

They ride on in comfortable silence for another few minutes, both happily revelling in each other’s company, until they pass through a pair of old oaks.

“Ah, I see,” Rapunzel sings, squeezing Cassandra’s waist a little tighter. “You’ll go all out on the romantic gestures when it’s the middle of the night, but if I invite you to come home and spend the most romantic Coronan holiday with me…”

“Nice try, but you can never guilt me to join you for the Day of Hearts, Raps,” Cass sing-songs back to her. They follow the path as it grows narrower, and Fidella treads carefully through the gulch, raising their feet to avoid the cold rush of water. The lagoon comes into view, the moon gleaming on the water’s deep indigo surface.

“Oh, it’s beautiful as ever,” breathes Rapunzel. “I haven’t been back here in a long time.”

Cass cocks her head towards her. “You never visit?”

“Not without you. It feels weird.”

“Well fear not, I’m here now!” Cass reaches over to pat Fidella’s head. “Think you can hang back here for a while so Raps and I can have a little… alone time?”

Fidella grunts in reply, and Cass reluctantly pries Rapunzel’s arms from her waist before climbing down and reaching into her travel pack to offer Fidella up an apple.

“Good girl, thank you.”

She helps Rapunzel down and the two of them take off, running through the narrow strip of shoreline. Rapunzel wastes no time in shimmying off her trousers and wading in, while Cass hangs back to take off her boots, pouring sand out of them with a grimace and slipping down her stockings.

“Augh, it’s cold!” squeals Rapunzel. “Not like, horribly cold? Lagoon-cold? But still, it’s cold!!”

Cass laughs at Rapunzel’s shrieks, but still finds herself shivering a little once she slips her tunic off. She takes a few tentative steps in, gasping sharply as the cool water laps around her ankles. Rapunzel, at this point, has slipped off the waistcoat and blouse she’d been wearing, and flings them in the vague direction of the shore. They land, unsuccessfully, in the shallows.

“Oh, well done. You’re lucky I have some spare shirts in my travel pack.”

Rapunzel cheers. “Yes! You know I love wearing your clothes!”

“It’ll be a bit spicy,” Cass warns. “I haven’t had a chance to do laundry in the past week.”

“Eh, I’ll manage.”

Cass plucks the now drenched clothing from the water and tosses it onto shore, before following Rapunzel further into the water. She makes it up just above her waist, shivering and grumbling all the way, when suddenly the sand beneath gives away and she plunges below the surface. For a split second, panic settles in; that primal fear of sinking like a stone and never coming back up that has haunted her since she was a child. Her arms thrash wildly, trying to push herself up to the surface, when a pair of arms wrap around her waist and pull her up.

Cass gasps and splutters, and Rapunzel’s face swims into view.

“Cass! Cass, it’s okay! You’re okay, I’ve got you!”

Gulping a few deep breaths, Cass is pulled in close, and Rapunzel kisses her brow and strokes her soaking wet hair.

“It was just a sand bank that gave away underneath you. You’re okay. You’re treading water without even realising, see?”

Cassandra realises dizzily that Rapunzel has a point. She’s doing okay. She’s not drowning, not even close.

“I… I don’t normally, uh,” she begins, and Rapunzel shushes her.

“I know. It just took you by surprise, huh?” Cass nods numbly, and Rapunzel pulls back a little, hands reaching to cup Cassandra’s face. “I’ve got you,” she says again, quietly, eyes bearing into hers with fierce devotion.

Cass manages to smile, heart still pounding in her chest, her mouth dry. “Yeah. You’ve got me.”

They swim a little further out, with Rapunzel facing her the whole time and offering smiles of encouragement, and when Cass’s heart has calmed down, she leans over to kiss Rapunzel softly.

“Well,” breathes Rapunzel, punctuated with another kiss, “this has been quite the excursion, huh.”

“I aim to please.” Cass kisses her again, humming happily against her mouth. “By the way, those riding pants you were wearing? They really suit you.”

“I had a feeling you’d like them,” Rapunzel grins.

She holds her arms out, and hesitantly, Cass leans back into them. She focuses her centre of gravity and lightly sculls the water with cupped hands to keep afloat while Rapunzel lays back beside her, arms and legs spread out like a starfish. It’s only once Cass properly looks up at the stunning sky above, stars and light everywhere, that her body grows still and simply floats on the lagoon’s surface.

“What a view,” she murmurs.

“I know it’s the same sky, no matter what,” Rapunzel muses, “but somehow the stars look even prettier here in the lagoon, don’t they?”

“Corona is always lit up,” Cass explains, voice tuning in and out as the water laps against her ears. “The sky isn’t as visible in places where a lot of people gather because of the light they produce. You remember how many stars we could see on the road, whenever we spent the night between towns?”

Rapunzel nods. “It was beautiful. I suppose you enjoy views like this all the time, then?”

“When the weather permits,” Cass laughs. “But yeah. Out in nature, it’s much easier to see a full sky of stars.”

“But Polaris is your favourite!”

Cass feels the heat come to her face a little, knowing Rapunzel is about to steer this somewhere overly sentimental. “Yeah. I mean, It’s a key navigational star, so… it’s a pretty obvious pick.”

“I like that,” insists Rapunzel. “The reasoning, it’s… authentically you. I think.”

“Why, because I like things based on how practical they are?”

“Because only you could make a navigational tool sound romantic.”

“Is that a gift or a curse?”

Rapunzel giggles and Cass joins in, their hands lacing together as they stare at the patchwork sky above.

“I love the idea, though,” Rapunzel murmurs, once their laughter dies down. “That I’m your anchorpoint.”

“You’re so much more than that.”

“Oh, I am?” grins Rapunzel, tilting her head towards Cass.

“Don’t ruin it,” Cass says flatly.

“Sorry, sorry. Please, tell me?”

Cassandra stares up at the northern star, twinkling bright, and exhales. “Rapunzel, when I’m coming back to visit and I’m riding through Corona, all that I really feel is that I’m in Corona. It might as well be any other place. Sure, I’m more familiar with each side street and stray cobble, but… there’s no real, you know, connection there, not after everything that’s happened. But when I turn the corner and lay eyes upon your face, that – that’s the moment I think to myself, ‘I’m home’.”

The world is still, just for a moment, before Rapunzel lets go of her hand and changes to an upright position in the water, reaching up to smooth her soaking hair back. Cass also gives up on floating on her back, already thinking of ways to backtrack if what she said was too embarrassing, even for Rapunzel to bear. But then she notices the way the tips of Rapunzel’s ears are burning.

She turns to face Cass, all red-faced and slicked back hair and wide, longing eyes, and utters, “Cass, I love what you’re saying, but Corona and I are kind of a package deal.”

Cassandra snorts with laughter. “Yes, Raps, I know that. And I do love Corona, in my own way. But my point is that if you were… I don’t know, living life out in the marshes as a bog witch or something, I’d still feel the same way. To me, home is wherever you are.”

“If this is your way of saying you want to go live in a marsh for a while,” Rapunzel begins, a sly gleam in her eye, and Cass reaches over to splash her.

“Shut up! This is why I don’t do schmaltz.”

Rapunzel squeals and splashes back, before swimming over to her and reaching for her waist, pulling her in close. The constellations above don’t compare to the galaxy of freckles dusting Rapunzel’s nose, or the universe in her irises. Cass reaches up to cup her jaw, and Rapunzel shivers when her cold wedding band makes contact with the soft skin of her cheek.

“Cass,” she murmurs, eyes bearing into her own, almost afraid of the answer she’ll find, “do you think you’ll stick around this time?”

“I don’t know,” Cass admits. “I’m not ready to settle down just yet, if that’s what you mean. I’m… I’m getting good at making my own happiness, Rapunzel. Real good.”

Rapunzel nods, offering up a bittersweet smile. “Okay. I understand. I’m proud of you, Cass, I really am.”

Cassandra sees herself as Rapunzel sees her, just for a moment as she catches her brief reflection; an older soul, face marred with scars, eyes tired but kinder. The road has been hers for a fair few years now – the events prior to the eclipse feel like a lifetime ago, out of sight and out of mind. She likes to keep it that way, and perhaps that’s why she never stopped moving, even after the honeymoon, even after her textbook happily ever after.

She isn’t ready to give up that life yet – maybe she never will be – but perhaps she can take a short reprieve from destiny. Maybe staying in one place for a little while, being around Rapunzel, letting Corona get used to the idea that someday she’ll be around for a long time… maybe this is something she can do.

“I know you are,” Cass affirms, offering up a warm smile. “I don’t know if you’ll be so impressed with me once I start sitting in on some of these fancy diplomat dinners as your wife, though. Any training I might have had is long gone by this point.”

Her proposition takes a few moments to really dawn on Rapunzel, who then squeals, launches herself at Cassandra and hones in with a kiss, drinking her in readily as the placid water laps around them. When they part, Rapunzel hugs her tightly, resting her head against the crook of Cassandra’s neck and pressing kiss after gentle kiss to whatever bare skin she can find.

“I never said this earlier,” Rapunzel utters, dithering happily, “but welcome home, Cassandra. Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Cassandra whispers.

She holds Rapunzel close as they tread water in the quiet of the lagoon, the stars their only witnesses as they enter the next chapter of their happily ever after.

…

(Eugene is unimpressed when they finally stagger into the castle at 4:30, shivering from a night of swimming and Rapunzel in Cassandra’s grubby clothes and barely standing upright from the way that sleep seizes her. He helps Cassandra set her down on the bed, and is about to launch into a speech about how they promised to be safe and responsible in their late night tomfoolery, before catching the goofy smile on Cassandra’s face.

“What’s got you so chipper?” he asks.

“I’m home,” she says with a shrug. “That’s all there is to it.”)

#cassunzel #cassunzel week #tangled #cassunzel week 2020 #writing

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justkindaoverhereobsessing · 3 years

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2020 IN WRITING

tagged by: @indestinatus

tagging: no one, because I am unable to think straight. But whoever is interested in doing this: I’m interested in reading it. <3

Wow, okay, I’m getting real in this little questionnaire... read at your own risk, friends.

1. List of works published this year:

I genuinely can’t write them all out here... there are too many of them! (I’ve done so little besides writing this year!) But I keep a running list of all my projects here. I’m sorry for cheating on this one, haha.

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

This question comes up a lot on these things, and I always put the same answer: That We May Forgive. It’s has emotional moments, silly moments, heartfelt moments where the warmth made me cry as I wrote. It was written in one sitting, and it’s the story where I felt most connected to the characters I love so much. It sums up the joy I feel knowing that these (fictional) friends of mine have finally reached peace after too many years of trauma and hardship. I began the story with a single line in mind, after which the characters took over and told the story for me:

Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

You Stumble, You Soar, which was written for one of my dearest friends in the world, @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee. I wanted to do so much better by her, but as I ran out of time to complete the story by the end of her birthday, I rushed the writing and I think the story suffered for it. It made her happy, though, and that’s the most important thing. She deserves all the happiness, all the time—but especially on her birthday.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I can’t think of a favorite excerpt of my writing, because I’ve written so much that I can’t think back!

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

“Wow. Let me just tell you that I am absolutely in love with this story. I wake up everyday and, as I log into fanfiction, my only hope is that you've uploaded a new chapter because DAMN. The characters are so well written, the story is beautifully constructed and this last chapter just broke my heart into tiny little pieces. What a remarkable job you've done. Please, don't ever stop writing NCIS/Tiva fanfiction- specially this one story: it's one of my all time favorites. Thank you :)”

An incredibly kind and inspiring comment by a reader named Alexandra on my longest (WIP) fic, We Are an Ocean.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I’ve had two periods of NCIS hiatus this year—and actually, I’m still in the midst of the second one right now. These have periods of turmoil in my own life. When I’m upset, feeling sick, feeling sorry for myself and I’m depressed and aching... that’s when I write the best, because writing is my safety blanket. When I’m feeling numb, though, or lost... the characters are lost to me, too, and so are the words I use to wrap them (and myself) in comfort.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I’m going to deviate here from NCIS, which is—I’m well aware—why most of my followers have chosen to follow me. But in the last month, I’ve written a single fic for Criminal Minds—it’s called In Possibility, it’s unpublished, and it’s now over 100,00 words. It’s centered on Spencer Reid, who was intimidating to me when I started writing the fic. He’s far more intelligent than I am, requiring me to do a lot of research to give him realistic lines, he’s a deep and complicated character with complicated motivations and a tangled, traumatic past. He also has a sweet, really good heart that’s been scarred by years of difficult work and an emotionally taxing personal life.

I thought he’d be difficult to write; to my surprise, he comes as naturally to me as any of my other favorite characters ever have. He gave me my first nanowrimo win! To be frank, he’s gotten me through a lot of shit this year. That was the best surprise.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

To be honest, I wasn’t much of a writer before this year. I enjoyed writing, especially in a roleplay setting with fandom friends... but I deeply struggled with trying to write alone. I didn’t do much of it.

Then, this year, well... the concept of writing exploded into the most important distraction, escape, and joy I could imagine.

I didn’t grow as a writer this year. I became a writer this year.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

My most recent project—the one that, as I’ve said, is (and will remain) unpublished—has given me a new perspective. It’s written for an audience of me and only me... so I’ve given myself permission to engage in the most ridiculously self-indulgent writing I’ve ever embraced and thrown myself into.

And it has been the greatest joy I could imagine in a time of great pain.*

Next year, I want to throw myself into every project I work on with as much reckless abandon as I’ve done in this last project. I want to stop worrying so much about what people will think and pursue the words that are bursting out of the fingers on my laptop keyboard. I want to have confidence in my ability to draw out emotions—if from no one else, at least from myself.

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.” —Emily Dickinson

And it’s alright if that one heart is mine.

That’s what I want to accomplish in my writing next year, and what a growth that would be!

* I’ve mentioned this in my last post, but I’m recovering from brain surgery, I also have the COVID-19 virus, and I’m working on passing a kidney stone that may be too big to pass. I’m writing 10,000 words a day to get through it—and it’s working. Distraction is everything to me right now.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Like Sof, I have to tag three people here, because I really couldn’t choose just one. My three best friends in the world all influenced my writing in their own ways! <3 (Sorry for deviating a little from the writing thing in some of the following lines, oops. I just have emotions that are all over the place this week!)

@indestinatus — One of a few best friends who has had my back every day for so long now. She listens when I need to talk things out—whether or not I’m talking about writing. She really gets me when I need to be silly, or I need to be serious, or I just really, really need a friend. Also, she inspired me to start learning Portuguese this year, and I’m actually practicing by writing a fic in Portuguese, lol. It’s slow going... but Sof encourages me (and corrects me, haha) whenever I work on it, just as she does with absolutely anything else I work on. Truly, I’ve had few friends in my life that are so special to me, and I love her. I really do.

@why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee — Is there a better cheerleader on this earth? Is there a better friend? Doubtful on both counts. She thinks I’m a disaster—and, by the way, she’s absolutely right—and she sometimes has to remind me to eat and sleep, but she’s totally cool with being my internet mom. Doesn’t matter that she’s nearly a decade younger than I am, lol. All of these things have bolstered me when the writer inside of me has faltered, and she has carried my burdens as I wrote them out. Anyway, she reads everything I write, and she has requested to gain access to all of my unfinished chapters and unpublished works in the event that I die—I completely trust her with that nonsense. I’ve written it into my will. Really. Like with Sof, I genuinely love Tiz, and I’d do anything for her.

@honeybadgerdocare — Best friend of 20 years. She doesn’t watch the same shows that I do, and my endless ranting makes very little sense to her... but she listens. She’s my sounding board for everything I write, everything I read, everything I watch, and everything that gives me big feelings. I genuinely can’t describe how much she has helped me with my writing every single day, so I’ll leave it at this: I could not do it without her. I’d drown in my own struggles and I’d stop creating the art that sustains me. She’s my soulmate—sorry to her fiancé. All of my love goes to her!

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

HAHAHAHAHA it’s cute how you think my writing is anything other than a re-organized and fictionalized version of my life and my feelings. Real life shows up in my writing, and my writing shows up in my real life. It gets crazy and obsessive, but like... I had a trip to Israel booked this year (obviously canceled due to the pandemic, but still) because Ziva comes from Israel. (Also because of my Jewish adoration for the spiritual homeland, but the thought of going and the trip planning all started with Ziva.) I went to Baltimore so I could run down an alley yelling “YOU CAN’T OUTRUN ME, I’M WEARING TUBE SOCKS!” to encourage my inner Tony DiNozzo. I nearly froze to death in Washington, D.C. and called my mom every time I saw a little red mini coop that looked like Ziva’s, or came across a place that was featured in an NCIS scene.

And to answer the actual question here, because I obviously flipped it around like the moron I am... when the pandemic canceled things I was desperately looking forward to, I wrote a fic where Tali’s excitedly anticipated dance recital got canceled because of the pandemic. I lost my appendix (last year, but the fic was written this year — does that count?) and wrote a fic where Tali loses hers, too. (I swear, I don’t always write things that torture Tali, lol, these are just my best examples!) When I lost a couple of loved ones this year, I wrote a funeral scene where Tony and Tali remembered Ziva. Writing is definitely free therapy, y’all.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Write for yourself—write what you love, and you’ll love what you write. That’s all. That’s it. That’s my advice, something I’ve learned this year.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I’ve been working on We Are an Ocean for roughly a year now, and 2021 needs to see it finished. I’ve got a number of lovely, dedicated readers who deserve to see the story play out as it’s intended to be played out.

Also, my greatest love right now, In Possibility, will probably write itself to an end in 2021. Or... who knows? Maybe it will worm its way into 2022, too. :-)

14. If you could recommend only one work from yourself published this year:

Since I already went into detail about my favorite fic of mine from this year (That We May Forgive), I’ll recommend a different one: The Stars Always Make Me Laugh. It has some of the darkest moments I’ve ever written, but it also has some of the lightest moments I’ve ever written. It was an answer to two different challenges, and if I can say this without sounding arrogant, I think I met the challenges beautifully. It gave me comfort, catharsis, and closure for a few things in my own life... and I hope it comforts my readers, too.

15. Year word count:

HOLY FUCKING SHIT (excuse my French). I just added up my AO3 word count + my current unpublished project, and... my word count is:

428,557.

FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY SEVEN WORDS

I nearly just fell out of my chair. Goodbye, friends. I am deceased.

#wow wow wow #i'm so sorry for the aggressive feelings here #did not mean to get that effin detailed about my life #but i can't help that my emotions are wildly fluctuating as I fight so many health issues at once #anyway #still on hiatus but #this questionnaire thing soothed my soul #and i enjoyed doing it #thanks for the tag sof!#love you all #about cynthia #personal

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pinayelf · 4 years

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Cullen’s Revised Redemption - my take

This was previously an undetectable read more but decided to update it and also make it (more) public since people have asked for it. This is very wordy, so grab a bag of chips or something lmao.

Disclaimer and Request (PLEASE READ)

I am putting this above the read more because I need people to see it before they do anything with this post. The reason I had the first version of this basically invisible is I’m genuinely not here for people yelling and fighting in the notes so that being said:

I wrote out the first one so I had something to link to people in the case someone asks me why I’m romancing him with an elven mage

This is a hot button issue and I know people have feelings varying from either extreme sides or in the middle so

If you vehemently hate Cullen and find him irredeemable that is fine and valid, but please do not come onto this post and reply why. To be frank, you won’t make me dislike him considering I hated him initially

If you think his redemption is perfect that is fine and valid, but please do not come yelling at me for this post.

Let us agree to disagree NOW.

I love Cullen. If the URL wasn’t obvious I’m saying it now. But I am also allowed to feel that his redemption wasn’t fully realized and lackluster and wish it didn’t happen off-screen.

I believe Cullen does want to change. Failing and slipping at first is realistic. What didn’t work is that it wasn’t fully realized. If you disagree that is fine.

Cullen’s PTSD is a reason for the things he did. It is a reason NOT an excuse. Mental illness is not an excuse to do bad things. You can say that while acknowledging his trauma. Said by a person who also suffers from mental illness

“Ellie why do you care so much about a white dude, he doesn’t deserve your time and energy!!!” - because he is a comfort character of mine, he is fictional so I have the ability to make him safer for me and for my OCs and I think that’s more than fair

This is NOT the only right way to write a fix-it for him you can 100% write your own, this is just mine and an example of one

Now...let’s go!

This is meant to have been a longfic, but I can never finish anything I write so you’ll get a condensed version. This is for my worldstate where Imryll (my main Cullenmance) is the Inquisitor, but I also use this same redemption in all my timelines, just tweaked a bit for whoever the characters are.

DAI starts and Cullen has just stopped taking lyrium. He wants to change, , he is full of regret and ready for it but is obviously harder than he anticipated. Especially since the Herald, Imryll, wants to ally with the mages. He and Imryll do not get along, Imryll doesn’t trust him and they have had a couple of public fights.

Imryll allies with the mages. Cullen is worried abominations might occur. The ones from Kirkwall see Cullen and refuse to interact with him. Some hate him and look at him with disdain. He’s made an announcement saying he no longer operates under the Templar Order and denounces what Meredith did. But they still don’t trust him.

He is frustrated by this and Leliana calls out the fact that he still doesn’t trust them because he believes they’ll turn into abominations, so why should they trust him? Cullen says he’s seen it happen, like in Kinloch, especially if they’re exposed to power. Leliana points out how the same thing happened to Meredith. Cullen snaps out of his frustration, admitting he knows he’s wrong but it’s hard to accept it. Leliana tells him he must accept he is wrong if he wants to really change.

(Note: In my canon Leliana becomes his support for this rather than Cass. I love Cass but she is too static in her beliefs and will just enable or stunt Cullen from growth. They are still close friends but it’s Leliana who he confides in with about this - they both have the same faith but Leliana is more open-minded and will help him grow)

The Templars and the Mages clash at Haven and Imryll demands Cullen to do something about it. Cullen is hesitant and doesn’t do much, he doesn’t want to believe his comrades are acting this way. This sours his relationship with Imryll and the mages.

(This idea is taken from a text post that I can no longer find :c) One of the mages give birth and the others are overjoyed and crying. They need supplies and Cullen offers to help but they all refuse to speak to him until he arrives back with Josephine. Cullen wonders why they are celebrating and crying and Leliana says that most mages never stay with their family because they are separated. Another realization hits Cullen.

Cullen joins Cassandra in looking for rogue Templars and when they encounter the group, Cullen attempts to reason with them but they don’t relent. He sees his old self in the leader and realizes what he sounded like. After dealing with the Templars he and Cassandra see a group of young refugee mages starving and hiding in a small cave. They quiver in fear when they notice his Templar gauntlets and refuse to come to Haven despite them being in near-death from starvation. Luckily, Varric is there and convinces them to come.

The encounter dawns on Cullen what the Templar Order truly looks like to mages. This haunts him. It is the same fear he had for years after Kinloch - the difference is, the order protected him but no one truly protected the mages. He finally accepts that the order he once romanticized so much is corrupt.

The next time he sees that his Templars are the ones who start the altercations. He does something about it - but at the same time angering his lieutenant.

During the fall of Haven, the Red Templars show Cullen anyone is apt for corruption, seeing the people he once trusted become the army for a magister breaks his heart. He witnesses the mage recruits give their lives for the Inquisition. He watches Imryll sacrifice herself for the sake of the Inquisition. When have the Templars ever done this? He’s never witnessed this. He must make amends. He must.

Upon arriving at Skyhold he requests to be judged by the mages and Fiona - the ones from Kirkwall especially. He tells them it’s time he answered for his inaction and the things he enabled. Surprised, Imryll calls Fiona to form a council of mages to judge him.

Cullen prepares for whatever sentence they are to give him. All the while after owning up to what happened in Kirkwall, the Inquisition loses some support, including soldiers who leave due to their disillusionment in him. The day of trial comes and to Cullen’s surprise they sentence him with reparations. He is to do the Inquisition mages’ bidding and to work with Fiona along with his Inquisition duties.

Besides the loss of support, many begin to look at Cullen differently and turn cold towards him, like some staff and people who have joined the Inquisition. He helps build a mage tower and joins Fiona in doing small missions to help the refugee mages. While some mages warm up to him, some don’t and while hard he accepts they never will.

One day a missive arrives at Skyhold stating that mages from Starkhaven are taken hostage by Red Templars for a hefty ransom. Josephine insists they pay the ransom and plans to take a loan out from an Antivan bank - however Cullen sees the situation as time sensitive. He is afraid that if they wait too long, the Red Templars will kill the mages. Josephine, and Leliana surprisingly argue against this, seeing it too risky. But Cullen has a terrible gut feeling, and after finding the location of the abandoned keep they are located in, he takes some of his troops who are willing, and mages who are looking to save their brethren.

The raid goes all right, and the troops manage to retrieve the hostages without any casualties, however at the last minute, one of the templars set off hidden explosives that begin to set the the keep ablaze. As it falls into ruin, Cullen makes sure everyone makes it to safety. But then he sees a young mage girl trapped under rubble, and in spite of his lieutenant demanding he leave her, he doesn’t. He runs to her rescue and seemingly dies as the castle crushes both of them.

The troops return to Skyhold with the news that Commander Cullen has died in the rescue. Shocked, the remaining advisors and Imryll set off to find a new Commander.

Surprisingly, Cullen and the young mage girl, who introduces herself as Lyra, survives. Lyra mustered up her remaining strength to put a barrier around them as the castle fell. Cullen and Lyra then set to Skyhold in order to get her to safety. Cullen does everything in his power to make sure she is safe, and shocks everyone at their return.

After this event, Imryll begins to warm up to Cullen. They form a friendship as Imryll often spends late nights at the mage tower doing research. Cullen initially stayed there to make sure nothing happened to Imryll (as she was not very popular with his troops or certain Orlesians). Despite them being from separate worlds they find they have a lot in common.

When asked how he feels about the Dalish, Cullen tells her that in the Circle, elves were not treated differently and it does not matter who you are. Imryll tells him it’s a very blind way to view discrimination, as despite her existence not revolving on her being a Dalish elf, her being a Dalish elf is how people will always view her. Cullen finally understands when he accompanies her to Val Royeaux to deal with Josephine’s assassination contract and he sees how Orlesians treated Imryll in spite of her title. He speaks to her about it, and apologizes, saying he will never understand how it feels, but he will make sure she and the other elven members of the Inquisition feels safe.

And all the while, Cullen begins to see what protecting those who need it is truly like.

Cullen opens up to Imryll about his withdrawals. She tells him she supports him not taking lyrium again and encourages him not to. While suffering from a terrible spell, Imryll uses a healing spell to alleviate his headache and it triggers a memory from Kinloch. He freaks out at Imryll, who he scares off. He and Imryll don’t speak for a few days until he goes up to her and explains what happened. Imryll then says that if they are to be good friends they must always remain transparent with each other and learn boundaries and communicate well. Cullen agrees.

Cullen quitting lyrium inspires some of his troops to leave the order and quit lyrium. To be able to cope and deal with it, Cullen asks if they can have a rehab clinic in Skyhold. Imryll agrees.

As Cullen’s friendship with Imryll deepens he realizes he’s falling in love with her. Unsure what to do and already assuming she will never feel the same way he tries to shove the feelings aside despite Imryll showing signs of reciprocating.

As time goes, Imryll’s relationship with Cullen’s lieutenant worsens because of the decisions she makes as the Inquisitor. The Lieutenant and Imryll get into a fight when Imryll allows the mages to make their own separate army group, as the lieutenant feels it will make them corrupt with power. He calls Imryll slurs and tells her that she has no right being a leader because of who she is. Cullen publicly calls him out, to which the lieutenant responds he is only doing because he wants something from Imryll. Cullen tells him he is doing it because it’s the right thing to do, and that the lieutenant should not speak or Imryll or any elf or mage in the way again. When he refuses to apologize, Cullen kicks him out of the Inquisition.

Meanwhile, Imryll struggles with learning how to be a Knight-Enchanter. She questions her self worth and her bravery. Cullen comforts her, telling her she is the best person he knows. He tells her she is brave because of how she still continues to fight and to lead the Inquisition, not in spite of who she is, but because of who she is. He offers his support.

During the Shrine of Dumat, Cullen is hurt badly after attempting to keep a Red Templar Shade from Dorian. He refuses care, saying the others need it more. Imryll insists he does and asks if she can use a healing spell to alleviate the pain of his bruised chest. He lets her. Amidst this, they share a kiss and cements their romantic relationship.

Cullen and Imryll’s romantic relationship flourish and for the first time in his life, Cullen feels he’s found someone he can have a healthy love with. He also finds he has friends - real friends, which he hasn’t had in a long time.

During Samson’s capture - memories flash back and threatens Cullen to slip. This makes him realize that his say on the matter is biased and lets Imryll and the others choose what to do with him. (Imryll conscripts him but doesn’t have Cullen handle him, she has another recovering ex-Templar work with him and spend time in the rehab they’ve built in Skyhold).

When Imryll chooses Leliana as the Divine, Cullen shocks his former colleagues when he says he approves of the choice.

After Corypheus’ defeat the idea of the rehab clinics begin to spread and open up in other places - which begins to open conversation about how the Chantry exploits their own Templars.

Following the events of Trespasser, Imryll disbands the Inquisition. With land Cullen inherited from his parents he and Imryll build another rehab clinic as well as a place for former Circle mages to find a home in, and learn how to live lives outside the Circle (this post is Cullen-centric so I’m not gonna write a long thing about it but in my canon Divine Leliana and Vivienne find a middle ground and build centers/schools where abandoned and former Circle Mages can find a home in and learn, without them being prisons)

And scene! If you reached this end thank you for reading all that. A lot of the later stuff is mainly skipped over because this focused more on how Cullen changes - the repercussions from his actions and how he actively shows the changes.

#cullen rutherford #my meta #super long #please don't fight under this i will block you

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thetypedwriter · 4 years

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Chain of Gold Book Review

Chain of Gold Book Review by Cassandra Clare

I know what you’re thinking.

Oh. My. God. Another one?

How can she possibly be cranking out these 5,000 long page novels year after year after year?

I think the exact same thing and yet….

I still read them. Every single one. Well, except for some of the companions, guides, and novellas that accompany them because come on nobody has that much free time. And we don’t talk about the show Shadowhunters that Freeform monstrously created. Ever.

Except for Cassandra Clare maybe, since, you know, she wrote them. Or co-wrote them. Or kinda wrote them. Whatever, the true authorship isn’t important here.

What is important, however, is that there is a new Shadowhunter series on the horizon and THAT IT IS NOT TY AND KIT. I REPEAT. This new massive compendium is not the next installment of the Dark Artifices. Instead, it is an entirely new-but-not-new-Cassandra-Clare style book for the newly developed The Last Hours series in which no one asked for nor expected.

You might be asking yourself: do I need to have read the other 76 books in order to understand this one? Cassandra Clare and others will have you believe no. They’ll say, “Nahhhh, don’t stress, it’s a new cast of characters!”

They are dead wrong.

I mean, I guess you plausibly could but you would be horribly confused and befuddled for the entire sequence. I was largely confused and befuddled for the entire sequence and I have read most of the other 76 books-which, is a joke, of course, except not really, since the current canon world spans 14 main books across multiple timelines (all of which are the opposite of miniature by the way) and at least five companion novels and counting that are more important than they let on.

It is extremely, extremely daunting for new readers.

That being said, as we are all stuck at home quarantined due to coronavirus, you probably have a lot of time on you. Just gonna say that Amazon and Barnes & Noble deliver, folks, jump on it. E-books also exist if you do not have room to house these monstrosities, a problem I do not blame you for.

Now that all of that is out of the way, what is this new book about and how did I feel about it?

Well. To start, this new series takes place in the late 19th century in London, a setting we’ve seen before in The Infernal Devices, the first of the canon spinoff series.

This new series mainly tells the story of the children from the first spinoff, with highlights on Tessa, Will, and Jem. As most of Clare’s books, this one also has alternating POV’s. This particular installment switches mainly between Cordelia Carstairs, James Herondale and Lucie Herondale with little snatches of others in between.

To make this overly large series very, very simplified and contained, here is my plot summary:

Girl moves to London. Girl is in love with her best friend’s brother (a little cliche, but okay, Clare). Brother is a special little nugget that can see the demon world because his mother is a warlock (cue Infernal Devices here). His sister, the other special nugget and said best friend from above, can talk to ghosts, but not only that, she can also command them. The applause sound goes here.

There are demon uprisings. Some shadowhunters get poisoned while everyone runs around incompetently trying to find a cure, but don’t worry it’s none of the main characters so you don’t really care. The brother special nugget from above is also pretend in love with a girl with a very dark home life that reeks of manipulation (cough cough obviously the bracelet is bewitched in some way) and is somehow enchanting him to do her bidding, but is really in love with the new girl that’s in love with him. Gasp.

Special nugget also has a best friend that is most likely a bisexual alcoholic and the girl who moved to London has a drunkard father who’s currently in prison and a brother who was previously a bully becasue he was gay (amongst other reasons) and is not as much of an asshole, but is still an asshole. Unrequited love is also strewn about handomsely.

Yup. That about sums it up.

If you’re confused, then that’s okay, as the book is confusing.

Plot aside, this book was enjoyable to me for one main reason: it’s a shadowhunter book. Despite all the jokes I’m making on its behalf, I do love the series. It’s expansive and interesting and angsty and romantic and most of the characters and action and plot twists are really incredibly good.

Truly.

However, this book, for me personally, was more on the burdensome side of the Sahdowhunter lore rather than the uplifting one that added to it, even if I did buy it the first day it came out.

Clare throws so many characters at you in this first installment that it’s actually impossible to keep track, primarily because no one other than the true main characters are ever clearly defined or characterized or shown significance in any way and also because THEY ARE ALL DAMN RELATED IN ONE WAY OR ANOTHER AND BECAUSE THEY ALL HAVE THE SAME FUCKING NAMES.

I’m not even kidding. How Clare got to her original series and The Dark Artifices series without having incest galore is a miracle to me. The same people in the same families fall in love every damn time that at this point they all have to be interconnected Slytherin pure-blood style.

We didn’t need a sickly sweet epilogue of Tessa and Will’s wedding day at the end of the book. We needed a well drawn out and thoughtfully labeled shadowhunter family tree in full color because this shit was so confusing.

This was a big turn-off for me. It was almost as if Clare was suffering under the expansiveness of the world she had built, which is why the book was over 600 pages when it really could have easily been half. The last 90 pages read as an annoying epilogue that should have been twenty at most but just kept going and going and going like a Geico commercial.

She has so many characters with so many names and so many little tidbits about them that it was actually alarming. I get it if Clare knows who everyone is, that’s great. She’s the author. The point is, however, is not so that the author understands, but the readers do too. I can say with 100% certainty that no one understood who everyone was unless they study the main series every night before they go to bed, which is largely impossible.

In addition, this particular story is just...fine. It’s fine. It’s not the best of Clare’s work (Dark Artifices, baby!) or the worst (I don’t know...maybe Red Scrolls of Magic) but it gets the job done. I don't hate the characters like I have some others of Clare’s creations, but I don’t love them either.

James seems to be like every other male character that Clare has ever created, Cordelia seems...okay. Lucie is rather annoying, as is Grace and her mother Tatiana, who are so evil it’s stupid. Thomas and Christopher don’t matter in the slightest and neither do the parents, which is a shame considering they were the main cast in Infernal Devices. Jesse was...alright.

Honestly, the best characters in my opinion were Matthew Fairchild and Anna Lightwood. I would have loved a saucy, dramatic Oscar Wilde inspired entourage where they were painting the town red and smashing stereotypes all over the place.

But no. We get the main love story of James and Cordelia, the new girl and the best friend’s brother. Which has never been done of course. Super unique idea.

Cue eye roll.

In the end, odds are, if you are going to read Chain of Gold, you were going to read it to begin with because you’re a Shadowhunter fan like me and you’ll gobble up anything Cassandra Clare throws at you, whether good or bad. If you’re interested in picking up a book, this is not the book to start.

If you want a super long, mostly tantalizing read that will take over your life for the next few months then I recommend starting with the OG City of Bones and painstakingly making your way from there. You’ll most likely not regret it, even if your bank account and your heart will be crying by the end.

Recommendation: Shadowhunter fans unite! Chain of Gold is out and ready to be devoured! Everyone else, either stand back or pick up a book and get reading because this book is on a train that will keep chugging and chugging forever.

Score: 6.5/10

#chain of gold #shadowhunters #cassandra clare #the mortal instruments #book blog #books #book review #Book Recommendations #ya fiction #YA Books #ya book rec #jem carstairs #will herondale #the last hours #book series

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cassandra-tangled · 4 years

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Cassandra Appreciation Week Day 4: Moonsandra

Sooooo........funny story. Last night I stayed up til 5 am, not realizing I had a meeting at 9, so I decided just to stay up til 9. At 7:30 I left to go to the store, and fell and messed up my ankle, like, bad. I didn’t sleep til 12 (until just 3 lol) and then I went to UrgentCare and after that I’ve been working/sleeping all day.

Soooo, this is super late and pretty much just a repost of a fic I wrote a while back. But I wanted to make sure I had something up for today. If you’ve followed me a while there’s a good chance you’ve seen this already and I’m sorry I couldn’t make anything new for today. Tomorrow and the rest of the week I’ll have more new content!

Here is the AO3 link

This one is pretty short--word count is 811.

A brief summary is: this one-shot takes place after the events of Once a Handmaiden (and I wrote it right after the episode premiered). I hope y’all enjoy!

Cassandra sat upon her new throne, looking around and taking in all the damage she had caused. Black rocks, the symbol of her newfound power, sprouted from the floor of the throne room like flowers breaking through the soil at the first sign of spring.

She should be happy.

After all, isn't this what she had wanted? Isn't this what she had yearned for? The fall of her enemies--the fall of Corona.

She could hardly remember life before her dad, before the castle. Bits and pieces of lost memories had come flooding back, memories of her time living in that cottage with her mother. Still, though, the most she could conjure up were blurry pictures, bits and pieces of conversations, and an unshakable feeling of being nothing but unwanted.

She wished her mother had loved her. She wished her mother was anything but what she was--a selfish, dark minded woman who cared for no one but herself. As she sat upon her throne in darkness, she couldn't help but wonder if she was becoming her mother herself. But at this point, why did it matter? What did she have left to lose? The person she cared about most in this world, Rapunzel...had allowed for a weapon designed to kill her to be created. She had already pushed her to the edge. She had already lost everything she ever had, so what was the point in looking back now? She couldn't look back now, no matter how much she wanted to. Today had proven that it was far too late.

She wished it could be different. She missed Rapunzel--oh god, did she miss Rapunzel. Her bubbly personality, that adorable smile, her ability to twist any negative situation into something much better than what it was. She missed the hours they spent alone in Rapunzel's room before they'd left Corona, talking to one another, sharing laughter and jokes. She missed their adventures together, too, before they had gone sour. In retrospect, she was starting to regret everything she had done. She was starting to regret every time she'd taken her jealousy out on Rapunzel and Eugene.

Now that Cass knew she was being manipulated by Zhan Tiri, her life felt like nothing but one big lie. She had turned her back on her friends, and the love of her life, and for what? She had destroyed Corona, her home, and for what? These people weren't truly her enemies. Her only enemy, she realized, was herself.

Cass felt tears rolling down her face.

She had promised herself that she would shed no tears, that she would keep a level head and finish what she'd started. But here, surrounded by the destruction she'd caused, she felt nothing but emptiness. The tears started slowly at first, dripping down her cheeks and onto her chin. Pressure built in her throat, until she was unable to contain it anymore. She let out one sob after another, her tears dropping to the floor as she took in the full magnitude of what she'd done.

Everything she'd ever had was lost. Before, maybe she was always second best, maybe she was never truly happy, but she had one thing: she had Rapunzel. How could she let that slip through her fingers? How had she let her jealousy and rage build up and boil over? And by God, was any of this even worth it?

Cassandra was left with nothing but the cold hard truth: No. It wasn't.

Before, she hadn't had everything. She worked tirelessly her whole life for no recognition. But now, she had nothing. No friends. No family. No one who cared about her. Nothing, nothing but an empty, broken castle she had destroyed in her rage. She may have had the recognition she always yearned for, but it was in infamy. People were scared of her. Her friends, her father, her love, her king, her queen, the citizens of Corona...they were all scared of her. And could she blame them? Could she blame them? She couldn't.

She had no clue what was next to come--but she dug her own grave, and she had to lie in it. What would she do if they came back to fight her? She didn't want to hurt them anymore...but they wanted to hurt her. She knew there was no chance of redemption for her--not now. She had realized far too late that everything she had done was wrong. They were already out to kill her.

So, she decided, she would hold her own.

She wiped the now semi-dry tears from her cheeks, taking in the cold, empty darkness around her. Taking in a deep breath, she collected her thoughts and emotions. She didn't want to be the bad guy, she didn't want to. In her heart, this was not who she was. But now, it was who she had to be.

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hellas-himself · 5 years

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Well, shit.

So here’s this little thing I wrote when I finished DAO and DA2. I completely forgot about posting it because Feyrhycien took over my life lmao

I had never met the Hero of Ferelden.

I knew the stories, hell, I’d written about them more times than I will ever admit. The Warden, falling in love with a Crow sent to kill her. It was the kind of love story you’d find the Seeker reading quietly to herself when she thought none of us were looking.

But I didn’t know the Warden, not the way I knew Hawke.

The Champion of Kirkwall.

She would come to the Hanged Man for drinks and games of Wicked Grace, even if she lost most of the time. It was in those moments where the burden her family had placed on her seemed a little less heavy. She would laugh until she cried. Except sometimes, the crying didn’t stop. I know they were her family but they blamed her for everything. And nothing she did was ever enough. But Hawke never stopped trying, never stopped helping.

Hell, that’s how she met Fenris.

I hadn’t expected the prickly bastard to stick around once we’d cleaned out Danarius’s place, but Hawke had said they’d talked, and left it at that. He started tagging along, which wasn’t always too bad if we were choosing between Carver and Aveline.

He came with us to the Deep Roads when Carver joined the Templars. He remained in Hightown, fighting at Hawke’s side no matter where she went. He was there when Bartrand returned and I went to pay my big brother a visit… But you know that, Hawke’s story is the very tale Cassandra used to take me prisoner.

To put it plainly, the broody elf was always around, stealing glances at Hawke.

Everything changed after Hawke fought Hadriana. Their romance ended before it began. Hawke is my best friend, it was only natural for me to worry- but it was obvious the two were in love, they still fought side by side. He was there for her when her mother was killed. Fenris wore a red band around his wrist, the Amell crest- a romance in everything but name.

I’ll never forget the smile on her face after Fenris apologized for walking out on her. And when Meredith was defeated, Hawke and Fenris took off.

Naturally, I didn’t tell anyone where she went. Not even with that damn hole in the sky. And once I met Lavellan, I saw Hawke all over again. I knew I was done for; I was going to follow this girl to the damn Fade if I had to (be careful what you wish for).

I kept everything I knew about Hawke secret because I didn’t want any of this for her, but I didn’t want this for Lavellan, either. Here was this woman carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and despite how she was treated by everyone, she wanted to help. Wanted to do anything she could to seal the Breach.

She took Ferelden by storm, sealing rifts and helping everyone; from farmers to nobles to the very people who had condemned her without knowing what had happened before she’d stepped out of that rift. Now, I won’t lie, I noticed how flustered she left Curly every time they spoke. I’m sure I’ll regret saying that later. But it was a surprise to see her warming up to Chuckles, asking him question after question about the Fade and his dreams, about elven history. We’d be at camp and she’d sit with him by the fire, talking about the mark. About anything.

But nothing came of it. She went to Val Royeaux. She traveled all over Thedas, coming back with new allies every time. The Iron Bull. The Grey Warden Blackwall. Sera and Vivienne. She took the time to talk to everyone, getting to know us all with every passing day.

And then we met Dorian.

Lavellan asked Solas and I to go with her to Redcliffe, knowing full well it was a trap. Was I really the only one who saw how worried Curly was?

With Leliana’s knowledge of the castle, we three walked right into the trap. It went to shit so fast, I still can’t put to words what it was like to see them just disappear. For Solas and I, she and Dorian had been gone for a few moments. Not even Alexius had moved from where he stood, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

When they came back… something had changed in her. She still made time for us, she still fought with everything she had. But the future she had fought through to come back had cast a shadow on her. I saw it when we sat down by the fire. She would ask about Kirkwall. About Hawke. I told her about Aveline and Isabela, Carver and Anders. Daisy and Curly. That made her laugh, trying to imagine what Cullen had looked like back then. She called him over one night to look at him by the fire and when she smiled, it almost looked like she was herself again.

But I saw the way she looked at Solas when she thought no one was looking. They didn’t talk as much as they used to. ‘I don’t have anything else to ask,’ she said when I’d teased her about it. Dorian managed to make her smile, at least- so did Bull and his Chargers. I didn’t dare to question when she’d just sit in silence by Leliana’s tent, staring at nothing for a time. One look from the Nightingale had everyone walking the other way.

The night she sealed the Breach, I saw the way she and Solas looked at one another before it happened. The worry on his face before she was standing tall, before the cheers erupted in the temple. But at Haven? Nothing. Not a glance. Not a word.

Even when Cullen was sending her out to face Corypheus as he led us out of Haven, she said no good byes. But when that dragon attacked again, she shouted for us to run. I saw the way Solas retreated into himself as we walked farther and farther from her, not knowing if she’d made it.

He showed nothing when she was carried to camp, he said nothing when everyone was fighting about where to go. What to do. But I saw them walk off together. I saw her smile when she came back alone.

And then we found Skyhold.

Lavellan was made Inquisitor and even with all her new responsibility, she made time for all of us. I want to say I saw her as much as Solas did, seeing as she walked by me every time she went to “walk around the library”. But they were talking again.

As she and Solas got closer, she strengthened her friendships with the rest of us. Facing Dorian’s father, hunting down a wyvern for Vivienne. I was surprised she didn’t hit Gatt in the face for the way he talked to Bull, especially after he and Lavellan chose the Chargers over the Qunari alliance. She was hung over for a few days after that, staying up late at night with Bull, drinking with his boys. Lavellan helped Curly through some heavy shit, and he finally seemed to relax around her. He still blushed, though.

There were times Solas did not journey with her, and I would see the way he’d pace around that room a little more than usual. She had gone all the way to the Hissing Wastes without us, taking Dorian and Bull with her. Blackwall had told her not to play matchmaker, but Lavellan had helped him pick out flowers for Josie. He tagged along and said nothing more about it.

They read books together in the garden, sometimes she would sit at the little table and listen to him theorize about elven magic and whatever other fancy shit he talked about that brought the hearts out in her eyes. She would listen to Solas and Bull playing their games while we trekked through the Emerald Graves. She laughed at all my stupid jokes and shared books with Cassandra at camp, not at all afraid to talk about them with all of us there.

Vivienne had called us all into Lavellan’s chambers for us to see the gown she would wear to the Winter Palace. That was probably the first time I ever saw Chuckles a little flustered. Naturally, Josie forced us all into matching outfits that none of us liked, but Lavellan made a joke about it and Solas laughed. Truly laughed.

When Lavellan met Hawke, I saw history repeating itself. And I didn’t feel so bad about pissing the Seeker off. Hawke sent Fenris away to keep him safe. I saw those same shadows haunting Lavellan and I feared of what she would lose saving the world, when Hawke had lost so much by saving Kirkwall.

We followed her through the Fade. The Deep Roads. We hunted dragons and discovered temples that discredited the Chantry and had Solas and Lavellan talking long into the night. I knew it was a fool’s hope to see a happy ending, but every victory, no matter how fictitious left me wondering if maybe she would be the hero who walked away smiling.

But that was a fool’s hope.

After we defeated Corypheus, Solas disappeared. Leliana couldn’t find him, and Lavellan… Well, she had Thedas to worry about. Nobles and stupid political disputes. After all she had done, all she had lost- these bastards had the nerve to demand more of her. I knew she cried for him, I knew she stood out on that balcony, looking out as if she’d see him coming back home. But time passed, and there was no sign of him. The world really didn’t need an Inquisition anymore, but we didn’t know what to do yet. Lavellan walked through the room as if he had never occupied that space. She still flirted with Dorian, but that was safe. Nothing would come from that. He was her best friend and she was happy to see him in love with Bull. I was only allowed to ask about Solas if she could ask about Bianca. She never said I couldn’t tease her about Curly.

Before I went back to Kirkwall, we played a game of Wicked Grace. She won the game and instead of gloating, she just started to cry. Everyone was leaving and she’d be here, alone. I told her to sleep in Curly’s room, it was so small she might fall over in her sleep. She kicked my foot under the table for that, but it got her smiling.

I knew that she would have Josie and Cullen, but I understood. Kirkwall was lonely when Hawke was gone. I don’t know why, but I told her about Fenris and Hawke. About how he had left, how he had come back. They were together again after all this time, despite everything. I wasn’t sure if that was enough, but when we said goodbye, she thanked me for the story.

Two years passed and we were all together again. Lavellan and Curly arrived with Josie, the ease in which they stood beside one another made me hope that maybe she’d found something there, at least a friend. She joked about their clothes, about his hair and how long he’d taken to get ready in the morning. Josie asked them both to promise her they’d refrain from commenting on the Clerics and nobles in attendance. They promised, but I knew Lavellan had her fingers crossed behind her back. They followed Josie inside, the two of them whispering to one another and trying not to laugh.

The fate of the Inquisition was to be decided, and we’d face it together. But of course, shit can never be easy. Not for her.

A Qunari threat. Bodies piling up. And the Eluvian.

I had never seen Lavellan as angry as she was before she went into the Crossroads. But then, I’d never seen Curly look so worried. Everyone was a little more than surprised when he hugged her goodbye.

Once more, I followed Lavellan into the unknown with Dorian and Bull at our side. The mark started to react, worse than before. In agony she fought Qunari and demons until at last… Solas returned.

But only she went after him, not believing that he had betrayed her. Betrayed us all.

Waiting for her to come back felt like an eternity, Dorian wanted to walk through to find her but Bull wouldn’t hear it. But she came back to us, stepping out of that Eluvian, clutching her left arm- what was left of it. He’d had the nerve to say he loved her still. But she didn’t cry, she asked Dorian to patch her up. Once we made it back to the Winter Palace, she let Vivienne adjust her sleeve.

Shadows no longer haunted her, they’d become a part of her. And she commanded them. I saw it in the way she argued with the clerics, with the nobles, with everyone who had demanded everything of her. The Inquisitor, our Herald of Andraste- she had enough.

She started by disbanding the Inquisition.

Those of us in the Inquisition left Skyhold, leaving room for those who had no where to go. A safe haven. That was all Lavellan requested for before she disappeared without a trace. Word had it that Curly was living in some cabin in the Hinterlands, but I looked into it. There was a cabin, but no sign of Curly. Some Inquisition soldier named Jim was living there, and he said he hadn’t seen the Commander since he was riding out of Skyhold by himself- after Lavellan left.

Months later, I was having dinner with Fenris and Hawke. Daisy was there. So was Isabela. Carver showed up with flowers for his sister and for Daisy. Aveline and Isabela’s insults to one another were said with smiles. We didn’t talk about Anders.

Right when we were moving on to dessert, a knock came onto the door. Everything seemed to pause until I was handed a note in a familiar hand. I had to smile, I should’ve known.

I now sit by a fire, Leliana is looking at a map. I don’t know how the hell Cassandra is here, but she is, and she’s just as pissed as she was the day she met me. Dorian and Bull “went to bed” and Sera is messing with a jar of bees. Cole is hiding somewhere and Warden Blackwall brought Josie flowers.

I see her, standing by Curly, her arms crossed as she listens to Vivienne wax poetic about Orlais’ latest fashions. And yeah, you heard me right. Arms.

With her mind on the Blade of Tidarion and all the notes she took after meeting Fenris once in passing, Dagna created an arm band made of silverite and lyrium. The band is always visible, but the ghastly blue arm appears whenever Lavellan wills it. A lyrium ghost arm is what Dagna calls it- I didn’t have to ask what inspired the name; I saw The Tale of the Champion amidst her many books on lyrium and magic.

Lavellan smiles when Curly brushes his fingers against the back of her hand, because she can feel it this time. Dagna is sitting on the ground, observing Lavellan and how she takes Curly by the hand, jotting down her findings.

I notice everyone is observing them. Cassandra has hearts in her eyes and Leliana is actually smiling. There is hope on Blackwall and Josie’s faces. Sera makes kissy sounds which leave Curly blushing but Lavellan smiles, leaning closer to him.

I told her once how Fenris had come back for Hawke. How they’d run off together when the world didn’t need them. Solas isn’t coming back for her. She knew it before any of us told her. But she came back for us, for Cullen. She ran off with him when the world believed it had no need of her.

We’re going to find Solas. We’re going to stop him from tearing down the Veil.

After that? I’ll be writing about Commander Cullen Rutherford and how he won the heart of the Herald of Andraste.

Cassandra is going to read the shit out of this one.

#Dragon Age #varric tethras #warden x zevran #fenris x femhawke #solavellan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #the champion of kirkwall #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #herald of andraste

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katlyn1948 · 5 years

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Only Human: Part 7 “The Stag and The Fawn”

So this is it! This is the last part....well not technically, I am writing an epilogue. This fic turned out longer than I anticipated and I even added extra parts to it, because I didn’t want to part with it. But alas, it is time. I am glad that I wrote this, I need to focus on another story from “An Unexpected Journey” to help get my creative juices flowing. I am about half way through with writing part 12 for AUJ and I hope to have it up by next weekend...fingers crossed. It just sucks because I work full time and by the time I get home, it’s already 8 at night and I have to get ready for the next day...so like the only time I have to write is the weekend or during my lunch break. Anyway...I’m getting WAY too personal..lol. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I will try to have the epilogue up by Sunday EST. Enjoy and always, happy reading!

The Stag and the Fawn

Gendry stared at the two women in front of him, his mouth agape. When the cook’s boy Harold had told him Mya was entertaining a guest in his solar, he hadn’t expected Arya Stark to be sitting in front of her. He was sure that it would be another prospect for marriage that Lord Estermont had recommended. Mya, with her sick sense of humor, would have brought the girl up just to see his face wrinkle in disgust. But instead of a prissy high born lady in some gods awful dress, sat Arya Stark with a babe strapped to her chest.

There were so many questions running through his head, but none seemed to escape his lips. All he could do was stare at the woman who left him nearly a year prior. He truly believed that he would never see her in the flesh again. All he had were his memories that would plague him every night about the woman he loved.

Mya cleared her throat and Gendry’s gaze tore from Arya, landing on his sister who sat just opposite of her.

“Wolf got your tongue, brother?” She teased.

Gendry glared at her; his eyes shining with fury. Mya had known that look all too well; she got nearly every day. Whenever she would do something to annoy him or embarrass him, he would direct a look towards her that screamed Ours is The Fury. Under normal circumstances, she would jokingly press the matter, knowing he would not and could not do anything harming to her, but her common sense had warned her to think otherwise.

Mya rose from her chair and straightened her leather vest, pulling it down ever so slightly to put in place, “Right, I have to go…check the kitchens. If you will excuse me.”

She gave a slight bow to Arya and threw Gendry a glance that said, don’t fuck it up.

Gendry opened the door for her, letting her slip out of the solar with ease. The door clicked behind her and she heard the lock latch from behind it. She shifted her weight slightly, as to not make a floor board creak and leaned her ear against the smooth surface, trying to listen to any part of their conversation.

Mya had always been a curios woman, and a locked door was not going to stop her from eavesdropping, no matter how private the conversation was. This was her brother; her newfound family. She had to make sure that Arya wasn’t going to break his heart, not like she had the last time. She may have been a wolf, but Mya was a stag and she stayed true to her family words.

Gendry knew Mya was listening right outside of his solar. She always listened to his private conversations and he hadn’t minded because she would catch something he didn’t hear. But this time was different. He wanted complete privacy. Without a single word, he stride towards Arya, grabbed her hand and pulled her into has bed chambers, closing the door behind him. At that moment, he was grateful for the dual rooms and the separation between the solar and bed chambers.

He latched the lock, for added measure, and lead Arya to the small table placed in front of the large fireplace adorning his chambers. She took a seat without hesitation and brought Bella closer to her chest; the babe still sleeping soundlessly.

Gendry began to pace the room. His thoughts going ever where all at once. He wasn’t sure what to say to the girl in front of him or even how to form a proper sentence without sound stupid. It didn’t take much to render the man speechless, so the shock of his former lover with a babe in her arms may have snatched his tongue straight from his mouth.

Arya’s irritation began to grow. First she had a Baratheon that would not shut up, now she has a Baratheon that won’t speak a single word. Aside from their looks, Arya couldn’t see how those two were related. It reminded her of her relationship with Sansa; they were sisters, but couldn’t be more opposite from the other.

Mya seemed quick witted, while Gendry took things at a slower pace. The one thing they did share in common was their stubbornness and Gods help her if she had to deal with the both of them.

Arya sighed, “Well, are you going to say something or just pace the floor the rest of the night?”

Gendry stopped and brought his eyes to meet hers.

Arya could see all the emotions in the swirl of his irises. Each was a potent as the next. Love, angry, passion, confusion, hurt, curiosity. Arya wasn’t sure which one she should tackle first. She knew he would want answers and she would give them to him, but perhaps it was best if she tried to diffuse the situation.

Arya rose from her seat and cross the room to Gendry. She was just a foot from him; their space becoming intertwined. She gently untied the long cloth that held Bella to her and pulled the sleeping babe to cradle in her arms.

Gendry had never seen Arya so gentle before. In all the time he knew her, she had always been a fierce warrior girl, who would push him down to the ground every change she got. The strange tenderness she had shown was a surprising quality he wish he had known sooner.

He looked down at the babe and really saw her for the first time. He hadn’t the chance to acknowledge her before, for he was too preoccupied with the presence of Arya. He knew she held a babe to her chest, but he didn’t know that it would be his.

And she was his; he knew immediately. She had his dark black hair and her hands looked similar to his. His heart swelled to the point of bursting. He though he would never feel this type of love in his life; a love that he wished he had as a child. The love of a father.

“Can I-I hold her?” He voice was nothing more than a whisper and his nerves were beginning to take over.

Arya smiled, “Of course you can.”

She laid the babe in his arms; being careful to not wake her. He was gentle in receiving her and he smiled at the way his arms seemed to fit perfectly around her sleeping form.

He had never held a babe before and wasn’t sure if he was holding her properly, but with Arya’s guidance he hoped to learn.

His eyes remained on the babe and he began to feel himself ease. His nerves calming; so much so, he was unafraid to question her mother before them.

“What is her name?” He wanted to know more than anything.

“Bella Cassandra Baratheon.” Arya stated, her voice slightly shaking.

Gendry tore his eyes from his child and stared at the Gray ones in front of him, “You gave her my name?”

“You’re her father, of course I gave her your name.” Arya said matter of fact.

Gendry knew that Bella was his, but the validation from Arya made it all more real.

It was hard for him to contain the anger that was boiling inside of him. If it weren’t for the child in his arms, he would be screaming and yelling, demanding answers. He hated how stoic Arya seemed by the whole situation; it drove him mad. How could she keep this child from him? How could she not tell him?

Arya could see the bubbling anger form in Gendry’s eyes. It was a type of anger that she had only seem once before during the long night.

Gendry moved to the bed and placed Bella on the soft feather surface. He knew the conversation that Arya and he had to have, and he preferred to not do it in Bella’s presence.

Arya was the one to unlatch his chamber door and walk out to his solar. Gendry followed and gently closed the door behind him. The both moved to sit at the large oak table, each taking a goblet of wine. For a moment they sat in silence; taking small sips from their goblets. It wasn’t until Gendry let out a long, deep sigh that he didn’t know he was holding and ran his fingers through his grown out hair.

“Did you know?” He asked her.

Arya stared at him, taking another sip of wine. “Know what?”

“Don’t play those games with me, Arya. Not now.” He took a breath. “Did you know you were carrying before you left King’s Landing?”

Arya quickly inhaled, “Yes. I knew.”

Gendry burst from his chair, standing to tower over her; his voice now raising, “And you didn’t think to tell me! I had a right to know!”

“I didn’t want you to know!” She yelled back at him. She too, was now standing.

“And why not!?”

“Because-” She hesitated. Drudging up those memories from when she found out were disappointing. She hated every inch of her being for ever thinking that she would get rid of her babe.

She sighed, her voice softening, “Because I wanted to get rid of her. I thought about drinking moon tea or taking my sword and driving it into my belly. If I knew that I wouldn’t die in the process, I probably would have done it and I would have never forgiven myself.”

Gendy’s eyes went soft; his anger melting away. He could see the hurt in her eyes and they way those thoughts plagued her being. He moved closer to her then, engulfing her into a bear of a hug. His arms snaked around her waist, pressing her into his chest. She didn’t protest. She gripped him hard and breathed in his familiar scent. She could hear his heartbeat underneath his jerkin. It was beating with all the strength and pace of a racing horse. She found comfort in his embrace; a type of comfort she hadn’t felt in a long time.

They remained in each other’s arms for a time. Neither one wanting to let go, but Arya had to tell him. She had to let him know what happened and why she took so long to come back.

She pulled from him and brought a hand to his face, cupping it gently. She leaned forward, using the tips of her toes to reach his lips and brushed a soft kiss across them. It was short and gentle and convey a thousand words that never needed to be said aloud.

“I need to tell you everything. But most importantly why I came back.” She whispered.

Gendry nodded and they returned to their seats at the table. They filled their wine goblets and Arya began to recount her story to him. She told him of an endless sea filled with summer heats. She told him of the near mutiny on her ship and of her dear friends that helped her a longer her journey. She told him how terrified she was when she first felt Bella stir inside her and she even confessed that she wanted to give Bella to any woman that would take her. It was a story filled with tears and laughter and strife.

“She was born in a storm. Only a true Baratheon could muster that.” Arya chuckled.

“And is she? A Baratheon through and through?” Gendry inquired.

Arya nodded, a smile adorning her face. “She is just as stubborn as you, if not more. And she can truly sleep through anything, just like her father. And her eyes!”

“What about them?” Gendry asked, a slight panic setting in his voice.

“They are blue, like yours. Like Mya’s. Truly the Baratheon blue that everyone talks about.” Arya mused.

Gendry couldn’t help but crack a joke, “The seed is strong then.”

Arya shoved his shoulder, the smile never leaving her lips.

They talked for hours and Gendry couldn’t help but wonder if Mya was still listening. For her sake, he hoped that she wasn’t.

There was a silent pause between them and Gendry cleared his throat, mustering the courage to ask the question he wanted so desperately to know the answer to.

“Why did you come back? And don’t say it was because of Bella. You and I both know there is more to it than that.”

Arya sighed and finished her wine. She took a deep breathe and began to give him his answer.

“At first, it was because of Bella. I didn’t want her to grow up not know who her father was. I know what it’s like to not have my father there anymore, and I couldn’t bare the thought of her going through that. But then I started to feel this emptiness inside of me that not even Bella could fill. It’s like all those things that made me the old Arya Stark, the one before Braavos, came rushing back like flood. I didn’t know how to stop it, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t want it to stop.” Arya paused. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and said, “I guess I was tired of running.”

“What are you going to do now?” Gendry asked.

Arya looked up at his deep blue eyes. She was looking for any indication that he didn’t want her there and she couldn’t see it.

“If it is okay with you, I’d very much like to stay and maybe be your family?” The last part came out as a whisper, but Gendry heard it nonetheless.

A smile spread across his face and he crashed his lips onto hers. He hadn’t remembered getting up from his chair that sat across from her. All he could think about was to hold her close and never let her go. He missed the way she tasted against his lips. The familiar taste of sea salt and wine washed over his tongue and it only made him deepen the kiss even more.

Arya missed this. She missed him and was grateful that she finally listened to her heart for once in her life. She knew this made her happy and she never wanted it to end.

But a tiny babe had other ideas.

A cry from the bed chamber broke the two apart. Arya and Gendry turned their heads to the door and chuckled. Of course their child would have terrible timing.

Arya began to make her way to the bed chamber, Gendry close behind.

Bella was fussing in the bed, wiggling against the light furs. She wanted to be coddled, so a Gendry complied. He lifted her from the bed and held her in his arms, cooing to calm her. Bella stared up at the strange man and began to giggle. Arya was surprised by the reaction, considering Gendry was a new face for her to learn.

Arya couldn’t help but feel nothing but pure happiness as she saw the pair in front of her. Gendry was looking at Bella the way her father used to look at her. It was a sight to behold and a sight that brought tears to Arya’s eyes. She knew that her Stag would love and protect their fawn with his entire being.

This is home. This is where I want to be.

#gendrya #arya stark #got #gendry waters #arya x gendry #gendry x arya #forgie #ao3 fanfic

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jt-boi-n7 · 5 years

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D, J, M, R for Everly and Cassandra, please? :3

Well because I have #nochill I cannot just answer these like a normal person, here’s a 2,000 word fic. I think I covered them all. :)

Also on AO3

Nothing But The Rain

Cassandra had always liked the rain.

She slowly opened her eyes and gazed at the glass doors leading out to the balcony off her chambers. The sound of the raindrops gently landing against the glass pane was incredibly soothing, almost hypnotic, and she let out a content sigh as she settled deeper into her bed. Thunder rolled in the distance. It was too far off to truly make its presence known, but the sound still drew out a tiny murmur of protest from the small lump curled up next to her. Everly tensed in her sleep briefly, then huddled closer.

Midsummer showers like this never failed to bring one of Cassandra’s favorite memories to mind. It was the first expedition she and Everly had gone out on after they acknowledged their feelings for one another--specifically, the first time they had shared a tent since the admission. As soon as Cassandra had sent foot inside, the once-spacious tent had suddenly grown two sizes smaller, their bedrolls now so close she had looked away to conceal her nervousness. Blushing, she had immediately ducked out again to take the first watch.

That morning, however, she had woken to the gentle sounds of rain against the canvas and Everly sprawled on top of her, head on Cassandra’s shoulder and a leg thrown haphazardly over Cassandra’s waist. Cassandra had just lain quietly, listening to the rain and running her fingers through Everly’s hair, marveling at how the Maker had seen fit to send such a ridiculous, beautiful creature into her life.

And then, as if to prove the former, Everly jerked awake and cracked the top of her head against Cassandra’s jaw so violently they both saw stars. Once the pain subsided, the only way she had been able to get Everly to stop apologizing was to pull her into a deep, lasting kiss.

Luckily, the rain picked up after that.

Cassandra smiled to herself and tightened her arm around Everly’s waist. Not too long ago, there was a time when that memory brought nothing but pain and regret. Now she reminisced fondly--almost defiantly, holding to it as evidence that she had made the right decision. That years and years of doctrine would not hold sway over her, and that she could both serve the Maker and live her life without shame. And every morning was a reminder of what His greatest gift truly was.

Although, Cassandra couldn’t help but wonder if the Maker’s will truly involved endless politicking and bickering. Her smile faded into a scowl, and she suppressed an annoyed growl as she remembered her schedule for the day. Perhaps her absolute least favorite Revered Mother had been on her way to Val Royeaux for weeks, and Cassandra’s staff had received a raven yesterday reporting that she finally would be arriving this morning. Revered Mother Katerina hailed from western Orlais, and could have easily made the journey in half the time, if it wasn’t for all the pointless shit she brought with. Cassandra knew she would arrive with an endless caravan of soldiers and various hangers-on, mules overloaded with wardrobe trunks, and a gilded carriage that Katerina mandated she travel in. Katerina represented the worst consequences of influence and wealth within the Chantry, and just being in the presence of her extravagance made Cassandra furious. But Katerina had powerful allies, and powerful people were always invested in preserving said power, both for themselves and their friends. In the seven years since her election, Cassandra had yet to develop a strategy to force Katerina out of office.

Of course, Cassandra’s opinion had nothing to do with the very specific way Katerina always looked at the Captain of the Knights Divine.

Cassandra’s scowl darkened. Katerina was still quite young for a Revered Mother; she had used the chaos after the explosion at the Conclave years ago to skillfully maneuver herself into higher and higher positions within the Chantry. And when Cassandra had issued her Divinial Decree allowing marriage within the priesthood, Katerina had immediately tested the limits of that new freedom.

(With the benefit of hindsight, Cassandra realized she had been a bit too naive when she issued the order--she had assumed most leaders within the Chantry would still act in an appropriate manner for their position. Unfortunately, more than a few chose to use it as an excuse to turn everything into a Maker-damned bacchanal.)

Katerina took countless companions and consorts, unconcerned with how it looked, and was known for encouraging competition among the members of her staff as they all vied for her affection. Her interest in Everly, too, was quite obvious, and she flaunted it directly in front of Cassandra at every opportunity. Trapped in her stifling formal vestments--unflattering hat and all--Cassandra had been forced to watch numerous times as Katerina leaned far too close to Everly to whisper in her ear. Or ran her fingers up the shiny gold gauntlet that covered Everly’s right arm, making sure to catch the Divine’s eye when she commented on how adept at her position Knight Divine Trevelyan must surely be, considering the loss of her left hand.

They toed a fine line when it came to their relationship, Cassandra knew. It was not a secret, but as Everly was fond of saying, it was not not a secret, either. Rumors abounded regarding the Divine and her Captain, and Katerina was one of the people who latched onto them the most firmly. As always, Everly took the attention in stride. She smiled politely at the compliments and offered a few vague flatteries of her own. Occasionally, she would use the opportunity to wring a few concessions from Katerina and strengthen the Divine’s position on whatever matter was just being discussed. Cassandra, meanwhile, fumed silently and wished she had hidden a sword in her robes.

The rain started falling harder now, striking the glass doors with heavy slaps, and Cassandra felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. She rolled onto her back and pinched the bridge of her nose. Next to her, Everly didn’t stir.

Truth be told, Katerina was not the only one who made overtures to Everly, even if she was the most blatant. It was a subject Cassandra tried not to think about. One of her greatest fears was Everly deciding that the complexities and outside pressures of their relationship to be too much and leaving Val Royeaux for good. And should that devastation ever come to pass, the worst part was that Cassandra could not blame her. Even though she was still known as the Inquisitor, Everly could easily find someone easier to be with, a relationship not trapped within the confines of politics. Someone she could marry and be with openly, as opposed to an open secret. Someone who--if Cassandra was truly being honest--was far closer in age than her.

She never spoke of those fears, as if voicing them out loud would give them a legitimacy and credence she did not want to acknowledge. Instead, she poured her anxieties into her daily devotionals and prayers, asking the Maker for guidance and thanking Him for the blessing He had bestowed upon her.

Without warning the bed shifted, and Cassandra opened her eyes in time to realize Everly had rolled over and was crawling towards her, still dead asleep. She buried her face into the crook of Cassandra’s neck and flopped her right arm across Cassandra’s chest, hugging tightly. And then she began to snore.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but drew Everly closer and kissed the top of her head. If she was hesitant to get up earlier, now she was downright angry at the thought of leaving their bed. Especially to give an audience to Revered Mother Katerina. She wished she was back in that tent in the Hinterlands listening to the falling rain, nearly breathless with the exhilaration of first love and strengthened by the clarity of the Inquisition’s cause. Back when everything was simpler.

She almost laughed out loud. As if hunting down a deranged magister and his dragon while also building the most politically influential paramilitary organization in all of Thedas could be considered simple.

A bolt of wild, crazed energy hit her, and before she realized what she was doing, she slid out from underneath Everly’s arm, threw on her robe, and was at her desk. She found a quill and the day’s itinerary that had been drafted last night, and in one broad stroke wrote “CANCELLED” at the top. Now this was simple.

Politics were just like battle--it was best to strike when your enemy was off balance, and Cassandra knew that meeting with Katerina as soon as she arrived was the best course of action, considering she was sure to be wet and miserable from traveling through the storm. But abruptly putting everything off until tomorrow would be just as jarring and added just the right amount of insult to the proceedings.

Cassandra opened the door to her chamber and called for one of the lay-sisters walking by, heading for dawn services. The young woman was a new addition to the staff; Cassandra had only seen her once before, and she was incredibly flustered to be speaking directly to the Most Holy herself. Also, her eyes kept flicking over Cassandra’s shoulder to the living quarters beyond, too curious not to look for evidence of Knight Captain Trevelyan’s presence. Cassandra cleared her throat sharply, and the girl blushed and immediately bowed her head. She sent her away with orders to deliver the updated schedule to the Left Hand and have hot tea and breakfast brought up in an hour--no sooner. She closed the door and found herself smiling again, this time at the look sure to be on Josephine's face when she received the update.

“Cass…?”

Cassandra’s smile widened when she turned back to the bed. Everly had rolled onto her stomach and was wiping at her face. Her short hair was wild and mussed. She squinted up at Cassandra with only one eye open, her voice still thick and heavy from sleep. “Did you just...cancel the entire day?”

“Indeed I did.”

Everly sat up straighter, pushing herself up on her elbows. The side of her face was still red from where she had pressed against Cassandra’s shoulder. “But-but I have barracks inspection this morning, and you…” she trailed off in confusion.

Cassandra shed her robe, tossing it over the nearby chair, and noted with pleasure at how Everly’s eyes still widened in wonder at the sight of her naked body. “It can all wait until tomorrow,” she said, climbing back into bed.

Everly blinked again, still bewildered, then decided not to question such good fortune. She eagerly flopped back down on Cassandra’s shoulder, letting out a pleased groan. “Most Holy, you are my hero.”

Cassandra chuckled and wrapped both arms around her. “I never thought of taking a day off as heroism until now.”

“It truly is. How scandalous of you to blow off work to stay in bed with your concubine.” Cassandra could feel Everly’s smile against her neck. “Or whatever they’re calling me this week.”

“I always preferred Knight Captain of the Divine Bedchambers,” Cassandra said. “It’s much more formal.”

Everly laughed. “I don’t believe that was in the job description.”

Cassandra’s grip tightened. She slid one hand up the back of Everly’s neck and tangled her fingers in thick brown hair. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to Everly’s forehead. “Yes, it was,” she whispered.

Everly kissed the side of her neck and whispered back. “Always.”

Cassandra smiled and listened to the rain fall.

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 6 years

Text

Sunflowers

Sunflowers remind Cullen of home, and a few other things as well.

A commission for the ever so lovely @spectre-ro featuring her gorgeous Inquisitor Evelyn and Cullen.

In the Circle there were books of poems Cullen read in quiet moments. Poems of love, poems that depicted love as a secret shared, and poems that spoke of love as promises and finding the sun through the darkness. He read them all in his quiet moments, imagining gentle days with another. He saw the moments as he often saw the fairytales his mother used to read to him as a child—surreal in his mind, colorful and full of wonder. And as he got older, as it…that happened, those poems were every bit as impossible as those fairy tales.

It was a cycle. Once he believed, before life came with all the strife it could muster, making him not believe anymore. Yet if a part of him still believed it was true after Kinloch as he lived in Kirkwall, it remained dormant. Love and the secrets and sun it evoked, it was for other people in those days. Life was black and white. Black and white, until one day, he started to see dapples of color. Bits of bright blue and red in the flowers that grew around the Circle, and then, after he came to the Inquisition, back home, the color was everywhere.

Evelyn came and she was poetry.

Evelyn. He met Evelyn amidst the wonder of seeing and feeling wonder again, and he remembered those poems from the Circle, even more when they were together and they talked. Evelyn was the sun, and the flowers that bloomed. He saw her in everything beautiful. He wasn’t a man of lyrics or poems, not really, but he felt something the moment he and Evelyn kissed. They kissed and they became poetry together.

Evelyn. When they were together they spun and they soared like music, but when they were apart the world was silent. Silence was the constant that particular week, the humdrum of reports and training grating, and thoughts of her not comparing at all to having her near. But that morning, Cullen could begin to hear the music again, for he knew her arrival from Val Royeux would be that afternoon.

He waited for her, teeming with excitement, hands itching to hold her, lips aching to kiss her, his daydreams too taking him too far away to properly work. He waited. Waited, and when he heard her, heard her call his name, the music came to life again.

He outstretched his arms and she was in them, the two swaying back and forth a little as he peppered kisses against her forehead. Her dark brown skin had tanned some in her travels, and though her hair, full of coils, was usually pulled back in her journeys, she wore it lose that day. Cullen always liked it when it was loose, though he had to admit he liked Evelyn all ways, no matter what.

“I missed you,” she said, grabbing his gloved hand. “Cassandra teased me the entire time. Said all I did was think of you.”

“Well, maybe I did the same thing.”

Giggling, she interwove their fingers. “Come on. You need a break, and I have something to show you.”

Heading outside, Cullen let Evelyn glide them along the battlements to their usual spot. They kissed, Evelyn’s hands grasping his mantle while Cullen held her hips close to him. Their kisses were often surprises—sometimes playful, other times they were softer and desperate. Always they were wonderful.

As Cullen’s hands drifted upward to her hair, she giggled, not even hiding her delight.

“You always go for the hair,” she mentioned between kisses.

He parted, only slightly. “I love your hair.”

Something in her wavered for a moment, and Cullen wasn’t sure why. And though she looked as though she had a thousand thoughts, a thousand other things to say, she merely looked at him. She was thinking something he couldn’t quite place.

Yet finally, with a small smile, she admitted she loved that he loved her hair.

He couldn’t do away with the notion that part of her was a little skeptical. “Evelyn,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulder, “every part of you is beautiful.”

She looked away from him suddenly, sadly. Cullen got the feeling she was remembering something she didn’t wish to remember. He didn’t wish that. Especially not when they were together.

He touched her face. He didn’t want her to be sad. He never wanted her to be sad, so he held her face in his hands, kissed her forehead. “You said you had something to show me,” he reminded her, remembering. “What was it? Or was it this?”

“I always want to show you this,” she said with a laugh and punctuating it with a kiss to the tip of his nose. “But there was something else.”

Digging from her back pocket, she pulled it out. Cullen wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t a sunflower, beautiful though it was. Bright and vibrant and petals not damaged from her trip back home, it truly was a lovely bloom. Lovely, though ordinary.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she asked him, caressing the petals. “When we were in Val Royeux they were in bloom. I had never seen one before.”

He studied it after she handed it to him. He thought of Evelyn’s wonder at the new sight, how her eyes must have lit up. She loved flowers and was always searching for new blooms. Once they were in the garden, playing chess, and Cullen remembered how she stopped the game temporarily to observe a flower she had never seen before, a brillian blue bloom off in the grass. Once, Cullen would have thought it was only a weed. Evelyn made him realize how beautiful the petals could be. When he took the sunflower, he thought of much the same thing. Once they may have been ordinary, as sunflowers were all over Honnleath in the spring and summer. Yet he held the bloom Evelyn lovingly carried from Val Royeux to Skyhold and he held a nostalgia for his home.

He told her he loved sunflowers, and that they reminded him of home.

“Really?”

“My sister Rosalie used to make crowns from them,” he reminisced. “She used to fancy herself the princess.”

“And you fancied yourself the brave knight?”

He nodded, beaming with pride at all those “swordfights” he used to have with Mia. Most of the time he let her win them. That’s what he told everybody anyway.

He put the sunflower behind Evelyn’s ear. She beamed. She beamed and they kissed and they were poetry. Then at night when he was in his bed and he still spun with the taste of her on his lips, he toyed with the sunflower, the petals still vibrant, and he was struck with an idea.

***

She was caught.

She was convinced that had it been anyone else but Cullen, she would have never have shown them the sunflower. She would have been afraid of being called too simple, ridiculous even. Not with Cullen.

Cullen, Cullen…

How wonderful it was to be caught. Yet how wonderful it was however, it only made leaving him more difficult when they parted in the stables before her next mission. She wasn’t sure how memories of him would satisfy her in their long time apart. She kept his kisses, and he kept her sunflower, but it wasn’t enough. Neither were letters, though they made her giddy and blushing. In his words, words that she always read before drifting to the fade, he said he kept the sunflower by his bed, and it was the first thing he saw in the morning, and the last thing he saw before drifting off to sleep. The commander of the Inquisition wrote wonderful letters to his lover. He wrote wonderful letters to her.

Cullen’s lover. Evelyn and Cullen. She loved their names together, loved being known as his lover.

Sometimes though, she did remember the ones before him.

It wasn’t persistent, and mostly it was his kisses and soft words and hands through her hair she thought of. But those other thoughts were still sometimes there. Especially when she met others in her travels, and those others were so obvious with their surprise that she would be the Inquisitor.

Perhaps that was why she wasn’t as joyous when she at last came home, back to Cullen, and back to his arms.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You don’t seem yourself.”

“It’s nothing.”

He said nothing for a moment, only kissed her forehead and took her hands in his. “Cullen,” she muttered softly, wishing she could be happy. “I…”

“Where is my Evelyn?”

She peeked at him, suspiciously. “Your Evelyn?”

“You’re usually so happy,” he pointed out, cheeks reddening in that awfully adorable way she loved so much. “And I’ve missed you.”

“As I have missed you.”

“Letters only go so far,” he said, rubbing his neck. “And as well, there is something I want to show you.”

“Cullen, you are enough.”

He flushed harder, making her flush in turn. “Never the less,” he said, “there is something I would like to show you.”

He took her hand and he led her outside. Not to the battlements where they usually indulged in their time together, but down the other way, past Solas and his study. He took her to the Great Hall, and when she asked if they were going to eat lunch together, he denied it.

“That wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said, putting his hand on the door to the garden. “Unless you’re hungry now.”

“Not yet, but Cullen if we’re going outside to play chess you have to be easy on me. I know you threw the match last time, and—”

He chuckled. “That’s not what I want to show you. Not today anyway. No, it’s something else.”

“Something…?”

“Can you close your eyes for me? I’ll guide you along, I promise.”

I promise, he said. She believed him. So she closed her eyes, just like he asked, and he took her hand in his. She let him guide her and lead her along somewhere in the garden. She felt the sun in her hair and on her skin, felt Cullen squeeze her hand.

“Can I open them?”

“Not quite yet.”

“Cullen…”

She giggled as he continued to take her somewhere. She felt him take her to the grass, and before she could ask if he meant to show her the elfroot growing in the garden, he stopped her.

“Alright,” he said. “Open your eyes.”

“Cullen. You aren’t going to show me the elfroot, right?”

He chuckled. “No Evelyn, I promise. You’ll see.”

“So I can open them?”

“Yes. Open.”

She opened. She gasped.

There were no words.

No words, till he misunderstood.

“Oh,” he muttered, face falling. “You don’t…”

“No!” She came to his side. “No. Cullen. The sunflowers…they’re…they’re beautiful!”

He eased. He beamed. “There’s more.”

He led her to turn around, spun her as if they were dancing. In her eye and all around the garden, there were sunflowers. Tall ones, shorter ones, but each and every stem in full bloom, the yellow petals bright against the green grass and in the sun. No matter where she looked in the garden, the blooms peppered the grass like stars in the sky.

She glanced back at Cullen, his cheeks still red. The blooms that lit up the garden like stars—they were all because of him.

“I had some seeds ordered from Ferelden,” he explained. “The blooms in Val Royeux were lovely, I’m sure, but I wasn’t sure if they compared to the ones in Ferelden.”

“Cullen…”

“Evelyn, was it too presumptuous? I just…I was talking to Bull about it, and I wanted to do something special, because you’re special. And the sunflowers when they’re in bloom, they remind me of your hair when it’s loose, and overall, you know, they’re beautiful like you, and… Oh Maker’s breath.” He sighed. “I know I make it clear I think you’re beautiful, but I thought you deserved something beautiful, and...oh I’m not good at this.”

But she had to beg to differ.

She took his hand. “I don’t usually blush, alright? Or…you know. That sort of thing. I’m a warrior. Dances and balls, they aren’t me, but flowers are,” she made sure to note. “But Cullen. She took his other hand. “Cullen. You make me feel lovely. Important. I know you want me here.”

She was fluttering, fluttering as he spoke. “You are worth every gesture of love,” he said. “And I want to do it all for you. Maker, I care, and—”

“You do,” she said, breathless, feeling like she was going to touch the sky. “Oh Cullen, you care, and—"

But then they kissed, and in their kiss, they said everything. Even more did she flutter. Even more lovely and beautiful did she feel.

“So,” Cullen breathed, parting slightly. “You do like them, right?”

She wrapped her arms around him, brought him closer. “I love them Cullen. So much.”

She heard the music as they kissed, once more. She was never going to stop kissing that man.

“This is real,” he said. “It’s the realest thing I’ve felt in…” he closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to hers. “Oh Evelyn. You’re poetry.”

She was. He was. They were poetry together, under the sky and sun, and surrounded by their sunflowers.

It was real.

#cullen rutherford #Cullen x Inquisitor #fic #fanfic #shakescommiss #thank you so much spectre I loved writing this #read more aint working on mobile #my apologies

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alleiradayne · 6 years

Text

New Frame of Mind

For @inquisitor-julia‘s 2,000 Follower Giveaway, @geekyblackchic won 2nd Place, which was a 2,000 word one-shot written by yours truly. Congrats to @geekyblackchic! And thank you so much, @inquisitor-julia, for allowing me to participate in your giveaway!

New Frame of Mind

Ora Lavellan receives regular letters from her closest companions, and through their friendship, she finds hope for the future after the events at the Exalted Council.

Word Count: 2,721 (whoops!) Featuring: Ora Lavellan, memories of her companions Dorian, Cassandra, Cole, and Varric. Rating: SFW (some angst, some hope, and lots of coping)

A cool breeze rippled the canvas of Ora's tent, rustling the parchment in her hands and racing gooseflesh along her arms.

Wind. Wind between feathers, lifting, soaring, flying. The horizon stretches, reaching, tilting. You love to drift among the clouds but have forgotten how.

Ora recalled the once forgotten memory with stark clarity, Cole’s words resonating in her heart. Flight. She smiled with fond reverence as she remembered their conversation; Ora had not felt the wind buffet her wings in what had to be an age, a closed chapter in her book.

Difficult enough losing an arm, Ora Lavellan had lost more than that after the events of the Exalted Council. The anchor had exacted a high price, the least of which had been her limb. Fickle thing, magic. And most of all, shapeshifting. Such an intense form of transfiguration. Mages often transformed other objects, but those that mastered the art transformed themselves.

In the weeks following the Exalted Council, Ora struggled. And that struggle stretched for months. No shapeshifting. And no hunting wild game. Unreliable, her standard magic often destroyed most creatures. And failed shapeshifting left her terribly vulnerable. That loss had seeped into the depths of her very soul, leaving her hollow and empty, a shell of her former self.

Her memory continued as her thoughts wandered, manifesting in a cool autumn day not unlike today. Cole had found her alone on the high ramparts of Skyhold. His words resonated in her mind as if she sat there with him once again.

It’s not the arm that matters. The form you take doesn’t care how many arms you have. Spiders have twice as many limbs as us, but mages mimic all sorts of spiders, big and hairy, small and spiny. I like the fluffy ones with big eyes. The Witch's spider scares me…

A full belly laugh filled her tent as she recalled Cole’s cryptic words, but he had spoken the truth. Morrigan’s spider form was the stuff of nightmares.

Another breeze snatched at her letter, and her focus returned to Cole’s most recent letter.

You can have your wings again, soaring and sailing on the currents of the sky. The Fade eats limbs, but it never devours your dreams. It breathes life into your lungs, full and free to be whatever you wish.

Cole’s letters rarely lasted more than a few thoughts, always mysterious but never without purpose. They harkened background to a time when she had needed his wisdom and his compassion most.

I died, alone, cold, and terrified. But I never wanted to die, I wanted to live, to help, to keep others from feeling what I felt as the Fade took me away. Skyhold helped. Old and powerful, sleeping, slumbering, but waking with your presence. A spirit brought me to you and here I remain. To help.

He had helped, and in ways Cole would never understand. He believed in her when few others had, when even Ora doubted herself. And after Solas, after the Viddasala and the Exalted Council, Cole had been a beacon of hope, a sheer force of willpower that pushed her to try harder every time she failed.

Ora considered her missing appendage, now replaced by an ethereal, shimmering limb. Illuminating the canvas of her tent in a faint blue glow and casting sharp shadows in the far corners, she twisted the arm as if it were her own. A marvelous feat of magic. And for the first time, it felt like hers, whole, complete.

Despite the bitter memories, her companion’s letters tugged at her heart, lifting her spirits whenever she wandered lost in a forest of guilt. She shuffled through the papers, sending Cole’s to the back and finding Cassandra’s next.

Inquisitor It will take me an eternity to get used to addressing you without your title. And a part of me will always consider you the Inquisitor, even though the Inquisition no longer exists as it once did. It still pains me to recall the Council, how Ferelden and Orlais treated you. Considering the circumstances, I’d hoped they would see reason. But I shouldn’t be surprised.

I digress. How are you fairing? Have you found anything? I miss our conversations, your company. Maker, to think, the last we saw each other, you had nearly died…

But thanks to Cassandra, she had not. With years of battle under her belt, the Seeker had leapt into action the minute Ora had returned to Halamshiral. Cut off the infection, stop it in its tracks. But that meant losing part of her arm. The alternative was anything but.

I worry about you. I know you’re doing well, but I still ask. And while least important, I know it matters to you: how is your magic behaving?

Always practical, Cassandra broached a subject with less tact than a charging druffalo. But it drew a smile from Ora despite her choice of words, selflessness beyond measure. Cassandra put the needs of others before her own, most of all her friends. And she had put Ora first, above anyone, following the Exalted Council. Though that time had not lasted long, Cassandra’s resilience in the face of defeat proved invaluable.

Think of it as an opportunity. To start over. To learn again. To learn a new way. If Varric has taught me anything these last fifteen years, it’s that there’s always a better way.

And she had been right. The loss of her arm had forced Ora to relearn everything she understood about magic. Though unpleasant, it had been worth every minute she had struggled, for now, Ora’s magic rivaled that of the most powerful mages. And she had Cassandra, as well as Cole, to thank for that.

Not to mention Dorian. The next letter in her stack bore the seal of the Tevinter magister. And to think, not five years prior, any letter with that seal would have instilled fear and panic into any recipient. But in those five years, Magister Pavus had paved the way for a new Tevinter, starting with his humble beginnings in the Inquisition.

My Dearest Ora, I hope this letter finds you, first, and if it does, it finds you well. I appreciate all your work on improving our sending crystals, and when I next see you—most likely not in Tevinter—you’ll have mine for the work it requires.

True, their sending crystals provide futile after several months of use. Ora’s initial investigation revealed attunement issues, the bond between the pair of crystals fading over time. She had made improvements to her own but required Dorian’s to finish the process, permanently linking the two for good.

Which reminds me, you might want to stay away from Tevinter for a time. Locals, including other magisters, have noticed a large grey eagle that they are claiming has graced our skies as some sort of good omen. As pleased as I am to see you back in fighting shape, I worry the magisters are getting the wrong idea. Which isn’t surprising, and it won’t be the last time they take the most far-fetched idea away from something as mundane as a fucking bird. No offense, of course, my dear.

And of course, Ora took none. How could she? Dorian’s strict retraining efforts had been as important, if not more, than his support. Though not trained in the fine art of shapeshifting, Dorian understood the mechanics of magic, the intricacies of balance between not only raw elements, but of power and control as well. Where most mages followed written formulae and studied books, Dorian concocted his own brand of magic with exquisite detail, a creativity Ora found necessary given her physical and mental state after the Exalted Council. Dorian’s words replayed in her mind as if he stood beside her.

I cannot imagine what you’re going through, Ora. Few mages ever face what are staring down at this present moment. All challenges aside, I believe that you are more than capable of relearning all you once knew, and more. But it will take time

What you now lack in physical form must be balanced with mental acuity and power. Your elements are disjointed as well and will require recalibration, but be cautious here. One miscalculation and you could find yourself completely fucked. This will not be easy, but lucky for you, I’ve been fabricating magic most of my life, and there aren’t many better at it than I, if do say so myself. I would one day see you surpass me.

Though that education had lasted only months, Ora learned everything she could. But before long, Tevinter had called and Dorian had left Skyhold. And their brief time together at the Exalted Council fell short of fulfilling by leagues. It had been his final words before departing that had meant more than she had realized in the moment.

You did the right thing, Ora. You always do. Trust yourself. Believe, as we do, in you.

Another smile lingered on her lips before Ora returned to Dorian’s letter. He wrote of change in Tevinter, of subtle plans and less than subtle scheming. And, as always, he left her with another professional piece of advice on redesigning magic for her differently-abled body.

The hand might help you feel whole again, but never forget it is not real. It may feel real, and it may even look real beneath a sleeve and glove. But it is not. And that is okay. Use that to your benefit. Imagine the look on your assailant’s face when he thinks he’s got your wrist but then poof! It’s gone and you’re sprinting down the street.

Leave it to Dorian to think of a practical benefit to lacking a wrist. But he had a point.

Don’t forget, your magic is yours alone. Use it as you see fit.

“I will, Dorian.”

His letter found the bottom of the stack as Ora moved to the next piece of parchment. There, the sigil of House Tethras bound the folded stock, red wax pressed with a neat stamp. She popped the seal free and read.

Hey, Shifty. Been a while. This Viscount nonsense keeps me busy. You knew that already. But it doesn't keep me busy enough that I couldn't write more often. Sorry about that.

He apologized in every letter, never excusing himself or asking for forgiveness. Not that he had done anything that required her forgiveness. He wrote her more often than any of her friends, and at once a week, Ora mused he wished he had the time to write her every day.

I hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary lately. Thought you might have quit searching, gave up. But a rumor cropped up this week and well… life is stranger than fiction, as they say. So, here’s me asking if you’ve been flying around Tevinter the last month or so.

Ora laughed again, relishing Varric’s surprise as another rumor of her grey eagle circling Tevinter reached his ears. Creators, but she’d never meant for the tale to grow so tall. Or long. An eagles’ penchant for circling and excellent eyesight provided the perfect cover for searching. How anyone had blown such a trivial and mundane event so out of proportion never ceased to amaze her.

If so, I’m happy to hear you’re flying again. Nothing pained me more than the months after the Exalted Council. I was of no help. Definitely not with magic. I'm handy with a quip here and there, but even my words failed me. Shit, you’d think I’d be better at it but, I’m terrible. Writing drama was never my strong suit. Forget helping a real person suffering something as difficult as you did.

“Oh, Varric,” Ora started, “you helped in ways you'll never know."

He'd been the first to console her and the last to leave Skyhold. Varric's keen sense of the mortal condition disputed his letter; while his books might contain the utmost contrived of narratives, his words and his company had lifted her from the darkest depths of her fall.

You can't keep sleeping all day, Shifty. Trust me, I've tried. The weeks after Bartrand... had it not been for Hawke, I'm not sure where I'd be right now. Probably crazy as Bartrand.

Most mornings following the Exalted Council had started the same way, Varric climbing the steps to her room and sitting on the chaise until Ora found the drive to get out of bed. Sometimes he brought breakfast, other times sweet pastries. And with each conversation—wherein Varric talked at length and Ora listened—the sun rose a little brighter each morning.

When was the last time you even tried to shapeshift? I know I'm talking out of my ass here, I know shit about magic. But seriously, when was the last time you even tried? How do you know it'll be terrible? And even if it is terrible, so what? Get back on the horse. Just because you fell off doesn't mean you can't get back on it. Granted, missing half an arm might make that a little harder. But you find a new way, right? Instead of getting on from the left side, get on from the right.

That had been the last morning Ora slept in past sunrise. With a newfound sense of determination, she had set out to relearn everything, challenges be damned.

And now, two years past, Ora sat in her tiny canvas tent, the whispering of Harvestmere crisp on the cool dawn breeze. Varric's letter meandered as it so often did, hopping from subject to story to scandal as quick as a frog leaped lily pads. And in closing, he bid her good luck in her search and, as always, to write more often.

With the final letter finished, Ora added them to the growing stack in her leather-bound folder. Secured from the elements, she cherished those messages sent from every corner of Thedas in the capable hands of Leliana's scouts. Alone, they kept her company, and on darker days when her mood sank and her magic still struggled to cooperate, she reread them. There she found courage, willpower. An unmistakable drive to carry on, however wayward she might have become.

As they days grew shorter, Ora spent as much time as possible in the sunlight. But that morning, she had burned enough time on letters she might have otherwise read by candle light. Except on days like these, when the creeping hints of malaise teased the fringe of her subconscious, her mental health took priority over all else.

Ora crawled from her tent, another day of hope and promise ahead of her. A rustle of leaves scattered across her campsite as the wind gathered momentum, building in a sudden rush of gusts and lashes that grasped at her robes. That wind encircled her, pressing closer until a tight swirl of air encased her in a protective shell.

Fear loomed. Doubt reared. Imbalance threatened. Every failed attempt, every botched shape, every crumpled figure since the Crossroads crushed her spirit in that interstitial space between thoughts. She would fail again, as she had so many times before. And she would be left vulnerable, alone with no one to defend her should she need it. The racing thumps of her heart beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs as if to escape, as if to burst from her chest and abandon the terror that pained her so. Creators, why? Why had they abandoned her with such hopelessness? What had she ever done to deserve such a fate? Her vision blurred, tears gathering from the wind or from the alarm bound so tight in her chest, Ora was unsure. Tension grasped every muscle in her body, wrenching and writhing to be free of the trepidation that plagued her. Breath sucked from her lungs in terrified gasps, too much, not enough. Dizzy, spinning, the world tilted, turned, twisted...

It had lasted but a second, the amalgamation of her fears fading to tiny specs in the distance like the trees beneath her beating wings. Higher and higher, Ora climbed for the clouds, the wind racing between her feathers once more. And in that ascent, in that effervescent transcendence, Ora soared.

Fear faded. Doubt receded. Balance restored.

And there, far off in the distance, lay Tevinter. Ready. Waiting.

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#my writing #dai #fanfic #lavellan #ora lavellan #not my oc #inquisitor-julia #geekyblackchic

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