#cassandra: conversations [made a weapon of her tongue]

[bruiscdviolets]

Closed: Sir Thayer Claremont, @rosewcterdrunk

Location: Market

"Sir Thayer," Cassandra trailed off, averting her eyes as the pair strolled alongside the market place, just like they had many times before in Margate. "What must I know of marital relations?"

It was a subject she had never breached before with him, but had no where to turn with her curiosity. Other than what she could find in books, scientific journals, her own mama never prepared her for what was to come after she said her vows. Instead what she learned was from her own limited experiences with William. As much as she hated to admitting to being unknowledgable and to ask him was embarrassing enough.

Her kiss with Lord Callum had continued to plague her mind, but she wouldn't tell a single soul about it, not when there was too much risk. She wouldn't allow him to be forced to marry her to preserve her honor.

[bruiscdviolets]

closed: @secretgcrdens

location: the forests on the edge of mayfair

Cassandra had not a single worry as the wind blew through her unfettered hair. The pounding of Winnifred's hooves against the soft ground still wet from the morning rain had matched her own heartbeat. Every thought of the diamond ball and Lady Whistledown's column had not entered her mind the moment she saddled Winnie. The only thing that would have made the ride better would have been the sea waters lapping and their feet.

"You need to work harder if you're going to catch up to us," she yelled over the sound of Dusty and WInnie racing against each other, "I thought you were a skilled horse rider Callum, will you let us best you?" Her laughter erupted from her mouth as she felt only joy. No worries.

Grabbing the reins, she pulled slowly to slow down her mare, "I believe we have won," she teased breathlessly, looking over her shoulder to Callum slowing down to match her pace.

[arclic-stuff]

Symbiotic Relationship - Chapter 1

PAIRING: Grayson x fem OC

SUMMARY: Besides her agreement with Zander, Grayson communicates with a reliable informant—her ex-wife, Tatianna. Tatianna is a Zaunite Merchant—a caterer by day and a smuggler by night. Together, they try to maintain peace between their cities, benefiting each other greatly and creating a symbiotic relationship they both have been craving. 

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Hehe guess who's finally posting! It's been hard finding the time to write and figure out the structure for this story but at least it's starting haha. Very excited to share it and write more of the chapters. I hope y'all enjoy it. Have no idea how quick I'll do the next chapters but I'm sure it'll be soon:)))

______________________________________________________________

Festivities were in full swing within the Piltover Country Club as the Kirammans prepared for an afternoon of celebrations. Outwith its walls in the calm countryside, two competitors engaged in friendly conversation. 

"I'm an enforcer. For me, knowing how to handle this weapon means being able to protect people. To be of service to the city. And that's trophy enough. Begs the question, young Kiramman. What are you shooting for?"

Before the girl can respond, her mother, Cassandra, beckons her inside. She dashes up the steps, stopping to look back at Grayson. "This isn't over, Sheriff," she narrows her eyes, pouting as she ascends the steps into the building.

Grayson continues to embrace the calm silence, the smell of the forest, and the taste of her wine. She takes one final inhale before acknowledging the familiar figure hiding in the background since she came outside.

"Are you going to lurk in the shadows all night, Ms Brauer?"

With that, Anna Brauer strides into view, her heels hitting the stone pavement and her jacket drifting in the breeze. Dawning an olive green jacket, she was also clad in an all-black suit, her white skirt's top buttons undone, showing her jewellery cluster around her neck. Her long black hair was pulled into a bun, elevating her appearance and almost making her look taller. Grayson made note of Tatianna's grey strands twisting around her head; she had finally stopped dying over them, which Grayson found admirable.

"Just making sure I didn't interrupt the fan club," Anna says, standing parallel to Grayson and leaning on the balcony.

Grayson chuckles. "She's a good kid. She means well."

"She insinuated that you took a bribe and threw the competition." Anna raises an eyebrow and looks at Grayson.

"Aw, protecting my honour? You'll make me blush," Grayson jests, poking Anna with her elbow, making the smaller woman roll her eyes in response.

"Just think the little gremlin should watch her tongue", Anna uttered at a lowered volume, tilting her head towards the party where the girl was now socialising.

Grayson moves closer to whisper, "You should lower your voice, dear. That 'gremlin' is the daughter of a councillor." She chuckles. "And besides, you know I'd never take a bribe". 

Anna put her hands up in surrender. "Or throw the competition? Right?"

Grayson doesn't respond; she simply rubs the back of her neck, looking anywhere but Anna's suspecting eyes.

"Oh, for fucksake, Grayson!" Anna groans, slapping Grayson on the forearm.

Grayson blocks the last few playful hits, laughing in the process. "What! She deserved the win! She's had a hard time with exams, and Cassandra put a lot of pressure on her to do well today. And anyway, I'm not beating my goddaughter."

Grayson had been a close friend of the Kiramans for a few years before Caitlyn was born, but it was still a surprise when Cassandra asked her to be her Godmother. As strange as it felt, it was one of the best things in her life—watching her grow up, teaching her to shoot, be headstrong, and do all the other things she had hoped to do one day with her own family.

Anna sighs, shaking her head. "You've gone, soft, Gray," she says before reaching into her jacket for a beige folder — the main reason for their meetup.

This month's conclusive report focused on the City of Zaun and all notable events or changes within its walls. Anna reluctantly slid the folder to the Sheriff. Even though she knew logically it was for the best, she still couldn't help but feel like a traitor to her people and to her home. The report showcased lists of new businesses, crime states, and this month's headliner: the death of a Chem-Baron.  

Although Chem-Baron Arlo passed peacefully in his sleep, he left behind chaos as his sons fought for the family business.

"All I can say is that I hope the youngest son doesn't take over; Finn is ambitious but reckless; Zaun doesn't need that" Anna waits for a response, then glances over to Grayson, reading, entirely focused on the pages in front of her. Anna takes the opportunity to watch her for a moment. She watches as her eyes dart across the pages, breathing steadily through her nose, the breeze shifting her hair into her eyes. As she flicks to the last page, her expression shifts from concentration to mild irritation, furrowing her brows before speaking.

Anna knows exactly what she's reacting to. Twice a year, Anne has a large shipment of stock transported into Zaun via Piltover's trade routes. Anne gets two shipments that aren't inspected yearly in exchange for being an informant. She uses this for her more valuable goods like medicine for the Zaun shelters - in the past, the shipments have been 'lost' or 'confiscated' by the enforcers with legal loopholes purely because of the shipment's destination. Grayson's leniency allows essential medicine to reach Zaun's unfortunate, something she holds onto to try to forget the dubious contents hidden within.

"This shipment is way bigger than last time." Grayson looks up accusingly, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"The demand increased; it's for the—" Anna tried to explain the changes but was cut off by a raised hand.

"I don't want to know Tatianna" Grayson sighed, shutting the folder in her left hand and downing her drink with the other. She regrets using that tone with Anne but doesn't want to know. She knows Anne has to smuggle for unsavoury clients to pay the bills and that the jobs allow her to give back to the poorer Zaunites, but it still makes Grayson feel dirty like she's no different from the corrupt enforcers she swore to root out.

It's for the greater good; it helps Zaun and Anna.

Anna felt the atmosphere shift and was reminded of the distance between them. It didn't happen often, but sometimes, when interacting with Grayson, Anna would be transported back to when they first met, when things were simpler. When she broke from this trance, she would feel the emptiness in her chest that always lingered in Sheiff's presence. As soon as she felt it creeping back in, she ran.

"As always, Sheriff, it's been a pleasure. See you next month," Anna said with a comedic curtsey before turning on her heels to walk past Grayson. However, before she could take her first step to freedom, Grayson stepped in front, slighting her, stopping her in her tracks.  

"Are you not staying?" Grayson sheepishly asked, avoiding eye contact. She knew the answer, but every time Anna tried to make a speedy exit, Grayson would try to make her stay in a last-ditch attempt to reminisce for a little longer in the fantasy.

"I can't. I have a meeting with a new client in the morning, some industrialist is looking for a new trade route. I'll see you around Gray." As she walks around Grayson to leave, she gives Grayson's shoulder a light squeeze. To onlookers, it was a subtle goodbye gesture, but they both felt Anna's hand linger a second longer than it should.  

Grayson is left outside alone, her own hand replacing Anna's, where she touched her shoulder moments ago. She looked out at the grounds, which were now shrouded in sunset lighting. The same surroundings Grayson had found peace in now felt cold and empty. Cold and empty like the house the first day she came home without Anna there to greet her. Even after all these years, Grayson always felt this way after their meetings. She wondered if Anna ever felt the same; maybe she had moved on or was just as miserable as Grayson felt now - Grayson didn't like either option for her ex.

Feeling her thoughts spiral, she shook her head and took a deep breath.

What good will those thoughts do? It's all in the past now, and that's where it should stay.

[bruiscdviolets]

open: everyone

location: the modiste, morning of the debut ceremony

Cassandra could faintly hear the laughter and giggles of the women around her, gushing over the beautiful dresses they would be wearing today. Mothers and daughters gathered around each other, celebrating the changes in the future that was certain to come after today. Her own thoughts were not as cheerful as theirs were. She only stared at the reflection of herself in the mirror full of worry but no one could guess with the fake smile she gave to anyone who spoke to her, not in the exquisite dress that adorned her body, the one with the scallops and shells that the beading and lace formed across her bodice. It was a small request, an acknowledgement to the home she grew up in. Her thoughts returned to the small piece of that home that returned to her: William. Yet, she was forced to push the thought of him away.

All of it was so perfect. And she was not.

"I apologize, I got lost in the elegance of the dress," she turned to the voice that wanted her attention, "what did you say?"

[himluv]

Familiar Burdens

Here's the next oneshot from my Solavellan collection, Inevitable. Enjoy!

Solas was surprised when the Inquisitor requested he join the party traveling to the Emerald Graves. He and Riallan had not spoken to one another since that day in the rotunda. The day he’d told her to harden her heart to a cutting edge. 

He’d hated himself as he walked away from that waterfall in Crestwood. He’d hated himself when he’d gathered his belongings from Caer Bronach and set out on the road to Skyhold, alone. But he’d hated himself most when he’d told her to weaponize her heartbreak.

Luckily for him, he was used to bearing the burden of self-loathing. 

He had not known what to expect from the journey to the Emerald Graves. Cole would treat him no differently, other than to perhaps treat him with even more care. And Cassandra may as yet be unaware of the change in his relationship with Riallan. 

But Riallan was a mystery to him. He couldn’t imagine she would feign camaraderie for Cassandra’s sake, but neither could he see her treating him with cruelty or spite. In fact, he simply could not fathom how she would react to traveling with him once more. 

He would have preferred malice. 

Night after night, day after day, the Inquisitor treated him with a cool civility that made it clear she saw his presence as that of a commodity. A resource to be used and then set aside. She spoke to him — only when necessary — with such stillness in her voice that he might have mistook her for a Tranquil.

This treatment hurt him more than he liked to admit. It hurt and it rankled, and it was only compounded by the knowledge that he had brought such torment upon himself. That it was merely his due. 

By the time they reached the Graves the tension in the party was strung tight as lyre strings. It was bound to break soon, though whether Riallan or himself would be the first to snap he couldn’t say.

Unexpectedly, Cole spoke first. 

“Ar lasa mala revas,” he said. The words were jumbled, clunky and foreign on his tongue, but they made Solas’s gut clench all the same. “You are free. You are so beautiful. But then you turned away. Why?”

This was not a conversation to be had out in the open, knee-deep in a creek and Riallan within earshot. But he also knew that the spirit would not relent until he had some sort of answers. Cole always sought to help, and the best way to start helping was to understand.

“I had no choice.”

“She is bare-faced, embarrassed, and she doesn’t know.” His voice softened, sanded smooth with her pain. “She thinks it’s because of her.”

Ahead of them, Riallan’s shoulders tensed. She still hadn’t turned to look at them, but she most definitely heard them. This conversation could only lead to more pain.

“You cannot heal this, Cole. Let her carry her anger in peace.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and the look there at once soothed and scraped. She was angry, bitter as elfroot and deep mushrooms, her eyes glittering with the righteous rage of heartbreak. 

But even such anger was sweet relief compared to the dull, blank looks she’d worn for the last week. 

“Perhaps Cole can get a better answer from you than I did,” she said.

The spirit took that as permission to continue, his voice rushing quick as the creek they crossed. “He hurts. An old pain from before, when everything sang the same. You’re real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything. But it can’t. They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them…”

Solas exerted his will, clamping down on his memories — his shame — and forced Cole out of his mind. This was not information the Inquisitor could have. Not anymore.

Cole gasped. “Where did it go?”

“I apologize, Cole. That is not a pain you can heal.”

When he turned away from the spirit he found her vibrant emerald eyes watching him. Scrutinizing him. Seeing through him yet again. As if she’d found some new piece to a puzzle she desperately needed to solve. 

He’d told her the truth that day in the rotunda, whether she believed it or not. She had seen more than most. More than anyone in this cursed time. Out of all the mortals of Thedas, she was the closest to knowing him completely. A single confession — a breath, a heartbeat — away. And then she would know everything.

But he could not allow that. Not anymore. No matter how much he wanted to.

So he looked down at the water splashing against his calves, picked his way through the rocky bed and prayed she would someday understand.

He had to move on.

[liaromancewriter]

Hey Lia,

Request for 22. Making up after a stupid fight for Ethan x Cassandra.

Surrender

Premise: When an addition to the Diagnostics Team shifts the dynamics, it places Cassie and Ethan on opposite sides of the issue.

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine)

Rating/Category: Mature (light NSFW). Fluff.

Words: 1,340

A/N: It kinda went in a different direction than I had originally planned, but I hope you like it @rosebudde. And yes, the Tobias Carrick convo is from the text messages that Max and Cassie had in this Maxenna text fic.

Requested from this list of prompts.

Ethan Ramsey had never noticed how quiet his apartment could be when it was just him there. Once upon a time, the silence had been a welcome respite from the constant busyness and cacophony of hospital life.

And then he’d held the hand of one Cassie Valentine two years ago in the waiting room of Edenbrook Hospital. Week by week, month by month, year by year, a lifetime of quiet started to strip away to reveal a world of color and noise and laughter. Often all at once.

Now as he sipped his expensive scotch, watching the city lights twinkling bright outside, he realized that he couldn’t remember what silence sounded like anymore. Even the scotch was starting to taste sour on his tongue.

He reached for the phone, scrolling to the text app and the person that was at the top of the list. He started to type out a reply, but the words wouldn’t come. He hated texting at the best of time, but it was Cassie’s preferred way and he adapted.

But some things couldn’t be said over text with words that lacked emotion unless one used one of those emojis to express what they really felt. And even then, he wasn’t sure there was a combination of emojis — at least not that he was aware of — that conveyed that he was an idiot and could she please come back.

He knew it was late and she was likely asleep, but he hated the way they’d left things. And yes, the silence was getting to him. It spoke volumes when it needed to and was making him deaf from the pressure of it.

Exiting the message screen, he clicked on the rideshare app instead. He wasn’t drunk, but he’d certainly drank more than he should have.

Forty-five minutes and an awkward car ride later where he’d shut down any attempts by the bubbly driver to start a conversation, he stood in front of her apartment building.

Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he pressed the street door buzzer and hoped that of all her roommates, Dr. Trinh would answer. She was the nicest of the lot and would be least likely to ask questions.

He got lucky.

A few minutes later, he ascended to the penthouse floor. He and Cassie usually met at his place as it was more private, but he’d certainly spent his fair share in the apartment she shared with her friends.

He was about to press the doorbell when the door swung open and there stood the woman who’d made him hate the quiet.

“Slumming?” she mocked.

She was leaning against the open door with her arms crossed, one eyebrow quirked in that way he found incredibly sexy. Not that he would ever tell her that. She had too many weapons in her arsenal already.

“Last time I checked, Rookie,” he remarked, emphasizing his nickname for her, “a penthouse apartment in this neighborhood doesn’t qualify as a slum.”

“Anything would, compared to the quiet luxury that you live in, Doctor Ramsey,” she retorted.

The use of that word — quiet — in this context had him harking back to his earlier thoughts and he turned an uncomfortable shade of red.

Her arms dropped as she straightened away from the door to reach for his hand. Her fingers laced through his as she moved closer.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked softly, her tone concerned as she gazed up at him, easily reading his discomfort.

“Can we talk? Inside?” he asked.

She nodded, keeping her hand in his as she led him inside, closing the door behind him before they walked down the hallway to her room.

He was relieved to see that her roommates had made themselves scarce.

“Don’t worry,” she said, reading him accurately again. “Sienna and I are the only ones here tonight. The others are either on shift or away for the night.”

She shut the bedroom door behind them, leaning back against it rather than joining him by the bed.

“You’re going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?” he asked as she continued to watch him.

“If this is about our text conversation earlier, then yes,” she said unequivocally.

She moved away from the door then, brushing past him to sit down on the armchair next to her window. He waited a beat and then sat down on the side of the bed, facing her.

“You were right,” he said with a huff. “I’m being an ass and I’m sorry. Tobias Carrick saved your life when he developed that antidote. For that alone, I am forever grateful to him and am willing to put aside any ill feelings from whatever transpired before and welcome him to the team.”

She smiled at the disgruntled expression on his face.

“Aww. What a lovely apology,” she teased, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Excruciatingly so,” he admitted with a pained expression. “Am I ever going to win against you?”

“It’s doubtful,” she said with a laugh. “If you make it a competition, I’m winning. You just gotta accept it, babe. After all, isn’t that how I earned my spot on the team?”

He rolled his eyes at that. She let out a yelp when he suddenly leaned forward to grab her by the arms and pull her onto his lap.

She rested her forehead against his, hands clasped behind his neck as she found her balance.

“Now that you have me here, Dr. Ramsey,” she quipped, her tongue teasing the inner shell of his ear, “what do you plan to do with me?”

“We’re going to play another type of game, babe,” he said, his lips slowly trailing down the side of her neck, leaving nerve endings in their wake. “And this time, we both get to win.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, pushing him back on the bed as she climbed over him.

Her fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt, but when her hand touched the front of his pants, he flipped her over. He lowered his hips against hers, watching her eyes darken as she felt him push into her through their clothes.

Smirking at the effect he knew he had on her, he shifted only to press one palm against her core, revelling in the way she groaned, her hips rising off the bed. His hands untied the strings holding up her shorts, pushing them down and then off along with her panties.

“You might want to hold on,” he leered, slithering his way down her body. “And remember, Sienna’s in the next room. Ten bucks you can’t hold back your moans.”

Cassie would have said challenge accepted but she was too busy biting the inside of her cheek as his tongue dived in. Those clever fingers of his kneaded her breasts, tweaking her nipples until she ached to have his mouth on the hard points.

Her hands found purchase on the sheets, grasping them as her body thrashed on the bed when he increased the pressure. Unable to hold back, despite her best efforts, Cassie buried her face in the pillow, but it wasn’t enough as her muffled cries echoed across the room.

When she finally came down from the high it was to find him holding his hand out to her.

“Pay up,” was all he said, smirking in that self-satisfied way she couldn’t help but find sexy.

Not that she would ever tell him that. He had too many weapons in his arsenal already.

“Can I pay it in kind?” she asked with a sly glance, her hands cupping him through his pants.

He appeared to give that some thought before smiling down at her.

“I told you,” he affirmed, reaching for her hand to entwine their fingers. “This is one game we both can win.”

With that they both lunged for each other, clothes flying across the room. They got lost in their world, which was full of beautiful colors and sounds that were unique to them.

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@openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder

4: That Which Burns

“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”

“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).

Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees

“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.

“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:

He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness

And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,

My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.

Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.

“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”

It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark

How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old

A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife

At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”

Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…

“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”

“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...

—————————

Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.

Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.

Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.

“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…

“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.

“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”

Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.6 END

There were little things, really, that ended up putting her doubts and theories to rest. Nicole hadn't been an active person since she was five, so the occasional mild fatigue didn't stand out from her normal routine. The headaches that came and went or the tiredness that accompanied nights when she didn't get enough sleep were simply chucked to her body adjusting to its newfound immortality. Sometimes it takes longer for the Cadou to fully settle in, Esteria had reassured her, talking from personal experience as her own mutation took close to two years to be done changing her body.

All the doubt was wiped from her mind when she woke up one evening, the day after another particularly unpleasant experiment run with Miranda, with a splitting headache. It soon turned downright nauseating and hasty steps took her to the bathroom connected to Cassandra's bedchambers, where she all but doubled over, as much as her position leaning on the sink allowed.

Her initial plan was to simply splash some cold water on her face, but that soon went out the window when her throat and mouth were invaded by the familiar sensation of thick blood coming and pouring out. The white porcelain got stained in dark crimson as her heart seemed to beat painfully against her ribcage, making a small whimper escape blood stained lips. This experience in and of itself was not unfamiliar by now, but her own body apparently taking offence to simply existing was a new and unwelcomed development. An attempt to take a deep breath was made, but that only seemed counterproductive as it sent a stinging ache through her chest, so she settled for holding her breath until the pain subsided. A few shuddering intakes of the oxygen her body seemed to scream for later, the room and her reflection finally seemed to stop spinning.

Her eyes landed on the crimson mess in the sink and she let out an exhausted sigh, but before it could be cleaned, the bathroom door that she had left ajar creaked open.

"Heyy- ooo that looks bad," Daniela's voice came from her side, tone as over the top as always with the grimace that pulled at her features.

"Oh this? What do you mean, just a normal Thursday evening," Nicole replied, voice dripping with sarcasm and hands still shaking on the faucet when she turned on the water.

The other redhead didn't seem phased, presumably being Bela and Cassandra's sister does render one immune to sarcasm. Instead she shrugged and occupied herself with her sister's collection of perfumes that were placed on an adjacent counter.

Nicole gave her a look through the mirror while trying to splash some water on the remaining blood stains. "Did you… need something?"

"Dumbass number one and two are practicing some sword fighting in the garden. Thought you'd like to see," came the reply complete with an eyebrow wiggle that gained her a playful shove.

"Give me a minute to change," Nicole said, finally pushing herself off the sink when the nausea subsided back to a mild headache and her face was free of crimson trails.

As promised, when they entered the back garden that stood between the castle and its extensive vineyard, the faint clinking of metal against metal could be heard. It raised in volume as they made their way to an area where a few logs had been set on the grass, that made perfect sitting spots around what the sisters reclaimed as their small personal arena dedicated to occasional training. The vine covered statues and bushes with colorful leaves made for a pleasant spot to simply spend time in too, her wife currently dressed in light training gear and sword fighting coming as a big bonus to the beautiful surroundings.

The moment Cassandra's eyes landed briefly on her, a characteristic smirk pulled at her lips, their ashy tone left visible from the choice to skip lipstick for the time being. Their sparring match got cut short by a sudden low swipe at Bela's feet, that knocked her off balance and sent her on the trampled grass underfoot.

"Show off," she grumbled at her younger sister when offered a hand to get up. She took it, but continued to glare daggers at Cassandra as she dusted off her pants.

Not that the middle sister noticed, having turned and came up to her wife for a tender good morning kiss. She let the hand not occupied by the sword's handle rest on Nicole's cheek, eyebrows pulling into a frown upon noticing the tired look in emerald eyes.

"Are you feeling well? You look pale."

"Yeah yeah-"

"Oh just some mild gut-puking in the form of blood all over your sink," Daniela interjected, giving a fake innocent shrug when Nicole turned to glare at her. "You might wanna get a maid to clean it up, she did a shit job of it."

"I did not!" Nicole protested.

"You forgot the underside," Daniela hummed. "That was some mad splatter there."

She was rendered mute as the youngest sister moved to the small fence portion that was turned into an impromptu weapon holder to choose something and take Cassandra's place in another sparring match. Her glare was interrupted when she noticed her wife's worried expression.

"It's fine, just a mild headache now," Nicole sighed as she brought a hand up to interlace their fingers and pull Cassandra with her so they could both sit where Laura and Anita were. "Any chance I'm getting another performance? Since I missed the last one," she then said, a sly smile making its way on her lips.

That got Cassandra to grin, fangs glimmering in the early evening's soft light in a way that anyone else would find downright menacing. "Of course," she answered, eyes momentarily moving to her sisters.

It looked like Bela was winning, despite Daniela choosing her preferred twin swords that she wielded with an odd mix of grace and chaos. A slip past her guard and a hit with the ornate hilt of Bela's sword was what it took to put an end to their match, the youngest sister stumbling forward and breaking into a swarm before she had the chance to fully lose balance and fall face first into the dirt. She reappeared in front of the blonde, tongue stuck out and nose scrunched in an annoyed grimace, complete with a middle finger. If the Dimitrescu sisters had one thing in common, it was that all three of them were the world’s biggest sore losers.

"My turn to kick her ass," Cassandra perked up, picking up her well polished gladius.

Daniela, still miffed about her previous loss, didn't offer her the grace of getting into a proper stance. A flash of flies later, the clanking of metal ringed around them as Cassandra pushed her back.

"We said no swarm!" Bela called out from where she had found a seat on the grass, right in front of Laura.

The youngest rolled her eyes but complied, the buzzing completely dying down in favor of quick swipes and blocks. What Cassandra might've lacked in speed, she more than made up for in an impeccable defense, being near impossible to get near her body even with the apparent advantage of having an extra sword. Their fighting came to a standstill soon enough, with Daniela unable to get near while also being too quick to let any major hit land.

"My ladies."

Alexandria's voice called out from the entrance of their little makeshift arena, distracting Daniela enough for her sister to quickly swipe at her feet not unlike she had previously done to Bela.

The Steward flinched for a second when a long frustrated growl was heard from the youngest, but cleared her throat and did her best to keep up her characteristic poker face as she addressed Nicole. "Mother Miranda's assistant is here for you."

Her face fell, annoyance and dread both bubbling in her chest at having her pleasant day cut short not even two hours after waking up. She got up and exchanged goodbyes with the rest of her family while grabbing Cassandra's free hand in a silent demand to see her to the door.

On their way out, she decided that old jeans and a slightly oversized shirt that had survived her high school days was an attire appropriate enough to being tortured. It should've been concerning how at peace she had become with that idea, at least to any person with a sound mind. She never declared her sanity intact though.

"I'll see you later," she told Cassandra once they were at the heavy doors of the castle's main entrance, a thumb slowly tracing her jaw.

Emma was impatiently waiting for her just outside and blame the slight inherent meanness she had learned to let free since becoming a Dimitrescu, but Nicole took immense pleasure from the woman's uncomfortable grimace when she pulled Cassandra down in a deep kiss that went on for ten seconds too long. Small victories in the face of doom.

---

Nicole choked out a sob that walked the fine line between crying and screaming when the knife that looked way too big for the woman's hands came down at her elbow's joint with a gut wrenching crack.

It felt like Miranda had an unbeatable talent to never disappoint when someone thought she had reached the peak of inhumane with her experiments. The poisons were dreadful as was everything before that. The test on how well she can heal bullet wounds from the previous day had been downright cruel, only stopping after the results that showed how only a bullet through the head can incapacitate her for a while. Today's experiment on regenerating limbs was starting to eat away at Nicole's remaining sanity. It obviously started small, with fingers, but Miranda was always so keen on pushing limits.

She turned on her side with the remaining hand pressed to tear filled eyes and nails digging into skin as she desperately tried to find some sort of distraction from the pain and tingling that felt like static in her veins. Her temples were already throbbing with a headache and her vision was spinning due to the nausea. Miranda and Emma were having some sort of conversation to the side, but it felt distant through the deafening ringing in her ears as she put all her effort into not throwing up due to the sheer shock her body was going through.

The amount of time she laid there sobbing completely evaded her, not bothering to keep a mental track nor raising her head towards the clock mounted on the wall. She just wanted the healing to move and get it over with.

By the time she was mentally prepared to stomach the sight, her hand was already stitching together muscles covering the newly reformed bone, together with the beginnings of skin close to the incision. She tried moving her finger and flinched into a whole body cringe at how utterly wrong it felt.

The door creaking open took her attention away from the unsightly muscles twitching as they got placed together and into their places.

"Lord Heisenberg is here," announced a man, donning a white lab uniform not unlike Emma's.

"Just on time," Miranda perked up, a dangerously gleeful look in her eyes.

She got up, leaving the assistant with the job of timing Nicole's healing as she went to greet Karl. It went on for almost another torturous minute before the tell tale click of the timer and Emma noting it down marked that her arm was once again whole.

"How- how long was that?" Nicole asked, tentatively moving her hand. Good as new, with the exact same mobility function and sensitivity. The only thing missing was the beige nail polish applied just the night prior.

"Five minutes and twenty," the woman replied, not looking up from her paper.

Another few minutes of silence passed, that Nicole spent flexing her fingers. A bit of hot rage coursed through her veins when she noticed her ring finger, the matching band she and Cassandra had having been left on the desk upon entering the lab. At least Miranda had the decency of not slicing her hand off with the ring still on it, but she still wanted it back.

It wasn't long before Miranda came back, motioning for her to follow. "Come," she said, waiting for Nicole to push herself off the hospital bed and onto her feet.

A small burst of dizziness later, she was standing and shaky legs were taking her towards the woman. "Can I get my ring back now?" She did her best to keep the edge out of her tone, too tired to face her wrath.

Miranda simply thought for a moment before waving a dismissive hand at her. "Fine, it won't be in the way anymore."

Nicole wasn't sure if that was good or downright horrifying.

Most of the rooms in the underground maze of corridors were unknown to her. The structure twisting and turning in dizzying patterns that were enough to disorient anyone not familiar with the layout. Not to mention the occasional tunnel that stretched for entirely too long that led to one place or the other from the town above.

Nicole found herself following Miranda through one such unknown area, the corridors new to her but the look not dissimilar to every other part of the underground structure. If it weren't for the numbered plaques on the door, she wouldn't even be able to tell this was a different area than the ones she's seen before.

Miranda pushed open a door and led her inside. It was definitely more spacious than the labs and the space was mostly cleared out save from a few tables lining the walls and some cabinets. The only thing at the center was Lord Heisenberg and a long metal table, leather straps fastened to its sides and a circular saw blade attached to a machine above.

Nicole took a couple stumbling steps back, hips hitting the corner of a table and rattling the papers placed on it. It seemed to peeve Miranda, who grabbed her wrist impatiently.

"Come now, we don't have all day," she said while slowly dragging her towards the table.

With every shaky step, her knees felt like jello under her and her ears started to ring anew with the panic and dread settling like ice in her veins. Her legs finally gave way under her and she fell to her knees with a pathetic sob.

"No please. Please I can't," she said, one hand meekly grabbing at the goddess' lab coat.

Miranda bent down on one knee, brows furrowed in the feign concern that only she could have perfected to such an art. "We have to," she started, voice so soft one could easily believe it belonged to someone else. "We must know the limits of your regenerative abilities. You said it yourself that you want to know them."

She had but not like this. Not like this.

"Then use anesthesia. Please just don't-" she choked out a sob before the end of her phrase. Not that it was going anywhere, it was just a pathetic attempt at bargaining for less suffering.

Surprisingly enough, there were few instances since coming to the Village when she felt truly and utterly terrified. Anxious and afraid? Sure. But not even Lady Dimitrescu hiring her, or Cassandra taking an interest in freaking her out or even getting shot made her feel the dread she was feeling then. She would've rather spent eternity on the cold hard stone under her knees than budge an inch.

Miranda pursed her lips and lifted her chin with one hand, expression like a mother hearing her child make an outrageously unattainable request. "You know that will interfere with the results."

"Then local anesthesia," Nicole suggested, holding onto some kind of feeble hope by a thread.

The goddess seemed to actually consider it for a moment before shaking her head. A hundred meek protests and cries fell past Nicole's lips and on deaf ears as she was pulled up by the wrist and back on track towards the metal table. Miranda was incredibly strong despite her rather short stature, so any attempt at pulling back was completely useless.

Once at the room's center, she pushed Nicole against the table, frowning when she refused to get on. With a sigh, she grabbed her chin once again, putting slightly more force in the gesture. Both a warning and witness to her growing impatience.

"If you keep still it's going to be much less painful," she promised, though the validity behind her words were doubtful.

Though there was something in Miranda's tone that almost demanded to be believed without question. It may have been the inherent authority that came with being almost divine, a goddess in all ways that truly mattered. Or something else entirely, common to every piece of the Megamycete's web, down to the finest and farthest roots.

With a barely visible nod, Nicole pushed herself onto the cold surface of the table. It was far taller than she was so Karl had to spend a few good minutes readjusting the leather straps on the sides until they were in the right positions to wrap tightly around her limbs.

"Uh… sorry kiddo," he said in a barely audible whisper as he fastened a strap around her forehead. "Here," he pressed a folded cloth to her lips, that she bit down on to at least try to not crack any teeth.

He seemed almost as much of an unwilling participant as she was, lips pulled into a tight line under the scruffy mustache. The only one seeming rather gleeful there was Miranda.

The leather was digging painfully into her skin, the belts having been tightened slightly too much to prevent movement. Not to mention the uncomfortable position, with her hands tied above her head and starting to feel numb. Her head also seemed beyond foggy, the shallow breaths she was taking doing a poor job of providing her body with oxygen, to which it protested with a heart painfully beating against her ribcage, almost as if the small parasite that nestled around it was taking offence itself.

Another sob shook her body, deafened out by the metal sound of the circular blade when it was turned on. Thankfully it was clean. At least Nicole hoped as much. And sharp. If she was going through this she prayed that she would at least be granted the mercy of a clean cut as opposed to shredding of skin and muscle with everything underneath.

She shut her eyes when Miranda raised her shirt enough to expose her abdomen and, as the saw forcefully came down, screams were muffled both by the cloth in her mouth and the deafening roar of the saw.

---

The feeble knock on heavy ornate doors was answered by the tall woman positioned on guard duty that night. Nicole did not remember her name and at the moment it was the least of her worries.

She took a handful of shaky steps inside before clearing her throat in an attempt to not let her voice waver. "Cassandra?"

"Out hunting with her sisters and the other ladies," the woman answered promptly.

Nicole simply nodded once and made her way into the castle as the heavy thud of the shutting doors echoed around her. Her movements seemed on autopilot, eyes only focused enough to watch her step as she made her way through the familiar path up to her wife's bedroom. She barely registered passing through the first set of corridors, the paintings and priceless decor she had grown accustomed to every day becoming a background blur.

She felt downright dreadful.

Her ears were still ringing slightly and exhaustion made her limbs feel heavy and aching with every step. The headache from earlier was also back in full swing and throbbing painfully at her temples.

A quick look at a golden clock mounted on the wall in the main hall reminded her that it was near dawn so the rest of her family must be on their way home.

She flinched, a small jump that threatened to throw her off balance, at the heavy footsteps that came behind her. Throwing a look over her shoulder she saw none other than Lady Dimitrescu, her mother in law, making her way under the low arch of one of the doors leading into the spacious room. Thin black eyebrows were pulled into a frown at the sight of the much smaller woman, hunched over and all but shivering, with dark circles under her eyes having taken an almost purplish hue and dried tear streaks on pallid cheeks.

"Oh hi," Nicole greeted with a wry smile. "I thought you were out hunting."

Alcina waved a hand dismissively, eyes still focused on every minuscule shake of her shoulders. "Paperwork had to be taken care of."

At the explanation, Nicole let out an oh and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to politely book it up the stairs and under the mountain of blankets on Cassandra's bed. There was no escape, it seemed, as a large hand came to gingerly rest on her shoulder, leading her further in and towards one of the plush couches lined in front of the barely lit fireplace. "Come sit," she offered, face softening in a gentle motherly smile.

Nicole just nodded absent mindedly, sitting barely on the edge of the white cushions decorated with a beautiful intricate floral pattern. She passed clammy hands on her jeans, now covered in fine powdery ash from the crystallized remains of the discarded half of her body after she retrieved them following the night's experiments. A disgusted grimace pulled at her lips, deciding then and there that the pants had to be burned as soon as possible.

"How did the tests go?" Alcina asked, taking her attention away from the ruined piece of garment and being met with distant eyes.

"Good," Nicole whispered, but before the word could even be fully out of her mouth a sob shook her entire body, coming out accompanied by choked out gasps as she all but doubled over in an attempt to make herself smaller than she already was.

The Lady's eyes widened at the sudden outpouring of emotion, so uncharacteristic for the woman in the few years she had been part of her family. "Oh child," she whispered, hands resting protectively on small shaking shoulders.

"Did-" Nicole started but interrupted herself with another shuddering gasp. "Did she- do the same thing to-... to you?"

Alcina grimaced, expression unseen by the smaller woman currently curled in on herself in her arms. It had been so long since her infection, the pain caused by her body acclimating to the Cadou a distant memory. Something that would forever remain seared in her mind however was the cruel ice in their goddess' eyes as she ran test after dreadful test, pushing the limits of her body to see how much she can actually heal. It had taken months to finally be content with the results, after her body's defensive response had been mutating and turning into the giant hungry beast she kept carefully at bay from that moment on. Instead of answering, Alcina decided that the better option was to rub her back slowly, not unlike she had done to her own daughters countless times before, to bring some comfort.

"You will get through this," she promised, unwavering conviction in her tone.

---

Date: 20th May 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 5 (Regeneration- 4)

Testing the limits of regenerative abilities - regrowing body parts

Subject can regrow limbs (arm, served from elbow - 5'20'') and regenerate after being cut in half. If the body is cut with a 50/50 ratio, the upper half will regrow the lower half, prioritizing brain activity and the Cadou's placement. If the proportions are different in favour of the lower half, the upper one may still be the one taking priority; results vary. Up to 80% of body mass can be regenerated. If more than that is destroyed (eg. dissolved using acid) subject will presumably crystallize and enter a dormant state like others infected with a Cadou.

The discarded body parts crystallize and disintegrate into a stony/ashy mass.

---

Miranda's enthusiasm seemed to slowly dwindle after a few more experiment runs, the same effects John Abbott's mutations that caused his untimely death coming to knock at Nicole's door every so often.

"You see," the goddess had said the last time she had called Nicole down in the underground labs. "John was missing the healing abilities, which led to his infection slowly corroding away at his body until his death. You can heal, so you won't die, but the negative effects are still present. So try not to get hurt too much too often," she finished, not even sparing her a glance.

And that was the last Nicole had seen of Miranda, at least as far as one on one experiments went. The woman would still pay the castle a visit every so often, sitting down with Alcina for a glass of wine and having the rest of the family joining in on occasion, when their discussions didn't stray too far into matters of their cult.

She was right too. There were days when a migraine would rudely wake her up in the morning, or when her chest seemed to ache to the point where she was sure the parasite that made its home around her beating heart was trying to escape. The Cadou truly was a wretched little thing, constantly at odds with her body's defenses and trying to slowly but surely cause damage to the point of death. But if there's one thing that very same parasite had bestowed upon her was just… being really good at not dying. The healing abilities were in a continuous cycle of repairing any and all internal damage the infection may have caused on a not so good day. Those times had her doubling over the nearest sink, or suitable container if unlucky, a waterfall of blood carrying all the damaged tissue that had been replaced flowing from her lips in crimson rivulets.

A cruel fate, one may think. Not her though, for the knowledge of how her family had helped her through the change was at the forefront of her mind each time she had to sit down due to a burst of dizziness. Cassandra rubbing gentle circles on her back while she was coughing up the clogged blood in her throat grounded her beyond belief. Then, when everything was said and done, there was always something to get back to. A short vacation originally meant for business but that Alcina would always prolong for just a couple days so they could all spend some quality time away from the Village and the cult and Miranda's scrutinizing ever watchful eyes. Or the season's first hunting trip, the genuine glee on her wife's face never growing old to her. Even life's more mundane events, like the weekly movie night that had half the family groaning at Esteria's choice of vampire media. Rinse and repeat, forever under the castle's imposing towers and inside ornate inviting rooms, always warm and welcoming, always feeling like home to her.

If that was the price she had to pay for eternity, then so be it.

---

Subject Name: Nicole Dimitrescu

Cadou Affinity: Favorable

Brain Functions: Normal

Subject can regenerate at an incredibly fast rate, although healing slows down with loss of consciousness. Shows a similar mutation to John Abbott; able to detect illnesses by specific smells. The latter mutation causes the Cadou to have adverse reactions, causing internal damage that is however kept at bay with the regenerative abilities.

An unfit vessel for Eva.

[yellowocaballero]

hi i know it's been the hottest of seconds but director's cut for the prophetic spring if you're still doing these? 👀

Sure! I’ve spoken a lot about the prophetic spring, but I’m fairly certain I could give some meta information about my intense life-long obsession with Tim Drake. Dude has been showing up in my fics since I was 14.

But actually, the ficlet I wrote ages ago might be more interesting? So here it is. Exploring a dynamic that was WAY underserved for how important it is: the Steph, Cass, Tim dynamic!

No CW that haven’t appeared in the prophetic spring, but specific mention for drug addiction and drug depiction, as well as references to molestation, abortion, torture, and suicide. Story under the cut. 

Tim stared down into the toilet bowl. It was a little yellowed. He needed to clean it. 

He stared at the small baggie of pills in his hand. 

He visualized dropping it into the bowl, flushing it. Possibly mutating an alligator, or giving the race of mole people that lived in the Gotham sewers a nice surprise. 

Tim sighed, and pocketed the drugs. Maybe tomorrow. 

**

A month after the incident with a runaway foster kid and a, in retrospect, kind of embarrassing fake fight with his older brother, Tim got a text from an unknown number. To make matters worse, it was at an insane hour of the day - noon. 

Texts from strangers were hardly uncommon. Tim had an extensive contact network, growing larger by the day, but he had set up a Google Voice on his computer so they were all routed through a program there. Being bothered at all hours of the day on his phone was hardly his idea of a good time. The only people who really had his real number were his bullshit ‘friends’ and his asshole ‘family’. He hadn’t even given his number to his ‘friends’ - he had given it to Kon under strict confidentiality, and then Kon had given it to all of Young Justice. Asshole. 

405-555-1998: dropping by in three hours so make sure ur presentable :)

As Tim had just woken up, most of his brain was occupied by a single whuh? 

Just as his mind swirled in sleepy confusion, his phone buzzed again.

405-555-1998: B1706XQE45

The code checked out. It was an ally, not an unknown or an enemy. 

Tim groaned, covering his eyes with an elbow. He needed coffee.

****

The coffee was a new thing - rather, it was something he had drunk plenty of growing up, because there had been nobody around to inform him that coffee was bad for developing brains. Growing up completely unsupervised was probably why Tim was a drug addict now. He could totally blame this on his parents never loving him. 

Not a drug addict, Tim thought to himself anxiously as the coffee sputtered into the extra large gallon pot. Just someone who...uses drugs...in an unhealthy way. Substance abu - substance user, who just used it maybe as a bad coping mechanism. Not that Tim had good coping mechanisms, but it was better than sawing off heads or becoming a drug lord. When you thought about it, it was either being a serial killer or doing drugs, so logically it means that he should do more drugs to decrease the amount of fun little murders he does -

Tim made toast.

The coffee was a new thing, because he was trying to use it to replace the drugs. He had cut back. The stupid little sorority that called themselves the Birds of Prey had been talking to him about it. He had agreed to try. It was best to set expectations low, so he couldn’t disappoint. Actually, Tim loved disappointing, maybe he should set them higher. Maybe he could make inspirational speeches about how he was a good guy now? Ha ha. 

The three hours had been a deft move. The texter knew noon was his average wake-up time at best, and the three hours gave him enough time to sober up if he had been high or drunk at the time. Tim didn’t like to start popping the minute he woke up, but - well, sometimes he did. Or sometimes he was awake at noon because he had been on an all-nighter drug binge. They hadn’t given their name, either, which meant that it was somebody who he wouldn’t want to see. 

He could bounce, escape to some corner of Gotham until they gave up. Except he had the sense that whoever had gone through the effort to get his number wasn’t the type to give up. Almost nobody Tim knew was the type to give up. His ‘friends’ and his ‘family’ never gave up. On anybody but him. 

A voice in his head, not quite yet suffocated, sounding altogether too much like the Replacement, echoed in endless attempts to get him to come back. Oh, whatever. Kid was a try-hard. He needed better taste in made up families. 

Over the next three hours, he debated his tactics. If he wasn’t escaping and the texter was playing the buddy card, then the situation probably wasn’t dangerous. He strapped in his armor under the baggy pyjamas that he never took off anyway, and spitefully made no effort to control his hair. He did put on make-up, an old hand from keeping CPS off Bruce’s trail - man, he should have pretended Bruce was molesting him, that would have been funny as fuck - to hide the bags under his eyes. No use looking pathetic. 

He hid a few more weapons around his apartment. He anxiously checked his phone, staring not at the new texts but at Harley’s offer sent a week ago. He still hadn’t replied. He didn’t know what to do with it. 

As if he could ever feel safe sleeping under the same roof as her?

As if he ever felt safe anywhere?

Maybe he had nothing to lose. That was the greatest part about this, the most wonderful aspect of what he had done to everybody in his life. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. That’s freedom, or so Janis had always told him. She knew what she was about. Overdosing on heroin at 27 - that was understanding what it meant, to have nothing. To be free.  He was almost jealous. 

At two on the dot, a polite knock echoed through the apartment. Tim looked up from where he was relaxing on the couch, with all of the possible entry points in his line of sight. That wasn’t a knock he had memorized, and he had memorized everyone’s knocks. 

Nothing for it. He’d have to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Maybe he can pull the insane sociopath schtick again; that had always been effective in ditching his parents. Tim sighed, walked over to the door, swiped his thumb against the keypad, undid the three deadbolts, and opened door only to see - 

Stephanie Brown, hands propped on her hips and smiling widely. Cassandra Wayne, standing right behind her, serene as ever. 

Tim closed the door - or he tried. Steph had expected the move, and the minute he had opened the door her foot had jutted out and blocked him from closing the door. Effortlessly, she wrenched it back open and stepped into his apartment, forcing him to press against the wall and scowl as insane women infiltrated his space. 

“Wow,” Steph said loudly, “this place looks like a wreck!”

Tim groaned. 

***

The thing with Steph and Cass was this:

How to describe it?

The sister he had never expected, the best friend he had never thought he would have. Cass was his twin, Robin’s shadow, the other side of his mountain. Bruce had adopted Cass barely five months after he became Robin, and Tim had unabashedly resented her for stealing Bruce’s attention so quickly. He had always liked her more, but Bruce had liked everyone more than Tim, so maybe it was no surprise. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and no trouble. Tim wasn’t any trouble either, but he couldn’t be the rest of it if it bit him in his ass. 

Robin was the brain. Cass was the muscle. They were a team so closely linked, conjoined at the hip, that Tim couldn’t remember a patrol ever done without her. Bruce had let them start patrolling alone at fourteen (“You didn’t let me work alone until I was fifteen, and I was an assassin,” Damian had spat), and they had been an unbeatable team. Robin’s hand-to-hand was weak, but nobody ever got through Batgirl. Batgirl struggled with technical knowledge, reading and writing and investigating and chasing down leads, the only area where Tim had ever excelled. Together, they had almost been as good as Batman. Sometimes, Tim had let himself think that they might be better.

They had been so similar. Everyone had always said so. They’re both so quiet, the Justice League had said. Emotionless little freaks, the Rogues had said. Neither of them blink, their schoolmates had said. But there had been nothing to say, not between them: they could have a conversation without words, without even Sign. Cass had known every twitch of Tim’s body, had understood him down to his core. Nobody else ever had. Everybody had always called Tim inscrutable and impossible to understand - but to Cass, Tim had been an open book. She knew every inch of him. And she had loved him anyway. 

And Steph! When Steph had found them when they were fourteen veering on fifteen, and from then on it was as if she had always been there. She was so big, so smiling, so much, and she had never apologized for any of it. Nothing scared her. To Tim, that was the perfect vigilante - somebody who was scared of nothing, who never hesitated, who was good. 

Not even Bruce could intimidate her. When Tim was fourteen, he had thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. Bruce intimidated everyone, but Steph had just stuck out her tongue and kept badly backflipping off roofs anyway. Through twin convincing, Tim and Cass had convinced Bruce to give her a chance, and Spoiler had slot into their dynamic perfectly. She was their best friend, always. 

She wasn’t good at hand-to-hand at first, but Tim had improved by then, and they could cover her. She improved faster than he had, and judging from the reconnaissance footage Tim had frantically consumed after he came back to life, she was amazing now. She was wickedly smart, practical and down to Earth. If Tim was better at hacking into a computer, Steph was the one who found the post-it note with the password stuck under the desk. 

But more than any of that, she had brought the social skills. She had brought the calming presence, the sweet hand to victims and civilians, and her good humor was infectious. Steph was good with people. She was a born leader. Resilient. Brave. Everybody liked her. Everybody loved her. Tim had. She had loved him too. She could have done so much better than Tim and Cass, weird little societal rejects, but she had chosen them as her family. 

It had been the three of them. For as long as Tim’s life had meaning, for as long as he had been loved, they had loved him. Tim had grown up alone, in a world of one, and they had infiltrated it. They had expanded it, and they dragged his life into more than just Tim. Into Tim-and-Cass-and-Steph. Into Robin-Batgirl-Spoiler. Into meaning, and love. 

Tim hated them. And he wanted them to suffer. 

“That’s the Stephanie Brown I remember,” Tim sneered, closing the door behind him. Steph had quickly thrown herself onto Tim’s couch, clearly somewhat surprised at how comfortable it was, and Cass had  perched daintily on the arm. Cass had always refused to sit like a normal person - she would rather sit on the backs of sofas, or on the arm, or perched on chairs like a bird - “If I had known you were coming I would have jumped cities.”

“We would have chased you down and you know that,” Steph said cheerfully, like she said fucking everything. “Besides, if you had known we were coming you would have gone into witness protection. You’ve been avoiding the fuck outta us.”

“Wonder why,” Tim said, injecting as much mean-spirited sarcasm into his voice as possible. “I need more coffee, don’t go through my shit.”

The apartment was small, and the kitchen had a cut-away wall where he could see through into the living room. Stephanie hated nothing more than being ignored or looked down upon, and if he dismissed her and didn’t react then she’d grow infuriated with him and leave. He couldn’t fight with her, because if it came down to a battle of rhetoric or emotions she’d win single-handedly. She was so good with words. Cass...had no weaknesses. 

Which was inconvenient, because it was Cass he absolutely had to get rid of as soon as possible. She was very emotional, and more than a little sensitive. Especially to rejection. If he was cruel enough to her, she’d start crying and leave. There was only one problem with that. 

As he jammed more grounds into the machine he watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking or whispering to each other, both fully aware of how well Tim could read lips. They weren’t even having one of those body language conversations they could only have with each other, aware that Tim could crack that too. Instead Stephanie was casually sprawled on his couch, looking for all the world like a middle aged dad watching the football game, looking around the room. Cass, as usual, was zoning out. Or, of course, looked like she was zoning out - Tim could tell that she was waiting for something to happen, and was preparing herself for it. 

Shit. Tim fought the urge to gnaw on his fingernail. Cass was going to be a problem. 

He risked another glance backwards. She could see him, so she knew. Fuck. He had never been on the other side of her mind reading. It was fucking inconvenient. Psychics should be shot on sight. 

The coffee sloshed into the biggest cup he could find in his kitchen, and Tim began draining it immediately as he leaned over the cutaway. He kept the cup held up to his face, obscuring it. Face covered, everything under the elbows covered - best he could do without preparation. 

“This little field trip sanctified by Sgt. Brother?” Tim asked, sipping the scalding hot coffee. Not hot enough. He needed - he needed - they’d see -

“We’re nineteen, we don’t need his permission for everything we do,” Steph said, amused. So she was going to speak for Cass - hardly unusual, as whenever they were all together Steph tended to be the only one who spoke - but seeing as Tim was Tim then it was definitely a strategy. 

“He lets his precious baby sisters knock on the door of drug lords for fun?” Tim sneered. 

“If they’re incompetent and retired, sure!”

Tim gritted his teeth. Don’t rise to her bait. Don’t. She was the best person in the family at getting a rise out of their enemies. He didn’t stand a chance. 

“What do you want?”

“We thought we’d take you roller skating at the rink,” Steph chirped. 

Tim stared at her. 

“Or the pool,” Steph said, faux-thoughtfully. “Or just the mall?”

Fuck this. Tim headed for the door, ready to walk out of the building barefoot in his pyjamas. He tugged at the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn’t open. 

Tim breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. There were other exits. He was not trapped. Had his apartment always been so small? He could have sworn that it was bigger. 

He turned around slowly. Stephanie was grinning at him, twirling what looked like a small plastic cylinder. Tim recognized it instantly - fancy League tech. Overrides all electronic locks and controls them. They all used it to trap perps and heighten their fear tactics. Tim jammed his thumb on the keypad. Nothing happened. 

Cass glanced at Steph, and made a small motion. Tim couldn’t interpret it. Why couldn’t he interpret it? Did they have a new code? It was Cass. When nobody else had understood her, Tim always had. Now they had their own language, one that Tim couldn’t interpret anymore. Tim was lost in translation, always drifting. 

“We aren’t bringing you in,” Steph said, just as light as ever. No trace of pity or caution or gentleness in her voice: just relentless cheer. “Literally all we want to do is talk. Play a board game, maybe?”

 Tim’s eyes flickered to the hidden panel in the wall next to him where he had stashed a gun and a sword. 

“Bro,” Steph said, “you really don’t want to escalate this.”

“Do you think you can take me?” Tim asked curiously, letting his hand drift to his arm. He shook his long pyjama sleeve down to cover his wrist. “That’s pretty cute. Last time I checked, you’re the shittiest at hand-to-hand in your team.”

But Steph just rolled her eyes. Shit, wasn’t he supposed to be ignoring her? He couldn’t, not so long as she kept pushing and pushing. Not so long as she was in his house. “Leave off. Just because Jay and I are the last people in the fam who weren’t trained in Mystical Ninja Arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. Hands in the air, by the way.”

Stephanie was overly sentimental. New tactic. He raised his hands slightly in the air, caught reaching for the weapon hidden in his armor. “Incompetent enough to let me die.”

There. Finally. Thank god, Tim thought he was losing his touch. The muscles clenched in Stephanie’s jaw, and just a twitch of her eye - banishing a bad memory. “Everybody’s been saying you’ve turned rude. I guess you’ve just been avoiding us because you don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

“I didn’t remember a lot when I was first resurrected,” Tim said casually, despite the fact that he had never told anybody about the first awful six months. Something about Steph and Cass just pried it out of him, like invasive surgery. Or an autopsy. “I remember everything about those six months, though. Homeless. Practically retarded. Brain damage does that to you, you know. I lived on the streets, did you know that? It was a miracle I lived through it.” He gasped, as if he was remembering something. “I slept on 34th street! You lived near there, didn’t you? Maybe you even walked by me.”

Steph went white. Cass’ expression froze. He was pushing hard, but these two wouldn’t react to anything less. Steph could trade barbs better than he could, even now. 

“It’s a good thing Talia found me,” Tim continued. “She was the only one who cared.”

That did it. Steph tensed, leaning forward, and even Cass stiffened. “Is that what she told you? How can you believe her?”

Tim just shrugged, walking back to the kitchen and hiding his body language again. He took an extra loud slurp of the coffee, just to be annoying. “Talia never lied to me. She said that nobody cared enough to save me. And guess what!”

Steph’s jaw clenched again. She was a hot head. A fierce temper, an impulsive girl who jumped in feet first and sanity second. Woman, now. When had that happened? “Cut that shit out. We all know what you’re doing. You’ve been doing it to everyone. Did you think Connor didn’t warn us?”

Snitch. Tim slurped his coffee again. “Connor’s been telling everyone to give me space.”

“Yeah, everyone but us.” She stood up now, ignoring the flicker of a frown on Cass’ face, and folded her arms. A challenge against the world. Against Tim. It didn’t matter. “You don’t believe half the shit you’re spewing. You’ve never believed your own bullshit, Tim. You’re just saying it to drive everybody away. It’s not going to work on us.”

“Why?” Tim asked innocently. “You’re too thick?”

“Because we love you!” Steph cried. Tim rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “Saving Richie proved it, you aren’t as insane as you keep pretending you are. You know what you’re doing is wrong, you just don’t care.”

“Wow, you caught me.” Tim took another long swig of his coffee. It was making his hands jittery. Good. “Local genius aware of his actions. Call the press. Call Uncle Clark, he needs a scoop.” He arched an eyebrow at Steph. She hated that expression of his - she had always found it so aristocratic and pretentious. Joke’s on her, he was pretentious. “Do you mind if I go do a line? I’m not high enough for this conversation.”

If she had told him who she was, he would have done a line anyway just to spite her, and she knew it. “You don’t want to try,” Steph said stubbornly, “but you’re trying. You don’t want to care, but you care. You don’t want to feel it, but it hurts so much you can’t bear it. You can’t get anything past us, Tim. It’s always just been us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Doesn’t that mean -

“What that means,” Tim said, and he found the words scraping his throat. He found himself talking a little louder than he meant to. The coffee, you know. Made you jittery. “is that you should have saved me. If you loved me so fucking much, you would have been anything other than useless. You’ve always been the most useless girl in the world, Steph. You couldn’t save your crook of a dad or your junkie of a mom. You couldn’t save your baby and you couldn’t save me. You’re ghetto trash putting on airs, and everyone can smell it on you.”

As soon as he said it, he tensed. He shifted his stance, ready to throw the coffee and spill the scalding liquid on her. Obscure her vision. It would take a second for her to vault the cover, so he could duck down. From there he could get the gun, shoot the window, jump out the window. She couldn’t win. Tim had the most powerful weapon in the world in his disposal and that was his infinite, burning hate. His hate for Steph and Cass burned him to the ground, and his world with it, and he was going to burn them to cinders because he couldn’t do anything else. 

But Steph didn’t move. Cass got off the sofa. She walked up to Steph, and gently pressed a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed. Steph exhaled, long and shaking, and nodded at Cass. She walked into Tim’s bedroom - hey! - and shut the door. 

Then Cass stared at Tim, and there was no more need for words. Not between them. 

Tim vaulted the cut away wall, aiming for her feet first. Cass didn’t dodge - that would imply that she moved like an object moved. She moved like water moved - swift and supple, with such infinite grace and precision that it was like she wasn’t human at all. 

But he had gotten better. He didn’t spend two and half years trained by the League of Assassins in crochet. Tim lashed out with a foot, she dodged again. He threw a punch, she moved. He feinted, clearly leaving her an opening, and she didn’t take it. 

Bitch. 

Cass shoved away his coffee table, sending it skidding across the floor and opening the floor space. The rug became their arena, tight and intimate, no room for maneuverability. Tim acted and she reacted, Tim lashed out a sweep kick and she jumped over it, Tim tried to grapple and she broke his hold. She never threw him to the ground, never pinned him. She just moved. 

She was good, but not good enough to toy with him and win completely. The way to win against Cass was to leverage your height - Tim was taller than he once was, although that wasn’t saying much - weight, and strength against her. A couple good hits and she was down. 

The issue, of course, was hitting her. 

He got a hit in. It was much easier when she wasn’t even fighting back. She rolled with it effortlessly, taking the impact to gain a little space between them. She breathed deeply, sweat rolling down her neck. Tim used to take a cold compress and press it to that neck. She used to smile at him. Thank you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

“Too bad,” Tim said. 

Fights weren’t like in television, long and choreographed extended scenes to entertain and thrill. When Ro - Tim was in a fight, a real fight, it was typically finished in less than a minute. The only way that a match can get long is if the other person was deliberately tiring you out - a risky strategy - or if you were of completely equal strengths with similar fighting styles. Or if it was a spar. 

As Tim tried to hit her again and again, he realized that it was a spar. 

No, not even that. It was a conversation. 

Tim grabbed her wrist, and said: I want you to hurt. Cass broke the hold, telling him that he can’t. Tim leveraged the motion and kneed her in the back, telling her that the only goal of this fight was pain. Cass let the impact take her down to the mat, an incredibly disadvantageous position, but rolled out of the way just as Tim tried to exploit the opportunity. I’m not scared of you. Tim hit again, and again, and again, failing every time. I want you gone, Tim said, and this is the only way I know how to do it. 

This is what Tim said: as much as I once loved you, I now hate you. The infinite depths of my love, my twin sister, how we moved in perfect sync. I hate it all. As much as I cared, I now hate. Feel this hate. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

They moved in perfect sync, even now. Cass couldn’t predict his movements before he made them, like she used to - his training was different now, developed and refined. But Cass knew the League of Assassins too, had been trained by them just as he had, and they were written into her bones when they were only carved into Tim’s. After his third patented Talia move, she adjusted to fit his style, and their fight metamorphosed into more of a dance. Like they used to. 

“Why not!” Tim screamed, the stupidest possible thing to do in a fight, but Cass didn’t take advantage of his exhale. He lashed out a fist to cover the opening, but it was lazy and over-extended, and she dodged easily. “I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tim desperately tried to call the green to his vision. It was so easy. All he had to do was tap into that rage. Talia had called it blood lust. Said it was normal, even good. But it wouldn’t come. Where was it? It was his only friend. 

Desperately, Tim went in for another punch to the face - Cass’ jaw was the weakest part of her body, an old injury - but he over-extended again, and this time Cass took the opportunity. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, dropping him to the mat. She didn’t try to twist him around, instead landing him on his back. Bad move for her. 

She kneed him in the chest, putting her full hundred and thirty pounds on him. She twisted his hands behind his back, pinning him, and Tim could do barely more than wheeze. 

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were infuriatingly calm. Her hair was tangled and clumped with sweat, but she wasn’t breathing hard. Her expression was placid and serene, as if she was watching one of her stupid fucking nature documentaries instead of pinning her brother to a hard and scratchy rug in a shithole apartment, three years after he was tortured to insanity and shot himself in the head. 

So much time had passed. So much had happened, nasty and festering and putrid, and Tim had let it happen. He had made it happen. There was a rot in Tim, and it had eaten him up until there was nothing inside. If you cut him open, would it spill out? Would it infect her, infect Steph? Could he make them suffer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass repeated. “So don’t be scared.”

“Scared?! I’m not fucking -” Tim wheezed, cut off by the lack of air as Cass pressed down. 

“I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. But I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill -”

Cass pressed down on his chest again, cutting him off. She had finally done the one thing nobody in Tim’s life had ever figured out: how to make him shut up. “You can be as mean to me as you want. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay.”

Tim wheezed. In that, maybe, Cass heard something, because she continued as if he had spoken. Or maybe she just wanted the chance to talk. It had been stolen from her for thirteen years, and it was valuable to her. 

“You do not have to be kind. You do not have to hug me, even if I want you to. You do not have to be my brother. I know it hurts too much. But you are me. I am you. You do not even have to try for that. I do not have to give it to you. You have it.”

Tim couldn’t help it. He cried a little, and then he couldn’t stop. 

Cass got off him, but she kept her promise. She didn’t hug him. She just propped him up against the sofa, holding his hand, and didn’t speak. At some point the door creaked, and he felt Stephanie next to him. 

This is why, Tim thought hysterically, he had been avoiding them.

He knew this would happen. There was no hiding from Cass. There was no posturing, no pretending. She didn’t want anything from him. She never had. There was nothing he could say that would drive her away, because Cass did not listen to the words people spoke. She spoke only for clarity, when she could not afford for her words to be misconstrued, and for the comfort of others. 

Cass knew that he had been lying out of his ass. Cass knew that he wasn’t as insane as he pretended, as cruel as he wanted to be. 

He couldn’t make Cass hate him. Shit. 

None of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said, not between the three of them. Cass might be having a silent conversation in Sign with Steph, but he didn’t care enough to open his eyes and look. When they had first met, it used to make Steph so mad that Tim and Cass were having ‘secret conversations’. She had poured over her dictionaries, learning as quickly as physically possible so she could keep up. Everything Steph had, she had worked hard for. 

Steph was in college now. Premed. She wanted to be an ER doctor. Steph wasn’t a genius, she had to study hard. She wouldn’t be able to superhero in med school, so she was ready to hang up her cape for a few years until she achieved her dream. Steph said that she could do just as much good as a doctor as a superhero. She hadn’t always wanted it. When they were kids and Bruce used to ask her what she wanted to do when she grew up, in his awkward faux-dad way, she had always shrugged and said that she might be a nurse. 

“Why not med school?” Bruce had suggested, between sleepy spoonfuls of oatmeal. She used to spend more nights at their place than at her own. Her mom hadn’t noticed. 

Steph had just shrugged awkwardly, nibbling her whole-wheat organic toast that she would stare at suspiciously. Rich people, she would say, sighing. “I would never be able to afford it. And no way I’m smart enough.”

“You’re good enough,” Bruce said, which was the closest he ever came to praising somebody. “I’ll pay for it.”

Steph had gaped. Cass had eaten her Lucky Charms smugly. Tim had rolled his eyes. “An in-the-know doctor for the vigilante community would be invaluable,” he had informed her, pretentious and callous. “We could use you.”

“You deserve it,” Cass had signed. 

“You have a bright future, Stephanie,” Bruce said, buckling under the panic of being a responsible adult. “I would hate to see you waste it.”

He would hate to see any of them waste their future. He had hated to see what Tim had become. He knew that. The last time he had ever seen Bruce, it was just to disappoint him. Bruce was the only parent he had ever had, and his standards were so sky high it was impossible to do anything other than disappoint. 

The fact of the matter was this: he loved Cass and Steph more than he loved Bruce. He could hate Bruce. He could hate himself. But Cass and Steph…

Bruce had ear-marked a lot of money for Steph, both for whatever continuing education she chose and for her future. It had raised a lot of questions among the lawyer team, but ultimately she had been written off as another of his strays. Tim had left her a lot of money too. There probably wasn’t any point: when she married Cass she’d have equal access to the fortune. Rich people, Stephanie used to whisper in awe, looking at organic toast. 

Cass was majoring in dance. She wanted to be a ballerina. 

Tim’s future...Tim’s future…

“Or we can watch a nature documentary,” Steph said out loud. “If we all promise not to say a fucking word.”

Incredibly, unmistakably, irrevocably, Tim groaned. “Not the fucking bee one again.”

“I like the bees,” Cass said serenely. 

“If you aren’t going to get out of my house can I at least smoke up?” Tim asked miserably. 

“I brought gummy bears,” Steph said, chipper as ever, “which are way better.”

“I’m going to the fucking bathroom,” Tim grumbled, which everybody knew was as good as a yes. 

“If you take anything I’ll know,” Cass said serenely, and also threatened. 

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Steph and Cass high-fived, and Tim sulked angrily to the bathroom. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror - looking for Tim Drake, failing, as always - before opening it and grabbing his baggie of pills. 

He looked at it. He looked at the toilet. He looked at the baggie. 

He didn’t flush them. He put them back in the medicine cabinet. Tomorrow. He’ll do them tomorrow. Not today. He can hold out for 24 hours. It’ll be fine. 

For a wild, stupid, insane second, Tim wondered if he could say that tomorrow too. If tomorrow he would look at them and say: maybe tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…

If there was a future, for a fuck-up like him. 

The faint strains of Cass’ stupid fucking bee documentary began playing through the thin walls of his shitty little apartment, and Tim turned out the lights of his bathroom and closed the door, locking it securely behind him. 

[cao-the-dreamer]

OC interview: Kosaqun Adaar

Thank you @razumairon​ for the tag!!

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

*enthusiastic wave then signs* I’m Kosaqun Adaar! Nice to meet you!!

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

My gender is wild wheel and my orientation is ONWARD! *silent laughs* Just kidding. And the love of my life is Aderyn. Maybe you saw her lurk in the halls. Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite!

Where and when were you born?

On the road! Baby Me popped out during a journey. *pondering look* That was around 9:05 Dragon, I think? 

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

My fists! I’m a mage but I can throw a mean punch. As for my other weapons, it’s a secret. *grins*

Lastly, are you happy?

*smiles disappears* ...How am I supposed to answer that?

Family and Friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

According to Aderyn, I am a lucky bastard because I have four parents. I totally agree! They’re Ticiss, Meraad, Vatreth and Kathaban. They’re chaotic, full of ideas and with their heart on their sleeves. I get so many hugs when I visit them *soft squeal* I’m an only child though. That was fine, there were lot of other children to play within the Lavellan clan. Keeper Istimaethoriel is like an aunt to me.  

Have you ever ran away from home?

Clearly, you have never been in my home, or else this thought would have never crossed your mind. It was like an island amidst the chaos. Full of peace and laughter. Before we settled, we used to travel with the Lavellan clan. They were my second home.

Would you consider marriage or having children?

*beams* Aderyn and I are planning our wedding! But kids, no. We have enough babysitting duties with the Valo-Kas as it is, thank you very much *snickers*

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

Why would I???? Do that?????

Which friend knows everything about you?

*hums* Does Cole count? He reads minds. But I would say Varric. He helped me a lot to see through this mess and he was one of the few who knew sign language at the time. We can have very long conversations.

Asked by Fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

If you mean human school, then the answer is obvious. No. But my parents taught me to read and write in Common, in Qunari, in Riviani and in Antivan. Meraad and Kathaban used to be sailors, so they had to learn the tongues of the different harbours they accosted to.

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

I once joked that my pretty face would help charming people in joining the Inquisition. Turns out my advisers did make recruitment posters with me being half naked on it. I admit, I laughed my head off when I learnt that. Hence why I often wander with my tits out *chortles* helps swooning the people in the room.

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

*coughs* apparently there are deadly mushrooms and I. Didn’t know that. Cassandra blew a gasket when she saw me eat one and forced me to spit it out. I guess I’m tolerant to their poison? *shrugs*

Do you have mental health or physical issues?

I don’t think anyone wouldn’t get a bad case of anxiety if they’re suddenly catapulted at the top of a massive organisation and they have to save the world. Not the best way to wake up. *mournful gaze*

What is your current main goal?

Aside from defeating Corypheus? Getting married to Aderyn *beams* I’m so excited!! Have you seen my future wife? She’s so wonderful and strong and witty and-- I just love her so much!!!

Choices

Drink or food?

You guys can have a meal without drinks or food??

Cats or dogs?

*nervous laughter* *commotion heard from outside, Cassandra yelling at Aderyn to keep the damn dracolisk in the stable* Cats?

Optimist or pessimist?

*deadpan stare* My dear, were I a pessimist, I would be drinking myself into a stupor buried in the snow and we wouldn’t have this discussion.

Sassy or sarcastic?

If rolling eyes on a hourly basis counts as sarcastic, then sure, I’m sarcastic!

Have You Ever

Been caught sneaking out?

*coughs* Cassandra caught me every time I tried to leave Haven in the middle of the night. I hated this place, no matter how many times she yelled at me. Skyhold is... much better.

Received flowers?

Fools, I’m the one who gives flowers. You will leave this interview with a flower crowns, whether you like it or not.

Ghosted someone?

*blank stare* What is that supposed to mean?

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

Well, I don’t even hear the jokes, and most of the time the pun is lost on translation. It’s fine, there are other ways to genuinely laugh with other people. Like tickles!

[bruiscdviolets]

Cassandra returned the woman's smile and suddenly missed her own mama fiercely. She had never been prepared for this, her mother's health taking precedence over everything else. Cassandra never knew if she'd every be a debutante and she would have rather been worried about other things. Even in her mama's state now, she had offered no wisdom to her daughter, just her usual despondence.

"I'll be fine, I think I just miss home more than I thought I would," she didn't want the Marchioness to think she was ungrateful for taking her in, not when she had her own family to worry about this season, "my future husband is in there," she chuckled nervously, "it's hard to believe that."

Elisa was worried about Cassandra, she could remember well the panic she'd felt at her first season and that was with the Marquess by her side. She felt a great sense of duty over Cassandra, beyond that of just being her ward, she owed it to Cassandra's mother.

"Overwhelming is an understatement," Elisa said with a small, sympathetic smile. "Can I get you anything? We can take as long as we need."

[bruiscdviolets]

Location: The Claremont Home, Drawing Room

Closed: Mr. Lysander Digby @bxtterwaters

As soon as the letters from the queen came, Cassandra's heart dropped. The last few weeks had been terribly confusing for the young woman and worried about what her future held for her. Somehow, Will's proposal had been exposed to the ton and Cassandra wondered if this matchmaking business was a way for the queen to gain control of court once more. Had her actions indirectly angered the queen and now she was making sure that no one stepped out of line? Even if there was Will's proposal that still needed and answer, would she be allowed to accept it if she had gotten out of the queen's good graces? Then there was Callum, who had been going through hell silently and her guilt only worsened. She had not seen either in a weeks and worried about them constantly.

However, she would not be allowed to dwell on either man when the footman stepped inside, holding the largest bouquet of flowers Cassandra had ever seen. She had been alone in the drawing room, except for Violetta who was her other chaperone. Sir Claremont had been running back and forth to the palace for business matters and she was left alone. Normally, if she had been stuck inside, she would have begged Callum to entertain her, but she was taken from the Sinclair home after she admitted to him what had happened between the pair. Now she missed her best friend.

"For Miss Cassandra Lockridge," he spoke loudly as she sat her book down, "A Mr. Lysander Digby is here to call upon you Miss." Her heart raced at the introduction before Mr. Digby stood in the opening of the door.

[cap-winter-barnes]

My Hero - Campbell Eliot x Reader

Requested by @angeltop129​ - I am so sorry for how long this has taken. I hope this is okay. If you would like a Part 2 please let me know.

Warnings: guns, violence (that’s about it I think)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

West Ham was a town that once upon a time, I would have described as charming and peaceful. But New Ham? New Ham is what I would call chaotic.

I  wish every day that this is just a dream, and that when I wake, everything will be back to the way it was before. But it has been forty-six days since we returned on those school buses. Forty-six days with no idea how or why this has happened to us.

When Cassandra suggested some of us take inventory at the grocery store, I jumped at the chance. Anything to get me off of the streets and away from my home. Being an only child already, I physically cannot stand to be in that house alone.

Kelly and Will have been inseparable since we started the job. Not once have they tried involving me in any of their conversations. I can practically hear every word either way, but it would be nice to at least be involved.

But then again, that’s how my life has always been. I am acknowledged and that’s that. No conversations. No interest. No friends.

Looking at my watch, I realise how long I have gone with nothing to eat. I reach across for my rucksack that is propped against the display of tinned tuna. As my fingers graze the left shoulder strap, I am startled by a loud smash from the entrance of the store. Leaving the bag where it is, I stand and peer out of the aisle. I’m honestly not surprised to see some of the local idiots causing trouble. I find it funny how I can’t place a name to their faces except for one. Campbell.

He for once is not directly involved with the disruption, but is standing outside of the store, watching on. But why does he look nervous? Something doesn’t seem right though. And that’s when I notice the group inside the store are all armed.

Being someone who is against conflict of any sort, I quickly back away from the aisle end. But as I reach for my bag, I trip over my own feet and come crashing down into the shelving.

Tins upon tins of food come crashing down with me to the tiled floor. The noise is deafening as they all come tumbling down. It seems endless. A few of the larger products don’t miss me on their descent to the ground. My head throbs with blinding pain. I raise my hands above my head to soften the blow of those that continue to fall, the pain is horrendous. The metal digs into my palms, bending my fingers unnaturally backwards. It’s no wonder that I don’t hear the sounds of the group approaching me, guns aimed in my direction.

My vision is blurred, and my ears are ringing as I try and focus. Through the incessant sound of the ringing, I can tell that there are people shouting. But I can’t quite make out who. I place my hands on the floor to steady myself, and I try and push up from the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey.” A voice cuts clearly through the ringing in my ears. “No. You need to stay where you are.” I recognise the voice, but my brain is still fuzzy from the impact of the tinned goods. “Y/N. Hey.” Campbell. That’s Campbell’s voice.

With help, I lower myself back down to the floor, my back propped up against what is left of the shelving. My vision is slowly coming back to me and I can make out the group of guys standing around where I had last seen them. But this time they look concerned.

I turn to look at Campbell as he carefully kicks the tins out of the way, the sound hurts my head. He then kneels down in front of me, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks at me.

“How are you feeling?” I frown at him and reach up to my head with my fingers. He quickly takes my hand and brings it back down to my body. “You’re bleeding,” he grimaces as he says it, “you don’t need to see it.” I minutely nod my head in understanding. So that’s why I feel like my skull has been cracked open. He takes of his plaid overshirt and gently wraps it around my head as a makeshift bandage.

“I’ll sort you a proper one soon, okay?” He reassures me as he makes sure that the shirt is secure.

I smile in thanks and close my eyes, trying to block out the bright fluorescent lights of the store. “Hey, no. You have to keep your eyes open.”

“The lights are too fucking bright.” My voice is laced with fatigue and annoyance. He chuckles and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, revealing a pair of dark plastic sunglasses. He opens them up and places them on my face, pushing a strand of loose hair behind my ear as he does so.

“Better?” I smile and nod at him, the relief from the brightness takes some of the aching in my head away. Campbell returns the smile and then takes a seat next to me, his shoulder knocking against mine as he does so.

“Hey, Eliot! We done here?” A voice cuts through the silence, it feels like a blade is pressing against my head as he says it. I wince at the sensation and Campbell notices. His expression is no longer caring and kind, but now filled with annoyance. Standing, he makes his way towards the group that have made their way to us.  

“No, we’re not done here.” As Campbell walks towards them, I watch on with worry. I remember them all carrying guns. And not all of them were handguns. My heart rate increases at the thought of someone firing. Campbell can handle himself; I’ve seen him in fights in and out of school. And I’ve never seen him lose.

But as he walks away from me, I notice that tucked into the waistband of his jeans, is a handgun. My heart is hammering in my chest and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“We’re not done here until I say so.” Campbell places his hands into his front pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well, until Cassandra, says so.” The guy laughs as if it’s the funniest joke he’s heard. The others in the group have smirks resting on their faces. “Something funny to you, Dewey?”

“You hate Cassandra. So why get her involved?”

Campbell clears his throat and looks back towards me, a small smile on his lips.

“Because of what you did.” He reaches with his right hand to his waistband and wraps his fingers around the gun but doesn’t remove it from its hiding spot. “What would you have done if you’d have shot her, huh?”

“She shouldn’t be here in the first place, Eliot.” He turns to look at his friends for their support, but none give it. “Should have kept out of our business.”

“Your business?” Campbell’s tone was darker now, his voice raising in volume. “You came here, with guns, to take stuff that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Like you’ve never stolen anything in your life.”

Campbell nods his head, smirking as he does so, looking at the floor. He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip and then bites down on it. I can see his body language change instantly, from relaxed to tense. As if he’s holding back.

It’s then that he takes the gun from his belt and aims it at him. His friends immediately take a step back, a few of them dropping their weapons on the ground. They raise their hands above their heads in surrender and back up.

“Greg, man. It’s not worth it.” They all then chime in, trying to calm Dewey down, to convince him to admit to his wrong doings. But to no avail.

“You got a soft spot for her, do ya Campbell?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.” His grip tightens on the gun.

“Greg, c’mon.”

He throws a look over his shoulder to the group that are slowly retreating. Each one of them with a look of regret on their faces. A few take a seat on the ground, knowing if they try and leave, they will be in the same situation as Greg is now.

I can’t see the expression on his face, but I know for a fact, that it would be one of disapproval at their words.

“Campbell.” His name leaves my lips before I can even process it in my head. My eyes widen in surprise and I cover my mouth with my hand.

He turns to face me without any hesitation and his grip on the gun falters for a moment, his wrist lowering slightly.

That’s when Greg takes the opportunity to grab him. Everything is happening so fast I have no idea what’s going. One moment Greg is grabbing at Campbell’s arms and throwing punches and the next, there is a gunshot echoing through the store. Then there is silence. I look across to the two boys, to find Greg with a shocked expression on his face. His skin pale and eyes brimming with unfallen tears. There’s a bruise starting to bloom on his cheek already and his top lip is split.

Campbell is standing a metre or so away from him, a hand to his left temple, breathing heavy. The gun clutched in his right hand tightly. Neither of them is injured, aside from the bruises and split lip.  

“Dude, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me, apologise to her.”

Campbell directs Greg’s attention to me.

“I am so sorry. For everything. It was stupid of us – of me, to come here. It was my idea. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Campbell scoffs lightly under his breath, I seem to be the only one that notices.

“Go. But don’t think for one second you’ve got away with this. That was a warning shot, alright? Next time I won’t miss.” Campbell straightens himself up and tucks the gun back into the waistband of his jeans, this time in the front so that everybody can see it. “And Cassandra will want to speak to you all.” He raises his voice so that they can hear him as they swiftly make their way out of the store. The ground now littered with their discarded weapons.

At least they won’t be using them again any time soon.

I tilt my head back and rest it onto the shelf behind me, my heart rate still high and my breathing shallow. I’m oblivious to Campbell taking a seat next to me until he’s knocking his elbow against mine to get my attention.

“Hey, you alright?’

I nod, worried that my words will fail me if I open my mouth. Slipping his sunglasses off of my face, I turn to look at him. His face is a mess, his left temple and cheek are already turning green and purple from the punches Greg delivered. No doubt he’ll have a black eye by the end of the day. And his lip is split, the blood drying already.

“I’m sorry.” He frowns at me, questioning me without words. “About you-, about your face.”

“It’s okay. No need to apologise.” He whispers and he shakes his head.

I reach up and slowly unravel the shirt from around my head. Feeling ridiculous sat here like this. I hold it in my lap, not wanting to give it back without washing it first. Seems a bit unfair when it’s my blood after all.

We sit in silence for a few minutes until we both simultaneously start laughing. After everything that’s happened, this is probably something that neither of us were expecting to occur.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” His words are kind, so unlike what I expected of him.

“Yeah.” Accepting his offer, he stands, holding out his hand for me to take. I slip my hand into his, squeezing, as he pulls me to my fit. My head spins for a moment before it stops, Campbell holding me tightly while I compose myself.

“I’ve gotta ask.” He clears his throat then continues. “You’ve not been staying at your place for a few days now. Where have you been going?”

“You been watching me, Eliot?”

His cheeks blush with embarrassment.

“Just making sure you’re alright is all.”

I nod my head and look at my feet, grinding my toes into the cracks in the tiles.

“I can’t be there on my own. It’s just.” I take a deep breath; it sounds so stupid to say it out loud. “Being an only child, just, it’s so empty. My Mom worked from home, so I was never on my own. This i-, this is the first time.”

When he squeezes my hand reassuringly, I realise that he hadn’t let go of me this whole time.

“Come stay with me.”

“What?”

“Come stay with me, at my place. I won’t ask anything of you. I’ll even cook you dinner.”

“Is that your way of asking me out?”

“Maybe.” He chuckles and leads me out of the store, making sure I don’t trip over anything else.

His hand is in mine the entire way.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Summer Lovin’ zine, where I wanted to do a light, fluffy, summer romance. With bonus Steph and Tim teasing Damian (as is their right) and Cassandra helping out where she could.

…

…

…

…

Endless fields of unripe wheat. A cloudless blue sky stretching as far as the eye can see. The occasional house poking out of an otherwise flat terrain. Damian stared outside the car window and clicked his tongue. No wonder his father had declined to come; there were no shadows here to hide in, only light.

 “What’s the matter?” Stephanie asked, an impish smile on her face as she poked his cheek. “Bored?”

 “Of course not.” He swatted her hand away but that only made her laugh. “We shouldn’t be here.”

 “Why?” From the driver’s seat, Tim glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. If Stephanie’s smile was teasing, his smirk was downright malicious. “Scared you’ll have fun?”

 Damian crossed his arms. He would never for the life of him understand what his father saw in that fake Robin. No, it went deeper than that—what did he see in most of his proteges? Stephanie didn’t take anything seriously, Tim didn’t have the skills, Dick was too fun-loving, and Jason had no control. The only not disappointing one in the bunch was Cassandra, and Damian feared that one day the others would infect her as well. He should have gotten rid of them while he had the chance. “We should be training, Drake,” Damian replied, irritation leaking into his voice.

“An important part of training is taking breaks.” Stephanie poked his cheek again. He was going to break her finger one day. “It’s summer, school’s out, and Bruce and Dick have Gotham covered. We can have a little vacation, the world’s not going to destroy itself without us.”

 “Without you, maybe,” Damian sneered. The effect was ruined as she pulled his cheek.

 “Without us,” she repeated, still sporting that insufferable smile. “If it’s serious, they’ll call us. It’s not like the League doesn’t know where the Kent farmhouse is.”

 Damian wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. Surely the most dangerous man in the planet should have his parents hidden somewhere secure, instead of having their name on file. Villains broke into the JLA all the time as it was; it wouldn’t be that long before someone stumbled upon this badly kept secret.

 “You’re wasting your breath, Steph.” Tim shrugged, his eyes on the road. “He doesn’t know what a break is.”

 From the front passenger seat, Cassandra gave Damian a sympathetic smile. She had been silent till now, more than content to just listen. Which was probably why he preferred her to the others; she wasn’t a blabbermouth like the others. “A break can help your body recover,” she offered.

 At least that was practical advice for once. Damian leaned back in his seat. “I suppose.”

 “You’re such a softie to her and Dick.” Stephanie leaned back into her seat, finally leaving him alone.

 “It’s too bad Dick couldn’t come,” Tim sighed. “He could have muzzled the brat.”

 “Well, while we’re meeting our favourite aliens, he’s got his own alien to meet.” Stephanie waggled her brows before she and Tim burst into a fit of laughter. Leaning forward, she rested a hand on Cass’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll share mine with you.”

 “Okay?” Looking confused, Cassandra nodded.

 “And Damian’s got Jon,” Tim chimed in, exchanging a look with Steph.

 Wisely, Damian kept his mouth shut. With these two, almost any response he gave would only be ammo.

 -x-

 “Damian!”

 He barely had time to turn around before Jon barreled into him, knocking him over. Landing flat on his back, Damian grunted as his breath rushed out of him. Jon had little restraint in the best of times, and almost none when he was emotional. Frowning at the mop of dark hair on his chest, he rolled his friend off. “Kent.”

 “Kent,” Tim and Steph said at the same time and he didn’t have to see them to know they were wearing identical smiles.

 “Damian!” Pushing himself off the ground, Jon shot him a grumpy look.

 Quietly, Damian muttered, “Fine, Jon.”

 The idiot duo cackled behind him and he wasn’t sure if Jon’s bright smile was worth it. Picking himself off the ground, Damian didn’t bother to dust off his clothes before hauling Jon up. “Where’s my room?” he asked, dragging Jon along as he headed to the main house. “And please tell me those two are sleeping in the barn.”

 “Nah, they’ll be rooming with Conner and Kara, just like you’ll be with me.” Jon wrapped an arm around his back, almost skipping as they headed in. “It’ll be fun!”

 Fun. That wasn’t the word he’d use for it. Perhaps he could at least sabotage their beds after this.

 -x-

 Balancing a dagger between his two fingers, Damian studied the target. It was perhaps one of the simplest targets he’d practiced with, a static bale of hay only 50 yards down. A single red x made of cardboard sat on the bale. There was no challenge in this. Still, some practice was better than none. Raising his hand behind him, Damian whipped his arm forward and tossed the dagger.

 With a solid thwack, the dagger hit the target dead center.

 As expected. Child’s play, really.

 As though to cut into his preening, Jon applauded behind him. “Wow,” he cheered, his voice deadpan. “That was amazing.” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he hovered over the ground, giving Damian the most bored look possible.

 “There’s nothing else here to use,” Damian sniped back, not appreciating the reaction. It figured this was the place the Supers called home, this land of sunlight. The Kents owned few weapons, if one could call them that. A shotgun, several farming tools, and an oddly sharp kitchen knife were their defenses of choice. Miraculously, no supervillains had dared to take over this quaint town, and he could only chalk it up to luck. Probably the same luck that allowed all the Supers to fly without a single neighbour to report them.

 Not finished, Jon leaned forward, shielding his eyes with a hand. Fake squinting, he studied the target. “That’s, what, ten in a row? All in the same spot, somehow?” The scorn disappeared from his tone and Jon gave him a thumbs up. “That’s actually really cool.”

 Cool was again not a word Damian would use but he accepted the compliment. “If I couldn’t do that much, I’d hang up my cape.”

 “Right, right.” Jon landed on the ground next to him, clapping him on the back. “And you’re doing ten more of these?”

 “I need to keep up the practice,” Damian muttered, distracted by the tingling in his back. It had been happening recently, at Jon’s point of contact, and he wondered if it was some uncontrolled Kyptonian strength running through his flesh. “Even if the practice is subpar.”

 “Of course.” There was a mischievous twinkle in Jon’s eyes. “But you’re just going to get the same result. And it’s boring.”

 Rankled, Damian pulled away. “Practice is not—”

 “There’s more fun ways to practice instead.” Jon pounced, tackling him to the ground. “Let’s fight.”

 Well, that was certainly something Damian could get behind. Flipping them over, he smirked. “You’re on.”

 -x-

 “So, Damian, was it?” Ma Kent smiled at him kindly as she exited the kitchen. The smell of cooked chicken wafted through the air, filling the dining room. In her hands was a bright, flowery plastic bowl filled with Brussel sprouts. “I heard a lot about you.”

 Damian stared at her. The dining room was empty save for them—the others hadn’t yet come back from whatever wasteful endeavours they had planned and Jon was feeding Krypto. While he had begrudgingly accepted the fact that he’d have to eat dinner with everyone, there had better not be any expectations of conversation. He had planned to let Jon do all the talking, to cover up his silence, but that wasn’t possible right now. When Ma Kent smiled at him, he reluctantly replied, “I see.”

 “Ahaha, got a way with words, I see.” Chuckling, she set down the bowl. A bowl that did not match any of plates. Actually, now that he was paying attention, none of the big serving bowls matched, all of them hideous plastic monstrosities. Noticing his scornful expression, she rubbed her neck sheepishly. “I know what you’re thinking. I used to use my good china whenever someone came, but after two dinner attacks and one food fight, I’ve learned my lesson. If the powers are out, my plates stay in.”

 “I see.” Not that he had asked for clarifications. Not that he was curious in any way, shape, or form about it.

 “You really do have only one mode.” Laughing, she returned to the kitchen. “Like father, like son. Glad the rest of your lot didn’t turn out like this; don’t think I could have handled that much grumpiness at my table.”

 “I’m not grumpy,” he muttered under his breath.

 “Man, Krypto was hungry tonight!” Jon tumbled in through the window, ecstatic. Catching Damian’s expression, he cocked his head. “What, did I miss anything?”

 Resisting the urge to cross his arms (because he wasn’t grumpy, he was stoic), Damian gave him a surly look. “Nothing.”

 Ma Kent chuckled again. “Nothing, hun. Now make sure to wash those hands.”

-x-

 The stars were bright here. Sprawled on the roof, Damian leaned back and studied the night sky above him. Without Gotham’s pollution, the milky way was visible for once. Stars glittered above him, taking advantage of the moonless night. He had almost forgotten what the night sky could look like, what it had those nights long ago when he lived in the desert, training under his mother’s watchful eye.

 An almost silent presence approached him and Damian discretely reached into his pocket for a dagger. The stranger’s hand touched his, stilling it, and he looked up to find Cassandra Cain. She offered him a smile. “It is silent here,” she murmured, sitting down beside him.

 “I suppose.” Damian glanced at her, then at the fields below. It looked like a dark sea, threatening to swallow them whole. An owl hooted, crickets chirped, and all in all, it was far quieter here than it was in the city. Just when had he gotten used to the never-ending honking? Even the smell here was different. The farm felt clean.

 “It is,” she corrected, hugging her knees. She closed her eyes, listening. “It is…not bad to relax.”

 Not bad, perhaps, but not good either. Not when there were lives at stake in Gotham. Damian wouldn’t call himself a hero, not by any stretch of the word, but Gotham was Batman’s. Gotham was his and he was loathe to let its citizens die when they under his protection. “Isn’t it?”

 “No.” Cassandra closed her eyes. Words were hard for her, action easier—perhaps one of the things he respected so much about her. When she spoke, her words meant something, they were considered and honest. “Relaxing…you can recover. Recharge. See things differently.” Opening her eyes now, she smiled at him, a waxing moon. “See what you are protecting.”

 Damian stared. He was too late; Cassandra had been infected by the others. “I don’t need to see—”

 “Damian!” Before he could finish his sentence, Jon floated down beside him. Dressed in bright blue pjs his mother had to have bought for him, Jon landed on his right. “What’re you doing up here alone?”

 “Alone?” Damian looked at his left once more. Empty. Cassandra was gone. Even if her brain had rotted, her skills remained, and he didn’t know whether to be impressed or irritated at himself. Turning back to Jon, he shrugged. “Reflecting.”

 “Reflecting on what?” Jon raised a brow before asking. “Wait, is this one of those bat-broods Dad was talking about? How you guys all go to a corner at some point or another and just sulk?”

 Speechless, Damian gaped, his jaw hanging loose. Of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. That wasn’t even on his least likely list.

 “I mean, I can’t picture Steph sulking, but maybe she wasn’t Robin long enough to get the broods.” Jon sat down next to him, bumping shoulders. “Or maybe you took all of them?”

 “I’m not sulking,” Damian growled, resisting the urge to hurl Jon off the roof. Not that it would do any good, he’d just fly back and be twice as mocking about it. What was it with the Kents and their presumptions?

 “Then what?” Jon’s eyes lit up and he hit his fist on his empty palm, as though he’d solved a case. “Stargazing?”

 It was as good an explanation as any. Better, actually, than his own, considering he had none. “Sure.”

 “Prepare to be amazed!” Jon pointed up, a wide smile on his face. “A city boy like you, you haven’t seen half of these stars before.”

 “City boy?” Damian scoffed. “You’re not much better.”

 “I’ve been in the country plenty of times,” Jon retorted, his mood still bright. It was like sitting next to the sun. “Besides, I can fly. Dad’s takes me up all the time to see the stars.”

 A very frivolous waste of power. No wonder Bruce worried about this family.

 “Anyways, see that star over there?” Jon leaned closer, wrapping an arm around Damian’s back to bring him closer. “So that’s part of the big dipper.”

 Of all the stars to start with, the big dipper? Really? Damian didn’t know if he should be insulted or not. It wasn’t like he was much of a ‘city boy’ himself; growing up in the desert, his mother made sure he could navigate just as easily at night as he did the day.

 He could say he had the best tutors, that he knew every constellation by heart.

 He could say that Jon was pointing at the wrong dipper, he meant the one slightly below it.

 Damian could say any or all of those things, but for once in his life he kept quiet. Jon was smiling and he didn’t always have to prove he was the smartest person in the room.

 -x-

 “So, any bets?” Steph asked, shielding her eyes as she leaned back and squinted at the sky. Despite the intense July heat, she stood away from the shade. Above them, small specks in the bright sky, were Conner, Kara, and Jon. They raced through the air, sometimes coming low enough to hear their laughter, other times they were barely visible.

 “On what?” Tim asked. Like her, he was staring up at the sky. Unlike her, he was smart enough to stay next to the barn and the meager relief it provided. Perhaps he did have a modicum of intelligence after all.

 Not that Damian would applaud him. Using a handful of pebbles, Damian started flicking them at distant targets, smirking when they hit with a satisfying thwink. Perhaps Jon could hide his training dummies and Tim could hide his weapons, but they couldn’t force him to be idle the entire time he was here. Glancing at Cassandra, who was sitting nonchalantly on the ground next to him, a pleased smile on her face, Damian was perplexed. How could she handle this?

 “The next Super. Like, it’s obvious that Cass is the next Batman, but I dunno about them.” Ignoring Damian’s glare, she finally strolled into the shade. She leaned against the barn door and crossed her arms. “It’s between Conner and Jon.”

 “So Kara’s not interested?” Tim stroked his chin thoughtfully. After humming for a few minutes, he turned to Cassandra and asked, “Who’d you rather work with?”

 Unable to handle the indignancy anymore, Damian barked, “I’m the next Batman.”

 “Sure.” Stephanie rested a hand on her hip, giving him a pitying look. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

 “Go easy on him, it’s not easy to find out that he’ll be Robin forever.” Tim shook his head sadly. “All of that time, all of mommy’s promises that’d he’d get the job, it must be crushing.”

 “What?” he squawked.

 “He couldn’t even accept that Cass is Bruce’s favourite.” Coming over, Stephanie squeezed his shoulder. “And then there’s Dick—you’re maybe third? Maybe?”

 Picking a pebble out of his hand, Cassandra flicked it at the bushes. A bird shot out of it, startled. “Either of them…are fine,” she answered slowly. “Conner, then Jon?”

 Et tu, Brutus? Damian turned to Cassandra as she tossed yet another pebble with pinpoint accuracy. He should have realized earlier that they were all after his job, that there was no one here he could trust.

 “Ah, Conner takes it on for a little before giving it to Jon.” Stephanie nodded sagely. “True, that’s also in the running.” Her hair fell in front of her as a flyby occurred and she quickly pushed back her golden locks. “You know Jon actually hangs out with them?” Wrapping an arm around Damian’s shoulder, she bemoaned, “Why can’t our baby be so friendly?”

 “It would be…weird,” Cassandra pointed out, getting up now. She patted him on the back. “He is…different.”

 “Who is?” Kara landed on the ground, her hair looking like a wild nest. It seemed being Kryptonian didn’t protect them entirely from physics.

 “Damian, but you already knew that.” Stephanie retreated before he could attack her. “What’s up?”

 Kara glared at him before smiling at Stephanie. “A race! We’ll each pick one of you up and see who can fly the fastest. So, Steph or Cass?”

 “Cass!” Stephanie volunteered, leaning against Cassandra. “I’ve had plenty of flights. It’s a sacrifice, but someone has to do it.”

 “Sacrifice.” Tim rolled his eyes. “You just don’t want to mess your hair.”

 “Both things can be true.” She stuck her tongue out.

 By now, Jon and Conner had landed as well, standing next to Damian and Tim respectively. Conner smirked cockily. “We’ve got this in the bag.”

 “Yeah, we did this every day in the Teen Titans.” Tim high-fived Conner. “It’ll be too easy.”

 “Oh, just you wait and see!” Kara stood next to Cassandra, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve practiced.”

 “We’ll win!” Jon declared, grabbing Damian’s hand. Leaning closer, he whispered, “And no matter what, you’re my Batman.”

 “Huh?” Damian tried to look at Jon but before he could, he was already in the air and the race had started.

 On that day, Damian discovered that his stomach was both stronger and weaker than he’d expected.  

 -x-

 At nine pm, it was dark. Dark in a different way than Gotham got—for all the narrow alleys and forgotten warehouses, it was never truly devoid of light. Whether it was a flickering streetlamp or the semi-blocked lights of an office, there was light somewhere.

 Here, though, in the middle of nowhere, it was pitch dark. Damian could just make out Jon’s figure sitting next to him. The others, still sitting near the barbeque a short distance away, were impossible to see. The only thing visible were the stars above, as disgustingly bright as ever. Somehow, the sky never turned truly dark, a thing he had forgotten. It had been too long since he’d been in the desert, since he’d left the city behind.

 “I’m glad you came.” Even without looking, he knew Jon was smiling. He was always smiling, always moving, always something, like his face didn’t know how not express his emotions, like his body would combust if he stayed still.

 Damian didn’t bother to reply. Leaning forward on the dock edge, he skimmed his shoe against the still waters, watching the dark ripples warp the galaxy below. The only thing rivalling the stars were the fireflies drifting lazily nearby, yellow spots against the black.

 Unfazed (and Damian didn’t want to think about when that happened, about when Jon stopped getting angry at his silence and just accepted it), Jon rested his hand on Damian’s, threading their fingers together. It was an oddly intimate sensation. Damian didn’t mind it for some reason. “It’s a lot more fun when you’re around. I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

 This time, Jon’s stare was expectant. Damian glanced at him, then back at the fireflies. “It wasn’t a complete waste,” he muttered, a half-truth. Perhaps there was something to vacations, but he loathed to admit it.

 Jon laughed, seeing through him. “Knew you’d like it here.”

 Feeling a little prickly, Damian glared at him. “Don’t act like you know—”

 “But I’m right, aren’t I?” When Damian didn’t say anything, Jon leaned closer. “I know you.”

 Before Damian could react, Jon’s lips were on his cheek, a warm pressure that was all too temporarily. His jaw fell slack. His skin burned. For once, his words failed him and he felt like a simpleton.

 “If I knew that’d shut you up, I’d have done it ages ago.” Jon smirked, looking playful.

 “Jon!” Pa Kent yelled. “We’re making smores.”

 “Save me some chocolate!”

 And just like that, Jon leaped to his feet, dashing away, and Damian still didn’t know what to say.

 -x-

 The roof was empty when he sat on it. Cassandra wasn’t there to give advice. Jon wasn’t there, laughing as he strung together stars like they were the pearls, creating tapestries on the sky above. There was just complete and utter silence, just as Damian preferred.

 While his skin had cooled down, his heart hadn’t, and he tried to meditate. Crossing his legs, he emptied his mind. Jon’s lips had been soft. He emptied his mind. His hand was rough. He emptied his mind. Jon—

 And maybe he had been wrong before; it was too late for himself. He’d been infected by all these damnable people around him, to the point he had actually considered asking Tim Drake of all people for advice. Friendship, family, love—

 It was too late. He had all of them and as loathe as he was to let them in, he was even worse about letting them go.

 -x-

 “So.” The confident Jon of yesterday was gone, leaving a more nervous boy in its wake. He was constantly fidgeting, his eyes darting all over like he didn’t know where to look. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he probably hadn’t slept.

 Good. He deserved a little suffering for leaving like that, for forcing Damian to think about his feelings. “So?” he drawled out, relishing in the little flinch Jon gave.

 They were standing in front of the Kent’s house, in the cool morning air. For the first time in two weeks, the sun wasn’t beating down on him and Damian couldn’t wait to return to the air conditioning of the Wayne manor. Already, the others were packing up the car, leaving only him and Jon to say their goodbyes.

 Or, well, whatever it was that Jon was trying to say. Damian tapped his foot on the ground, raising a brow when Jon didn’t say anything.

 “See you later?” Jon managed weakly.

 Sighing, Damian tossed him a bone. “Even a stopped clock is right twice. This vacation wasn’t terrible, I’m not adverse to doing it again. However, we are making this up with double the amount of work when we get back.”

 Jon blinked. “You still want to be partners?”

 Damian nodded. “Yes, I thought you had superhearing?”

 “And the other thing?” Jon asked, stepping closer.

 It took all of Damian’s willpower to not step back, not even when Jon was close enough to touch, to kiss. Feeling a familiar flush on the back of his neck, he coughed and looked away. “That…that was fine too.”

 “Really?” Jon’s voice was filled with an earnest hope and Damian’s stomach flip-flopped.

 “Don’t make me repeat it,” Damian growled, feeling uncharacteristically flustered.

 “Damian!” That was the only warning he got before Jon’s arms were around him once more, his lips pressed against his own. Behind him, he heard a bag drop and of all the people to bear witness to this, it had to be the morons in his family.

 It was hard to pay attention to both them and Jon, to the pure joy that radiated off his—Damian didn’t know what to call Jon anymore. Friend didn’t feel appropriate. Whatever it was, he’d figure it out later, when they were alone and they didn’t have the peanut gallery around. Gingerly, he wrapped an arm around Jon, pulling him closer. When they finally parted to take a breath, he glared at Jon. “Did you have to do it in front of them?”

 “That’s your first response?” Jon grinned, leaning close to kiss him on the nose. Reluctantly letting go, Jon stepped back. “See you in a week.”

 “Like I’m letting you off the hook that easily,” Damian grumbled, pretty sure his entire face was red now. While he took after his mother, his brown skin could only hide so much, and unfortunately his carmates eyes were sharper than most.

 Ignoring the stares, he marched to the car and plunked himself into the front passenger seat. He was not going to deal with Stephanie’s teasing a second time around, not when she had more ammo. At least Drake would have to keep his eyes on the road.

 -x-

 The entire car ride back was filled with Tim and Stephanie singing, “Damian and Jon, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

 Damian had never been more tempted to kill.

[batfamily14]

Jason Todd x Reader Part One : The Party

Jason!Hades x Reader!Persphone

An: As Zeus preys after young Persephone, Hades takes up Althea’s offer and hides her in the underworld. Things grow tense as the polar opposite meet but soon they both find themselves helplessly falling for another.

Zeus : Bruce

Hades: Jason

Hera: Selena

Hermes : Damian

Eros: Richard

Helios: Tim

Artemis : Cassandra

Athena : Stephanie

Persephone : you

Aphrodite: Barbra

Apollo : Duke

Jason’s POV

Jason was never in favor of Olympus’s gatherings, but he attended them anyway , of course , especially if Zeus had demanded it. Among the Gods you could imagine the ruler of the underworld, was not the most popular guest. Now in a carriage to Olympus, he already began to feel his patience drain. Jason held a goblet of fresh wine to his lips, inhaling the sweet aroma. He took a small sip, enjoying the nectar taste that was warm on his tongue. The fine spices of the unrecognizable wine brought his mind to ease.

“ Are you actually in a good mood.” Helios questioned. Jason rolls his eyes.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is the great sun god drunk? Who so ever will pull the sun in the morning?” Jason batted his eyes innocently as Helios scolds him. “Tim, you’re drinking too much for the occasion.” He looks at the poor god. His face was already flushed red, the young man gave him a toothy grin. “Aren’t you enjoying the wine? Isn’t it a swell offering?” He took another swing of his goblet, that refilled almost instantly. “Do you think Demeter made it especially for you?”

Jason didn’t answer, he knew what Tim was baiting at. Instead he stares out the carriage windows. After a moment, Tim laughs. “Don’t be so dull, I only meant don’t you think it’s nice she’s warming up to you.” Jason frowns. Demeter was tipcally harsh to him, she didn’t even invite him to the opening , it was Zeus after all who sent for him. “We are nearly there, could you not stir trouble this evening?” Jason sighs. Tim brushes his long hair, which had fallen into his eyes. “Lighten up. I’m sure this will be a day to remember.” He. Jason snorts as the carriage hauls. They exit out walking the golden streets of Olympus to the pearly gates that protected the garden, in front of Demeter’s home. Green vines wrapped around the metal bars in a warm welcoming. “Flattering.” Tim mumbles . Suddenly the gates open and the two gods walk a path surrounded by the flowery fields. Jason notices Demeter’s customary approach, the flowers were evenly placed in an row and neatly grown. One color melting to another. It was....practical. The stars lit the way as the two approach the banquet. The other gods already there mingling among each other. Jason sits at the table as Tim followed behind and sat next to him. Jason looks around at the garden amused. “She never really changes does she?” He comments. Tim scowls, “Come on give her credit, and besides you know how she is.” He grumbles . “Maybe something new will happen-” he stops at the yell of Poseidon . “Persephone, you sneaky girl!” Jason and Tim share a look as they both glance to see the commotion. A young girl with long dark hair dashes through the crowd with a trident in her grasp giggling loudly. The weapon was far too large for her hands, and often she nearly drops it as she weave through the others. “Catch me is you can!” She squeals. She tumbles over when she leans the weight too much, and collides with Jason. Jason steadies the Goddesses with his free hand. “Oops.” She gasps. Looking at him she smiles. “I apologize, Hades.” Jason recognizes her almost immediately as the daughter of Demeter, Persephone sometimes called Kore. “It’s alright.” He says. “That’s a dangerous weapon you have there, and I believe it belongs to Poseidon.”

“Not today it does.” She challenges . Poseidon finally catches up , slugging slowly to the two out of breath.

“You are quicker than you look!” He huffs bending over. “Hades, can you believe she somehow swiftly pulled it away in a mere second? I didnt even see the little thief.” He pants. The girl looks at him smirking. “I think everyone can.” She lightly punches his arm and hands the trident back.

“Persephone!” Demeter towers over the three angrily. The Goddesses’s face gleams in gold, flush with anger. “How could you embarrass me? Disgrace us in front our guests. I thought I told you how important today was, I thought you’d behave but no. You’ll return inside to your room at once.” Persephone eyes widen. “Mother, I didn’t mean-” Demeter holds her hand up silencing her. “Enough. Come now.” She grips Persephone shoulder making the young girl whine , leading her away. “I am sorry .” She mumbles to the guest as she leaves . Darken lilies grow where her feet laid.

“Don’t be too harsh, Demeter.” Poseidon warns. Demeter scolds him, shaking her head. Persephone enters their home. “Good evening.” She calls to them as she exits inside.

“Good evening.” They echo.

Tim scoffs after the whole display. “Unusual girl.” He remarks. “Nothing like Demeter.”

Jason nods, sipping again from his wine. “Nothing at all.” He agrees, glancing at the fresh grown lilies .

——————————————————————

Y/n collapses into her bed, tears stream down her face.

She groans to herself miserably . She turns over pushing herself up on her forearms. Outside she hears the party continue. A shout of laughter makes her emerge from her bed, she creeps gazing out the window to the man earlier. He smiles cheerfully at Athena.

She stares longingly at him without realizing.

——————————————————————

“Hades.” Athena greets him, flashing a small smile. She curls her long blonde hair behind her ear.

“You’ve finally gotten out your kingdom? Have you been caught up on all the good news?” She chimes. “No, I hadn’t known there were any.” He grunts. Athena shrugs drinking from her goblet , “Would you like to?” She asks . “Sure.” Jason says. He wasn’t really intrigued by the news about Olympus, he was never really interested in anything here. “Have you heard about Persephone? Demeter has chosen her to harvest Spring.”

“Really? Interesting choice. I’ve never seen her harvest before .” Jason responses. Athena nods knowingly. “It’ll be her first.” Jason eyes swept the guest, as the conversation continues. They flashes by Helios and Eros having a drinking competition, and Artemis with Aphrodite gossiping near the orchids. He sighs tiredly. As he gazes around mindlessly, he catches a peek from Persephone peering out her window.

“It was indeed a good decision.” Athena said. Jason eyes snap away from Persephone to her.

“With all the grief she causes Demeter, maybe this will show her potential. She wants to be one of Artemis’s maidens.” She nods approvingly.

“That’ll make Demeter at least happy.” Jason says.

Athena stifles a laugh. “No doubt, Persephone, She runs loose with the shades on Gaea under the name “y/n” and creates the most distasteful aspects of nature according to Demeter.” Athena pursers her lips. “Artemis has yet to approve of the request however she said that she will. Zeus is growing uneasy waiting.”

Jason looks puzzled at her.“A beautiful young maiden that’s a virgin, scorning love? Not a challenge for Zeus , and as controlling as Demeter is neither for her.” Jason says. It wasn’t unusual for Gods to force what they pleased especially under Zeus’s will.

Athena bit her lip. “Truthfully, I don’t think she’s ready for that kind of thing. Artemis and I keep her safe, I’ve befriended her in the process.” Suddenly Jason notices Artemis has disappeared from the garden and is now in the window frame where Kore once stood , closing the panels. “When she becomes a maiden she plans to woe to anyone. God or man. I fear Zeus will lose his patience with us.” Athena gazes into Jason eyes, worrisome.

“I’ve been wondering if she was no longer available to pursue if he’d forget about her.” She comments quietly. Jason raises an eyebrow. “Maybe even out of sight.” She continues. Jason felt his chest tighten as he squeezes his eyes closed. Rubbing his temple he asks, “Are you telling me to pursue miss Persephone?” Athena gives a lopsided smile. “Or at least hide her away.” Jason stiffens. “The underworld is no place for her.” He imagined the poor girl cowering in the dark palace of the underworld, frightened by the sight. “Please, it’d only be for a while.” Athena pleads. Jason frowns. “And Persephone agreed?” Athena shrugs, “We convinced her it’d be in her best interest.”

Even though Jason believes her , he still doubts the idea. The kingdom of the dead housing the goddess of spring? The thought was laughable.

“She is a welcomed guest, as long as there is no trouble.” He says, making his leave from the party.

————————————————————————-

The Next Week

The Garden of Eden was an overwhelming sight. Jason sat in the carriage overlooking the flowers. The winged horses attached to the carriage plucked lazily into their mouths the grass below. A shadow began to cover the fields above them in the sky. Wings flapping loudly , whipping the plants with there forceful winds. Jason covered his eyes and resisted the urge to sneeze as the pollen floats in the air. A white pegasus stands before him fiercely superior to his. He squints in the sun light, at the two women on the horse’s back.

“Althea.” He says, going to greet her. He kisses her hand gently. “It’s great to finally meet you formally Persephone.” He says turning to the girl. He admires her for a moment , her long raven hair curls around face flowing to her ankles, and her unnaturally bright eyes with a tint of gold in the (your eye color).

“And you my lord.” She deadpans. Jason is taken back by the cold greeting, remembering nothing like the nights before. His eyes shifts to Althea who fails to hide a smile. “We’ll leave when you see you fit.” Jason insists. He turns back going to wait in the carriage. He silently watches as Persephone hugs Althea, they share a few words before she departs. Persephone hesitantly enters , sitting far from him.

“Farewell.” He waves off to Athena. The carriage begins to sink into core of the earth to the underworld.

——————————————————

The Underworld

“This is my home.” Jason announces, as the carriage lands on the cobblestone steps outside his palace. Persephone was still quite, only staring at the large kingdom in response. He didn’t know why he expected any difference . The castle is more ancient than any soul in the underworld . The once smooth rock is pitted and scarred. The stones, built from blood and bone.

A goddess who’s hands dwell at the mercy of life, who’s young and beautiful would never be enchanted by death and the darkness of his world. “Welcome to the underworld, lady Persephone.” He said , opening the carriage door. He stands outside and offers his hand as she exits, she ignores the gesture. “Let me show you in.” He said, brushing it off. They walk into his home, Jason leading as Persephone drifts behind. The great hall was polished in marvel, the ceiling was twenty feet high. Designs of fruit such as pomegranate , a carved painting of Jason’s mother Rhea, and a beautiful child with wings of fire looks down at them from the ceiling painting.

“Beautiful painting.” Persephone complements. “I recognize your mother Rhea , but what of the small boy?” Jason rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Thank you.” He says. “And the small child is me.” Persephone only hums in response, eyes falling to his throne as it sat at the head of the room.

“Your throne?” She questions. Jason nods. “If you’d like Kor-Persephone, I could arrange that you have one made to suit you too.” She looks puzzle at him. “It’s y/n, my lord. Also why would you do that?” She spat. Jason stares as in her disbelief , every word like toxin burning his skin. “With a title such as yourself , you deserve no less, y/n. Where else would you sit?” Y/n glances at him slightly frowning, cheeks glowing gold . “Forgive my rudeness, through this whole trip I’ve been brat. Artemis at the Garden opening feared you had plotted to steal me here to marry you instead of Zeus.”

Jason winces at her words , shaking his head. “You don’t belong to me or anyone y/n. You may leave anytime.” She freezes at him in shock, seeming unsure . Till a smile tugs at her lips.

The gold in her eyes shimmer like the morning sun, gleaming in the dark hall.

“I hope this has been a pleasant welcome.” Jason smiles back.

[pastellarts]

To the edge of your sky - Chapter 2: Hope is what we need now

Warning: Scenes of violence, death and grief in this chapter.

A big THANK YOU to all my readers! Words fail me to express how happy I am for all those who have taken the time to read Chapter 1, to follow/like my story and of course to leave a comment.

Special thanks to @bustedflipflop​ for her beta reading. I love you lady!

Chapter 2 has 6 scenes separated by ~oOo~ The author recommends listening to the following music tracks for certain scenes:

For scene #3 (Battle), listen to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80VIgVJor_4 For scene #4, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eDTRkCcMmE For the last scene https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kSOWfFrw_0

“Does it trouble you?”

Cassandra’s question caught him off-guard, but it was enough to break the awkward silence. He might have pissed her off last night in the tavern. He didn’t exactly regret it because he had to make it clear he was a free man now, not a Circle mage.

But his attitude could become more temperate. If he were honest with himself, she had treated him better since the battle with the demon at the big rift, fairly even. His gut told him he was dealing with a decent and honorable woman. He couldn’t recall any negative rumors circulating about Cassandra back in Ostwick so she definitely wasn’t one of the infamous Seekers.

“It’s stopped spreading, and it doesn’t hurt. I just wish I knew what it was. Or how I got it.” Alexander replied with honesty. No point in withholding any information about his mark. It was the most valuable weapon to the Inquisition.

“We will find out.” Cassandra’s voice came with a certainty of conviction. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?” Alexander dared to retort in a sarcastic tone.

“Hold on to that sense of humor.” Cassandra’s lopsided smirk surprised him even more than her concern.

Well. It seemed the Seeker was quick of wit under all this armor. He could work with that.

They entered the War room where Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were already waiting. After a brief explanation of the roles and responsibilities, Cassandra went straight to business.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.” Cassandra said.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.” Leliana offered.

“And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well.” Cullen suggested. A shiver ran through Alexander’s veins.

“We need power, Commander.” Cassandra intervened fast. “Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so—” Cullen pressed on. He couldn’t be suggesting…

“Pure speculation.” Leliana cut Cullen off.

“I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Alexander bit his tongue. He could not let his nervousness show. Didn’t Cullen know he was talking to a rebel mage?!? How could he ever suggest they should appeal to the templars for help?

Remember, cooperate. Calm yourself.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically.” Josephine managed to ease the tension and pull him back to the meeting.

Cassandra remained silent. Did she also share Cullen’s opinion?

They continued with their planning for the upcoming trip to the Hinterlands to meet Mother Giselle. Scout Harding’s report was grim and left no doubt about how harsh the situation was. It looked like both apostate mages and templars had become far too aggressive, not giving a care about hurting and killing innocent people as a result from the clashes between them.

If Cullen had read this report, and Alexander was certain he had as soon as Leliana had received it, there was no doubt he proposed to seek the templars for assistance.

Alexander left the room, followed by Cullen and Josephine who went straight to their working posts. He looked back at the war room only to see the darkened silhouettes of Cassandra and Leliana engaged in a deep conversation.  Cassandra listened with her head and shoulders hanging downward. Her right hand kept rubbing the lower part of her face as she nodded once, twice to the what Leliana was telling her. Leliana stopped talking and ran a palm along Cassandra’s arm in a comforting way.

The moment ended when the Spymaster noticed him. She got lost in the shadows and Cassandra straightened herself and exited the war room. There was a somber light in her eyes, and her lips were slightly trembling, but she walked towards him with the determination and the unyielding posture he had come to know of her.

He would not ask if she was ok. He didn’t feel entitled to share her troubles and what led to that moment of weakness. He was an agent of the Inquisition because he could close the Breach.

“Herald, please visit Master Harritt to acquire a pair of gloves. Your hands need protection from weather and other threats. I have already spoken to him.” Cassandra said in a professional tone. A pragmatic suggestion from her side.

“I… thank you Lady Pentaghast.”

He spent the rest of the day preparing for the trip to the Hinterlands, choosing supplies and potions, trying on the gloves from Master Harritt, and getting to know more of the people who had also joined the Inquisition. It was a welcome revelation that most of them were determined to overlook their past prejudices and biases against mages but not to ignore the threat of the Breach and contribute towards their common goal.

Before sunset, he exited the gates of the village to the training grounds where Cullen was still running drills to the recruits. He was not yet ready to talk with him, even though the Commander had shown no signs of animosity against him. He should remember that not all templars were bad people, and Cullen had left his order to be part of the Inquisition. Perhaps another time.

A familiar grunt grabbed his attention and he noticed Cassandra whacking at a training dummy with a sword, displaying what looked like the collective force of ten soldiers. Her moves were most impressive; however, he wouldn’t dare a compliment at her current state.

“I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff.” Alexander commented from a safe distance.

“That would be nice.” Cassandra rolled her shoulders and gave another hit.

“Like maybe iron.”

Cassandra walked to the next dummy. “Did I do the right thing? What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I revered my whole life.” She paused her training and her voice cracked with emotion. “One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

“What’s going to happen now?” he asked.

“Now we deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm.” The grit was back in her words, accompanied by a good hit on the dummy. “Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can.” Another hit. “After that, we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

Cassandra was willing to sacrifice her entire career and lifepath to the Inquisition. She made him feel like his own level of commitment to the cause was lacking passion and honesty. But her steady and resolute guidance was indispensable. Any doubts from her were a luxury the world could not allow.

“You didn’t have any choice.” Alexander attempted to reassure her.

“Didn’t I?” Cassandra hit the dummy with two precise blows, and it smashed in pieces. She dropped her sword to the ground. “My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra you are too brash. You must think before you act.’ I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Her apology and regret were welcome like a deep breath he had forgotten to take, but his gut guided his response to her. Again. “It wasn’t like you had no reason to suspect me.” Alexander couldn’t but acknowledge the fact.

“I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone.” She started for the gates but paused. “I’m curious… Do you even believe in the Maker?” she asked.

Her question was simple, yet it felt like he was about to give a loaded confession and he could not lie to her. “I think so. I am not certain about many of my beliefs lately.” Alexander replied.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to be seen where it leads us. See you tomorrow at sunrise at the gates, Herald.”

~oOo~

Two and a half days later Alexander, Cassandra, Solas and Varric reached the Hinterlands by horse relay, making use of the staging posts for Leliana’s scouts. They left their mounts at an Inquisition post with some soldiers to avoid attracting any attention from the conflicting parties and headed for the Outskirts Camp on foot.

“It occurs to me that I don’t actually know much about you.” Cassandra was walking by his side and was once more the one breaking the silence between them. Her bluntness should disconcert him, and yet the simplicity of her ways made him less tense.

“What do you want to know?” Alexander said.

“I’m… not sure. Where are you from?” Cassandra asked.

“I thought you knew that.” He was taken aback by her inquiry.

“I suppose I could ask Leliana. She has collected a frightening amount of information on you. But I don’t want to ask her. I want to hear it from you”, insisted Cassandra, kindly. This was not the ‘take-heads-first-questions-later’ Seeker, this was his companion and bodyguard.

“I was born in Ostwick, and that’s where most of my family is.” Alexander said. No point in hiding personal information that she could access elsewhere.

“The Trevelyans, is it not? A large clan with a rather clever coat-of-arms. Tell me, do you consider the Free Marches your home? Are you eager to go back?”

They spent the rest of their trail talking about their families and the places they grew up. He shared some facts about his Circle that he was certain she was aware of already. Nevertheless, she showed genuine interest. She claimed her own story about becoming the Right Hand of the previous Divine Beatrix ‘isn’t as exciting as some drum it up to be’ but he wanted to hear the longer version from her perspective. Perhaps another time, when they would not be rushing to stop the fighting between mages and templars from getting any worse.

The Inquisition banners of the Outskirts Camp became visible and a dwarven woman, apparently Lead Scout Harding, came to greet them. According to Harding, the situation was dire, with templars, apostates and bandits striking anyone, making it impossible for everyone else to travel any distance with safety. Harding’s clear and urgent tone made Alexander extremely nervous about what they could discover.

As they took the path down to the Crossroads, he cast a protective spell on their party and readied himself for upcoming attacks, wishing for enemies that did not bear any familiar faces.

~oOo~

The apostate mages were desperate. They had hired mercenaries for their protection and had setup ice mines everywhere. Despite his calls and Cassandra's pleading to listen to the Inquisition representatives, they seemed to consider any mage who wasn't openly allied with them as their enemy that should be killed. Their party had just located the apostate stronghold in Witchwood and things had gotten very ugly.

Avoiding stepping on an ice mine just in time, Alexander saw a spellbinder preparing to cast a fire mine upon Cassandra who was fighting against two other mages. He took advantage of the cave setting and cast an energy barrage spell to lower his opponent’s resistance. The projectiles bounced across the cave walls, sweeped across like whisps and hit their target. Seeing the barrier down, Varric fired an explosive arrow and finished the job.

"One down!" yelled Alexander and cast a protective barrier on Cassandra before turning his attention to Solas. Trevelyan was running out of mana and there was no time to catch his breath. Perhaps he should join Cullen's recruits for some morning drills to improve his stamina. The explosion and closing the rift had taken a lot from him.

Physical strength had never been his forte. Spells, potions, knowledge, studies, those he could do well in the Circle of Magi in Ostwick. The Circle was no place for restless mages and his conscientious personality and noble birth allowed him to have a relatively uneventful life there. He had grown into a strong and promising scholar senior Enchanter who could still raise a mean spirit blade if he wanted to. But as soon as the mage rebellion started, he turned into a survivor, a protector of the weak in a time of need. A battlemage for the rightful fight against years of oppression.

Until the Conclave.

"I need some help here!" Solas yelled.

The elven mage's call caught Alexander unprepared. The battle was endless. The barriers by Solas were getting shattered by two very formidable spellbinders. Alexander drowned a lyrium potion and cast a dispel and a barrier on Solas. Sweeping his sweat, he turned to Varric who was aiming for a long shot against a mage hidden behind some bushes. Alexander felt the veil changing in a familiar pattern and focused on the hidden figure. The aura and the robes were... No, it couldn't be...

"Varric, no! Stop!"

Too late. Alexander abandoned the battle and ran towards the injured apostate. The arrow was impaled in her stomach. Blood was spurting everywhere.

Shit.

"Olivia! Olivia! It's me, Alexander!"

Cradling her in his arms, he opened a healing potion. The wound was fatal, there was no way to control the blood loss, but Alexander prayed the potion would give her a bit of pain relief and some time to say goodbye.

She coughed weakly, twice.

"Trevelyan... Word spread only you survived the explosion in Haven. I'm glad..." Olivia regarded him with a sad smile.

"You should have come with us Olivia, you would be safer." Alexander stroked the hair out of her face.

"I got to see the world Alexander, the real world. It's beautiful..."

Olivia coughed some blood spots on his sleeve. Not much longer. Not the time for regrets.

"Were you with Rian?" he asked her.

"Templars in red killed him last month..."

"I am sorry."

Olivia took hold of his hand and focused on him. "I am with child... Love is easy, beautiful, lazy, free... We were free Alec... Finally, free…" 

The fighting sounds had stopped. Cassandra seethed her sword and ran to them. She immediately pulled out a handkerchief from a pouch and applied pressure to the wound. Alexander nodded to her to leave it be. Olivia started shaking. Any time now and the pain would be over.

"Tell me about the child. Where would you raise it?" He smiled down to her.

"If it were a girl, we would name it Leanna, after my late sister. If we had a son, Rolf. We wanted to reach Orlais... Alec, you got some strong magic now... Be that Herald if you must, but live my friend, live... and love... You can do so much good..." Olivia uttered between violent coughs.

Gone was the colour on her face, and blood started to flow from her mouth. Alexander kept stroking her hair.

"I would never be alive without you Olivia. Maker bless your soul, old friend."

He didn't cry when her last breath came out of her body. He eased her eyelids down and stayed for a while like this, holding softly her lifeless bloody torso, praying silently for Olivia, for Rian, for their unborn child.

Cassandra was still there, silent and calm, keeping some kind of vigil. Her demeanor offered him a comfortable sense of safety and support. It felt strange but not unwelcome. 

"I would like to bury her before we leave. Properly." Alexander uttered in a wobbly voice.

Cassandra got up and went to meet the others.

"Of course, Herald. You have my support. I will send for a Chantry sister."

"Thank you, Lady Seeker."

Exhaustion overwhelmed him and for the first time since the explosion that ended the Conclave, Alexander wept.

~oOo~

 Cassandra dismounted her horse and after nodding to Master Harritt, she made a break for Leliana's tent outside the Chantry. She glanced back at the Herald who kept mostly silent since the fight in Witchwood. He had turned out to be a fierce mage in action and left a positive impression on her about his skills during their travels. 

The Left Hand of the Divine was talking with two of her agents but dismissed them as soon as she acknowledged Cassandra.

"Welcome back. I take it your trip was successful, based on the reports I have received."

"We made contact with Mother Giselle who should be arriving later or tomorrow and refugees should be safer now. The Herald's actions have been rather effective so far." Cassandra affirmed.

"But?"

Leliana grabbed a paper parchment and a small pouch from a table and motioned towards the Chantry. This was a conversation that had to be done in private. 

"Nothing bad. On the contrary, I am quite pleased so far. We have allied with 3 agents, the fighting between templars and mages is much less and the refugees are no longer in danger, Master Dennet will probably agree to provide us with horses as soon as we build some watchtowers and there is promise for further support." 

But he was close friends with a blood mage. 

They entered the war room and Leliana shut the door behind her. 

"Spill it Cassandra, I don't have all day."

"One of the apostates we fought was a friend of his from the Circle. The Herald called her Olivia and mentioned she had saved his life. Varric shot her and Lord Trevelyan only managed to give her some comfort before she died. I sensed a blood magic spell on the making before she got shot."

"My agents have mentioned nothing of blood magic practices for Trevelyan." Leliana frowned.

"I also don't believe he is one. He didn't even yell at Varric. He said he never believed in this war and Varric couldn't have known."

"Sensible and matter-of-fact. Good." The Spymaster smirked with satisfaction. “Has he mentioned if he belonged to any of the fraternities?”

“He did mention the Aequitarians but he could be a Libertarians sympathizer as well.” Cassandra knit her brows.

“Pure speculation at this point. It will come up sooner or later, especially if he decides to meet with the rebel mages in Redcliffe.” Leliana remarked.

"He brought back with him some of her possessions. He claims them to be notes and books on magic and astronomy. Could you—"

"Of course."

Cassandra breathed a relieved sigh and nodded. How she had wished for Leliana's presence in this trip. Her insight and ability to see though everything and everyone was uncanny and the Seeker needed the reassurance of her old time companion and friend. She turned for the doors.

"Cassandra. A moment."

Leliana's hesitation was very brief but enough for Cassandra to guard herself against the news she was about to hear. The Spymaster left the pouch on the table and unfolded the parchment.

"While you were away, we have managed to identify some more victims of the explosion. I have their names here if you want to take a look."

Cassandra reached for the list. Leliana never took her eyes off her.

"Still no sign of Justinia's body or what is..." Leliana trailed off.

The Seeker felt her legs give away and leaned on the table. Her hands trembled. One drop and then another fell from her eyes and stained the parchment. She pushed it away. Leliana remained by her side.

"We recognised him from the seal and the blade he carried with him. It was as you had described it to me." 

Cassandra let a sob and broke down. She had no idea how long Leliana comforted her but she was grateful for doing this away from everyone. They could not see her as weak, helpless, lost, alone. She was Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, the founder of the Inquisition. There was no time for mourning. There was nobody left to mourn. Every person she had loved was dead.

"I will leave first and keep away anyone that might give you trouble. You‘ve had no time to mourn for Regalyan and Justinia. You have now. Take as much as you want, my friend." The doors closed with a soft click when Leliana left.

Cassandra opened the pouch and took the blade in her hands. It was her last gift to Regalyan, to protect him against any danger whenever they parted ways. It was part of every single staff he had owned since that day. 

But the blade had not saved her former lover from the explosion. Nothing could have saved him from it. 

The Divine, Galyan, her brother, her Order, her purpose. All gone.

For the first time since the Conclave, Cassandra let her tears and her loneliness beat her.

~oOo~

"What about the supply caches?" Alexander pointed at the map where the Crossroads were located.

"We received news yesterday that they were distributed immediately. Again, thank you, Herald for looking into this matter", Cullen nodded at Alexander.

"It was just the right thing to do and I wasn't alone. But before we go," he exhaled heavily and paused before addressing Leliana. "Did you have any luck locating the bodies of my fellow Enchanters?"

Cassandra turned to look at Trevelyan. All these weeks she had been so focused on the Inquisition matters and her own grief that she had forgotten to ask him if he had lost someone close to him in the explosion. He had not been there as a spy or out of curiosity, he had been a member of the delegation from the Circle of Magi of Ostwick. They were working together with a man who had lost people who mattered to him and yet he had not hesitated to cooperate with their cause and do the right thing even if they had treated him as a mass murderer at first. He wanted to be a free mage, but he also wanted the war to end and the Breach to close.

“We have recovered two bodies that bore the seal from the Circle of Ostwick. Sister Jeanette can tell you where they are.” Leliana informed him.

“Lord Trevelyan.” Cassandra ventured to interject. “Some clerics will perform a burial for many of the victims. It can include your friends. Of course, if you wish for a specific ritual, it can be arranged.”

The Herald gripped on the desk with both his hands and let his head hang low for a moment. He then pushed himself off and focused on her. His gaze exposed a conflict of emotions, vulnerable and determined.

“I appreciate that, Lady Seeker. Thank you, thank you all.” Alexander cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer brittle. “I will go see researcher Minaeve.”

The door closed behind Cassandra’s back and Josephine began to speak.

“We have received some letters from the Trevelyan clan about—“

“It is a matter concerning the Herald’s family and it is only fair he should be present as well.” Cassandra interrupted her. She- They had to show him respect.

“I suppose you are right, Lady Cassandra.” Josephine acknowledged her and checked her tablet. “One last thing before we leave. Marquis DuRellion…”

~oOo~

Cassandra held the urn with Regalyan’s ashes as she looked for a place to bury them. Long after his pyre had died out, she simply stood staring at it for a while, tears coursing down her cheeks. She thought of scattering them, but then she recalled how the terrible smell after the explosion in the Temple had burned her nose. She should write to his friends in the White Spire—

If there was anyone left alive. Or had they joined the rebel mages in Redcliffe..? Perhaps they had become apostates. She didn’t know.

‘Cassandra, you are the bravest person I've ever met. And the most beautiful. ’ (*)

Many had called her brave, but nobody had called her the most beautiful person ever again. At least not like him. The young love they had shared for years never ceased to warm her heart and the remembrance of their relationship gave her courage in dark times. They had eventually drifted apart and remained distant friends since Justinia’s appointment as the Divine. Had he survived, she doubted they would ever become lovers again. Nevertheless, when she had learned he would attend the Conclave, she had looked forward to meeting him. It was the best news she had heard for a long time, an opportunity to catch up with each other, listen to his vivid laughter, shove his arm at his insatiable need to flatter her any time anywhere, make fun of the wrinkles around his bright green eyes, hug him...

His loss would ache for the rest of her life.

She spotted a tree that reminded her of the adventure that brought them together, placed the urn on the ground and started to dig with her sword and her hands. Each jab was loaded with anguish and the urge to revenge for his death, for all those deaths. She was so lost in her mourning she never heard Trevelyan approach.

“Need any help?”

She gasped and almost lost her balance. Alexander raised both hands slightly up and made an apologetic grimace.

“I am sorry if I scared you. I was just passing by.”

“It’s alright.” Cassandra gave an indifferent nod with her head and continued with her digging. She was soon joined by the Herald who used a small shovel to help her finish her task.

“Where did you find the shovel?” she asked him.

“Master Harritt gave it to me when I asked if he had any. Apparently, he made a few due to the circumstances.” Alexander replied and stood aside when the hole was large enough.

Cassandra took the urn and placed it in the ground. Trevelyan’s presence had distracted her from her sorrowful thoughts, and she finished covering the urn with soil without shedding any more tears. Not in front of him.

To his credit, the Herald had stepped aside to give her the privacy the moment needed. She used a blade to carve Regalyan’s initials on the tree, taking a silent oath to make a proper grave for him as soon as she found the time. When she finished, she placed her palm on the trunk of the tree and whispered her parting words and a quick prayer. And just like that, it was done.

She met the Herald and they started walking back to the village.

“Have they found the Divine’s body?” It was Alexander who broke the silence this time.

“No and I don’t think we will find anything. If your memories from the rift were right, she was at the center of the explosion.” Cassandra replied.

“Have you lost many people at the Conclave?” She appreciated his tactful inquiry; she could not handle talking about Galyan now. And Trevelyan wasn’t her friend to share more.

“People who I knew from the Chantry, as well as templars and some Enchanters.” Cassandra gave a vague response. “And you, Herald?”

He looked at the shovel and sighed. “Derrin and Amethyne, both Senior Enchanters, both good mages. I was friends with Derrin, not so much with Amethyne.” Alexander paused and his face broke into repressed laughter. “The irony is that those two hated each other’s guts so much, they couldn’t stand being in the same room for more than what was necessary. And now they lie next to each other in ashes inside their urns in the ground, forced to coexist in peace, both in the Maker’s side.”

His words brought a small smile to her face and she began to snicker. “I am sorry, I should not be laughing, it is not the right time or place.” Cassandra attempted to restrain herself.

Alexander wore a wide grin and amusement danced on his eyes as he watched her fighting her own smile. “I am sure our friends would laugh with us too, if they were here.”

Galyan would. And he would coax her to relish the moment, in his unique dashing way.

Cassandra followed Alexander in the tavern, hoping to wash away the sorrow of the day with some rye. When Flissa came to take their orders, Cassandra asked her to leave the bottle.

“Was Olivia a good friend of yours?” Cassandra let out the question that had been troubling her the past days. The mist that covered his eyes could have been from the large gulp of rye, but she suspected that was not the case.

“She was like a sister to me in the Circle. She saved my life when I got there. There was— I would never pass my Harrowing without her. I owe her my life, literally. The war broke us apart, I remained with the rebellion and she and Rian joined the apostates, eager to fight in the Mage-Templar war.” The Herald kept his gaze fixed on his drink and didn’t look up. It was noticeably difficult for him to speak about her so the issue of blood magic would have to wait. She would get her answers some other time.

“What about the rest of the Enchanters from your Circle?” Cassandra changed the subject. What roused him in lowering his guard only appealed to her curiosity. She did not want to let his mood for sharing go to waste.

“All Senior Enchanters are dead. Two of them were killed when the rebellion started, along with First Enchanter Lydia. The other three you already know. I assume some mages have joined the other rebels in Redcliffe.” Alexander professed with a grim expression.

“I wish the Seekers and the Chantry had done more for the mages.” Cassandra admitted.

“What will happen to the Chantry now?” Alexander asked her.

“It is difficult to say. They have no templars, no leadership, and no one left who is worthy of succeeding the Divine.” Cassandra finished her glass with one gulp and served herself a refill. “It has fallen apart when everyone needs it the most. I ache to think what this will mean in the days to come.”

“I’m surprised you rebelled against the Chantry.” Alexander was now leaning on his left arm, his eyebrows pulled slightly together.

“I left my own Order when they took the wrong path. It is no different. But in neither case did I stop caring. Indeed, I care so much that I feel drastic action is necessary. I suppose history shall one day judge my actions.” Cassandra hoped she didn’t sound like a zealot.

“Would you serve a new Divine?”

“That depends on whether she would have me. I’m a rebel now, remember? And even if she would, I… do not know.” Cassandra stared at the rye as she swirled it in the cup. She started to contemplate her life so far. Would she remain the Right Hand to a new Divine? Would she return to the Seekers? For all she knew, it could be time for a new direction in her life.

“I first met Divine Justinia two years ago when I was presented to her as a newly appointed Senior Enchanter in a ceremony in the Grand Cathedral. She left a positive impression to me, aside from her speech. It was a bit boring.” Alexander interrupted her musings and she took a peek at him. He was still leaning on his arm, looking to his left as if reminiscing.

“She was never a big fan of speeches.” Cassandra assented with a half chuckle. “I think I was absent from that ceremony…”

“You weren’t there.” Trevelyan said quickly and leaned towards her. “If you were, I would definitely remember you.”

Cassandra stared at him with mouth slightly open. Did he just..?

“You flatter me.”

“I’m trying.” Trevelyan shrugged with a pleased expression and leaned back on his chair.

Cassandra let a disgusted noise and took a large sip. He had done it again, set her off-course and let her trip on incredulous notions that she had absolutely no need of right now.

“Lady Pentaghast.” The Herald dispersed her confusing thoughts, his voice fearless and crisp, his gaze clear and hopeful like a fresh breeze. He straightened his pose and raised his glass. “A toast to all the rebels who never stopped caring and will always care to do the right thing, who defy chaos and hope to make the future a possibility.”

She should be more wary of that silver tongue of his. Yet, at that moment, she couldn’t help it. Cassandra’s face lit up with a small smile that he returned in full. “To allies that join causes with honorable goals.” She raised her own glass and they both savored their drinks without breaking eye contact.

He was not her friend, no. But he was earning her respect with each passing day and she dared to have faith that he would be a kindred spirit in the struggle against these troubled times.

His fetching smile made it also not so terrible.

_________

Note: I always wondered what happened to other people that were along with the Inquisitor in the Conclave, no matter the race. There was no cut scene or mention of any loss, so I decided to give Alexander some backstory with friends from his Circle that died in the explosion or in the Mage – Templar War.

(*) It bugged me that they didn’t mention anything about Regalyan’s death and how it affected Cassandra. It was not only Justinia that she lost. If you don’t know who Regalyan is, “Dawn of the Seeker” is an anime movie and I love the penultimate scene where Regalyan and Cassandra look at each other with those dreamy eyes of young love. This quote is from that scene.