#especially the one time Cassandra casually was telling her about this woman she’s been seeing and how she suspects she’s being cheated on

[caitlynmeow]

Someone @ Bela: are you a good listener?

Bela: I have two younger sisters. My ears are wide open.

[justmeinadaze]

I'm In Control Part 21 (Steddie X You)

A/N: No real notes today :) Just hope y'all enjoy <3

Warnings: Daddy Steve and Sir Eddie and all that that implies. (I regret nothing!), An ex appears making the reader jealous and act out (more so just being a brat). Matthew comes to visit! (Yay!). These two siblings casually talk about their trauma and how the reader feels she isn't good enough for them (mentioned in last chapter), Smut for sure with slapping and spanks. Blindfolds and ice play. I believe that's it.

Word Count: 5061

“How do you not know where she is?”

“TJ, we aren’t her keeper. She said she had an errand to run but didn’t elaborate. It’s still her lunch hour. Calm down.”

Your boss glares at Steve. “Mr. Harrington, did you just tell me to calm down?”

“Depends. Did you like it?” The man winks cheekily at TJ as they both laugh. 

The door to your office opens and you lean against the doorway adorning a huge grin. 

“Where have you been, Y/N?”

“I had to pick something up.”

“’Ello, boys.” Matthew’s tall frame appears behind you as he waves. 

“Hey, man!” The boys get up to greet him as your brother smiles, pulling them in for a hug. 

“TJ and Avery, this is my little brother, Matthew.”

“Jesus. Another good-looking kid to make me feel old.” Your boss rises to shake his hand. “Now, you’re not like the other Y/L/N’s, right?”

“That is correct. Sex feels good, porn is alright, tattoos are cool, and churches scare me.” He chuckles as you lean back against him. “I also love my sister as is, you slut.”

“I love you to, heathen.”

“Hey, you should come with us to the club tonight. We’re all going together finally.”, Avery beams as Matthew nods.

“I actually have to drop off these two on a set but they will be coming by after. Speaking of, Eddie and Steve, we should probably go.”

##############

“Hey Derek.”, you grin at the director as he beams over at you.

“Hey mama! How are you?”

“I’m good. I brought your talent.” You gesture towards the guys who smile back at him.

“Great! Now, we had a slight mix up. Well, not really a mix up. The young lady you guys were going to be working with got sick so I had to reach out to a nearby agency to get a new actress.”

A gorgeous woman with a plethora of tattoos, mostly on her arms and legs, sauntered from down a nearby hallway. Her skin looked incredibly smooth and her long blond hair sat perfectly on her shoulders. Her smile glowed but there was something off about it that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

A breathy fuck came from your side and her eyes widened as she focused on theirs. You knew actors in this industry and honestly this girl in front of you was a fairly good one. She may have seemed shocked to see them but you saw the faint smirk twitch on her lips at their stunned expressions. 

“Guys this is—”

“Cassie Leigh.”, Eddie finished. 

“Oh shit. I’m, uh, I’ll just be in the car.” Matthew slowly backed away and exited the front door. 

You exhaled heavily as you turned to face them. “Oh? How do you guys know each other? Work?”

“Hey Derek, can we have a moment alone?” The director nodded at Steve as he went to check the cameras. “What are you doing here, Cassandra? Thought you moved back home.”

“I did but, you know, I saw your new show online and it just…motivated me to come back and try again. The industry I mean, not you two.”, she giggled.

“Yet you find yourself here on set with them. How odd.”, you smile at her as you turn your sarcasm to them. “So not just work then?”

“We had a relationship with her when we first moved down here.”, Eddie answers as his eyes finally meet yours. “More of an…arrangement.”

“I guess you could call it that especially since relationships weren’t really your thing.”

“How would you know? You left so quickly there wouldn’t have been time for one to evolve.”

“Oooo ‘evolve’. That’s a big word for you, Daddy.” 

Steve glares at her, stepping forward before you place your hand on his chest to stop him. 

“Haven’t changed at all have you, Cass?” Eddie’s tone is full of agitation. 

“Hm. Never seemed to bother you two.”

“Hey, Y/N. We’re ready. Is there a problem?” Derek asks from across the room. 

A sarcastic laugh escapes your lips as you push past them towards the door. 

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey.” Steve grabs your arm turning you back around. 

“I’ve got to say you two continue to fascinate me. I mean, I get why you would have a relationship…I mean ARRANGEMENT. My fault. I get why you would have an ARRANGEMENT with her. She’s a beautiful young woman but she doesn’t really seem like the submissive type.”

“Neither did you.”

You glare at Eddie as you pull yourself out of Steve’s grasp. “I imagine the sex was mind blowing which if your agreement with her was anything like ours then I get why she’s here.”

“Y/N, we aren’t in an agreement. We are in a relationship.” Steve was trying extremely hard to control his temper. “You can’t be jealous.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Harrington? Did I just hear you tell me how I’m not allowed to feel? You know what? You’re right. I can’t be jealous. This is just work, right? Go head. Fuck her all over the house for all I fucking care.”

You storm out as you stomp towards the car. Again, Steve’s hand reaches for you and spins you to face him. 

“The fact that you think we would, work or not, is very frustrating, Y/N. This isn’t work for her. They would have told her she would be partnering with us. She knew we’d be here.”

“I’m not fucking stupid, Steven.”

His face twitched at the name as his head tilted to the side. “Then why are you being a fucking brat right now?”

You both stared each other down until you felt someone standing behind you and gently but firmly reached for the man’s wrist. “Ok. I know everyone is a bit amped up but Steve I’m going to need you to let go of her now, ok?” Matthew’s voice matched his movement, ready to defend you if he needed to. 

Steve’s angry eyes flicked to your brother before letting you go who gently pushed you towards the passenger seat before coming back around to glance at them. 

“Do what you need to do but give her some space. If you come at her right now when you’re all like this she will shut down.”

#############

“Talk to me, Y/N!” Matthew shouted over the music of the club as you chugged back the martini in your hand, gesturing for the waiter to bring you another.

“I don’t want to! Just let me drink and be angry, okay?!”

“Okay but why are you angry?! It’s just work right?!”

There’s a lull in the music as you turn to sullenly look at him. “Yeah but—”

“She’s their ex.”

“It’s not even that but…”

“But what?”

A heavy bass fills the room before you can answer. You reach for his hand and bring him to a patio that’s outside, allowing him to reach in his pocket and light a cigarette. 

“I got incredibly sick last week and in my haze I told them I’m always worried they can do better.”

“Y/N…”

“I know. We talked about it and I believe them when they say they love me. That I’m the only one for them but then I saw that girl…she’s not like me.”

“Probably one of the many reasons they love you. Y/N, there is a reason they aren’t with this girl anymore. Also don’t forget, you met her for like, what… 5 minutes? You don’t know the whole story. You’re just letting our parents get in your brain again.”

You nod at his observation. “Matthew… our parents disowned me because I’m not perfect. What if—”

“No ma’am. Don’t even go there. Our parents disowned US because of their ignorance. Honey, being human means you’ll never be perfect but you’re perfect for them.”

You smile as you wrap your arms around him. “Thank you for being you.” He grins as he kisses the top of your head.  “I’m going to go grab another drink. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you disappear, Eddie and Steve find Matthew outside. 

“Hey, man. Where is she?”, the metalhead asks. 

“She went to go grab another drink.” They nod at him as they take a sip from the glasses in their hands. “She told me you asked her to move in with you guys.” Steve meets his gaze as he nods again. “She also told me what happened at the wedding you guys went to before your impromptu trip to Indiana.”

Matthew squishes his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “I like you guys a lot but I’m warning you now. Something like that is a big step for her and if you hurt her again like you guys did before…I will kill you.” He grins at them as he pats Eddie’s shoulder. “And I don’t mean that in like a sarcastic way. She’s been through enough.”

They glance at each other, knowing he means what he’s saying. After following him back into the club, they find you dancing and smiling with Avery. Your brother chuckles as he watches you have fun. “You never would have guessed we grew up in an uber religious house!” The boys laugh along with him as he nudges Steve with his elbow. “And not just because of the dancing, Daddy!”

Their eyes widen as they turn to face him making Matthew laugh harder. “She has bruises on her wrist and arms that look like fingerprints! My sister didn’t want to tell me at first but when I told her they look like the same kind of marks girls leave my bedroom with…! It’s kind of funny! In bed I always like to be control! I assumed it was because we never had any growing up!”

The music dies down again and you giggle as you wrap your arms around your client, heading back towards your brother. 

“You would think she would be the same but I guess not.”

“Maybe it’s because after she left your parent’s house, she had to learn how to handle things by herself. That can be exhausting.” Matthew raises his eyebrow inquisitively as he gives his full attention to Eddie. “Especially when you feel like… it will all fall apart if you don’t have everything together.”

“What she doesn’t realize though is”, Steve continues. “She has way more control in and out of the bedroom than she thinks she does. Y/N has us wrapped around her finger.”

“Hey! You guys came.”, Avery clapped excitedly. “How was your shoot?”

The men across from you watched as your eyes fall to the floor. 

“We wouldn’t know. We left right after Y/N did.”

“Oh? What took you so long to get here then?”, you ask. 

Their eyes shift to Avery before turning to your brother. 

“Hey Av. I’m sick of these whiskey whatevers. Take me to the bar and order me the best drink on the menu. My sister says you come here a lot so I trust your judgement.”

Your client grins as Matthew extends his elbow to him and the boy loops his arm through as they head to the counter. 

“We had a conversation with Cass about this stunt she pulled. She won’t be doing it again.”

Your eyes flicked to Steve before looking down at the contents of your glass. “Yeah, because she seems extremely trustworthy…Why…why haven’t you guys mentioned her before? Or at least told me someone you dated was in the industry so I could look out for you guys.”

They frustratingly sigh, looking around the club before Steve heads down a hallway and Eddie takes your hand to follow. After turning into a nearby open door and locking it, they marvel at the room you three find yourself in. 

It’s small with couches along the mirror lined walls. In the middle, a stripper pole welcomes anyone to use with a stereo in the corner for ambiance. 

“Did…did we just walk into one of our movies?” Eddie’s eyes scan the room and you can’t help but laugh. 

“I mean, the club is called Fantasy.”

Steve hastily guides you to one of the sofas, throwing you both down as he takes your hands in his. “Y/N, I swear we didn’t purposely hide her from you or anything like that. We thought Cassie was back in New York.” Your brows furrow together as Eddie throws himself down next to you. 

“We met her on set a little after we moved here and had our little arrangement for about two months. She was the first person we tried it with and she was all for it. The last time we saw her she was spending the night at our place and the next morning she was gone. Left a note and everything.”

“Actually, a note would have been better. She placed a sticky note on Eddie’s phone that said something like ‘I can’t do this anymore. I’m going home.’ When we called her agency, they said she had flown back home to New York.”

“Did you have feelings for her?”

“Not like we do for you.”

You roll your eyes at Steve’s answer. “I’m not a child. Just answer my question and DON’T tell me it doesn’t matter!”, you turn to warn Eddie.

“It doesn’t! Do you know why? Because she left without so much as a fucking goodbye.”

“Like we were trash.” You sighed at Steve’s comment as his eyes squint in your direction. “Y/N, she’s not nor will she ever be better than you in anyway way shape or form.”

“Is that why your jealous? Jesus Christ.”, Eddie whines in annoyance. “That little snippet you witnessed? Not new for her. She could be aggressively bratty and not in a fun way.”

“Why did you stay with her then? I mean why did you even bother?”

“Because the sex was good.”, Steve cringed as he looked at you. “It was. Again, not as good as—”

“Okay, Mr. Harrington. Calm down. I don’t need you to keep stroking my ego.”, you interrupt with a small smile. 

“I’m sure you understand with your own experiences. Not that I need my ego stroked but…”, he grins. Your smile grows as you look down at your hands. “Whoa, what was that?”

“What was what?”

“Wow, Munson. Look at her face. Did all your past sexual encounters suck?”

“So, a stripper pole in the middle of the room, huh? That’s so cliché.” As you start to slide off the couch, two strong hands grip your biceps and pull you back. They both beam down at you with big, amused yet admiration filled eyes. “I did say you had way more sexual experience than me.”

“Yeah but, I mean, had you ever even cum before?”

“I thought I had. I really did! Until I got in this business. Then I thought I was doing something wrong because I couldn’t…get there. Then…”, your eyes squeeze shut as you gesture your head towards Eddie.

“Oh, this is too good.”, the metalhead chuckles. “Talk about stroking the ego. Your first orgasm EVER was because of my fingers WHILE watching Steve get his shitty blow job.” You both make a face at him as he laughs harder. “Well, you’re welcome.”

The door to the room abruptly opens as a bouncer flies in. “Guys, these rooms aren’t ready yet. You have to get out. Come on now! Now!”

##############

“I will be coming back. Jesus, you always hug me like I’m going away forever.”

“It feels like it.”, you wrap your arms around your brother tighter as he chuckles. 

Matthew points at the guys behind you. “Remember what I said, yeah?” They nod as he unhooks your arms from around his waist to look down at your face. “You to. Don’t let our parents live rent free in there, okay?” He points to your temple as you smile and respond with a tiny ok.

After revving his bike a few times, he delivers you one final wave before speeding off and disappearing over the hill. 

“Are you ok?”, Steve asks as he hugs you from behind. When you nod, he suddenly lifts you in the air and throws you over his shoulder. “Good. Then the punishment can begin.”

“Daddy!”, you giggle as he carries you back inside. “What are you talking about?! I didn’t do anything!”

“Oh, really? I specifically remember you being a brat yesterday and then the cherry on top was you calling me Steven.”

“Fuck. But I apologized!”

He reached up and smacked your ass before flinging you onto the mattress. “Watch your mouth. So, Ed, what we thinking?” The man places his hands on his hips as he looks to his friend. “Do you want to do it?”

You watch them with eager eyes as they whisper to each other. Eddie grins as Steve leaves the room and removes his pants before falling on to the bed with his bare back to the headboard. “Come here, princess.” He pats the space between his legs and you kiss his cheek as you place yourself where he wants you. 

The other man returns with a bowl but before you can peek at what’s inside the metalhead grips your chin, forcing you to look ahead. “Eyes forward.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

His lips tenderly kiss the back of your head as he lifts your shirt and tosses it to the floor. “Do you want your hair up or down?”

“Oh, um. I don’t know, Sir. I don’t know what’s happening. What do you think?”

The boy glances at Steve who shrugs. “You can just keep it out of her face with your hand if you need to. Can you hold it up for me though while I put this on her?”

On instinct, you move your head to look towards him to see what they are putting on you but Eddie immediately pulls your chin, forcing your face forward. “If you move your head again, you won’t like the punishment that follows. Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”

He loosens his grip as he holds your hair up in a makeshift ponytail. Something soft and velvet blinds you as they place it over your eyes.

“How’s that, honey? Can you see anything? Be honest.���

“No, Daddy. It feels really nice actually. Can I adjust it a little bit?” When he gives you permission, you reach up tug it down a bit more so it’s fully and comfortably resting on your face. 

When lips gently meet yours, a little gasp escapes you. “Whoa.” You reach out with your hand to caress Steve’s face. “It’s so weird but in a good way. You…taste different. Stronger.” You feel his smile spread across his lips before reaching behind you blindly to find Eddie. “Can…Can I—”

His palm reaches for your cheek and guides your mouth to his own. You instantly taste nicotine but also the lingering savoriness that makes up the man you love amplified to an intoxicating degree. 

“Ok. Hey, hey now. This is supposed to be a punishment.” Steve grabs your jaw and turns you away from the other man as you both try and catch your breath. “You got her, Munson?”, he chuckles. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I got her. Fuck me.” Eddie’s arms looped around yours, bringing them behind your back as his heels slide over your ankles to hold them down. 

“Alright, little one. The rules of this punishment are simple. Don’t make any noise or say a word. If you do…?” While Steve was speaking, the metalhead had shifted so your wrists were held with one hand as his other came back around to the front of your body. When his friend paused, his palm came down hard on your inner thigh. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy. I understand.”

“What do you think, bud? I’m thinking 15 min of silence.”

“Sounds good to me. Start over every time she fails.”

“Every time I fail. You both are so cocky, I swear.”, you giggle until you feel Eddie’s chest lean away from you and a firm hand slaps your cheek.

“You’re already failing, little girl.”, Steve whispers. 

It feels like an eternity before any movement is made. The pads of the man’s fingers glide lightly along your legs and up your thighs, stopping right before he reaches you sex and repeating his actions. 

“Now I know what you’re thinking, babe. This is punishment for the way you behaved at the shoot but it’s not.” The bed dipped in front of you and you bit your lip as you felt him trace along your tummy. His fingers trailed back down and you whined when his fingers skipped your pussy again. 

A hand came down to slap your thigh and Steve chuckled. “I guess we’re starting over.”

He began caressing your skin again, purposely avoiding all the sensitive areas you wanted him to touch so desperately. “You are being punished because you, little one, don’t value yourself like you should.”

Steve’s hand rested on your cheek as you turned your head to press into it. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip and you silently kissed it, hearing him let out a small sigh of pleasure. “Honey, we love you so much. There is no other woman we would rather be with than you.” Tugging his palm away, he gradually slides down your body and you jump when his thumb pressed against your clit.

“You don’t need us to tell you how amazing you are and you shouldn’t allow bitches like Cassie Leigh or your bigoted parents make you feel less than.” 

You tried to hold in your whine but he wasn’t moving his thumb fast or hard enough to get you where you needed to be. As soon as it left your mouth, Steve removed his hand and Eddie slapped between your legs making you cry out. 

You felt the atmosphere shift and heard the sound of something being moved. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!”, you shout as something cold and wet touches your calf.

That earned you two hard slaps on your thighs. “Watch. Your. Mouth.”, Eddie growled in your ear. You apologized and slowly came to realize that the cold, wet thing was ice. Your legs began to tremble as he brought the cube between your thighs. You so badly wanted him to touch you with it as your hips involuntarily started to grind. 

“Oh, honey. So needy. This is the furthest you’ve gotten so far. 10 minutes left. Do you think you can make it?”

He guided the ice to your nipple, startling you but you managed not to make a sound. 

“So beautiful, sweetheart.”

Switching to caress your other breast with the cube, Steve mouth enveloped your erect bud, swirling his tongue along your flesh. Your head fell back on Eddie’s shoulder as you stifled your moans. 

“You want to try, Eddie?” The metalhead slides out from behind you as the other man grips your wrists and places your hands against the headboard above you as you fall to your back. 

“I could handcuff you but I’m trusting you, okay? Do NOT move your hands from this spot.”

You nod, fearing that if you reply properly, they will restart the timer. “Good girl. I’m going to help keep that mouth quiet.”

Eddie reaches into the bowl on your nightstand and picks up where his friend left off while Steve places himself by your face and positions his cock by your mouth. “Open up, little miss.”

You do as your told and he hisses at the feeling as your lips wrap around him. His hand grips the side of your head, turning you so you can take more of his length as he does small thrusts with his hips. 

As Eddie brings the ice down your stomach, you feel his tongue trail after liquid and it takes every fiber of your being not to moan. 

“Good girl, baby. You’re doing so well. You have a couple more minutes. I’m, f-fuck, I’m gonna fuck that pretty little mouth, baby girl.”

While Steve picks up his pace, the metalhead rubs the cubed along your clit as he pushes two of his fingers into your entrance. The euphoria of feeling them finally touch you where you want is almost too much to handle and you know you want last long. You assume the ice in Eddie’s hand melts because the cold sensation is replaced by his warm tongue as he flicks at your nub. 

Steve’s watch beeps and he groans as he pulls his cock out of your mouth. 

“Sir, yes. Please, please, please! Daddy, can I cum?”

As soon as he gives you permission, your legs clamp around Eddie’s head as you stumble over the edge. He forcefully shoves your thighs against the mattress as his tongue rides you through it. 

Eddie climbs your body, hurling the mask off your eyes, and pushing your legs wider apart with his knees before guiding his cock into your entrance. His motions are slow at first, pumping himself into you as deep as he can, gradually picking up his pace. You glance at Steve who was still beside you on his elbow as he watched your face contort in ecstasy.

“Can I—mmm—can I move my…hands, Daddy?”

“Yes, you can.”

Eddie mewled as you palms wrapped him and your nails dragged down his back.

“Harder, Sir. Please.”

His body fell against yours as he placed his head to the other side of your own. “Like this, baby?” He clings to you as his hips slam into yours, your eyes rolling back. 

“Yes, Sir. Just like that. You feel so good.”

“Cum for me, princess. Please.” He whispers his last word so low you barely heard him, grunting as your pussy clenched around him. Eddie’s neck craned as he watched you come undone. “Good girl. That’s my sweet girl. Fuck.”

His hips faltered as he thrust his seed into your cunt. You tenderly ran your fingers through his hair as he panted against your neck. 

“You ready for Daddy, baby?”

You nod, shakily crawling to him as he rises on to his knees, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so your back was against his chest. 

Steve reached between you two, spitting into his hand as you moaned, feeling the tip of his hard cock press against you. 

“Fuck, Daddy.”, you whimpered as he guided himself into your ass.  

His fingers roughly pinched your cheeks, pushing your head back against his shoulder as he began pumping his hips. 

“Just because the punishment ended—mmm—doesn’t mean you can curse. You…you didn’t do that with him. What makes…you think you can get away with it…with me, little girl? Hm?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Daddy.” Your hands clung to his arms that were encircled around your waist as he thrust into you harder.  

“Did his long, thick fingers and cock…make you fucking…fucking dumb?”

You cried out when you suddenly felt fingers between your legs, opening your eyes to see Eddie on his knees in front of you. His forehead fell on yours as he pushed two of his fingers inside of your entrance, matching Steve’s pace. 

The other man closed his eyes, panting at the sound of your moans. “Cum, honey. Please. You sound so fucking beautiful. I need to hear it.”

He presses you tightly to him and your body shakes as you cum, lips attaching to his as his tongue mingles with yours. Steve’s grunts hit your face as he leans his nose to your cheek, his own body trembling as he releases inside of you.

“Please…”, you beg as you push at Eddie’s hand. 

Steve grips your hips as he carefully lifts you off his lap before bringing you with him as he falls flat on the mattress on his side. The metalhead follows you both down, pushing some of your damp hair out of your face. 

As he starts to get up, you quickly reach out to grab his arm. “Wait…Wait. Not yet.”

Eddie smiles as lays back down beside you. “Are you okay?” You nod, placing your hand on his cheek. “Ah, Ah, Ah. This is what I was afraid of. Wake up, sweetheart.”, he tuts as your eyes start to close. 

A small, sleepy grin spreads along your face. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Steve snorts behind you as he laughs making your grin stretch further along your face. 

“Such a pain in the ass. You’re lucky we love you.” Eddie kisses your forehead before heading towards the bathroom and turning on the shower. The other man groans as he rolls off the bed and lifts you into his arms, setting you down under the water. 

“Can I ask a question?”

“Yes, you can sit down.” 

“No, you goof.”, you playfully slap Eddie’s arm. “You guys said I’m the first girl you actually had a relationship with, right? So, you’ve never had a girl move in with you?”

Their actions slow as they listen, Steve freezing completely. “That’s right.”

“So, um, I know that when I sleepover or vice versa, we fall asleep together but at your house you both have your own room…”

The metalhead turns off the shower, drying himself before reaching for you and gently running the towel over your body. “Princess, you’re doing that thing again where you dance around the topic instead of asking what you actually want to ask.”

“I was just thinking… I mean…do you both need your own room?”

Steve throws on some boxers and reaches for a clean shirt to throw over your head. “I like falling asleep with you.”

“Me to.”, Eddie chimes in. “I was thinking…hypothetically… if you moved in with us, we could turn one of our rooms into like an office or something for you.”

“You do bring a lot of your work home. Not including us, of course.” 

You giggle as you climb back into bed and they follow, your eyes shifting back and forth between them. “Okay.”

“Okay like ‘good to know’ or okay like ‘I want to move in with you guys?’”, Steve asked in a nervous tone. 

“I’d like to move in. If…if you still want me to.”

“Fuck yes!”, Eddie shouts before clearing his throat. “I mean, yeah, of course we still want you to.”

“Matthew already threatened us to so you’re good to go.”

################

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[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local soulmates finally reach the "friends" in "enemies to friends to lovers". A little softness goes a long way. Nice, mostly gentle chapter to make up for the previous one's angsty ending. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts

5: Heart Of The Matter

“This is embarrassing,” you mumble, refusing to look Cassandra in the eyes. Softly, she runs her fingers over your chest, spreading the medicinal salve. There’s an unspoken judgement in her expression. Minor movements are no less painful than major ones, so you try to sit still, as much as you’d rather be with anyone else. “Can you hurry up, at least? I don’t care if it takes longer to heal in the long run, I just want to get out of here,” you snap. For a split second you think Cassandra’s going to hit you in response, with the way she looks at you, and you involuntarily flinch. But the hit never comes, merely a sharp sigh.

“If you didn’t want to get treated, you shouldn’t have started a fight- especially not such a pointless one,” she says, continuing to rub in the medicine and evidence alike. At this, you shrink into yourself, hating the harsh sting of truth. Yeah, you think, she’s got me there. Victory is a fast fading feeling, dearly missed in the wake of the growing shame in your chest. Why had you given in to your impulses? Why had you broken the only peace you had known in weeks? It’s a thought that snags on the corners of your mind, weighing down your cognition, leaving you unpleasantly distracted from the present. “Almost done. Then you can go sulk in private, somewhere you can’t bother me, alright?”

Nodding, you accept your fate with what little grace remains. What more could you even do? Ask her to stay by your side? Hardly. But as soon as the last bandage fits into place, and her gentle yet calloused hands smooth the last edge, a whisper of an ache springs into your heart. It’s not a yearning for Cassandra specifically, merely a reminder of your unwilling loneliness. When the door closes behind her, you stare down at your hands, wishing to hold some meaning within them. Maybe I can find Daphne around here somewhere, you think. Then you slowly rise to your feet. Better to sit with a kind stranger than a harsh familiar face.

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

That night, you find yourself cautiously approaching Cassandra’s room, feeling like a death row inmate on their way to the executioner. Every step is begrudging, and you almost can’t bring yourself to open the door. But you manage, in the end, stepping in with your eyes downcast. No voice, grumpy or otherwise, greets you. One glance tells you that your soulmate is already asleep, and you mentally thank all the gods you can name. It doesn’t take long to get ready for bed. It does take a minute to slide under the covers, careful not to wake Cassandra. This time you don’t move closer to her, or wrap your arm around her waist, too… exhausted to try anything along those lines.

When you dream, it is of an ever familiar room, shrouded in darkness, stained with the blood of hundreds. Someone’s laughing- a woman, maybe several. Down here, someone is always laughing. You try to laugh with them. It’s a lie, a small deception, that lets you pull your thoughts away from your misery. But they don’t appreciate it when you join their cacophony chorus. Their cackling shifts into screaming, bitter lungs sending waves of ear-splitting sound. Over and over, it gets louder, unbearably so, and closer, closer all the time. Just a few cells away. Just a few more fucking seconds and they’ll be right on top of you. This is a dream you’ve faced down before, yet the ending is unknown. They always get louder, always barrel down the path, towards you, howling endlessly.

They never reach you. No, they’re always coming, always so fucking close. Never in your sight. Never digging claws into your chest. But the anxiety does not fade- you are tipping back in a chair, never falling, never able to find your balance.

When you wake up, it’s with a flinch, teary eyes snapping open. A hand rests on your cheek, brushes away the stains. Whispered words drift through the air, too hushed to be understood, daring to lull you into a relaxed state. It’s Cassandra, of course. Even in your tired state, you know this, know that she’s trying. What you don’t know is whether or not she’s awake enough to process what she’s doing. After all, you hardly are, and her touch is the gentlest thing you’ve ever felt. But you do not get to enjoy it for terribly long. Soon enough your vision fades, the embrace of slumber overtaking you once more.

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

For a few days, there is relative peace. Meals are delivered to Cassandra’s room, where you mostly dine on your own, though she occasionally joins you, even if you do not speak. Every evening she ensures your wounds are treated, often handling it herself. When she does, you do your best not to meet her gaze, for you cannot stand the traces of affection you see there. Try as you might, you find yourself unable to taunt her the way you had done the first day. The way she’s changed her behavior, adapting to your trauma’s revelation, haunts you to no end.

“Drink this,” she says one day, before bed, holding out a steaming mug. Of course you don’t take it, of course you stare at her with an eyebrow raised. Acceptance was never an option. “It’s just tea. Bela says it might help. With nightmares. Not-” she paused to frown, unsure if she even wanted to finish the sentence- “that it helped me. But you’ve been… tolerable, lately, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.” Then she’s reaching out again, expectantly. Blushing ever so slightly, you finally take the mug, giving her a quick nod before taking a sip. There’s a hint of sugar, just enough to make things interesting.

“Thanks,” you murmur, after swallowing the lump in your throat. Already Cassandra is turning away, focusing on getting ready for bed. You want to say more, to actually hold a conversation with her for the first time in days, but your mouth feels oddly dry. So you just sip your tea in silence. Of course, you think, I’m only ever improvising a monologue, or tripping over my own tongue, as if it were a resting place for my chattering teeth. At least the beverage wasn’t as bitter as your thoughts. By the time you’ve finished your drink, Cassandra is in bed, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Need something? Or just waiting for the poison in my drink to kick in?” You ask, surprising yourself.

“Finally remembered how your mouth works, hmm?” Cassandra teases. Again you’re blushing, having expected her to be more annoyed than amused.

“I never forgot. I simply, you know, uh… figured that you needed a break, after my last demonstration,” you counter, remembering the way your vocal chords had complained, and the way her arm had felt around your throat. It’s not the direction you meant to take the conversation in, but she doesn’t seem to mind. If anything… she’s blushing. For a moment you’re confused, then you finally recall the ‘incident’ in the tub. Oh fuck, you think, that’s worse. Maybe. Probably? What should I say? In the end, the words leave your mouth in a rush, as they were prone to do. “Based on how red your cheeks are, I’m going to assume you don’t need another reminder. Let’s just get some rest now, yeah?” Next thing you know, there’s a pillow flying towards your face.

Still, it’s better than nothing, and the impact serves only to make you smile wider. When you climb into bed, you find yourself face-to-face with Cassandra. She’s never laid like this with you before. It’s unexpected, even more so when she shifts forward, less than an inch away from your face. Understandably, you end up blushing more than you’d like to admit.

“What was that about red cheeks?” She asks, voice low and breathy, knowing exactly what she was doing to you. Before you can think of the ‘smart’ thing to do, impulse kicks in, making you go in for a quick kiss. It’s supposed to be a joke, a counter to her teasing. But she leans into it. She kisses back. Both of you are blushing hard when she pulls away, a few moments later. You’re trying to stutter out a response, clever or otherwise, and she’s rolling her eyes, rolling onto her other side, putting her back to you. Words fail you. In the end, you are forced to try to sleep, regardless of what just happened. When you dream, there are no nightmares this time. Just a warmth you had thought forgotten.

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

More days pass, with your tongue slowly loosening up, fueled by playful banter with Cassandra. Neither of you dares to mention the kiss. Nor do you ever speak for too long, as if knowing that your mind still resisted peace. Most evenings are still filled with nightmares, all mimicking your trauma, and you are left to wonder if the tea had even worked that first night, or if something else had helped. In the hopes of more success you drink a mug every day before bed. Admittedly, Cassandra does bring it to you, meaning that forgoing it would require turning her down. That was… harder to do, these days.

When she asks you to join her for lunch, you don’t hesitate to agree. But as you’re waiting in her room, casually reclining on her bed with a book in your hands, a distant scream echoes through the castle. Instantly you’re panicking, wondering who was in trouble. It reminds you so much of the dungeon that you can’t move. Was one of the servants being punished? Had someone merely forgotten to close the door to the basement, and you were hearing the same cries that caused your nightmares? Even though the screaming does not last for long, it renders you helpless, shaking in every bone. It’s not until the door opens that you can think again.

“Change of plans,” Cassandra announces, stepping into the room. There’s a worried expression on her face, and her voice tells you she’s distracted. When she sees the state you’re in, however, she’s quick to sit next to you. “Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s Daniela that does. She- her soulmate-... it’s bad. That’s all we know. One second she was fine, the next she’s howling in pain, and there’s a huge scar on her back. We’re going to have a ‘family lunch’, per mother’s insistence, in case it helps Dani think about literally anything other than what just happened.” With that, one of her hands moves to your own, giving a reassuring squeeze. To her surprise, you’re quick to return the gesture.

“I can come with,” you blurt out. Then she’s raising an eyebrow at you, wondering why the hell you’d ever offer to spend time with her family. The family that had imprisoned you. And, of course, intended to drain you of blood, or dine on your flesh. Even you weren’t a hundred percent sure. “This has got to be hard for her. I… I knew someone who went through something similar. Strange as it is, I want to show my support. If you’ll allow me, that is.” There’s neither a pleading tone nor a hint of anger in your voice. But Cassandra still hesitates, eying you, clearly questioning your motive.

“Alright, fine,” she says, after a deep sigh. “If you do anything to make her feel worse, I can’t- and won’t- stop my family from killing you, blood bond be damned. They’ll make it painless, for my sake, but that’s the only kindness you’ll get. Got it?” You nod, giving her hand another squeeze. “Good. Now let’s get going, I don’t want to make Dani wait.”

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

It’s quiet. Awkward, even. Daniela is clearly still shaken up from her experience, with red eyes, makeup staining her cheeks. No one seems to have the slightest clue of what to say to her. Even you are silent, unable to find a good opportunity to lend your advice or sympathies. Which makes it all the more painful when you find Daniela watching you, eyes narrowed, a tremble to her lower lip. Both Cassandra and Bela seem to notice, pausing their eating to wait with bated breath. Part of you swears you can hear their thoughts of please don’t say anything, please don’t say anything, for the love of everything good in this world. So, naturally, Daniela does in fact say something. But it’s not directed at you- rather your soulmate.

“Did you really have to bring them? Huh? Felt like pouring salt in my wounds?” Her throat is obviously sore from crying, or screaming, likely both. This certainly wasn’t how you wanted your first meeting with her (or her mother) to go. So you summon the best of your courage, replying before Cassandra even opens her mouth.

“I asked to come. I wanted to show my support,” you reply. There’s a pause, with Daniela glaring at you, before she speaks slowly and with unveiled rage.

“Don’t make me laugh. You really thought I’d want to see my sister’s soulmate right now? Alive and well? God, you’re perfect for her, absolutely clueless,” she growls, smacking her fist against the table. Things have gone from bad to worse, but you don’t give up, deciding to take a risk as best as you could. After all, Cassandra had made it clear that your life was on the line.

“Tell me, was the pain bad enough that you passed out?” You ask, ignoring the way your soulmate kicks your feet. She’s desperate for you to shut up, especially now that Daniela’s too angry to even respond. “Are you still in pain now? Answer the question and I’ll either explain, or let you use my bones as toothpicks.”

“Fuck you!” Daniela cries, rising to her feet. Instantly her sisters are standing as well, though it’s unclear what ‘side’ either of them are on. For now, their mother remains sitting, staring at you intensely. When you refuse to back down, the tension in the room flickers, fading a tad. “The pain lasted ten minutes. It’s stopped. They’re…”

“They’re not dead, then. Reason to celebrate, yes?” You suggest, raising your glass before taking a long drink from it. Everyone is eying you with visible confusion. “When I was younger, I was with my best friend during the worst hours of her life. She had met her soulmate at age twelve, three years prior. We had just been… hanging out. Talking. The next thing I knew she was screaming like her blood had turned to acid, sobbing her eyes out. Then she blacked out. By the time she came to, we were at the hospital, and we ran into her soulmate’s family. She asked them what was wrong, why she was in so much pain. I, uh, I think you can guess the answer. Not the specifics, yeah, but the general gist of it. It took twenty four hours for the physical pain to stop. According to the doctors, that’s pretty average. So your soulmate isn’t dead. Chances are you haven’t even met them yet, and someday you’ll see that scar on their back, and you’ll know. I know that this doesn’t make everything okay, but I hope it helps. At least a little.” When Daniela finally brings herself to reply, having sunk back into her seat, it’s with a soft voice, hardly more than a whisper.

“It does. Thank you.”

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

Later, you’re walking back to Cassandra’s room when she suddenly pushes you against a wall, staring at you with fear in her eyes.

“What you said earlier. About your friend. Was that true?” You’re nodding, quickly, desperate to get her to release you. But she doesn’t. Instead she’s looking at you with concern, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “Goddamnit, you better not ever fucking die on me then, alright? Promise me. Right now!” A thousand thoughts go through your mind, a thousand jabs or otherwise cruel remarks, but when you speak, it’s with a hushed reverence you cannot describe.

“Same to you. I know you’re practically immortal, but I don’t fucking care. Don’t die on me. Don’t- just don’t. I promise, but you better fucking mean it too, alright?” You say, openly crying, ignoring the way Cassandra’s expression softens at your words. As soon as you’re done speaking she lets you go with a nod, turning back to the hallway, already walking towards her room. You’re not entirely sure what just happened… but you know you’re glad it did.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.5 (NSFW!)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

'Cassandra's favorite', the other maids call you.

You can't tell if they mean it as a good or a bad thing. Hell, you can't even tell which of the two it really is.

Being her 'favorite' does not make you immune to harm in any way; bruises litter your shoulders and sides from when she grabs you too forcefully and cuts from her nails sting at your neck and stomach, renewed each time she comes to take a kiss.

None of that existed back when you were something of zero interest to her. On the other hand, she's told you several times you're 'a thing of beauty' --her thing of beauty-- and she won't let anything ruin a natural piece of art.

If you know anything about Cassandra, it is that she takes art very seriously. Your interpretation of the word greatly varies from hers, you're sure, but it doesn't change the fact she won't easily raise a sickle on you.

Cassandra won't break you. She won't let Daniela do so, either. Bela doesn't even care to hurt you. It means you're safe for now...

Unless Lady Dimitrescu decides you're best taken away from her daughter. Permanently. You don't dare meet her eyes, but you can feel them on you, scrutinizing, every night at dinner.

You're pretty sure she knows.

The thought sits heavy in your mind while you're cleaning bloodied steps off a corridor at three in the small hours of the morning, along with another maid. Adella is a quiet and hardworking one; the two of you make a good team and you know you'll be done in record time.

But it only takes a single moment for everything to go wrong.

Adella is hastily walking back to you with a bucket of fresh water in hand when you hear a different set of steps approach from the side. You make to warn her, but it's already too late.

The collision happens at the turn where the two passageways meet. As soon as you see black robes dripping wet you pray to whichever God will listen for mercy.

Because Cassandra has not been in a good mood all night and she is not the understanding type regardless.

Adella gasps and shakingly backs away, a waterfall of apologies spilling from her lips. Cassandra rolls her neck and draws her sickle, advancing on her slowly. She looks terrifying.

"Don't move now." she orders.

And you just- can't watch this. You don't know why, but the realization you cannot hits you like a speeding truck. You can't stand there while the the woman you frequently kiss cuts away at a girl you know is as good and compassionate as a human under your circumstances can possibly get.

You react.

Before you can even think how impossibly stupid you're being, you drop the mop in your hands and dash forward, crashing into Cassandra's form. Your right arm wraps around her waist and your left grips at her wrist like a vice. Your heart is pounding. You don't even know what you're saying;

"Cassandra, no! Please. Don't." Cold and rigid as she is, it may as well be a statue you're holding. "Cassandra, stop. Please." Once impulse dies down, you realize you've just signed your death wish for two seconds of playing hero.

And you thought you were smarter than that. Ha. But maybe, just maybe, part of you wants to die, so long as it's quick and painless.

With Cassandra, though, you doubt it. Especially with how lethal she sounds when she says:

"You. Disappear." You hear, rather than see, Adella scurrying off for her life. "As for you..."

You only register a blur, nausea, cold nails piercing at your neck, over already existing marks. You are shoved into the nearest wall so powerfully you can't breathe for all of ten seconds. It's a wonder you don't hear any cracks from within your body.

Cassandra is on you, her fingers harsh on your chin and breath chilly on your lips. "Good pets don't bark against their own masters. What made you so bold, hm?"

You don't answer, too busy summoning your mental strength for what comes next. The way her eyes and the lines of her pretty face have hardened, she looks nothing like the flirty girl who comes to steal kisses from you at random times during the night.

"Maybe I've been too nice to you. The first time you call my name and it's for some other maid?"

She looks like she wants to let out a bitter laugh, break something and slice you into stripes simultaneously. And then you realize; Cassandra is jealous.

It doesn't get any worse than that.

"Maybe I should make sure you never say anything again." The corner of her lips curls up in dark amusement as she talks. "You don't talk much, anyway."

Well. She did say she wouldn't let anyone ruin your looks. Never promised anything about what's on the inside.

You're shaking, even if her grasp doesn't leave much room to do so. Your brain is restlessly trying to come up with something to get you out of this mess-

"I'm of way more use to you with my tongue intact." you somehow manage to speak without stuttering. It makes you wonder where the hell this confidence came from.

Cassandra stills for a moment. Her grip eases the slightest amount, probably from surprise.

You wonder what the hell you're even doing, yourself, when you bring your hands to her sides and lean in, to the curve of her nice jawline. You've never kissed her neck before, but you remember from the times you've given her a massage that she's very sensitive around it.

Cautiously, you press your mouth to the soft spot under her ear.

She smells so good and her skin feels so smooth you're not exactly forcing yourself to kiss her. If you're going to be mutilated anyway, the part of you that must be severely messed up muses, you may as well take some pleasure for yourself beforehand. Who knows, it may change her mind along the way.

So you lick her there and suck over her faint pulse. You don't get any stimuli from her, at first.

Until her hand trails from your shoulder to your nape, urging you harder against her. It's the green light to keep going.

You put all your skill into it as you lavish her neck and collarbones with open-mouthed kisses. She's loose and moaning low in her throat now.

You can't tell why, but the sound echoes right though your adrenaline-induced system, tickles down your spinal cord to pool low in your stomach. You either had a kink for danger you never knew of, or you developed one in the castle.

Whatever the case, your fingers are working on the buttons of her outfit and she doesn't seem like stopping you has even crossed her mind.

When the robes barely hang onto her shoulders, Cassandra maneuvers you to the closest room, shuts the door and presses you against it. Hard. Your lips slide together hungrily. You taste wine on her tongue.

At this point, your hands are the only thing supporting her outfit on her. She looks too fucking sexy for words like this, half-undressed, lipstick smeared, so turned on and ready for you. But you also want to see more of her, so you let the black fabric drop.

She's getting impatient, though. Being more vocal, tugging your hand to the apex of her legs.

"Cassandra." you moan when you push the midnight lace of her panties aside and touch her. She's so wet.

Her mouth falls open in a soundless gasp, brows drawn softly. "Oh, you're lucky I like my name on your lips." she says, breathless.

You did start this trying to prove to her how useful your tongue can be attached to your body, however... so it's only fair that's how you finish it.

Finish her.

Cassandra looks dazed and confused when you kneel in front of her, but it's quickly replaced with a broken moan when you take her into your mouth. You revel in every single gasp you coax out of her, every minuscule shake of her perfect thighs.

She bites into her own hand when she reaches her peak, nails leaving four parallel marks on the wall.

You're gentlewomanly enough to pull her outfit up for her while she's coming down from her high. Your gaze takes its sweet time admiring the contours of her chest as you button it closed. She really is the most attractive girl you've ever seen, if you somehow don't take into consideration her body count.

"Good?" you ask when she opens her pretty eyes to look at you.

"It's not cute to be smug, plaything." Cassandra makes a soft grimace at you, though you can see the lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lip. "But. I suppose your tongue has its uses to me, after all."

You gently push off the door to let her exit at her leisure. The movement makes you realize you won't really be able to move tomorrow, with how sore you already are.

To your surprise, Cassandra takes a moment longer in the room.

She turns back to you and raises her hands to your torso, then carefully adjusts your wrinkled shirt. Her long fingers smooth over the imperfections she caused...

And you don't know why after everything the two of you just did, it's this that feels the most intimate.

The same digits brush over your throat as she pulls away.

By the time your mind starts working right again, Cassandra is already gone. Absently, you trace over the weeping scratches on your neck.

-

-

Later, at the main hall of the castle...

"Oh, boo, look who's late again." Daniela rolls her eyes at Cassandra's fashionably delayed arrival.

"Surprise, surprise." Bela smirks, casually leaned against the side of the fireplace.

"Are you two done being insufferable or should I come by later?" Cassandra asks.

"And scar our ears and minds with another round of your 'oh's and 'ah's, sister? I think not." Daniela comments.

Bela raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Had a nice time?"

"You two have very active imaginations, you know? Tells a lot about you." Cassandra chuckles. "She was just giving me a massage. But do go on. Be thirsty. I can wait."

Daniela and Bela share a look, thrown off their game by the nonchalance.

Cassandra hides a smirk under her hood and steps out first, into the peerless dark.

[hollyharper]

If you’ve read my earlier family reunion one shot, You can imagine what’s coming. But this time, it’s the Wayne’s and a few unexpected guest! I few conversation ideas I borrowed from @steadybakeryathleteroad. If you haven’t read his batfam conversations, you have to.

The suggestion had been Dick’s, but it was Selina’s work that made everything fall into place. Kara had agreed to watch over Blùdhaven, and the Titans promised to hold their own. Dinah was basically begging to help in any way. She ended up on guard duty in Tokyo for the weekend. No one seemed to mind the three days inconvenience. In a way, they all seemed hype about the idea. Selina bit her tongue as she glanced down at the guest list. Deep down she knew Bruce wouldn’t be happy, but it was Thanksgiving, a percent time for a family reunion. She was family. With a sigh she dropped the paper into the waste bin. It would be good for them all to come home, and she wanted to meet them. It wouldn't be like she was truly part of the family, until she met all of Bruce’s protégés and ‘children’. The words caused her to tremble. Even if it was the closest words, she couldn’t call them his kids. Bruce was only in his mid thirties, the idea of a twenty four year old ‘child’ was nothing but freaky. Fourteen year old Damien, she could handle. At least the idea of his parentage, no one could handle him, especially not her. For their shared love for Bruce both managed not murder each other, at least when he was there. Selina gave the hall a quick once over.

“It’s repulsive.” There was the reason she couldn’t stand Damien, his rude unruliness.

“I like it.” Holly’s soft voice trailed after him.

“It’s permissible.” He grumpily alters.

Another thing that drove Selina crazy, how he still did everything to please Holly. Always the rebel, Damien wasn’t in the button down shirt that had been agreed upon, but a black turtleneck and dark gray trousers. Holly wore a short pale pink dress with lace sleeves. Her hair was loosely braided, with half falling out, clearly Damien’s work. Selina but her tongue. As much as she wanted this year’s Thanksgiving to be perfect, the messy look fitted Holly. Selina tucked loose strands back into Holly’s braid, and left it at that. Footsteps echoed down the stairs.

“What do you think?” Selina asked, not even turning around.

“You did good.” Bruce rested a hand on her shoulder just as she finished with Holly. “Is Flatline coming?” He asked.

Damien nodded. “Yes.”

Holly turned her head to hide her scowl. While two had never officially dated, It had been obvious how they cared for each other. When Damien came back with a girlfriend, Holly was anything but happy. Flatline had quickly picked up on it and made a point to rub it in whenever possible. Putting the two in the same room was worse than Barbara and Koriand'r. In the middle of tension, the doorbell rang. Selina sighed and expertly guided Holly away. Bruce gave a silent thank you, and went to greet the first guest.

Flatline dress up impressively. While she stuck to her classic punk, her knee length dress was stunning. A small smile crossed Damien's expression. He gave no complaint, but greeted her affectionately. As they crossed into the main room, arms casually around each other, Flatline sent Holly a challenging glare. Holly gripped the tray tightly. Without a sound, she walked past. The second to step in, was Barbara. As usual, she wore a bright green dress, with her hair in a delicately curled ponytail. She gave the teen girls an observant look, and crossed to Holly.

“Who braided your hair?”

Holly didn’t even look up. “Damien.” She refused to use his nickname now.

“He did pretty good.” Still Holly refused to respond. “You just have to let it go.” Barbara placed a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. “They’ll be others. Most boys aren’t worth crying over. And the one who is won’t make you cry.”

Holly simply nodded and wiped at her eyes. Selina smiled at the sight. Barbara was better with kids than her. Something about the young woman was welcoming. From the corner, Damien’s laugh echoed, even through a straight face. Flatline leaned closer to him and said something else that resulted in another laugh. That only seemed to worsen Holly’s mood.

Cassandra Had flown in the night before, and now descended the stairs, in time to see Barbara whisk Holly away. Cass quickly followed out the side door. Jason, Tim and Dick joined the remaining group not long later. Stephen trailed behind them, completely neglected.

“Is that it?” Bruce asked, after greeting the four.

“Two more.” Selina whispered, half afraid to admit what she had done.

He nodded and bit his tongue.

“Come.” Damien commanded.

“Where?” Flatline asked, just to annoy him.

He pointed to the three retired Robins. She stalked over without him.

“Hi, Flat.” Dick greeted.

She scowled. Dick was the only one of the older siblings she had met. While she kind of liked him, the nicknames were detested.

“Jay, Tim, This is Dami’s girlfriend, Flatline.”

Both stared at her.

“Did you say ‘Damien’s Girlfriend’?” Jason said, still staring. “Really?”

“How did you meet?” Tim asked.

Damien and Flatline exchanged a look. Both stayed silent. When it was clear that Damien wasn’t going to tell, Flatline spoke up. “He was being arrogant, and cute.” At that Damien acully blushed slightly. “And I had to kill him.”

“Kiss him?” Tim amdened.

“That too.”

Jason and Tim started to stare again.

“Welcome to the dead son club.” Jason slapped Damiens shoulder as he passed.

“He died and came back.” Tim explained.

“Hmm.” She didn’t sound impressed. “Damien died twice.”

“What?” Tim exclaimed as she walked away. “Twice?”

Damien nodded. The side door was flung open, as Barbara and Cass paraded Holly in. They had put her into a black halter dress Selina had never seen before. Her hair was now twisted into an elaborate bun. Pink eye shadow mirrored the cherry blossoms in her hair, and the ones painted on her skirt. She smiled for the first time that evening. Damien stopped to stare as she entered. Annoyed, Flatline grabbed his arm and dragged him away. Dick’s eyes were glued to Barbara.

“Do you want to help with the turkey?” Tim asked.

“Mmmhmm.” Dick responded, clearly unintuitive.

Tim dragged him away, while Jason argued with Damien. Dami finally consented, on the compromise, that Flatline could come too. Finally, all five stood around the turkey pin.

“Who wants to shoot it?” Jason asked.

“SHOOT IT?” Damien exclaimed. “Don’t shoot it.”

“It’s dinner.” Dick calmly replied.

“We can’t eat Tom!”

“Tom? You seriously named the turkey?” Jason lifted an eyebrow.

Flatline smothered a giggle.

“He’s mine.” Damien claimed every animal in the house was his.

“Dami.” Dick started gently. “You knew at the beginning that we were going to eat this turkey.”

“You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“Jason.” Tim and Dick asked simultaneously.

“He’s right.”

“What?”

Jason shrugged. “It’s not a fair fight. We should give the tur- Tom a gun too.”

Flatline’s jaw dropped along with Dick and Tim’s.

“You’re actually serious?” She threw her hands up. “I’m going inside.” With that, she stomped off.

Selina glanced around the hall. The five girls had clumped by the punch. Only one left. Helena had arrived after the boys went to help with the turkey. She had been absorbed into the gossip circle immediately. Heels clicked on the tile. Bruce gasped.

“Beloved.” Talia greeted.

She gave a cautious glacé toward Selina, then placed a quick kiss on Bruce’s cheek.

“Where’s Damien?”

Selina reserved the ‘We will talk about this later’ look.

“He’s outside.” Bruce answered. “He’ll be in soon.

It wasn’t five minutes later, that the boys all filed back inside. Jason had a deep cut on his shoulder. Dick’s left thigh was bleeding, and all but Damien were bruised and scratched.

“What happened?” Three of the girls flocked over.

Selina buried her head into Bruce’s shoulder, and muffled a sob. Holly and Flatline stepped forward at the same time, but then glared at each other.

“What happened?” Barbara asked, pressing a cloth to Dick’s injury.

“Let’s just say, we’re not having turkey.”

Damien had a very pleased expression. Talia fidgeted with the green of her emerald dress. His expression changed when he saw her.

“Mother?” In half a second, he had flung himself into her embrace.

“Like it or not, she’s family.” Selina whispered.

“I know.”

The reunion of mother and son quickly turned into an inspection. Damien seemed happy, even as he moved through rehearsed drills.

“You’re stronger.” Talia smiled approvingly.

Damien dragged her to everyone in turn, she recognized Jason and Cassandra, and warmly greeted all the others. She was skeptical of Flatline, but after hearing how the two meet, the girl appeared to have her approval.

The alternative to turkey turning out to be chicken. It wasn’t too bad of a substitute.

“This is really good.” Stephine said, her mouth half full.

“It would be better if we had turkey.” Tim shot Damien a glare.

“No one touches Tom.” Dami growled back.

Talia silently sighed and bit her lip. The table was thrown into an argument that resulted in Damien and Holly being sent to bed earlier. Thankfully, the adults managed to carry out a more calm evening afterward. Untill, Cass and Jason started bickering. That started another chain reaction. Tim and Steph started arguing, and soon Barbara was in on it too. Inevitably, everyone either calmed down or left. By the time everything had calmed back down, Selina, Bruce, and Talia were all that remained.

“This is for Damien. It was his grandfather’s.” Talia handed Bruce the package, then without a goodbye, left.

The young couple stared at each other for a moment.

“That was, eventful.” Selina whispered, slumping against the couch.

It’ll be better next year.”

“Next year!” She called up after him. “NEXT YEAR!!!!”

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out at Night *Chapter 8 Update*

Summary: Desdemona has a nightmare that sends her spiraling into the arms of her beloved mistresses but when she's turned away, she realizes that nightmare was a warning of what was to come. An unexpected family reunion finally makes Desdemona beg for death. A/N:  Thank you to everyone who stuck it out with this story this far; I know the last chapter wasn't too exciting but as I played the Resident Evil remake on my switch, I was inspired to drum up a little more excitement with this chapter and the next few chapters to come, which will be the last!

There’s a long, dark corridor that is accompanied by the acquainted sound of silence outside of Desdemona’s door and the darkness seeping into the room is becoming too much to bear. It feels like she is dreaming but these days, her nightmares and her reality have blended in so well together that it’s become nearly indistinguishable to tell apart what’s actually happening to what she could be imagining. It’s terrifying. She shouldn’t have become accustomed to what she’s gotten comfortable around lately, especially with everything that’s happened ever since she had been taken to Lady Alcina’s castle. Desdemona feels the familiar hunger for company creep up on her as she sits against the wall on her bed with her legs crossed, a journal and pen in hand. Loneliness was something she was used to, something she begged for when socializing drained her of her energy but now it was like a stranger to her. She no longer liked the idea of being alone in this gigantic castle that was made for its vampiric inhabitants and the monstrosities that lingered every which way. The connection she unintentionally formed with Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela and was ultimately made stronger through their unusual ways of showing affection is suddenly severed and she can no longer sense them nearby. This was very troubling. Although she wasn’t feeling very well, a wave of nausea causing her to lose consciousness earlier, Desdemona summoned the strength to get out of bed. This desire to be around the wretched creatures that ruined her life both shocked and comforted her, the inner conflicting thoughts in her mind constantly pulling her in one direction over the other was exhausting but rationality had no place in House Dimitrescu. Her hands shook violently as she reached for the doorknob, her knees nearly going out when she dared to take a few cautious steps outside of her room. The grand designs of the castle were dulled by the strangeness of the dim lighting of every room. This was very unusual, what was going on? Beneath her, she could hear one of the sisters scream in agony while Lady Dimitrescu rages about the deaths of her daughters. No. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t be dead, she felt them nearby just a few minutes ago! How could this be possible? Panicking at the idea of losing her mistresses, Desdemona rushes down the polished stairwells of the castle. She can’t sense them, hear them, or feel them through their bond and her heart aches at the idea of having to go on without them. When she finally reaches the ground level, she finds Alcina looming over the corpse of an unknown intruder. Desdemona has always been afraid of Lady Dimitrescu, but for some unknown reason, she felt compelled to comfort her despite not knowing what was going on. She carefully approaches the statuesque woman and gently tugs at her sleeve, and when Alcina turns around and looks down at Desdemona, she gives out a sigh of relief. “Oh, it’s you darling! This night has been dreadful, and I’m not certain at how you’ll take the news but let me assure you that I am so glad to see that at least you weren’t harmed in all of this. Let me show you who was responsible for the deaths of my daughters; together, you and I shall take vengeance against the human organization that was responsible for this.” Alcina declares as she wraps an arm around Desdemona, pulling her closer before turning her around to examine the corpse at their feet. Desdemona’s jaw drops at the sight of her own body laying on the floor nearly intact. Her skin was nearly flawless, save for the deep wounds inflicted upon her by Alcina. She lay there dead before her very eyes, her lifeless gray eyes reflecting a dark creature she could not recognize. Startled, Desdemona turns on her heel to find a mirror, and when she finds the nearest restroom, her hands grip the sink in front of her. She cannot recognize what she’s staring at but she knows it’s her reflection, just not what she expected at all. Instead of beautifully long flowing dark brown hair, she sees a matted mess of dark hair tangled in some sort of wild updo, cold, glowing yellow eyes and when she opens her mouth to scream at the sight, she coughs up blood. She goes into a brief coughing fit, and eventually she begins to throw up, but what comes out of her isn’t bile. Oh no, she threw up a sticky ball of insects and maggots glued to each other, the creatures clinging to each other in their frenzied movements. The sight alone is enough to wake Desdemona from her slumber. Desdemona wakes in a cold sweat, her heart hammering at the implications of what she’s become so she quickly examines herself. She runs to the nearest full body length mirror and she’s relieved that she sees herself in her nearly natural state. Bedraggled dark brown hair, terrified gray eyes and the occasional love bite and bruise left behind by the mistresses she’s bonded to. Her skin, while still tawny-brown, was starting to gray out but for the most part, she still seemed normal. What caught her attention in that moment, however, was the sound of Daniela’s laughter coming from downstairs in the dining room. Any logic and rational thought once again flees her mind as she’s comforted by the fact that her mistresses were still alive and well. That’s all that mattered to her and so she rushes out of her room to interrupt the important meeting that Bela had warned her not to interrupt. She didn’t care, she just needed to know that they were safe and sound. Without dressing up like she’s supposed to when she wanders around the castle unsupervised, she glides down the railing of the grand staircase as she follows the sound of a private conversation being had. Desdemona bursts into the living area, her heart rate picking up at the sight of Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela all casually enjoying their special blend of blood wine with a guest she wasn’t familiar with. Bela is caught off guard at the sight of Desdemona waltzing into the meeting in a revealing nightgown but is even more thrown when the smaller girl practically lunges at her and wraps her arms around her. Cassandra looks a little miffed that Desdemona decided to greet her sister first but then she sees how quickly Bela is becoming agitated with the intrusion so she steps in and tries to peel Desdemona off of her. “Oh thank god you’re alright! I had the worst nightmare that you all were killed and there was nothing I could do about it -,” Desdemona begins but is quickly shushed when a hard slap to the face reminds her that they were not alone. “Desdemona, what the hell are you talking about? Of course we’re alright but what on earth are you doing here? I instructed you to stay in your room and mind your business, did I not?” Bela asks angrily as she shoves Desdemona away from her. Cassandra steadies her and throws her sister a knowing look, nodding off to the side as if to remind her that they were in the company of Donna Beneviento. Daniela merely looks amused and continues talking to Donna and Angie as if nothing unusual was happening. It was then that Desdemona realizes that they were indeed in the middle of an important conversation with the lord Bela wished to make a partner out of in either ousting Mother Miranda or finally bringing her a suitable host to revive her daughter. Desdemona looks ashamed and stares at her clenched fists, biting her tongue as Bela continues to give her a tongue lashing. “Look at you wandering around House Dimitrescu looking like a common whore without any dignity. I could have sworn my mother and I taught you better than this but nevertheless, you owe the lovely Donna Beneviento an apology. Once this meeting is over, we will go over what is distressing you. None of your concerns are more important than what is currently being discussed, I’m sorry to say.” Bela admonishes Desdemona before she turns to offer Donna a sincere apology. Donna, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in what Bela had to say as she observed the human standing quietly before her. It was a fascinating scene unfolding before her very eyes. “Oh ho ho, look at the poor girl, she’s ready to cry. What happened, Bela? Is she no longer your favorite?” Angie, the doll, said out loud as she giggled. “Lovers tend to have spats, but you wouldn’t know much about that, would you?” Bela growls, looking as though she were ready to strangle both the doll and the ventriloquist. Donna scoffs, shaking her head before settling on an equally irritating comment. “You mistreat your toys, they’re more than welcome to stay home with me and keep me company. I can promise you I’m more pleasant than your mistresses.” Donna replies quietly, her face hidden behind her veil but even Desdemona could hear the smugness in her tone. This time, Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela pitch a fuss over the unnecessary comment and find themselves squabbling over a silly matter. Angie, the doll, is delighted and laughs maniacally when the sisters begin to fight with one another. Donna was clearly amused but said nothing as she continued to watch Desdemona fret over her actions in the background. Desdemona begins to shut out the banter as the remnants of her decaying mind makes its final stand in her mind. ‘Get out…while you still can…the opportunity won’t come again. They’re distracted, their mother is away…you can go home. Get help…please leave…please do it. For your sake, for Desmond’s sake, and for Veronica’s. Run away…while you still can.’ Desdemona blinks, her rational state of mind completely taking over for a moment before it slips into nothingness again. She turns to find the doll named, Angie, staring up at her while the ventriloquist responsible for the trickery, observes her from afar. Desdemona used to be frightened of dolls, especially of the porcelain collection her mother obtained from her grandmother but when she gives Angie a once-over, she finds that she isn’t crept out at all by the appearance of the doll but is comforted by both her and Donna’s presence. It was strange but with her life constantly taking a turn for the worse every other second of her life, she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised she’s taking a liking to the friends of her mistresses as well. “I apologize for the intrusion. I had a nightmare that I’ll eventually recover from, but I hope my childish antics didn’t embarrass you further, Bela. I’ll take my leave and I won’t bother you again.” Desdemona finally says almost robotically as she makes her way back to castle entrance. She’s ready to go back to her room when something terrifying happens. Her eardrums suddenly pop, an incessant buzzing sound following the sound of brief ringing. Desdemona cannot hear anyone or anything so when she looks up to see the mouths of Cassandra and Daniela moving as if they were speaking to her, she confirms the temporary loss of hearing. Panic grips her, her anxiety on the rise when the others notice the drastic change in behavior. She starts to scream when she feels her brain begin to throb in pain, as if a knife were slowly dividing her brain in half and it sends Desdemona running. She’s gripping her head as she runs into walls, end tables, statues, and portraits; nothing seems to stop her even though she has no idea where she’s going or how she’s even leading herself anywhere with the immense amount of pain she’s in. She still hears that incessant buzzing noise in her head and it’s driving her crazy. She can’t hear the girls call out to her in worry. The only thing that she can hear is the sound of something buzzing around inside of her. She remembers that Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra are not immune to the cold air during the winter and if this is the same bug that they seem to be made out of, maybe some fresh air will do her some good and kill whatever it is that’s inside of her. She thinks it’s a great idea; her mistresses, once they see her heading outside towards the gardens and vineyard, think otherwise. “Desdemona, no, don’t do this! Don’t go where we cannot follow, please!” Cassandra cries out to her, unable to go past the point of no return. The fresh, wintry cold air brings immediate relief to Desdemona as she pushes past the doors that led to Lady Dimitrescu’s enormous vineyard. Her ears pop again, the sound of the girls screaming for her to return to the castle can finally be heard and Desdemona feels good again. She chuckles to herself, thinking she overdramatized her pain but what she had just gone through was something she had never experienced prior. It was incredibly painful and there was no other way to describe it other than it felt like her brain was melting out of nowhere, the left and right side of her brain being divided by a painful knife. She thought she was going to die. When she glances up from where she had been doubled over in pain, she finds herself wishing that she did die from whatever kind of attack that was. Yes, she’s staring a Alcina’s glorious, infamous vineyard sprawled out beautifully before her and covered in snow but what she sees staring back at her from not so far away is an eerily familiar scarecrow. Desdemona hears that incessant buzzing noise in her head again as she slowly approaches the scarecrow, her breath growing heavy. Her eyes widen in complete shock when she recognizes the clothes that the scarecrow is wearing, but it isn’t just what it’s wearing that appalls Desdemona, it’s who it is. It was Desmond. They never told Desdemona what they did with his remains. Sure, they might have mentioned drinking his blood and devouring some of his flesh but that wasn’t the case at all. Here he was, skin stitched together and his beautiful curly hair clumped on top of what has to be his skull living in the afterlife as a scarecrow. They hollowed him out, dumping out his insides completely and disposing that mess in a way Desdemona no longer wanted to think about and turned him into this! Tears prickling in her eyes, a whole new fresh wave of pain consumes her entire being. She drops down to her knees again, feeling completely defeated as she takes in the immaculate detailing of how they put his flesh back together to make this monstrosity. The only thing that was missing was his eyes; otherwise, she was looking directly at her twin reincarnated. Her fingernails are beginning to frost over, the stinging cold making her feel as if she were dipped in a frozen pond and pulled back out again. None of that mattered to her. Her heart rate was beginning to slow down, the buzzing in her head growing more and more frantic but she can’t tear her eyes away from her dead twin. Her body can no longer tolerate the cold that it used to and the longer she stayed outside, she knew her body would begin to shut down. Maybe this was finally it for Desdemona, maybe this is the way she wanted to go out and reunite with her loved ones again. She just wanted it all to end because her life no longer mattered. She sees a rather large shadow approach her from behind and she knew that it was too good to be true. She was so close yet death would continue to evade her. She struggles to turn her head, the ice buildup on her skin making it difficult to do so and finds a very displeased Alcina Dimitrescu staring down at her. “Looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands and speed up your transformation, little one. Miranda is eager to find out if you’ll do or not.” With that said, Alcina raises her hand and long, sharp claws begin to form. Desdemona closes her eyes as she braces herself for death and when she feels something sharp puncture her chest, she blacks out completely. 

[cassguardia]

TL;DR Cass Plot Drop

If you’d like to read, here’s Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. For those that don’t, tl;dr below:

After some triggering events in individual threads, Cass starts having dreams about her younger self and a figure she calls “Mama”

On Halloween, Cass decides to ask her Dad about her mother, despite it being a subject they’ve avoided throughout her life

He blows up about it in an uncharacteristic way and shuts the conversation down completely, telling her she needs to live by his rules under his roof

Cass packs a bag and leaves, temporarily staying in the Neverland Hotel

Cass and her Dad don’t talk for months. As time goes on, she starts to pull away from Rachel and Honeymaren (who she has been casually seeing since June). She is also becoming disillusioned with being a police officer, especially in the wake of the mass break-ins and Alice’s disappearance

One day, she finds an envelope in her precinct locker, telling her to look into the Rachel Crowne case. When she tries to find the case file, however, it is missing

Remembering that her Dad brought up Rachel during their argument on Halloween, Cass decides to investigate his old precinct locker, only to find it mysteriously locked

After hours, Cass breaks into the precinct front desk for the locker master key

She finds that her Dad’s locker still has all of his things in it, as well as the Rachel Crowne case file

First, she discovers that the woman who kidnapped Rachel, Esther Gothel, is the same person she’s been dreaming about. Then she discovers a second case file, “Cassandra Gothel”. There, she finds out that her Dad isn’t her biological father, but adopted her after she was abandoned at a bus stop by her mother, Esther Gothel, thus tying the two cases together

Cass takes everything from her Dad’s locker--including another mysterious envelope telling her to go to the Mountain Suite at the Neverland Hotel--and returns the key as if nothing had ever happened

She goes to the Neverland Hotel, though what happened during that meeting remains a mystery

Over the next two weeks, Cass becomes gradually sicker until she passes out in her hotel room

Honeymaren is the first to discover her unconscious body when she comes to the hotel to confront Cass about her ghosting

Cass is admitted to the hospital. Her Dad is called and told the news, and he tells Rachel, as well as everyone at the precinct

She remains in a coma for two weeks and has just woken up

[musical-shit-show]

Two Sides: Chapter 4

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3)

Characters: Musical!Beetlejuice, Female!OC, Lydia Deetz, Barbara Maitland, Adam Maitland

Warnings: anxiety, supernatural elements, cursing, kissing, sexual references, strange dreams (?), mentions of death

Word Count: 1,878

Author’s Note: So it has been a while since I posted this fic...I’ve honestly been distracted by other writing ventures but I forgot how fun this story was to write, so I will be updating more frequently (if anyone is reading, that is). As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Enjoy :)

Chapter 4

“Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck what did I do—” Cassandra started to panic, all blood draining from her naturally rosy face. She checked the business card again, frantically scanning it for any more information on the frightening being that had suddenly appeared in her room. Beetlejuice looked absolutely elated. He straightened his tie as he eagerly crossed towards her, his hair still glowing a vibrant green that illuminated the entire room.

“Shh, hey, hey, hey, new girl, listen,” the demon cooed, fostering a false sense of security to quell her anxiety, “I just wanted to show my appreciation, what with you saying my name and all.” He extended his hand. Chipped black nail polish accented his fingertips. “Put her there.” 

Cassandra had barely extended her hand towards his when, like lightning, Beetlejuice yanked her forward, causing her to stumble. In one fell swoop the demon caught the living woman, dipped her clumsily, and placed an entirely non-consensual kiss on her lips. 

The ever-present smell of decay was increased exponentially now that Cassandra had come in direct contact with its source. She held her breath, paralyzed by the sudden and rather forceful kiss. When he finally released her, Beetlejuice sported a smug smile, licking his lips in what he thought was a seductive manner. Cassandra wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, using every bit of strength in her to keep from vomiting at the taste of filth on her tongue. 

“I can’t thank ya enough for setting me free, doll,” Beetlejuice said, running his hand through his sickly green hair. His frantic energy made Cassandra even more anxious, “Being dead is fun and all but sometimes a guy’s gotta stretch his legs back into the world of the living, ya know?”

Cassandra’s head was spinning. ‘So, this guy is dead?’ she thought at lightning speed, ‘And I somehow set him free—whatever that means—by reciting some word from a fucking business card?!’ Beetlejuice noticed her slack jawed expression and grinned coyly.

“I take it you don’t know who I am, do ya?” he said, knowing the answer. If she had known who he was, she would’ve never been naive enough to read the card out loud. 

“No,” she said quietly, feeling a slight quiver in her voice as she spoke to the specter, “I mean, I’ve already met two dead people today, but they didn’t look anything like you. Who exactly are you, again?”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babes,” he replied, adjusting his coat, as if smoothing down the ratty suit jacket would make him look even the slightest bit presentable, “That word you so generously repeated three times is my name. Don’t wear it out.” The man grinned, and Cassandra scanned him again, noticing he had what appeared to be light green moss growing on his face. 

The striped suit, the green hair and moss…it triggered a strange sense of déjà vu. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to her eerie dream from the car ride. A look of dawning realization crossed her face, causing the demon to smile as if he were reading her mind.

“Yeah, that little vision you had earlier?” he said, smiling proudly, “That was all me. Breathers make it so easy to get into their heads, especially when they already have an affinity for the strange and unusual.” He quirked an eyebrow, studying her confused expression, “Though, not strange and unusual enough to see me when you arrived.”

“So, you’re invisible to everyone unless someone says your name three times?” Cassandra questioned. The specter nodded his head, “And I ‘set you free’? What exactly does that mean?” 

“It means I can affect the human world again,” he said with casually, whipping out a cigarette and beat-up purple lighter, “Lyds banished me a couple of months ago because I might’ve accidentally set fire to some shit around the house. Major bummer. But thanks to you, BJ is back, baby—” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassandra said, cutting him off, “You know Lydia too?” She felt her blood begin to boil as another secret her roommate kept from her was revealed. 

“Oh yeah, ‘course I do,” the demon said as he silently held out his pack of Marlboros, totally oblivious to the woman’s anger. Cassandra waved them away and he shrugged, taking a long drag of the cigarette wedged between his wide fingers, “She and I go way, way back. Adam and Babs too. In fact, they—” Suddenly, the door swung open, causing the demon’s mouth to clamp shut. Lydia stood in the doorway, her thin frame heaving with fury.

“Hey, asshole,” she said, her voice quiet and controlled, “How the fuck did you get back here.” Lydia marched up to the ghoul through a cloud of cigarette smoke, grabbing his tie and pulling him downward a few inches to meet her eyeline. 

Though Beetlejuice presented himself as a terrifying demon, Lydia’s rage had him shaking in his striped suit, the cigarette that hung loosely in his mouth moments before falling lightly thumping onto the hardwood floor. He silently pointed at Cassandra, who had her arms folded across her chest, her fingers gripping her arms tightly as she stared at her roommate. Lydia’s expression softened, and she let go of her ghostly companion and crossed to her roommate, who was growing redder by the second.

“Cassie, how—” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Lydia,” Cassandra snapped before the question could even be completed, “maybe if you didn’t leave weird summoning cards around, I wouldn’t have accidentally met another one of your friends. I take it that he’s a ghost, too?”

“Well, technically I’m a demon, but—” Beetlejuice started, thoroughly loving the drama. Lydia held up a hand to silence him once more. She pointed to the door.

“You,” she said, her blood still boiling from his shenanigans, “Out. Now.” Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers, he vanished. 

“Look, Cass,” Lydia said, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly overwhelmed, “I had nothing to do with the card. Beej did. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you about him because I assumed he was still good and banished. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Just, please tell me what’s going on?” Cassandra said, a clear strain in her voice, “I honestly don’t think my heart can take any more surprises today. Full truth, no secrets.” Lydia exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for her roommate to follow.

She recapped as much as she possibly could in a short amount of time. Lydia told Cassandra all of the important points: meeting Barbara and Adam after moving in, running into Beetlejuice on the roof, wreaking havoc, travelling to the Netherworld.

“He tried to do what—?” Cassandra blurted when Lydia mentioned Beetlejuice’s scheme to become human, “Were you not, like, 15?” Lydia shrugged.

“It was a green card thing,” she deadpanned. Cassandra cracked an incredulous smile, and Lydia broke into a giggle, “Seriously though, I weirdly understand why he did it. He wanted to be alive again so badly, and I had a plan to get rid of him. Turns out ‘marrying’ him gave him a dose of reality and me a chance to send his ass back to the Netherworld.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows in agreement, still trying wrap her mind around how marrying a ghost (demon? spirit? eldritch horror?) would bring them back to life.

“So why did you let him back, after all the shit he pulled, I mean?” Cassandra asked. Lydia picked at her black nail polish, which began flaking onto the bedspread. 

“I, well…I saw how lonely he was,” she confessed, “That’s what made us such good friends in the beginning; we both felt invisible.” Casandra smiled sadly, thinking to her own feelings of isolation; Lydia had partially saved her from those feelings. Although her loneliness had manifested in other ways, she understood how comforting it must’ve been to find someone who shared that feeling, even if they happened to be a dead guy with green hair dressed in an obnoxious striped suit.

“So, even after I killed him,” Lydia added casually, “it only took him a few months to show up again. Came topside again for some bio-exorcism a few towns over, and jumped at the chance to bury the hatchet.” She smiled fondly. “I didn’t mind, either. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass.” 

“Did someone say ‘pain in the ass’?” Beetlejuice materialized once more, this time with a bag of popcorn and a ‘Go Lydia’ pennant. “So, did I miss the catfight?” he asked gleefully, waving the small flag eagerly. Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose and Cassandra stifled a laugh. Her life had truly taken a turn to the ridiculously absurd over the course of one afternoon.

“Get off her bed, weirdo,” Lydia scolded, “I was just catching up Cassie on everything, since someone decided to be a dick about me banishing them for scaring the daylights out of some very important clients—” 

 “Now, now, Lyds, let’s not point any fingers here,” the demon retorted, brushing the dust off of his ancient suit, “You wouldn’t want to embarrass me in front of our guest, would you?” Lydia stuck her tongue out at him, and Beetlejuice sneered, the two of them acting like annoyed siblings. Cassandra suppressed another giggle, not wanting to encourage any more bickering. 

“Cass, this is Beej,” Lydia said, turning to her, “Or BJ. Don’t call him by his full name unless you want to banish or summon him. If you wanna get rid of his stupid ass, just say it three times in a row again. Really works when he’s being a prick.” She smirked while Beetlejuice still pouted. Cassandra was still studying him intently, fascinated with his entire being even after Lydia had explained his presence. As ghosts, Barbara and Adam were interesting to say the least, but Beetlejuice was something completely different.

Lydia gave an exasperated sigh, also feeling quite overwhelmed by the day’s events “Also, we were gonna maybe play a board game or watch a movie or something soon. You in?” Cassandra nodded, still trying to absorb all of the information that had just been thrown at her. She decided it was in her best interest to act as normal as possible now so she could bombard her roommate with even more questions after the weekend was over. Lydia then turned to Beetlejuice, who was oddly quiet, “You’re more than welcome to stick around too, Beej. If you behave yourself, that is.” He rolled his eyes, muttering something indistinct to himself. 

“What was that?” she asked, her tone far more threatening. The faintest streak of white appeared in the ghoul’s hair, indicating that he was actually afraid of her.

“Nothing, oh best friend of mine,” he said dully.

Lydia smirked again, and glided towards the door, turning her attention to Cassandra, “Seeing as you’re the one who summoned him, it might be in your best interest to get to know our little demon friend a little better while I set up tonight’s activities, eh Cass?”

“Lyds, I don’t—”

“Hey, what do you mean by little—?”

--------

Thanks for reading! Like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed or have any comments/suggestions!

[commie-eschatology]

Return to Redcliffe

particularly proud of this Solas + Trevelyan scene from “Return to Redcliffe” so gonna do some shameless self-promotion. Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

When all her companions are asleep, Trevelyan leaves the Inquisition camp. She isn’t sure if she’ll come back. Someone is clearly following her, but she ignores that for now. The road back to Redcliffe stretches in front of her, but she hesitates. This is an extraordinary bad idea, she tells herself, but when has that ever stopped her? Lydia used to complain about her tendency to just act on desire alone. But Lydia is dead, she tells herself, you broke her head open with your staff until her brains spilled all over the floor. You killed the woman who raised you, only for the rebellion to sell themselves into slavery. ` In the woods, she stumbles upon a templar caravan. Very fortunate for her, very unfortunate for them. Their screams echo through the Ferelden forest; she imagines getting incinerated from inferno magic would hurt quite a bit, but it’s certainly not her problem. Trevelyan leaps onto the, now empty, wagon, and finds a crate of apples. She takes a few bites of one and monologues, “I rebel, therefore I am,” to the half eaten piece of fruit.

There’s groaning from underneath the wheels, and a jumble of words that vaguely sound like “what the fuck?” so she asks, “Sorry, are you still alive down there?” There’s no response, so in the interest of being thorough, she throws a fireball at the voice. The smell of burnt flesh follows, so she assumes it got the job done, but then again, Ferelden usually smells like that. Really not a terrible scent, she considers. Or perhaps she’s just gone mad.

Trevelyan looks at the Mark on her hand- staying with the Inquisition is the clever choice, she tells herself. Only she can close the rifts, after all. The rebels have been utterly defeated, the movement badly needs allies if it’s to survive. Still, her logic feels cold and hollow. The Venatori ships are already in Redcliffe harbor. She asks herself, how many will be shipped up to the Imperium in chains, in just the time it takes to travel between the Hinterlands and Haven?

Fire burns underneath the wagon. It’s always been fire for Trevelyan- burning the family manor during a childhood nightmare, cremating Lydia’s mangled corpse with her own spells, and, most recently, incinerating more templars than she can count. It’s the same fire that she could use to burn those Tevinter slave ships tonight- despite Fiona and Linnea’s betrayal, she has no doubt that at least a few of her people would join her.  

“Do you want to keep staring at me from the woods then?” she asks the person shadowing her. Solas steps out from the shadows, clearly surprised at being discovered, but he tries not to let it show. He’s usually far more subtle, she doesn't doubt she could be more stealthy if he wanted, but he clearly believes everyone around him is an utter idiot. Fair enough, she supposes. He gives a slight smile, the kind that might say “well done.”

As with everyone, Solas projects emotions into the Fade- but his are more tightly moderated than any other mage she’s ever seen. Now though, Trevelyan sees a wave of complex feelings she can barely sort through, radiating from him: rage at the Tevinters, intense all-consuming fear of something she can’t sense, great sadness for something lost, but all controlled, and directed by conscious purpose.

“These woods are dangerous,” he says, characteristically naming the obvious, “and you have the only means of closing the rifts.” He regards her for a moment. “I apologize if I intruded. You have proven yourself a capable fighter, but I have found it is far too easy to make rash mistakes when one is alone.” His actual meaning is not lost on her: don’t be an idiot and run, is what he wants to say.

He adds, “And in my defense, you did just eviscerate an entire troop of men.” She expects him to ask her why, but he doesn’t; apparently needing no explanation for her small act of rebellion.

“They were templars,” she explains anyways, “most are awful. The others just look away when the Circle rapes happen. Honestly, I’ve always preferred the former.”

“I can’t disagree with you,” Solas says, “my few interactions with templars have been... unpleasant. Either they are accustomed to following the worst orders, as you have said, or they just enjoy inflicting pain, especially upon those without recourse.” There is clear contempt and disgust in his voice, it’s as if he’s speaking from experience.

“That’s why we rebelled,” she says, taking another bite of the apple, “also,  I was hungry. Inquisition rations weren’t doing it.” Solas actually laughs. Trevelyan idly wonders when murder became so casual for her. Kill the woman who raised you, and everyone else becomes easy, she supposes.

There’s a short, but not awkward, silence between them. She knows exactly why he is here, to prevent her from defecting back to the rebels, but his presence is, surprisingly, not unwelcome. They haven’t had much time to talk like this; the conversations they’ve had have so far been in either the shadow of Haven’s Chantry, or on the road with Cassandra.

She motions to the adjacent seat on the wagon. To her surprise, he nods, and walks, or more accurately, struts over, butt wiggle and all. Like most mages, he usually makes himself seem as small as possible, scuttling rather than walking, but unlike the rest, it’s almost as if he has to consciously remind himself to do so.

Solas likes questions, she reminds herself, so ask one. He jumps up on the wagon, and she says, “do you like apples?”

Solas doesn’t even blink. “Apples were first domesticated in this part of the world.” How the fuck does he even know that, she wonders. “I saw a memory once, of a horde of human barbarians, desperately defending a part of these woods they held sacred, from the legions of the Imperium. When the barbarians were slain, the Tevinters marched forward, only to find a simple apple orchard, one which hundreds gave their lives to protect.” He takes one out of the crate, and takes a bite. “However, if you were asking about the taste- no, I detest apples.” He takes another bite. “This one in particular tastes sort of like burnt human flesh.”

“Dying for a lost cause. You really never miss an opportunity to make a point, do you?” she says, “also, how do you even know what burnt human flesh tastes like?”

Solas smiles mischievously. “I don’t like to waste words,” he says. The other point he is suspiciously quiet on. I don’t judge, Trevelyan thinks, you go eat as much flesh as you like, Solas.

His words are somewhat slurred, and she smells something in the air, besides the burning templars of course. She recognizes it as the unmistakable stench of peach whiskey, suspiciously similar to the bottle she had nicked from Dennet yesterday. Solas seems to notice and says, “Master Dennet had many such bottles wasting away on the shelf. He will not miss one, or two, I suppose.” He shrugs.

On the topic, she notices a small bottle of ale in one of the templar crates; the cork is stuck when she pulls on it, so she simply uses a bit of force magic to smash the top of the bottle off. It smells absolutely wretched, and tastes even worse, but she drinks it anyway. Solas watches her, possibly judging her, but he’s always hard to read. “Been a shit day,” she explains. Linnea said, go back to your templars. Fuck her. Tevinter apologist. Shockingly flat ass. Terrible kisser.

“Was today your first time in Redcliffe?” she asks. Solas chuckles softly to himself, apparently a joke only he understands.

“A long time ago, before your rebellion,” he says, “it’s changed since, of course. But I assume you’re asking my opinion on the rebel mages, rather than the settlement itself.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Despair sticks to most of the mages like gnats.” He’s right, during the retreat from the Free Marches, every morning some mages wouldn’t wake up, taken by Despair demons in their sleep. And the war has only gotten worse. She can’t even imagine. “Still, they endure. Their fight against oppression is admirable, and utterly hopeless.” , “Hopeless?” Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. She should be angry, but more than anything she feels exhausted. “You seem rather certain.”

“Of course I am.” he says, matter of fact. Trevelyan picked up some dalish during the rebellion; she’s not ignorant as to the meaning of his name. “In my journeys through the Fade, I have seen countless rebellions rise up, confident in the just nature of their cause, only to be crushed mercilessly. Righteousness, unfortunately, is no match against steel.” Good poetry. She’ll give him that.

“And, yet, Recliffe is still standing,” she says, “for the first time in a thousand years, in this part of the world, mages govern ourselves. No templars. No Chantry. We built that. Isn’t that freedom worth defending?” Trevelyan spent most of her life in the Circle. No price can be too great, she thinks.

“You forget you aren’t speaking to Cassandra or Varric. We do not disagree on the necessity of rebellion,” he smiles, just a bit, mostly to himself, “but, in order for a rebellion to win its immediate demands, as well has change what it is possible in the long term, something you once told me that you seek to do, they must do one thing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and honestly it works. “They must win.”  

“Even failed revolutions can teach lessons,” she says, the only dogma she’s ever needed to believe in, “no matter what Varric says, the mage rebellion didn’t manifest spontaneously.” She thinks of the thousand year struggle for freedom, and what feels like generations of the dead on her shoulders. In the distance, Trevelyan can just make out the flag of the Venatori, waving from the ramparts of Redcliffe. The ships are not far behind.

“No,” Solas says, suddenly melancholy, “or if they do, it is always the wrong lessons.” He’s silent for a long moment, staring into the ground. “I saw a memory once in the Fade. A man who sought to overthrow a tyrant. Then, a half-hearted assassination attempt, tailored for drama, instead of results. It of course failed. The man himself was burned alive, defiant at first, but when the flames reached his body, when his skin began to melt off, he screamed for mercy that never came.”

Trevelyan takes a long drink. Solas adds, eerily calm, “In the end, martyrdom is just melted flesh upon a wooden stake, and a name utterly forgotten.”  She drains the rest of the bottle.

“I killed my mother,” she says, suddenly, without really meaning to, “when the Circle was annulled, I tried to give her the courtesy of a quick spell, but the tower wards blocked magic so…” she makes a motion with her staff “I, well, had improvise.”

“Your first murder?” he asks. She shakes her head. Definitely not. “If you want absolution, I’m not the person to give it.”

“Oh fuck no, I’m not Andrastian,” Trevelyan scoffs, and Solas chuckles softly. The Andrastians think they can solve all the world’s evils, all their many personal failings, through a song. It’s childish. Besides, Trevelyan would rather hold onto her sins for now- keep them close like a badge of honor. She looks down at the dead templars, corpses bathed in green light from her Mark.

“I don’t regret it,” she says, and she thinks she means it, “not if it served a purpose.” Trevelyan looks again towards Redcliffe, and thinks, everything I am, I owe to them. “In just the time it takes to travel back to Haven, how many will already be on the ships?”

“Likely a few dozen,” Solas answers, “there will be far more, thousands, if these Venatori are not defeated, which is a battle only the Inquisition has the resources to win. It is fortunate, then, that you have a position where you can speak on behalf of the rebel mages.”

The sun begins to rise, bathing the forest in dim orange light. “We should get back then ,” she forces herself to say, though every word is like a block of lead. Solas exhales in relief.

“One final thing,” she says as Solas moves to get up. She looks at her counterpart, studying him best she can, sensing his projections into the Fade. He’s unlike any other apostate she’s ever met, and there’s something about him she can’t quite put her finger on, much less vocalize. “You know quite a bit about rebellions,” she says.

“I have seen much in my travels,” he says, pausing as he considers his next words, “and you could say I had a dramatic youth.”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” she says, genuinely. “Especially if it involves more surprisingly melancholy stories about apple domestication.” Solas seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly, chucking politely at her joke. He then smiles quietly to himself.

The two apostates return to the Inquisition camp, though Trevelyan keeps Redcliffe in her sight for as long as she can.

Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

[bigfan-fanfic]

Heskan Aeducan as a Companion

(Face Claim: Can Yaman) - Okay, I really wanted to do this because Heskan is basically the hot romanceable dwarf we’d all deserve in Inquisition. He uses the Dwarf Noble Origin and has the Spirit Warrior specialization, using it as an archer.

Hope y’all like him! Feel free to romance him, haha!

Inquisitor’s Name: Heskan “Hess” Aeducan

Race, Class, & Specialization: Dwarf Archer Warrior (Spirit Warrior)

Varric’s Nickname for them: Feathers

Default Tarot Card: The Chariot

How they are recruited: He joins automatically if you talk to him at the gate leading to the bridge in Skyhold; a cutscene triggers where he and Leliana are speaking and she vouches for his skill and he offers aid to the Inquisition.

Where they are in Skyhold: Aiming his bow over the battlements, taking potshots at trees in the distance.

Things they Generally Approve of: Pragmatic options, manipulating nobles, recruiting prisoners

Things they Generally Disapprove of: Letting prisoners go, executing them, dismissing Sera from the Inquisition, hitting Solas or Dorian

Mages, Templars, Other?: Heskan comes from Orzammar, and is really tired of having to deal with this whole surface conflict, especially as darkspawn get closer and closer to overrunning his people. That said, he prefers the mages. Templars he doesn’t trust.

Romanceable?: Yes, by any gender or race.

Friends in the Inquisition: Cole, Vivienne, and Iron Bull - Heskan and Varric have a not-quite-friendly rivalry.

Small side mission: Run around Skyhold collecting a stray arrow each time you return to Skyhold. 9 arrows altogether, every 3 arrows earns you a Heskan Greatly Approves.

Companion quest: Heskan wants to know if he is accessing the Fade through his Spirit Warrior specialization and asks the Inquisitor and Cole to help him, sleeping in front of them so they can test it. Cole mentions that Heskan is actually afraid of finding out the truth. After he wakes up, the Inquisitor has two options. Neither option impacts the ability to romance him.

Option 1: Lie and say no. This will net Disapproval from Solas and Approval from Cole and Heskan. Heskan seems relieved to learn that he is not upending all the rules for dwarfs and talking to him later reveals he is a little concerned because he’s been getting fragments of dreams, but nothing else comes of this. 

Option 2: Tell the truth. This will net Slight Disapproval from Cole and Great Approval from Heskan. Heskan admits that the idea of breaking all the rules for dwarfs and magic is frightening, but he is thrilled to consider this (if a Dwarven Inquisitor replies they feel the same way, they can earn extra approval). Talking to him later reveals that he has come to terms with accessing the Fade and he wants to attempt speaking with the spirit he has bonded with.

Tarot card change

Option 1: The Chariot (reversed)

Option 2: Knight of Pentacles

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts: “The smile should not have to be my mask, but it serves its purpose, bright and blinding as I bleed from the wounds in my back.”

Comment(s) on Mages: “Poor sods. I’d be pretty tired too if someone shut me up in a tower all my life and didn’t let me breathe wrong.”

Comment(s) on Templars: “We trade these people lyrium and we don’t care where it goes... but seeing what happens to them... I wonder if it’s worth it.”

When looking for something: “Did somebody hear that?”

When finding a campsite: “Care to kick up your feet for a while, Inquisitor?”

When the Inquisitor Falls: “Hurry, save the Inquisitor!”

When they are low on Health: “Hello? Archer needing help over here?”

When they see a Dragon: “You’re gonna go fight that thing, aren’t you?

Default saying: “Sort of brisk out here, isn’t it?”

Travel Banter with Canon Companions of your choice:

Heskan: So, Varric. Varric: (Sighs) Hello, Feathers. Heskan: You don’t like me much, do you? Varric: One handsome dwarf archer is enough for a good story. You’re a bit superfluous. Heskan: Don’t spare my feelings or anything...

Vivienne: Tell me, Prince Aeducan. What are you doing on the surface? Heskan: Madame Vivienne, please. You may call me Prince Heskan. Varric (if present): (Disgusted noise.) Vivienne: That wasn’t an answer, Prince Heskan. Heskan: No... no it wasn’t.

Heskan: Varric? Varric: (Sighs) What is it, Feathers? Heskan: Oh, I apologize. You must be trying to find a way to describe me other than “exceptionally ugly.” Varric: So you read The Tale of the Champion, huh? Heskan: If anything, I’d say that only one of us uses chest hair to distract from our sorry faces. Varric: “Hideously ugly and arrogant” it is, then. Heskan: Lazy writing!

Cole (after Heskan’s personal quest is complete and he is told the truth): She says hello. Heskan: She? She who? Cole: I don’t know... she’s you. (if made more human) I used to see her better. Heskan: Oh. Could you... could you tell her thank you? Cole: She knows. Heskan: Thank you, Cole.

Friendship?: “Hello there, love. Miss me?”

Leaving the Inquisition: “I’m not fond of the way you’re running things here. If you don’t shape up, I’d rather be sucked up into the Fade than hang around here.”

The Fade

How they react: “Well... this is different. Not sure I should really be here, actually.” Their Tombstone: Betrayal What the Fears look like: His dead brother Trian What the Nightmare says: “Ah, the murderer-Prince of Orzammar. Have they forgiven you for killing your brother yet? Or do you think they’re waiting for the right time to strike?” Their reflection about the Fade: "Yeah, I’m not so sure I enjoyed that.” Hawke or Warden: Has worked with both, Disapproves if Hawke or Alistair is left behind. Greatly Approves if Loghain is left behind. Approves if Stroud is left behind.

The Wardens

Their feelings: Respects the Wardens, being a veteran of the Fifth Blight and working with the Hero.  Exile or Allies?: Allies

The Ball

How they feel: “Smile, love. We’ve got a role to play here, so stay guarded.” Where they linger: Outside the door to Gaspard’s balcony Are they good at the Game?: Very much so. What people say about them: “Oh, that dwarven Prince is such a good dancer!” “Tall for a dwarf, isn’t he?” Gaspard, Briala, or Celene?: Prefers Briala through Gaspard

Temple of Mythal

Rituals or Hole?: Hole Agree with the Elves’ bargain?: Agree. Morrigan or Inquisitor for the Well?: Morrigan

Comments on Canon Romance

Cassandra: “Personally, the Seeker frightens me. But if you’ve chosen each other, I can tell she’ll be true.” Dorian: “Treat him well, Inquisitor. He’s been through enough in his life, I can tell.” Sera: “Hah, fun for all, eh? She’s a firecracker, she is.”  Iron Bull: “Heh, he’s a fun one. If you two weren’t together...” Josephine: “Ah, Lady Montilyet. A fine woman indeed. You’re lucky, Inquisitor. They don’t come much sharper than her.” Cullen: “Ah, I’ve met Cullen a few times before. He’s... he’s a better man than I once knew, I’ll say that.” Blackwall: “I’m definitely not qualified to judge. But he’ll treat you right, Inquisitor.” Solas: “Well, to each their own.”

Sexual/Racial preference: Panromantic. Any race.

Nickname for PC: My sweet

Romance only mission: Heskan asks the Inquisitor to accompany him to Valammar, where he has heard rumors of trouble brewing. The party is ambushed by Endrin loyalists who want Heskan dead for the alleged killing of his brother ten years ago. Afterwards, Heskan explains the details of his murky past, including why he killed his brother, and how he has always had to look over his shoulder. Choosing the dialogue response “Maybe I could look for you” locks in the romance, and Heskan expresses awe and joy that their casual flirting actually meant something.

Dialog to being asked for a kiss: “How could I refuse you, my sweet?”

Halamshiral dialog: “Just keep up that pretty smile of yours, my sweet. I promise I’ll put a real one on your face once the party’s over.”

Being asked to dance during mission: “As much as you want. Once this business with the Empress is over, of course.”

Asking to dance post-mission: “Come here... you’ve done so well tonight. If I can help you relax... I am honored.”

What Cole says about companion to PC: “The smile... it used to be false. Fake, fleeting, like feathers in the wind. But now... he is safe, secure...his sweet is here.”

Who is concerned about the relationship?: Varric, Cullen

Who supports the relationship?: Josephine, Leliana, Vivienne, Dorian

Who had a bet running on it?: Blackwall, Iron Bull, Sera

Banter(between NPCs):

Varric: So... you and the Inquisitor? Heskan: Ha, I never figured you for the jealous type, Varric. Varric: I - that’s... ugh.

Vivienne: A well-made match, my dear Prince. I congratulate you. Heskan: For once, Madame, I was not considering politics. Vivienne: Nonsense. Matters of the heart are just as political as anything else. Heskan: (chuckles) I suppose that on that count, we agree.

Iron Bull: So, are you a one-lover dwarf, or can I expect you again? Heskan: Why, Bull, you know I’ll never forget that magical night... Sera (if present): Ewww! How would that... oh. Fingers. Heskan: BUt in any event, you’d have to ask my sweet one. (The Inquisitor can respond favorably or unfavorably) Favorably Inquisitor: You could... if you don’t mind my presence. Iron Bull: The more the merrier! Heskan: My sweet, the Bull makes an excellent footrest. I’ll have to show you... Unfavorably Inquisitor: Sorry, Bull. He’s mine. Heskan: And I need no other lover. 

Flirt options: Upon meeting (gains Slight Disapproval from Varric), and at almost every interaction. Flirting with him enough unlocks his romance quest without needing to gain higher approval

Break up dialog:

If PC breaks it off: “I understand. It was fun while it lasted, though, eh? I’ll see you around, my - er, Inquisitor.”

If NPC breaks it off(and why): “I... I can’t condone what you’re doing, my sweet. I wish it could be different. I wish I could help you... but I cannot.” (Low Approval breaks off the romance)

Love confession: Heskan takes the Inquisitor walking along the battlements. “I... I never really thought I would find anyone who truly cared... but with you... I feel safe. I feel like... I could be happy.” The Inquisitor can flirt with him, which leads to a sex scene and lazy kissing in the Inquisitor’s bedroom, or say they love him, which leads to him pulling them to him with his bow string and kissing them deeply. “Then I am yours as long as you will have me, my sweet.” In either event, the Inquisitor can ask for a kiss or ask to “take a long walk,” which will result in a brief implied sex cutscene with a shirtless Heskan leaning over to kiss the Inquisitor in their bed.

Romanced tarot card: King of Pentacles

End game dialog: “You’ve done it. Beaten the villain, slain the dragon. I wish I could tell you it gets easier from here... but no matter what, I will be at your side, my sweet. Always.”

[dareactions]

DAI companions meeting Adaars mercenary band for the first time (romanced too, if possible)

Cassandra: The seeker isn’t entirely sure what she expected, but to see the Inquisitor practically attacked through physical affection by other Qunari weren’t close to it. She did her best to remember the names told to her and properly connect them to faces- but it was incredibly difficult with everyone but one named Kaariss, because he was the only one who fit the ‘obnoxiously loud poet’ description the Inquisitor had given her. The group is confusing to her, if only for their rather dysfunctional conversations- she had heard both the Inquisitor and Shokrakar tell the earlier mentioned poet that if he didn’t stop, they’d sew his mouth shut. They are close though and she admires their loyalty to one another.  If Romanced: She is nervous, and Cassandra is very rarely nervous these days. The seeker feels such relief at earning even an inkling of approval from Shokrakar she swears she could pass out at the spot from the lingering tension in her shoulders. Eventually, the seeker is found wishing that the Inquisitor had been quiet about their relationship because suddenly Kaariss wants to write love poetry inspired by the two and Ashaad (two?) keeps asking if there are kids incoming. No matter what they start a conversation with, Cassandra is left groaning with a red face as the group laughs at her and the Inquisitor’s despair.

Solas: The group is too loud, that is his first-ever comment about their visitors to the Inquisitor. He has no clue why they are at Skyhold, but he cannot WAIT for them to leave- there is something about a man named Taarlok asking to overlook your paperwork 8 times in a row that really makes Solas blood boil. Then that annoyance turns into slight admiration, at their bond- their willingness to throw themselves into danger for each other and the family-like relationship they all share. Solas starts to appreciate their smarts, their views on the odd and peculiar as well as the insight they can give on any changes the Anchor has seemingly caused the Inquisitor’s personality.

Dorian: The mage has to admit he is having the time of his life, Beyond Solas annoyance and Cassandra’s sudden inability to speak when someone says something rather extreme- it’s the interactions between Valo-Kas and the Chargers that has him on the floor holding his stomach while laughing. It’s like watching a group of toddlers try to pick who gets the swingset first, except with pointy and sharp weapons involved. He gets along with them surprisingly well, sure there are some snide comments about Tevinter and the occasional magic insult at first but - nothing he can’t throw back at with ten times the force. Soon he finds himself dreading the day they leave because who will amuse Dorian then? If Romanced: He doesn’t want to say that their approval of him means the world, but it sort of does. The inquisitor deeply respects Shokrakar, a woman who could snap Dorian in half, and to Dorian that means she is important enough to try and get her to like him. And it takes a while, they poke and prod at him to see how he can hold himself and when all things are said and done- Dorian is left victorious. Well, as victorious as he can be with Kaariss shitty poetry thrown at him. The Inquisitor goes out of his way to state that Dorian shouldn’t have worried one night, because Shokrakar had mentioned in a letter that she already liked Dorian due to the fact that he ‘Makes the red magic fucks implode’ with his magic.

Sera: There is nobody in the entirety of Skyhold that is as excited as Sera is, she is visibly shining when the Valo-kas are introduced to her. She fits in faster than anyone else because she is practically on the same wavelength. Sera will poke fun at Kaariss, call Taarlok a huge nerd and ask Katoh to throw her up onto the tavern roof just to freak out the Inquisitor- she fits in as if she was apart of the Valo-kas herself. Sera doesn’t look out of place with how she acts, something that is absolutely horrifying to the Inquisitor. If Romanced: Shokrakar narrows her eyes at Sera the first time they meet, but then simply nods and states that the inquisitor picked someone good and that she quite enjoys the jar of bees idea. After that there are no worries, Sera is family. The Inquisitor will be seen smiling fondly at her partner together with the mercenary group because it just looks right. The loud laughter, obnoxious jokes, and borderline violent comments just feel like home- for once the Inquisitor goes to bed knowing that everyone she loves and cares for is in the same place, and Sera notices that. She is just happy to have new friends honestly, but it warms her heart to see the person she loves so relaxed for once. One day Ashaad brings up marriage though, as a joke because he heard some human mention it- and Sera threatens to spike his next drink with mabari urine.

Blackwall: Because clearly having two giants who can see when you lie from a mile away wasn’t enough. The Warden frowns when he first hears about it, tension clear in his face for days before he finally settles down and realizes he can just ignore them if all things fails- well, at least he thought so. But Sata-Kas starts taking refuge in the stables and suddenly Blackwall is having casual conversations on the daily, while he doesn’t find himself getting overly close with the mercenary group- he has nothing against them. Sure they make him nervous but he sees no reason to avoid them at the end of the day, Blackwall has to admit he loves the chaos they create during late nights in the tavern though. It’s enough to make potential stress worth it. If Romanced: Shokrakar threatens him the first time they meet, fully aware about the events of Blackwall leaving- and what he has done. Word travels fast and even faster when mercenaries are involved, he knows this better than anyone. After that initial threat though she is surprisingly relaxed, simply happy to see the Inquisitor well- happy. Sure, they poke fun at him and do some jokes that honestly makes him want to crawl into the dirt but he can tell they mean well..though if he has to sit through Katoh trying to choke out Kaariss one more time he might just stop showing up to the late night drinking sessions.

Iron Bull: He is excited and rivals Sera in that regard, his curiosity gets the better of him because Bull is no longer apart of the very organization that the Inquisitor’s mercenary group was disowned from or simply had denounced. There is some lingering tension from rivaling opinions but they get along swimmingly and Bull feels nostalgic somehow. He can spar with Sata-Kas and has to agree with Shokrakar about the poetry. Bull feels at home and especially during the late nights in the tavern when Krem and the others join- laughing loudly with the Valo-kas about past adventures and tales. They can drink together for their fallen friends and count their blessings. If Romanced: Nothing is really different, other than the fact that Shokrakar feels the need to speak to bull in private. The woman is clearly very nurturing, while head-strong and a bit foul with her expressions. He simply ensures her that the Inquisitor is a good person, someone he adores and while they can butt heads he would do nothing to hurt their member emotionally or physically- he isn’t out to break the Inquisitor in any manner or collect information.

Varric: He gets ideas right away for stories, something only fueled by Kaariss mediocre storytelling and awful poetry skills. Varric finds himself especially getting along with Taarlok, the two spending hours talking business and eventually the topic of their fallen friends does get brought up. Varric finds a new respect for the Inquisitor, because they have felt the same type of mourning that he has. They have lost friends, people that were like family and somehow not even shown just how much it hurt them. Varric realizes with the Valo-Kas visit, the Inquisitor was someone entirely different before the conclave, sure their personality may be the same and so their morals- but they’re emotionally aged now. They’ve been put in charge by force and he didn’t honestly realize how much that had affected them. Varric also learns that drinking games with the Valo-kas and the chargers is dangerous, like super dangerous- holy shit they tried to throw him twice last night.

Vivienne: Ugh, is all she can really say about the matter. They are loud that’s for sure. Vivienne respects them though, because their skills are impressive. She might consider hiring them in the future should she ever need to, but often times she finds herself avoiding the Tavern even more- but the Inquisitor needs it, the familiar smiles and laughs. If it’s for them she supposes that she can stand the overly violent mercenaries for one more night- or two.

Cole: The Valo-kas finds him a tad creepy at first, but eventually warms up to the lanky tall man and his odd sentences. Cole likes being around them, because they like being around him. They’ll laugh and joke, send deadly glares to people who dare make comments about his odd behaviour and at one point Shokrakar attempts to give him two very big beer glasses because ‘he was a growing man’, which Cole wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. Varric had stopped that though. He enjoys their bond- their happiness.

[little-bard]

So I have this idea for gender fluid in the witcher universe. So humor me if you will.

So I’ve seen the idea floated around the community how there could easily be trans people because they could just do the same thing as Yennefer. But obviously, you give up fertility to live in the body you should have been born with. I was thinking traditional non-binary could do it to appear more androgynous if that’s what they wanted as well. But then I started thinking of myself. I’m technically non-binary but I’m gender fluid. And sometimes I want to present highly masc but can’t because of my body but I would also be depressed if I couldn’t present femme anymore on the days where I felt that way.

So here’s my fantasy solution. You can go through the same spell but it’s ever-changing. Whereas Yen’s is a permanent appearance change this is one that changes with your true inner self. You obviously give up being fertile but I’m not sure if it would require more yet. It would obviously mean no casual sex as you don’t want the man you just bedded as a woman to wake up next to a man. Or reverse. And it would be hard to maintain friends because you could have two lives almost but once you maneuver telling the people you’re close to I think it would kinda be like a superpower? Like you can be a wanted criminal as a man and a queen as a woman. I also don’t imagine there being a lot of people who would be gender fluid in the universe. So it’s odd and many people don’t even know it exists. I think I would write a binary gender-fluid character with male and female. But they could be any genders. And it’s not like shapeshifting (I mean kinda but also no?) like strictly still their race and usually still similar looking.

I kinda have an original character in mind, obviously friends with Jaskier because I feel like the little bard draws special people to him. Maybe an Ex-lover? No definitely because Jaskier is bi/pan as heck and being able to love one person who’s both man and women and amazing and sweet. And ATTRACTIVE that’s amazing! Also, this person probably felt the most comfortable letting their pent up sexual energy out with the man Because let’s be honest, Jaskier is a sweetheart and treats them exactly the same no matter if they feel like a different gender in the morning. (Also they’re both huge sluts and enjoy the same things sexually.) And that’s exactly what they needed, someone who cared about them and understand they were one person, just someone who experienced 2 genders and needed to be both to be happy and fulfilled. But they realized they weren’t right for each other and remained best friends.

I imagine them meeting the gang in a female form. Short and curvy, long flowing wavy brown hair a beautiful dress and a soft almost doll-like face all tied together by their piercing green eyes. Jaskier sees them at a random event at court and invites them to travel with the crew to the next town as they’re all heading that way. At first, they’re weary but they agree, as it’s Jaskier there’s no way he would travel with anyone unaccepting of who they were.

Geralt is almost jealous when they arrive to begin the journey with their own horse (a bigger bag too. Normally one person didn’t need that much) and even lets Jaskier ride with them. Jaskier begins playing his lute and singing a song that Geralt isn’t familiar with but they certainly are, as they sing along to his song bird-like voice with a soft and beautiful voice of their own. At camp later too, the two were inseparable. Geralt tried to not stare at them. Jaskier had always been a flirt and could get any person in bed if he wanted to. But it was the familiar feeling between the two that put Geralt on edge. Nobody but him was supposed to those soft smiles on Jaskiers lip or having Jaskier sing them songs only they knew. Geralt felt the Magic on them but he and yen agreed that it was just like the spell on her. Appearance-based nothing more. The two old friends put their bedrolls basically on top of each other and Geralt often heard a small giggle from either one of them throughout the night. He kept his eyes looking up at the sky as to not know if his bard was bedding another.

In the morning Geralt stared shocked, as where there once was a small woman the night before there stood a tall buff man maybe even two inches taller than him. The man had on a simple tunic and leather pants, his hair was longer then Geralt’s and brown and wavy but was pulled up in a bun, he was broad-shouldered but still seemed to have a clumsy air about him, most importantly, he had green piercing eyes. Jaskier was basically hanging off the mans arm as he begged for the man to make him breakfast. All the man did was let out a low deep chuckle. Geralt forced a cough and that alerted the pair to his presence.

“Jaskier.” Geralt basically growled. He was demanding an explanation but the bard was busy trying to shove a pan into the taller person’s hands.

“You didn’t tell them?” The man said as fear ran through his eyes. “Jaskier!” They said in a deep roar. “You always do this”

“I didn’t think it was any of there business Cass! Who you are shouldn’t be that much of a big deal.” Jaskier responded. Geralt was almost hurt that he was being ignored but at least they weren’t being close like before. Somehow them fighting calmed him. “Also I don’t always do this.”

“Oh yeah? What about that time you basically demanded we have a threesome with that warrior woman? We bedded her as two men. You remember how you promised me, you would make sure I got to our room that night before the morning in case I wasn’t the same and it put our lives in danger? You know I get sleepy after sex! But you wanted another round so you let me fall asleep then and then you did after. Remember her reaction when she woke up and a woman was curled into her side? She almost killed us for ‘tricking’ her!” This statement did not calm Geralt. Especially coming from the beefy man in front of him. Jaskier definitely had a type. By now yen was awake and listening intently. It’s almost as if you could see the popcorn in her hand. Both of them were slowly piecing, where the women had disappeared to, together though.

“I thought you liked when I demanded you. You know you could have always said no. I only did that because of both of our enjoyment.” Jaskier genuinely looked worried and stepped closer to the other person before him, resting a soft hand on their arm.

“Jask, you know it’s not that. I did enjoy it...” they suddenly got quiet, becoming more aware of the others around them. “...can we not discuss my sexual desires in front of a witcher and a sorceress, please? I was saying you normally forget how hard it is for people to understand who I am. Not everyone is you Jaskier. Some people like a heads up that the women they met yesterday is now a man who looks like he weight lifts 3 cows every morning.”

“I know I’m sorry. I just forgot it’s not normal. You’re one of the most important people in my life, I just assumed others would judge you on character, not gender.” Jaskier apologized in a soft voice.

“It’s fine. I know you don’t mean harm.” They smiled and picked up Jaskier for a strong hug. Jaskier let out a giggle and hugged them back.

Geralt coughed letting them know of his presence once more. The taller person pulled away from the hug with a deep blush.

“Oh, I guess I’ll formally introduce myself as Jaskier didn’t. I’m Cass. Born Lady Cassandra. Jask likes to joke it’s actually short for Casanova. I have a similar spell as Yennefer if what Jaskier tells me and what I know about sorceresses is true. But mine is a bit more complicated. I don’t feel one gender or the other. I feel both but normally at different times. I settled mine with changing each day based on how my true self felt when the sun rises.” They extend their hand for Geralt to shake. He grabs it hesitantly.

“So your Jaskiers lover?” Yennefer asks bluntly.

“Ex-lover. No need to fear dear sorceress, I’m very much free for the taking.” They said with a chuckle and wink. “Me and Jask work much better at friends. So you need not worry either Witcher! I promise to not lay an ill-intentioned finger on your little bard. But if you don’t soon someone will. I mean unless you're not into small boys, if that’s that case I’ll over myself then” They laughed and it was deep and jolly. It felt like it could shake the whole forest.

“Cass!” Jaskier lept back into the conversation and slapped the other. “Stop flirting with my friends. They’ll start to like you more than me. Go make breakfast, Geralt always burns it.” He shoved the pan at them while pushing them to the fire.

OKAY IM STOPPING THERE.

Basically, I needed to get this out of my system to focus on actual fics. But it was really cute in my head. I hope you enjoyed 💕

[loxxxlay]

100 word meme

hiii, so I’ve been wanting to try this for a while since it seems to work out really well for @veliseraptor and i feel like it’d work out well for me too? so gonna give it a shot

rules are you vote for a fic and i write 100 words in it. so basically if u want a fic posted faster, vote for it, because a vote means i’ll actually work on it (hopefully XD). it’s mostly just a helpful way for me to have tangible goals that i can work toward without having to make decisions about what those goals are myself XD

[edit: oh yeah you can vote for up to 3]

so without further ado, here’s the list (as is traditional, with bonus excerpts as a reward for helping me with executive brain functions lmfao):

1. (Figment of Choice) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

“Oh, but dear, if I had known it’d be like this, I would have had you change ages ago. You’re simply beautiful!” He smiled and ran the ends of his fingers down Loki’s jaw.  

Loki resisted the urge to bite them. Monster, he thought. Tears gathered in his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t do this to me—”

“Loki, we’ve talked about this.” The Grandmaster made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue. “Yesterday even. Didn’t I specifically tell your brother how I prefer those who are willing. Those who enjoy what Sakaar has to offer. What I have to offer. Are you telling me you’re not one of those people?”

“Yes,” Loki said by habit; then, “I mean, no—no, I am, I just—I don’t think—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” the Grandmaster said. “You know how much I hate hearing don’t and can’t. Come along, sweetheart, get up. As lovely as you are, I’m not only here for you. Time’s a’ticking.”

2. (The troy and lola story of my soul) [tw implied noncon/dubcon and csa]

Troy watched his friend disappear into his carriage, and then he watched a butterfly trail from flower to flower, and then he watched the sun approach the white mountains in the distance. His legs ached with the strain of standing as he watched, but he didn’t move. Moving would mean admitting the fact that his twin had been suffering for years. Suffering the same torment he himself had escaped. Moving would mean having to face the fact that his brother (sister?) might resent him. 

As he stood, he tried—he focused his entire mind upon an imagined woman lying nude in the lounge of a brothel. He tried to feel what she felt. He tried to feel the weight of a body on top of his or the repetitive aching of his insides. He tried to feel the unbearable numbness infecting his limbs with cold. But there was nothing, no sense of life from his twin. Nothing except the ghosts of his own memories.

“My Lord,” Margaret called from the patio, “won’t you come inside?”

Troy sighed but didn’t turn. “You know to call me Theodore.”

“It’s cold out here,” Margaret said as if she hadn’t heard. “At least let me fetch your cloak.”

Troy didn’t answer, and a moment later, he heard the door bang shut. He waited a bit longer. For what? He didn’t know. But then the crickets started chirping, and the chill of nighttime wind raised goosebumps on his arms, and he managed to stomach his fear and turn to face the house.

3. (Forget Me Not, Remember Still) [tw domestic abuse, grandthorki shenanigans]

“You look so sad,” Thor said, and Loki hated that his voice sounded at all like the Grandmaster’s. “What’s bothering you?”

Unsure whether it was safe to answer, Loki pressed his lips together.

“Tell me,” Thor said, just as gently, but—Loki could sense the difference in his patience.

He took a breath. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s something,” Thor argued. “Now tell me—or do I have to remind you what happens when you try to think for yourself.”

Loki steeled himself against a flinch. Almost subconsciously, his hand came up and his fingers pressed against the bruises at his neck. The shirt he’d wanted to wear would have covered them, but this—it exposed him. It made him look weak, like a victim—and truly, was he not a victim now? Was he not being abused?

Wincing, he looked away from the mirror before the sight of himself could make him cry.

“Oh, Loki,” Thor said. “You’ve made some mistakes. All those marks show is that you’ve learned better. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

To you, Loki thought, and then shut the thought off. 

4. (On Our Terms) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

The Grandmaster sighed loudly. “I don’t mean to offend you, but your society sounds quite borish.”

“It is,” the Valkyrie said, “but it’s the one we got, and I doubt you have room for three thousand potentially borish people here, so . . .”

“Yes, yes, your point has been made,” the Grandmaster said. “But you see—I’ve grown quite fond of these two, and I’m not quite sure if I want to let them go. Especially since they seem so eager to stay.”

“Yeah, I get it. So what’s your price?” she asked in a casual tone.

“My price? Goodness, gracious! I’m not the type to just sell these poor boys to the highest bidder. My dear dear 142, you should know better than to suggest such a thing! Absolutely unbelievable.”

There was a silence. Loki held his breath, closed his eyes, and tried not to think. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t matter what he did. It wouldn’t matter what he said. In fact, it might make things worse if he spoke, and things were already bad enough. The best he could do was keep silent and be good and just . . . wait. Wait to be dragged back into their nightmare.

Under the table, Thor’s free hand slipped around his and squeezed. Loki was numb, too numb, to care. He didn’t squeeze back.

At last, the Grandmaster gave a long put-upon sigh. “I suppose, I might be more . . . favorable to your wishes if you were to, hmm. Play a game with me.”

The Valkyrie shifted in her seat. “What kind of game?”

5. (thor ficlet whumptober chapter 4) [tw past noncon]

With a deep breath, Thor slipped on a robe over his nightshirt and pants (he no longer slept without a shirt), and headed toward the door. There was one person, in all of Asgard, besides her, who knew. His brother had every right to be angry. Even now, Thor remembered the things he had said the night before—before—and those had been his own words, not hers.

As he came to the door, feeling small and afraid, he remembered the morning after. How Loki had begged him for an apology and had not received one. How Thor had stood on the other side, unable to be anything but callous and cold. Their positions were reversed now. Thor prayed his brother would be more kind.

Trembling, he knocked.

Loki answered the door, not a minute later, robed in black and green, hair curly and disheveled. “Yes?” he said as he rubbed his eyes—and then, before Thor could answer, his face smoothed and his eyebrows furrowed low and angry on his face. “Did she try something again?”

“No,” Thor rushed to say, but Loki’s expression didn’t soften. Cheeks aflame, Thor fixed his gaze on the golden stone archway of the door and studied its numerous ridges and cracks. “I can’t—sleep,” he managed. “That—bed—” His throat felt hoarse. He returned his gaze to his brother and tried not to let the desperation seep into his voice. “I’m afraid to sleep alone.”

6. (IW AU thor whump) [tw violence]

“Let me make this clear,” Thor said. He ripped a strip of cloth free from his cape and toyed with it between his hands. “I follow the doctrine of my master because it’s what I believe. But even if I didn’t? Even if you somehow managed to convince me otherwise?” Thor lifted the red cloth and pressed it between the bones of her jaw. “I would follow him anyway. There is not one single thing you could say to dissuade me from his offer, universe be damned.” He tied the cloth in a knot on the back of her head. “Do you understand?”

Eyes blazing, Gamora kneed him in the thigh.

Thor stumbled. His heart sped, as he realized she’d been aiming for his crotch, and in a burst of rage, his hand clenched into a fist and raised in the air—trembling and white-knuckled and desperate to hit her back. 

He didn’t do it.

There was something in her face that sparked a memory in him—one of Loki, handcuffed and bright-eyed and braced for a blow on the Asgardian skiff. The time they’d gone to avenge a mother who had left them alone too soon. The time Loki (seemed to have) died. For a shocking moment, the woman in front of Thor looked just like his brother. From the the tension in her shoulders, to the set in her lips, and to the glassiness of her wide eyes.

He lowered his fist. Grief cascaded over him, and it weighed like bricks on his chest and needles in his heart. In a count to ten, Thor reminded himself of the doctrine and of Thanos’s offer—the gauntlet, with all five Infinity Stones, would resurrect his brother. This woman—this traitor—couldn’t. The choice was easy.

 “Get some rest,” he said, numb and cold. “Xandar is several hours away.”

7. (Zombie Post Apoc Novel) [tw grosss vagina shit, implied noncon]

At night, Helen catches her in the bathroom. The door is cracked open, and Cassandra is standing, one foot planted on the tub’s ledge and the other foot on the floor. Her hand is between her thighs and she’s holding the lighter under her clit, until the air sizzles with the smell of burnt flesh. She comes like that. Helen knows because tears leak from Cassandra’s face whenever her orgasm is real.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra whispers when she notices Helen watching. “I have to.”

And Helen doesn’t bother arguing. Larry may dead, but there are countless Larry’s, and even if there aren’t, Andrew hovers in their room sleeping on their bed. Something has to burn. So Helen just closes the door behind her, turns on the vent to clear the smell, and grabs Neosporin from a drawer under the sink.

Cassandra sits on the bathtub ledge. “Maybe we should stay,” she whispers. “Maybe it really is better here.”

Helen kneels on the bathroom tile. “You’re gonna kill yourself if we stay here, babe.” Then she rubs the Neosporin over the folds of her sister’s vagina, and when the burns are good and treated, tears of ecstasy leak down Cassandra’s face.

In the silence that follows, Cassandra bites her lip. “If it comes to it… I don’t know that I could pull the trigger.”

“You can,” Helen says. “Just pretend you’re holding a lighter.”

8. (Moment of Peace)

[theaologies]

We’ll Continue (to be disappointed) [fic]

Fandom: Dragon Age Ship: Solavellan (implied) Rating: Gen Summary: Charter delivers some news Wordcount: ~1700 Notes: I haven’t written anything in... so long... god. A drabble, some character introspection mostly Read on Ao3

HEAVY SPOILERS for TEVINTER NIGHTS

“Is that all?” Cassandra asks, dropping the bundle of papers that has occupied her hands for the past hour or so on the small, stained wood table their little group stands around.

The basement they find themselves gathered in this time is small and damp, the scent of fish drifting in from the port outside mixing none too sweetly with old ale that has spilled through the floorboards of the tavern above. The cramped space barely fits the four women with their table, which tilts precariously whenever something heavier than a dagger is placed upon it, and Leliana has joked more than once that if Cullen had joined them he and his pauldrons would have had to play door for them.

But this isn't a matter to disturb Cullen with. Not while he's enjoying his retirement and time with his family.

No, this little party is made up only of those absolutely necessary; Cassandra, Leliana, Lavellan, and Charter.

Charter, who is the one who retrieved this information for them.

The Elven woman nods as she watches Cassandra drop her notes, folding her arms across her chest. “That is all, yes. And since I was the only one spared we won't have to concern ourselves with cleaning up loose ends.”

Cassandra sighs, frustration evident in her voice. “I suppose you're right.” She nods, rubbing at her chin, “though I admit my confusion at your survival- he'd kill all those others in attendance, yet not you? Just because you... asked?”

“I had done nothing to wrong him,” Charter tells her, leaning over to gather the papers up once more. “The others had lied or slandered him or posed some kind of risk. I merely sought out information- and it was information he was willing to share.”

“He doesn't want to kill Elves,” Lavellan supplies, finally speaking up for the first time since their meeting began, “he will if he absolutely must, but Solas is... trying not to kill other Elves. He's still trying to recruit them into his army.” She glances up at the other Elf, violet eyes both hard and exhausted at the same time, “you said it yourself- he asked you to join. And it probably would have looked worse for him had you not returned.”

“He wants us to know he can be anywhere at anytime,” Leliana says, “even though we've officially disbanded he knows we're still working against him- he wants us to know just how big of a threat he, personally, is to us. Any of us. All of us.” The Divine, cloaked in a simple disguise, spreads a hand out over the small map of Tevinter tacked down on the table, looking over it dutifully. “We'll have to be more careful from now on- well, even more so than we have been.” She sighs, a frown etched across her lips, “I'm afraid our infrequent meetings will have to become... even more infrequent. And those of us who are traveling will have to do more to cover our tracks. It will be difficult but we can't afford to get lazy now- or ever.” Nimble fingers pluck at the tacks, carefully rolling the map back up before depositing it in a tiny canister. As she straightens she eyes both Charter and Lavellan, “I'm sorry to say, but that means being more careful around other Elves, as well- if he'd go so far as to attempt to recruit a known spymaster-”

“No, you're right,” Lavellan agrees quickly, though she doesn't meet her eye, “anyone could be one of his agents, at this point. There's no telling. Caution must be taken, especially with those Elves coming out of Tevinter.”

Leliana gives a single nod, seemingly pleased with her understanding. “Yes, exactly. We cannot, at the moment, take any unnecessary risks. Now-” her eyes sweep over the other women as she tugs at the hood of her cloak, ensuring her hair is completely covered, “I'm afraid I must take my leave. Cassandra and I must be present later tonight at the Viscount's banquet- there had to be some excuse for use to travel all the way to Kirkwall, after all.”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise from the space by the door as she dons her own cloak. “Politics.”

“Now, now, Cassandra,” Leliana chides playfully, a smirk replacing her serious expression, “I'm sure Varric won't make it too unbearable for you. Perhaps our dear friend will even give you the next copy of his book.”

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes, turning toward the door quickly to hide the blush that creeps its way up her neck.

“Charter, if you wouldn't mind passing this information to Harding when you have the chance?” Leliana requests, “she'll need to know the details of this meeting in depth and what to keep an eye out for in the future.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Charter agrees, tucking the papers away into a leather pouch hidden inside her vest, “I will get this to her as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Leliana says, then turns to Lavellan, “I'm sorry you can't join us tonight,” she tells her sympathetically, “If there were a way-”

But Lavellan just lifts her hand to stop her. “It's fine,” she says, “I spent some time with Varric yesterday- we caught up then. Had lunch. It's no big deal.” She shrugs. “Besides, I'm to start trek toward the Arlathan Forest early tomorrow. Varric gave me information to catch up with one of his and Hawke's friends who's been working on dismantling the slave trade there. Thought I might be some help.”

Leliana doesn't miss the way she fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, though; fingers tugging at the fabric to try to hide the dragonbone contraption Dagna made to replace her missing arm. “You had said before,” the redhead starts carefully, “that you were considering stopping by Wycome on your way. Do you still-”

“I might,” she cuts her off again, still not looking her in the eye, “I haven't decided yet. I know reports have said that some of my Clan might still be out there- but-” she sighs, rolling her shoulders to try to stave off the shudder that threatens to run through her, “I just don't think it would matter if I went back. I doubt they'd want me back, after everything. If they even recognized me at all.”

Cassandra turns back to look at the Elven woman, a soft pity in her eyes, “Inqui-”

“Don't,” Lavellan says quickly, sharply, then deflates, letting the sudden anger rush out of her. “I'm not the Inquisitor anymore, Cassandra,” she tells her with a wavering smile, “let's not pretend I still am.”

The other woman frowns, though instead of her usual frustration it's one of sympathy. “Yes, of course.” She agrees softly, “I- just know- if there's anything you need-”

Lavellan nods, looking up at the human women, a fake smile plastered across her face. “I know, and thank you. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. Truly.”

There's a pause. Lavellan returns to her subconscious fidgeting. Leliana chooses not to say anything of it. “Very well,” The Divine relents, moving to join Cassandra at the door. “We'll be seeing you, then. Just be sure to keep in touch, wherever it is you end up. I've never met Fenris personally but I know he can be... a bit touchy, as Varric's said. And perhaps... don't mention your mage sympathies.” She then looks over toward Charter, giving her associate a nod. “And you know where your duties take you next?”

“Of course, My Lady. I will continue to inform you of any developments in the Imperium.”

“Thank you. Walk in the Maker's Light, both of you.” She tells them, and then follows Cassandra out the door, the dark haired woman giving a nod in farewell to both of them.

The door shuts with a click, leaving the two Elves alone together.

An awkward silence blankets the room as they wait until they are clear to leave. Lavellan has no idea if Charter is one for small talk- they never were more than acquaintances during their time with the Inquisition- but where Lavellan used to be, she's found she hasn't had the spirit to summon the casual lightheartedness that had been so central to her demeanor all her life.

At least not for the past year and a half.

So she lets the silence be. For about an hour the two Elven women simply sit in silence; Lavellan finding a discarded crate and fiddling with the more mechanical components of her arm while Charter perches on the table itself, pouring over a small, well worn notebook. Once, Lavellan briefly catches her sleeve in a joint and curses under her breath, waving Charter off when she looks up in question. It proves to be the extent of their interaction.

At least, until right before Lavellan rises to leave.

“Wait,” Charter stops her, just as she goes to tug her hood over her head. A scarred brow quirks in the spy's direction, watching as she tears a leaf of paper from the little notebook. She looks at it for a brief moment, as though second guessing herself, before holding it out for Lavellan to take. “I don't know that Leliana would... approve of me giving you this information,” she says as the other woman carefully takes it from her, “but for him to have said it...” she hums softly, tucking away the notebook, “he allowed me my life. Delivering it to you- it's a debt paid.”

Lavellan wills her hand not to shake as she looks down at the parchment, a sudden weakness trembling in the pit of her stomach.

“When you report back to the Inquisitor... Say that I am sorry.”

“For all that it's worth,” Charter continues, moving to stand, “it did sound like he meant it.”

There's the silence once again as Lavellan's eyes stayed glued to the page, that weakness trying to decide whether to manifest itself as sadness or anger. It's such a shock, for him to address anything directly towards her after all this time, that when if finally hits her throat it culminates as neither- a tiny, humorless chuckle escapes her mouth instead. “A teahouse.” Is all she can bring herself to say; just a whisper of the word, with an almost unwilling fondness trapped behind her teeth.

Charter smiles- just a little, with just a hint of pity- and lightly claps Lavellan on the shoulder as she slips past her and out the door, disappearing into the quickly setting sun.

[admiralty-xfd]

the whole truth

This is chapter 8, to go back to the beginning click here.

Diana “miraculously” recovers but finds herself in even deeper with the Syndicate. How does her presence affect the events of Fight the Future? 

Chapter 8: The Turn

46TH STREET

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

JUNE 1998

Gibson sat alone in a small office that reeked of cigarette smoke and musty old furniture. His grandfather back in the Philippines smoked and that’s what the room reminded him of… the way old people smelled.

He didn’t belong here, but between his twelve-year-old self and escape was a room full of old men. Dangerous old men. He was terrified. Nothing any of them had planned was anything good.

“. ..We have an opportunity now, a good one, to get Mulder on our side... ” came one of the voices from through the door.

"X-Files shut down…”

“Agent Mulder…”

Agent Mulder. He was the guy with all the romantic drama going on. Gibson could tell from their single meeting he was a nice man, a decent man. In situations such as the one he found himself in, he was desperate to know who his allies were.

Gibson got up and went to the door, opened it a crack. He could see three or four men from this vantage point, but could hear several more. The cacophony of voices was easier to understand when people didn’t talk over each other. And it helped that these men did not interrupt. But it was difficult to tell which words were thoughts and which were voices because they all lied.

It was always difficult to tell with liars.

"...already separated them...”

“They’re not a problem for us anymore.”

“If you believe separating Mulder and Scully will diminish them, you haven’t been paying attention,” the tall man with the cigarette spoke up. “Splitting them up professionally hasn’t worked. Creating a real divide is going to take… a unique approach.”

Gibson opened the door a tiny bit wider and got a pretty good view of the dozen or so men in the room. Now it was much easier to distinguish the words in their minds from the words on their lips.

“And what approach do you suggest...” “...Wanker?” the British guy said. Thought.

“Agent Fowley will be quite useful to us in that regard,” the cigarette man said simply.

“She’s too smart for that...” “She’d never allow herself to be maneuvered in that way,” came the thought, then the voice of another man.

The smoking man smiled. “She won’t have to be maneuvered,” he explained. “Agent Mulder and Agent Fowley have a history together. I have a feeling all we’ll need to do is move the pieces into place.”

“Fowley’s circling the drain,” said another man. “Her doctors say there’s nothing to be done.”

"...Practically dead on arrival...”

“My man has excellent aim,” the smoking man declared. “Agent Fowley’s current condition was planned and executed perfectly. She’ll survive.”

Gibson wasn’t sure what he meant by that, how exactly he could know something like that. This man, the biggest liar of them all, was incredibly hard to read.

“I’ll take care of it,” the cigarette man said firmly.

“Like you took care of Mulder.” “Just kill him already,” one of the men said, then thought.

“Nuisance…”

“Nothing but trouble for us…”

“I have taken care of Mulder,” the cigarette man insisted. “The X-Files have been shut down and he’s been neutralized.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, why neutralize him? Why not dispose of him?” a man with a foreign accent asked.

The cigarette man took another drag. “Mulder is useful at best, a distraction at worst. His reckless actions with the attorney general have been his own undoing. Every time something like this happens he loses even more credibility. Mulder is not a problem, especially without his partner by his side. And like I’ve always suggested, he might be convinced, if given the proper motivation, to join our cause.”

“We do not have time for these games,” a big man with a raspy voice said suddenly. “We need to decide what is to be done with the boy.”

“There’s only one thing to be done with the boy,” the smoking man said. “Contact Dr. Openshaw. Prepare Cassandra for a new experiment.”

Gibson’s head ached in reluctant anticipation. More experiments. More tests. More pain. He just wanted all of it to stop.

“Cassandra Spender?” a voice came. “Your wife?” “Are you certain this is the proper course?”

Gibson didn’t have to see the smoking man’s glare. He could feel it.

“You’re asking me if I’m certain? Don’t ask me to repeat myself. Make the preparations.”

VIRGINIA HOSPITAL CENTER

ARLINGTON, VA

JUNE 1998

Diana jerked awake, her heaving, ragged breaths restoring her consciousness. Pain, then none, then she was staring up into the eyes of a hulking figure. The man had blond hair, a square jaw and a dead eyed stare. His hands were upon her shoulder, where the bullet must have gone clean though.

She knew immediately what this meant.

“You’re incredibly lucky to be alive, Agent Fowley,” a familiar voice came from across the room. She turned her head to look towards the source of the voice and even in the bright lights of her hospital room somehow Spender had found a place to sit cloaked in shadow. Hospital or no hospital, he held a lit cigarette in his hand. She knew better than to question it.

“Luck?” she scoffed weakly, as the alien bounty hunter exited the room. “Is it, really?”

“I was surprised,” he explained casually. “The man I sent is usually more...accurate. The bullet was meant to be a near-miss. A believable threat to get the child back into our hands. It wasn’t meant to hit you and it certainly wasn’t meant to hit a main artery. You’re lying in this hospital bed because of a simple mistake.”

“Some mistake,” she replied, wincing. “I can’t feel my shoulder.”

Her shoulder was completely numb. The pain was gone but she felt heat radiating throughout her body. She knew of the aliens’ healing powers, had seen it demonstrated before. But this was the first time she’d been on the receiving end.

“No, Agent Fowley. The mistake was putting you on this case at all. Thinking you could handle the responsibility. That you could handle Agent Mulder.” It was the first time he’d referenced her relationship with Fox, their connection, since all those years ago in Blevins’ office. “Far be it for me to interfere in your… personal affairs. But involving Mulder in this case has led to some unwanted attention.”

“If you anticipated this being a problem, you should have warned me he’d be here,” she pointed out. “Agent Spender told me he had specifically excluded him.”

“We weren’t expecting him to catch wind of this case. Our leak was AD Skinner and that situation is being… addressed,” he explained. “I have Alex Krycek handling it. But Agent Mulder has made the attorney general aware of this boy. ”

This surprised Diana. She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t, I was trying to convince him not to.”

“I suppose he didn’t take your advice,” Spender said. “Fortunately for us, the Justice Department hearing ‘Spooky’ Mulder’s tale had the very effect I’d hoped for. They don’t take him seriously, they never have.”

Listening to Spender talk about Fox made her uncomfortable, so she changed the subject. “I didn’t realize you wanted the kid dead,” she said honestly. She felt foolish for not putting the pieces together that perhaps the Syndicate had wanted Gibson dead from the start.

Maybe she did know. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

Spender shook his head. “I’m not in the business of killing children,” he countered.

She tried to ascertain if he was telling her the truth by looking into his eyes as she usually did but this man’s eyes were so difficult. Her talents were wasted on him.

“There are members of the group who would rather destroy him to eliminate the risk of exposure. But we’re different, Agent Fowley, you and I. There’s so much we can learn from the boy.”

She agreed with this. Gibson fascinated her: his abilities, his implications. Oddly she thought of Agent Scully’s comment on the matter, and how she’d been absolutely correct. Besides the obvious moral conflict, it would be a waste to kill him.

“So where this leaves us, Agent Fowley, is that the X-Files are closed. And it’s bought us some time.”

“Time for what?”

“To continue our work, without Agents Mulder or Scully getting in the way.”

“Have they been… reassigned?” she asked hopefully, but as casually as she could muster.

“Yes, but keeping them apart has been difficult. They’re… quite attached to one another, it seems.”

She’d suspected as much, but hearing it from Spender was like a punch in the gut. Hearing how “attached” he was to another woman only made her want him back more. This desire was highly inconvenient, given her circumstances. She had no choice but to continue to lie to Fox, especially now that Spender had saved her life. She’d always followed orders, but now she was particularly indebted to him.

She sighed, lying back into her pillow. She ached everywhere. She wished she’d never been asked to work this case. Inserting Fox back into her life was only confusing matters. Europe was sounding better and better by the minute.

“Are you sending me away, then?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No. You’re needed here. But while you recover, I have some reading material I think you’ll find quite illuminating.” He pulled a book from within his long trench coat, looked down at the cover and touched it admiringly. He handed it out to her, and she looked at the title, confused.

Native American Beliefs and Practices.

“Sir? What is this?”

“I want to remind you that what you’re a part of is bigger than anything you could possibly imagine. In these pages you’ll learn why.” He grinned. “It’s a story about the original shadow government.”

She flipped a few pages. What on earth was he talking about?

“You’re a believer, aren’t you, Agent Fowley?” he asked, sensing her confusion. Believer in what, he didn’t specify. “Read this, and you’ll know exactly why the boy is so important to our cause.”

She was completely confused, but she trusted him. Perhaps there was something she’d been missing, something important. And if there was something contained in these pages that could help make a difference, she wanted to know about it.

“I’ll be in touch.” He blew out a plume of smoke and put his cigarette out on the table next to her bed.

He stood up to leave, but she stopped him. “Sir?”

He turned around slowly, removing another cigarette from his pack that he certainly planned to light as soon as he left the room. She set the book down on her lap and asked the question that had been on her mind for a while.

“If Agents Mulder and Scully are such a problem, why have you kept them alive all these years?” It wasn’t that she wanted them dead: of course she didn’t. But she was well aware the Company would murder for far less. There must be something about Agent Mulder, or tangentially Agent Scully, that he wasn’t telling her.

He smiled. “It’s all a game of chess, Diana. You have to know when to sacrifice every piece. And Fox Mulder is a king. To truly capture him is a long, tedious process.”

She wasn’t stupid, she knew Fox was a threat to the work if they couldn’t get him on their side. But Spender’s words sent a chill up her spine. It was the way he always spoke, choosing words carefully, grinning as mysteriously as a Cheshire Cat. The edge in his voice made her nervous.

She wondered about this man often, about his life. About his childhood. Where had he come from? Why was he the way he was? And why was he so obsessed with Fox?

Most importantly, would she ever be able to get out from under him?

She closed her eyes in resignation, knowing any option she might have once had to remove herself from this situation was no longer tenable. He’d saved her life. She owed that life to him now.

The only way out is through.

He placed the cigarette between his lips. “Get some rest, Agent Fowley,” he said around it. Then he was gone.

***

It had been several days since the X Files office had gone up in flames. A wave of hopelessness had washed over Mulder in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He was feeling directionless, rudderless. Perhaps that was why he found himself on his way to see Diana in the hospital.

“Arlington, please,” he told the cab driver.

The driver nodded, adjusting the rear view mirror. Despite the fact that Diana was most certainly in no state for a visit, Mulder was determined to check up on her himself. He was honestly unsure if she would even survive; all the reports he’d heard so far had been extremely dire.

When he arrived at the hospital and peered around the doorframe to her room she was sitting up, which he hadn’t expected. In fact, he hadn’t expected to talk to her at all.

“Hey,” he said gently, entering her room.

“Hi,” she said. There was a look on her face that he couldn’t decipher.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he told her. “The doctors feared the worst.”

Diana looked away, uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, I suppose my number wasn’t quite up.” He had the distinct impression she looked disappointed, but surely that couldn’t be the case.

He sat down in a chair by her bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually. Thanks for coming.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“It’s… strange being back here,” she admitted.

“How was Europe?” He found himself making small talk with her, which felt odd. Other than a couple of conversations about Gibson Praise, the last time they’d spoken she was ripping his heart to shreds.

“I liked it there,” she said. “But out here is where I was needed.”

He wondered what she’d meant earlier when she’d said there were things at home she’d been wanting to get back to. From the look in her eyes he’d thought he was probably one of the ‘things’ she’d been referring to at the time. But perhaps he’d been mistaken.

“You’ve always been so dedicated to your work, Diana,” he pointed out. “It doesn’t surprise me in the least you’d follow it wherever it led you.”

“Even if it led me back to you?” she asked.

His throat constricted, and his eyes searched hers for her meaning. He wasn’t sure exactly what her intentions were with him but having her back in his world made him nervous.

He decided to make light. Chuckling, he answered. “Sorry about that.”

She smiled warmly but looked down, as if she were suddenly uncomfortable. No matter; he didn’t need another distraction right now. It was difficult enough trying to figure out her place in his life at all, let alone having to worry about navigating a romantic interest. He wasn’t sure how he felt at the moment.

“Have you… heard?” he changed the subject carefully. “About the X-Files?”

Diana looked blank. “No. What happened?”

It hurt to even think about it, let alone say it out loud. “Someone torched the office. Burned everything to the ground. They’ve shut us down.”

“Fox,” she said gently. She reached out and took his hand, not letting go. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve been assigned to domestic terrorism.” He shook his head. Bullshit.

“It’s not so bad,” she smiled. “I know it’s not exactly your forté, but you can still do a lot of good.” She looked away distractedly. “A lot of good.”

“I know that, but it’s frustrating,” he explained. “You have no idea how many times this kind of thing has happened to us. We get so close to something big… then, nothing.”

Her face changed just then, and he wondered if it was because he’d switched from I to we. Having his ex around was awkward enough without worrying about what she thought of Scully and their partnership.

“I suppose you can take some comfort in that, though,” she pointed out. “You must be getting close to something if someone is trying so hard to stop you.”

He looked up at her, serious. “I won’t stop, Diana.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

He chose his next words carefully because he didn’t want her to think he was only checking in on her for information. “Do you… remember what happened? To you and Gibson?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone. I’m sorry, Fox, I wish I could tell you. The shot came through the window. I woke up here.”

He nodded, and they sat quietly for a minute. Then he released her hand and stood up. “I’m glad you’re okay, I truly am. Do you know how long they’re keeping you here?”

“No idea. I’m at their mercy, unfortunately.” Her eyes flickered with meaning. He wondered what that meaning was.

His phone rang just then, and he looked down. Scully. “Hello?”

"Mulder, it’s me.” He held up a finger, hold on, and took a couple of steps away.

“Hey, Scully. What is it?”

"We’re being called to Dallas. There’s been some kind of a bomb threat.”

“This is a Bureau matter? Why us?”

“I don’t know, Mulder, but they want us out there. Flight’s at four thirty.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the airport.” He hung up. “I’ve got to go to Dallas. But can I visit again? Sometime? Would that be okay?”

“Of course, Fox,” she said. “Anytime.”

FBI HEADQUARTERS

WASHINGTON D.C.

JULY 1998

Diana’s recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, and that didn’t shock her, considering the method by which it had occurred. But she was fortunate. There were many at the Company, at Roush in particular, who hadn’t seen all of the things she’d seen. She was valued, and she knew she’d been spared because of that value.

Lying alone in a hospital bed day after day wasn’t the ideal scenario for her restless mind, however. She hadn’t wanted it to happen, but the fox had once again found its way inside, burrowing deep down towards her heart.

She wasn’t sure why, exactly; he was still the same Fox, chasing the truth from below the ground floor. And he was content that way. All the reasons she’d left him all those years ago still remained the same.

But she had changed significantly. She knew things now, amazing things, and although she could not share them with him his quest felt far more justified now than it had long ago. And she found herself having the same feelings she’d had for him then, only now she felt she understood him a bit better. It made her believe it was possible for them to try again, start over. Maybe fix what had been broken.

If only she could make him see the truth: if somehow he could come to that knowledge on his own, it would be a huge step in bringing him into her fold. Spender had told her Fox was playing an important role in his grand plan and the fact that the older man had kept the problematic agent alive all these years must mean killing him wasn’t necessarily part of that plan.

Perhaps she could be the one to bring him over. Then everything she wanted could finally come to fruition. She could tell him the truth. There would be no more secrets.

Maybe then they could be together.

It was her first week back at the Hoover Building and Diana stepped into an empty elevator. She was still settling in, and although she was working mostly for the Company, it was important she show her face at the Bureau as much as possible: be seen by her fellow agents. Keep up appearances.

But there was one agent she was not looking forward to seeing.

Diana had been so lost in thought she’d forgotten to press the elevator button. She watched the doors slide open to reveal Agent Scully standing in the hallway, apparently also deep in thought, who glanced up and registered her presence with surprise. Every time her face appeared it reminded Diana she had competition, and although she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on between Fox and his partner, she’d seen something that was utterly undeniable. A spark, a camaraderie. She’d be a fool to assume this other woman wasn’t a threat.

It was beneficial, however, being in Diana’s position. She knew the two of them had been in Dallas, what had gone on there, and that they were being split up, reassigned. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit it thrilled her.

Agent Scully pursed her lips together, appearing to debate entering the elevator at all. But she stepped in, pressing the ground floor button. “Agent Fowley,” she said. “Nice to see you’re back at work.”

Her voice was polite, but Diana wasn’t stupid. She could sense the diminutive redhead’s hostility every single time, like she was a dog with its teeth bared, ears back.

“Thank you, it’s good to be back.”

The elevator began its descent and Diana watched the smaller woman surreptitiously smooth her hair back and straighten her suit. Upon second look, she did look a bit disheveled and Diana wondered if Agent Scully had come directly to the Hoover Building from the airport.

“How’s Agent Mulder?” Diana wasn’t sure why she’d asked. Honestly, the only thing she and Agent Scully had in common was him, and this saddened her. Being a woman at the Bureau was difficult enough. It was unfortunate they’d become enemies by default.

“He’s fine,” Agent Scully said curtly.

“I heard through the grapevine you two are getting reassigned. I’m sorry to hear that,” she lied.

Agent Scully said nothing, and Diana wasn’t sure if she was being evasive, or if she just had nothing to say.  

She decided to do a little fishing. Besides, how often was one presented the opportunity to get under the skin of a competitor for a man’s affections?

“It’s probably for the best,” Diana pressed. “From what he indicated, you two haven’t been seeing much progress.”

It was deliberate. She wanted to get a reaction out of Agent Scully. But it didn’t work. The other woman stared straight ahead at the metal doors, seemingly not acknowledging Diana. The elevator was taking a particularly long time today.

“But it must be hard, disagreeing all the time,” Diana continued, undeterred. “You both must feel such a relief to be free of that. To not feel… so held back.”

She knew she was being bitchy, but she was also dead serious. She and Fox couldn’t even have a successful partnership, and their minds were so similar. How on earth had these two lasted six years?

“We make it work,” Agent Scully said shortly.

Diana couldn’t help but notice she’d referred to their partnership in the present tense. She still thought of Fox as her partner, regardless of the fact they’d been split up. Diana found it extremely annoying.

An ugly jealousy rose up inside her, over their obvious bond, their closeness, but also triggered by the sheer audacity of her words.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out,” Diana scoffed. She couldn’t help it. Life with Fox had been impossible, despite her own desire to ‘make it work.’ “His passion, his drive. His mission. It’s all wonderful until you realize it’s not aligned with your own.”

The elevator light signaled they were about to reach the ground floor. Suddenly she was aware that an opportunity had presented itself. She might never get the truth from Fox but perhaps Agent Scully could be of assistance.

She only had one more second to deliver the fatal blow, and she was feeling particularly merciless today.

“Just be grateful it never went further than a work partnership,” she said, boring her eyes into the side of Agent Scully’s face. “He’s tough to shake.”

The shift was almost imperceptible but Diana Fowley was more perceptive than most. Agent Scully turned pale, even paler than she already was, and her body leaned ever so slightly towards the door.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and Agent Scully stepped out more quickly than Diana thought her short legs were capable of.

“Goodbye, Agent Fowley,” she said without turning around.

Diana meant to get out at the ground floor, but instead let the doors close. Her lips curved into a smile. That tiny sliver of suspicion she’d had about the presence of something romantic between these two had completely disappeared.

Fox Mulder was indeed available. And Diana planned to make herself available, too.

2630 HEGAL PLACE

HALLWAY OUTSIDE APT 42

ALEXANDRIA, VA

Diana Fowley hadn’t even been on Scully’s mind. In fact, the events of Dallas and being wrapped up in yet another exciting mystery with Mulder had cast thoughts of the other woman out completely.

But their confrontation in the elevator had planted doubts in her mind about Mulder and how he felt about her value to their partnership. Had he and Fowley discussed Scully behind her back? She felt sick about it.

Diana’s words rattled around her brain. You both must feel such a relief to be free of that. To not feel… so held back.

Scully had allowed the words of this person she barely knew to put her so off guard, to doubt what she really had with Mulder. Words that had made her feel ineffective, unimportant. Devalued.

“You don’t need me,” she’d said to Mulder before she left his apartment approximately ten seconds ago. “I’ve only held you back.”

Maybe what Diana Fowley had said was actually true. Maybe he didn’t need her, after all.

Scully hated admitting that this woman had any kind of power over her whatsoever. But she did. Scully had never thought of herself as an insecure person. In relationships she’d been in before, she’d always felt as secure as she needed to be. And with Mulder, for five years they’d had only each other. Their unit had been unassailable, impenetrable. It was the way she liked it. And now she felt as if it were dissolving, slipping from her grasp.

She didn’t know what to do, how to react. She felt like she was losing Mulder, and the Bureau wanted to split them up anyway. Why did everything feel so hopeless right now?

She wanted to cling to him, to grab hold of him tightly and hang on for dear life.

But she also wanted to run.

She didn’t want to have to face any of this: that she wasn’t the partner he wanted or needed, and they both knew it. It was year after year of a never ending stalemate: not only in their work but in their inability to express anything real to each other. And as she walked away from him she had the terrible thought that she might never look him in the eyes again.

The thought was only fleeting, however, because she heard his footsteps approaching her. He wasn’t going to let her leave.

Why wouldn’t he just let her go? Why was he making this all so difficult?

She whipped around and he began to close the gap between them, between the door to his apartment and the elevator that would take her far, far away from him. Perhaps forever.

Mulder looked hurt by her declaration. She could tell he hadn’t wanted to hear it, to hear her put it out there: what had to be the truth. That he would go further without her. That maybe he needed someone who thought more like he did. Maybe he needed someone like Diana Fowley.

She hated feeling this way, so out of control. Mulder had always been the one constant in her life; his unpredictability and spontaneity as reliable as anything. And she expected him to lash out, to be angry at her for bailing on him; for leaving him in the lurch this way.

But then he spoke.

You saved me. You kept me honest. You made me a whole person.

He said things to her he’d never said before, the words coming at her almost too fast to process.

I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing.

She might never know if he meant what he said, if it was the truth or just something he knew would make her stay. But one thing was perfectly clear: he didn’t want her to leave.

I don’t know if I want to do this alone. I don’t even know if I can. And if I quit now, they win.

He was telling her exactly what she’d needed to hear from him all these years, something she’d always felt from him but that he’d never actually articulated. And he’d done it right on time. For once in their lives, just once, the stars were aligning.

She fell into his chest, helpless, as he wrapped his strong arms around her, anchoring her to him. And she held his neck with her hands and kissed him chastely on his forehead, a kiss that felt safe yet still so, so intimate.

But then he pulled back and looked at her, perhaps more intensely than ever before. He leaned in, slowly, and her mind reeled as she looked into his eyes; eyes once full of doubt and fear and uncertainty but which now told her that what he wanted was exactly the same thing she did.

This is happening, this is finally really happening, she thought, imagining the softness of his lips against hers, the heat of his mouth opening to her own. Her feet were planted on the floor, and she wanted to close the distance: devour him like her last meal, slam him against the wall of the hallway and give his neighbors the show of a lifetime. But she was paralyzed.

In the few seconds it took them to reach each other time slowed down, Zeno’s Paradox in action. The closer they got, the more space there was to travel, as if they’d never get there. As if five years wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for the two of them.

She could almost feel it, for a split second: the relief of sweet contact between their lips, when a jolt of pain suddenly surged through her body from the base of her neck. Her neck. The epicenter of everything that had ever gone horribly wrong: her abduction, her cancer, and now even her fucking love life.

This isn’t fair, she thought, and feared it may truly be the last time she looked into Mulder’s eyes as the blackness swallowed her. But when she awoke again, it was those very same eyes drowning in relief that she could see through frozen glass.

[kita-lavellan]

Fascinating

(AO3 Link)

Something about Solas captured Lokita’s imaginations. Caught ahold of her crystalline clear eyes and heightened her senses when she was around him.

Ever since she’d been escorted through the mountains by Cassandra to seal the breach, Varric at her back while the apostate Elven mage quietly instructed her in how to use the glowing green mark upon her hand, she had found herself drawn to him.

Maybe it was because he was another mage. Maybe it had been the way he’d so confidently pushed her to seal that first rift. Maybe it was because one of the first things he’d done was tell the Seeker that she couldn’t be the cause of the breach in the sky, but whatever it was, Lokita Lavellan knew she was in trouble.

Leaning against the wall of the tavern that stood near the middle of Haven, Lokita watched Solas emerge from the small house he had, temporarily, claimed as his own and after a moment or two of studying the other elf’s profile she took a deep breath and approached him on light feet.

She wasn’t trying to mask her presence, and as her booted feet crunched through the snow-covered ground, the other mage turned to face her, a small smile on his lips.

“Greetings, Inquisitor. Do you require assistance?” Solas asked softly, and Lokita answered with a smile of her own, speaking quickly before she could lose her nerve.

“I’d like to know more about you, Solas,” Kita asked, hands clasped lightly behind her back so she didn’t tangle her fingers together nervously.

“Why?” her fellow mage asked, an odd mixture of surprise and suspicion painting his features before he wiped it clean, and then only his eyes betrayed him, making Lokita swallow hard as she stammered to find an answer that was both honest and not the whole truth.

There was no way she could tell him that she simply found him fascinating. That his tales of the fade enraptured her, and that she could listen to his smooth voice speak for hours.

“You’re an apostate,” Lokita began, her voice hesitant as though unsure whether he would take offence at the title, but when Solas said nothing she continued, slowly relaxing once more when he simply listened, “yet you risked your freedom to help the inquisition.”

“Not the wisest course of action, when framed that way,” Solas offered softly, a hint of laughter to his tone, and his shoulders relaxed, drawing a relieved sigh from Lokita.

“I respect you, Solas,” she added, shrugging one shoulder self consciously, “I just wanted to know more about you.”

Her candidness seemed to surprise him again, and Solas ducked his head for a long moment before lifting it to meet her steady gaze again as she waited for his answer patiently.

“I am sorry,” he offered simply, “with so much fear in the air… What would you know of me?”

Lokita’s breath caught in her throat. After such a rocky start, the last thing she’d expected was for Solas to grant her questions. She would have counted herself lucky if he’s simply told her something about himself, but for him to give her almost free reign to ask anything at all…

Her mind practically buzzed with idea’s and for a moment the young elven woman didn’t know what to say.

“What made you start studying the fade?” The moment her first question burst forth though, so did her hands. Finally escaping from where she’d kept them clasped behind her, as Lokita spoke she began gesturing for emphasis, tiny flakes of snow swirling between her fingertips in her excitement..

Solas’ amusement was plain to see in his soft gaze. It wasn’t laughter aimed at Lokita though, but at the enjoyment of her enthusiasm. He answered her slowly, pausing regularly to ensure she was still paying attention, and only continuing once he was sure she was still interested in the tale.

“I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic, but as I slept spirits of the fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the fade, became troublesome.”

‘Kita found herself nodding in agreement. She’d learnt how to summon veil fire from a spirit in the fade when she was very young and had spoken with spirits often until their clan’s keeper had told her of the dangers, and to avoid drawing the attention of demons.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked gently. This wasn’t the first time Solas’ knowledge had contradicted what she’d been taught, but considering her clan’s reactions to her sister’s naturally entropic abilities, Lokita was more than willing to consider an alternative viewpoint.

Solas had survived this long, after all, without succumbing to possession.

“Did spirits try to tempt you?”

The elf before her shrugged one shoulder, before shifting his weight slightly, “no more than a brightly coloured fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it,” he answered lightly, and Lokita blinked, head tipping slightly as she considered this new perspective while Solas continued.

“I learned how to defend myself from the more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore…”

There was a wistful note to Solas’ voice that softened Lokita’s enthusiasm, and she wanted to drag him off then and there, back to the Hinterlands. To the ruined tower he’d expressed an interest in exploring. To Calenhad’s Foothold where battles had been fought long past. Instead, she wet her lips nervously and continued her questions. 

‘Kita was unsure how long he was going to let her ask her questions and was determined to make the most of being able to commandeer his full attention.

“Clearly, you woke up... I gather you didn’t spend your entire life dreaming,” she teased gently, eyes sparkling when he smiled in response, some shadow in his soft grey gaze lifting at her playfully posed inquiry.

“No... Eventually, I was unable to find new areas in the fade-”

“Why?” Kita asked, head tipping to the other side, this time in confusion. The Clan’s Keeper had always taught her that the fade was limitless, an endless realm shaped by demons and a mage’s will, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

In the time it took her to realise she believed Solas over the Keeper of her own clan, and blink in surprise at her own thoughts, Solas had been studying her features. Whatever he’d been looking for when she’d cut off his explanation, he apparently found because he simply took a steady, deep breath in and answered her.

“Two reasons,” Solas said slowly, his voice no longer light and casual, but slow and firm. A teacher lecturing a student, and his gaze had grown sharp and watchful too, as though judging her reactions to his words and something in Lokita’s gut made her pray she passed the silent test.

“First, the fade reflects the world around it. Unless I travelled, I would never find anything new,” Solas said and paused as Lokita frowned, but when she nodded a moment later he continued, still cautious but there was something slowly easing in his stance as she absorbed his words without discarding them.

“Second, the fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations,” Solas paused a moment, before the corner of his mouth twitched into what was almost a smile, “to find interesting area’s, one must be interesting.”

Despite the fact his flash of amusement only lasted a moment, Lokita found herself responding with a small grin of her own, “is that why you’re here? Is this why you joined the inquisition?” she asked, while her stomach did flips.

She didn’t quite know what answer she wanted him to give, but when he responded quickly, his tone light, she wasn’t entirely surprised by the flash of disappointment that shot through her.

“I joined the inquisition because we were all in terrible danger,” Solas answered, pausing a moment, grey eyes skimming across her face before he continued, “if our enemies destroy the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the fade.”

“Ah…” Kita said, nodding her head once and wracking her mind for something else to say, something that would distract from the completely illogical disappointment staining her mind. She’d only known Solas a matter of weeks, she had no reason to expect…

“Inquisitor...” the elven mage said gently, snapping her clear gaze back to his in a heartbeat and letting her absorb the small twitch to the corners of his mouth before he continued, “that is why I joined, not why I stayed.”

There was a moment of silence between them where Solas smiled slightly and Kita stared, waiting for him to reveal the reason he’d stayed, before all the pieces clicked together in her mind and she felt her cheeks heat against the cold mountain breeze.

She knew she should say something. Something interesting, or witty, or maybe just a gentle thank you, and she took a steadying breath before attempting to stammer out a response.

“I… wish you luck.”

Lokita winced slightly. It was possibly the most ridiculous response she could have uttered, but Solas just inclined his head slightly and thanked her, his voice sincere and Kita let out a soft sigh of relief that she hadn’t made a huge mistake, or at least not one he was going to call her on.

“In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the fade,” Solas was saying, and Kita bit her lip, wondering just how far she could push the conversation after making an idiot of herself.

“How so?” she asked softly, and Solas eyed her for a moment, before continuing.

“You train your will to control magic and withstand possession,” he said, “your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit of that training… you have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy... As have I,” he explained, 

“You like my side benefits?” Kita asked, a small smile creeping back over her face, even as she felt one eyebrow raise in query and wondering where she’d found this sudden confidence “My indomitable focus?”

His complimentary words had restored her spirit simply because they hadn’t seemed intended to do so, Kita realised as she smiled at Solas, and something shifted in his grey gaze, his expression shifting swiftly through expressions ranging from amused, to an intense stare as he held her gaze with his own.

“Presumably,” the taller elf said, voice smooth, “I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine  that the sight would be… fascinating.”

Kita’s breath caught in her throat at his words, and she let her eyes seek out the teasing glint that had to be hidden somewhere in his features but when she saw nothing there but the intense honest and steel like focus of his gaze she felt herself flush again, a small shy laugh escaping her.

Was he… flirting? Genuinely flirting?

Kita cleared her throat, but couldn’t quite wipe the small grin from her features as she took a single step back.

“Uh… thank you, Solas… but... I should be going,” she managed not to splutter over her words this time, but her pink cheeks were just as obvious a sign that he’d flustered her, and the coating of frost across her fingertips a dead giveaway for her swirling emotions.

“Of course, until later,” Solas said kindly, letting her escape with good grace. Kita let herself turn and walk away around the side of a building and out of sight before she sped up into a jog and made her way through the small village of Haven, back to the wooden house that she and her sister had claimed.

Bursting through the front door, snow still coating her boots, Kita leant her back against the door to close it and groaned softly, chilled fingers raising to press lightly against her flushed pink cheeks. She could hear Nel over by the fire, and feel her sister’s intense golden gaze settle on her questioningly.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.... Nothing important…” Kita corrected softly, but when she opened her crystalline eyes Nel was right in front of her, staring at her face with narrowed eyes before the blonde began grinning.

“Your face is all red,” she pointed out and Lokita immediately scowled, “I know who you were with!” Nel almost sang and Lokita sighed.

“It wasn’t like that… we were just talking…” Lokita groaned, pushing off from the door and moving to slump in a chair by the fire, snow soaked boots stretching out towards the crackling flames.

“So? What happened?” Nel asked, sinking back into her own chair and leaning forward, ready to listen to her dark haired sister’s exploits but Kita just sighed.

“I sounded like an idiot, and then when he complimented my… indomitable will, I ran away, like an even bigger idiot,” Kita repeated, sinking down into the chair further when, after a moment’s pause, Nel began laughing.

Watching the blonde laugh, Kita could feel herself beginning to pout, and after a moment she groaned again, crossing her arms and sinking into an outright sulk before declaring that she was never leaving the cabin again.

Despite that though, the intense hold of Solas’ grey eyes held her attention, painted into her mind with vivid clarity, and Kita was quietly honest with herself that she had to agree with the Elven apostate; imagining someone with the strength to dominate her, admittedly, formidable will was a mental image that was… delightfully fascinating.

Link to Kita’s Masterpost 

@fairelden​