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autumnsvixen · 2 months ago

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Damaged - part 2

previous || next (coming soon)

Azriel x f! reader

After a long and arduous recovery, you are finally able to feel safe in the House of Wind. You can't help but feeling as if something, or someone, is missing.

Word Count: 2777

Warnings: Reader healing from wounds, some mentions of past trauma (including blood, violence, and abuse), Rhys being nice (?)

A/N: Holy shit, thank you all for the love on part 1. I was not expecting that AT ALL, but I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it! This is, sadly, another part without much Az, but he’s coming (he's WHAT), I promise 😊

masterlist || request guidelines

The past week was a blur of darkness and pain. Your only real memories consisted of hazy visions of winged males, swirling shadows, and an elderly female fae with kind brown eyes.

As your eyes drifted open, you were blinded by the brightness flowing into the room from the opened curtains. The elder fae you had seen throughout your recovery hissed at someone else in the room, “Morrigan, close that curtain. You’ll give the poor girl a headache.”

Your blurry vision began to clear as the panging in your head became apparent. The pain seemingly spread throughout your body as you fully woke. A groan escaped you as you tried to shift yourself up to better observe the unfamiliar room you found yourself in, only to be gently pushed down by the same female that had just spoken.

“Don’t try to sit up. You’ve recovered a lot, but you still need rest.” Her voice was kind but strict, leaving no room for debate.

When you spoke, your voice came out rough, throat feeling like ash, “where am I?”

Another voice filled your ears as a beautiful female with golden hair moved into your vision, “you’re safe. Cassian and Rhys got you to the House of Wind just in time.” She sounded like honey; soft and sweet.

Her words registered with you, “Rhys, as in high lord Rhysand?” You again tried to sit up in the bed, shocked that Cassian had brought you to the home of the high lord.

The younger fae, who you had figured out was the Morrigan, laughed as the other huffed at you, but she didn’t push you back down. You leaned your back against the headboard, the wood cold against your wings.

“Don’t say it like he’s some god, he’ll get even more of an ego. But yes, the high lord. He winnowed you from just outside of Ironcrest.”

The older female spoke next, “and you’re lucky he did. If you had gotten here any later…” She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

Your heart clenched at the thought that you had almost died.

The two females in the room seemed to notice your thoughts as your eyes glazed over, your last conscious memories replaying in your mind. Morrigan gently grasped your hand, “you’re safe now. I promise those males won’t ever lay a hand on you again.”

A tear fell from your eye as you turned your head to look at her, “I just wanted to be able to defend myself.”

“Those cowards cornered you. It was three against one. Even if you had been training with Cas for years, they would still have had an advantage.” Anger and disgust laced her voice, and the glint in your eyes told you that these were not the first cowardly males she had encountered.

You nodded at her words, but no response escaped you. You couldn’t shake the thought that if you had just been stronger, you could have protected yourself. Or if you had just obeyed your brother’s wishes, you wouldn’t even be in this situation.

Morrigan seemed to sense your reluctance to accept her words as truth, so she turned to the other female in the room. “Madja, do you think it would be alright for her to eat something?”

The elderly fae nodded, swiftly leaving the room. Morrigan sat on the bed next to you, careful not to move your injured body, “Cassian told me your name is Y/N, right?”

You nodded, and she continued, “You can call me Mor. Cassian didn’t tell me much about what happened before the attack, but I promise you that the people here will never treat you the way you were treated back in the camp.”

You didn’t have the words to respond. Part of you hoped what she was saying was true, but another part of you knew that your brother, despite his faults, had always looked out for you. Until now, that is.

“If you want to train once you’re all healed, Cassian and I can help you. If you want to go back to Ironcrest, that is your choice, though one I would hate for you to make.”

You furrowed your brows at her, “You would let me stay? You don’t even know me.”

She smiled softly at you, “let’s just say our high lord has a soft spot for those who have experienced the worst this world has to offer. And Cas has told us enough about you for all of us to trust you.”

Gently, you squeezed her hand, “did he tell you I was the most difficult fae he’s ever had to train?”

Mor laughed, the sound falling gracefully onto your ears and drawing a small smile to your lips. “He told us you had the balance of a newborn fawn, but that you were determined in your training.”

“Do you really think he’d want to train me even after seeing how utterly defenseless I was against those males?” You asked softly, the smile falling from your face.

She looked at you with a kindness you rarely saw, “I’ll say it until your ears bleed, those males are cowards, and it took three of them to face you. You weren’t defenseless and you are not hopeless, you just need training and some more confidence. Cassian would be lucky to have you as a trainee.”

You nodded, “okay then. I’d like to stay here and train.”

Suddenly, Madja entered the room, “not until you are fully healed. You will stay here and rest until I say.” She placed a tray holding bowl of soup and a glass of water on the table next to your bed. “I swear, all you Illyrians are the same, never wanting to heal, always wanting to train,” she mumbled.

Madja didn’t clear you to leave the bed for another three days. In that time, Cassian, Rhysand, and Mor all took turns keeping you company. The first time you had met the high lord, you had clumsily tried to bow from your place in the bed, which more so looked like you trying to fold yourself in half. Of course, with the aching pain in your chest and stomach, this was accompanied by a grimace, which was not the face you had wanted to greet your high lord with. He had chuckled, waving you off with a “please, you’re a guest in my home, I don’t need the theatrics.”

You had quickly developed friendship with each of them, but none as close as Cassian. Perhaps because he was the fae you were most familiar with, or you just associated him with the feeling of safety.

You had thought of asking Cassian about the shadow-made man, but something in your gut stopped you from doing so. Perhaps you had just imagined him, and they would think you were mad if you brought him up.

By the time you were finally allowed to train, almost 2 weeks after waking up, you had begun to feel at home in the House of Wind. You’d had meals with Rhys, Cassian, Mor, and Amren, a member of the household who seemed much older than a high fae should be. Mor had promised once you were at full health, she and Cassian would show you the city and take you shopping, to which Cassian huffed at.

You started to feel at peace.

That was until Cassian woke you up before dawn one day, demanding you change into training clothes that Mor had provided you and meet him in the training arena on top of the house. Though tired, you eagerly complied, excited to start back the training you had gotten so little of back at camp.

When you got to the arena, you marveled at the extensive sand pit and the weapons that hung on racks around it. Cassian laughed at your amusement, “normally Az and I spar with just our hands, but sometimes we practice with the weapons, either on our own or with each other.”

“Az?” You questioned.

Cas’s eyes went wide with realization, “that’s right, you weren’t exactly… conscious when he was here. Azriel is my brother,” he grinned, thinking of the male. “He’s also our court’s spymaster, so he comes and goes pretty frequently. He’s off on a mission to who knows where right now, but he should be back by the end of the week. He keeps to himself, so you probably won’t see much of him when he is here, but once you get to know him, he’s a good guy.”

You nod, wondering if this was the shadow man you had believed your mind made up. But Cassian seemed so bright, you doubted his brother would be covered in such darkness. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.”

Your return to training was slow, but every morning you went up to the arena, Cas pushed you a little harder. By the end of your first week of training, you felt back to the way you were before you’d been attacked at camp.

Everyone was impressed by your progress, including yourself. You had expected to be haunted by the memories of those males, but you instead let it push you to train harder, wanting to ensure you were never in that situation again.

“Would you accompany out to the city today? I have a few things I’d like to pick up and I want to show you around.” Rhys asked you while you were clearing the table from breakfast. “And, no offense, I think it’s time you pick out your own clothes instead of whatever Mor decides to gift you.”

You chuckled, looking down at the dress the female had given you that day. It was tighter than you were used to a dress being, and much more revealing than anything you’d worn in the camps. Mor had called it modest by her standards.

With a bright smile at the high fae, you said, “I would love to.”

The city of Velaris, Rhys informed you, was his closest kept secret, and you could immediately tell why. The bright colors of the Rainbow and the display of culture throughout the city instantly had your heart pounding with excitement. This was a safe haven in the night court, and you felt incredibly lucky that Rhysand had trusted you enough to bring you here.

He had stopped by a few shops, buying himself a new jacket that seemed to absorb darkness and a set of earrings that he intended to gift to Amren as a Solstice present. As you walked, he told you about the different shops in the city and stories of its inhabitants.

Your eyes went wide as he opened the door to a bakery, the smell of sugary bread filling your nostrils. Pastries you had never heard of lined the shelves of a glass case. He bought you a sweet bun filled with lemon-flavored icing, and you swore it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

“I forgot how bland the food is at the markets back in the camps. Now that you’re in Velaris, I’ll make sure you get to experience the best food we have to offer.” He spoke as you gobbled up the sugary goodness.

You swallowed before speaking, “I really don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness, Rhysand. Seriously.”

He waved you off, “keep training and gathering your strength, and I’m sure I can find you a place in my circle. But even if you never work for me, I will continue to spoil you with the goodness of this city. You deserve it.”

Happy tears filled your eyes as he spoke. You had never experienced such care before arriving to the House of Wind, and now it all felt overwhelming. “I don’t have words to explain how honored I am to be here. One day, I will find a way to repay your kindness.”

He smirked playfully, “well, until you do, I’m going to continue to spoil you. I was thinking we could visit the clothes shops in the palace of thread and jewels.”

By the time you had finished shopping, you and Rhys were surrounded by bags filled with clothes and shoes. You insisted you would pay him back, but he simply waved off the expense as a “welcome present.”

The sky was dark as you exited the last shop, and your eyes widened as you spotted the lights lining the river that ran through the city. The high lord seemed to take notice of your amazement, as if he had expected it. “It’s even better from above,” he said quietly. With a wave of his hands, the bags in your arms disappeared.

You were shocked at the easy display of magic, until you realized what he had implied. You looked at him sadly, “I can’t- my wings-“

“I’ll carry you,” he cut you off. You nodded, thankful he understood. He picked you up, strong arms beneath your back and knees, before shooting off into the sky. You wrapped your own arms tightly around his neck as you screeched, the sudden weightlessness of flying catching you off guard.

There was something about being in the air that felt so natural. You knew it was due to your heritage, as Illyrians belonged in the sky, but you had never had the opportunity to actually experience it until now.

And Rhys was right, the city was somehow more beautiful from up here. The lights reflected off the Sidra, the waves making them appear to dance. The city squares seemed alive with lights and people. It was all breathtaking.

Rhys carried you through the air, dipping low before shooting high, as if playing a game of tag with the wind. You laughed as it blew your hair in all different directions. You stayed in the air for almost an hour, though you felt as if you could’ve stayed for years, before you landed on a balcony back in the House of Wind.

“Thank you for that, truly.” You spoke to him, removing your arms from his neck as your feet touched the ground.

He smiled at you, “any time.”

As you both walked into the seating room you had landed outside of, your breath is halted in your throat at the site of a male that had haunted your dreams since you arrived at the house.

Hazel eyes studied you for a moment before moving over to the male standing next to you. “Rhys, we need to talk.”

Rhys smirked, prancing to a nearby bar cart and pouring himself a glass of fae wine, “nice to see you too, brother. Glad you’re home safe.”

The stunning male’s expression remained neutral as he stared at Rhysand, unamused at his antics. You studied the angled bones of his cheeks and jaw, the shadows that swirled around his shoulders and neck. This was the man you had thought you imagined. And now that you had seen him, you were even more interested in learning more about him.

“Rhys.” His tone was stern. His voice pulled goosebumps to your skin, the deepness fitting his dark and shadowy appearance.

The high lord gave you a pitiful smile, “your bags are in your room, y/n, if you’d like to go admire your new belongings. Azriel and I need to discuss some things.”

You nodded, understanding his words for the dismissal they were. In that moment you also realized that this was the Azriel that Cassian had spoken to you so highly about. You remembered his words, “he keeps to himself… but once you get to know him, he’s a good guy.”

You hoped you could find out for yourself.

As you made your way up the stairs, you couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful stranger’s face, the toned body underneath his Illyrian leathers, and the shadows that seemed to keep him constant company.

You would definitely try to find out for yourself.

#acotar #azriel acotar #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #azriel series #azriel angst #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #platonic! Cassian #platonic! rhysand

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lizzy06 · 7 months ago

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Jujutsu Kaisen Fanfic Recs!!(AO3) Pt.2

Main Masterlist

[For part 1 -> Pt.1]

Geto Suguru x Leiri Shoko

Stay by kiwi_on73 (assassin suguru, unplanned pregnancy, friends with benefits, angst, satoru x utahime on side ) Shoko does not knw suguru is is an assassin but get pregnant accidentally...will that make him stay?[COMPLETED] 'tis the damn season by just_trying_my_best_everyday (oneshot, Angst, Friends, Childhood sweethearts) Shoko goes back home for the summer. [COMPLETED] Itadori Yuji x Reader

Cupid by melmeal(oneshot,slice of life, fluff, college au, love confessions) you are cupid, an online love advisor and no one else knows but then something happens and ur identity is reveled to itadori. [COMPLETED]

Fushiguro Toji x Reader

Photograph by Daisynik(Angst, Hurt/comfort, Highschool)you are paired with the scary boy Toji for the group project and then u meet him years later. [COMPLETED] The Shadow by kakashi_mole (Reader is toji's wife(Megs mom )Grief/Mourning, Marriage, pregnancy) Toji returns his wife's ashes to the sea. [COMPLETED] Friday Night by baowow (Fluff, Humour)- You’re just trying to do your job until a DILF and his cute son enters your workplace fifteen minutes before close. [COMPLETED] Since way back by mmothhmann (ex's, reader has a stalker, parent-teacher, elementary school au, slight gojo x reader) You meet your ex boyfriend after 10 years in a parent teacher conference of his kid and apparently....He doesn't remember you [ONGOING] Ecstasy by bambiteareyes (unplanned pregnancy, angst, gojo x reader on side) You are pregnant with toji's first child even though you barely know each other....before that u were friend with benefit with satoru [ONGOING]

Todo Aoi x Reader

I am your biggest fan by nariveri (oneshot, Idiots in love, Rival relationship, Enemies to lovers, fluff and crack, humour) Takada-chan’s super fans go from enemies to lovers. Who could’ve seen it coming? [COMPLETED] The verdict is not subject to appeal by nezokawakun (soulmate au, comedy) Soulmate AU, where the world is black and white until you meet your soulmate. [COMPLETED] Idol fan wars by daisynik(Fake dating, enemies to lovers, fluff/ humour) You are both #1 fans of Takada-chan so when she starts giving you both special treatment cuz she think u are a couple...u continue the ruse and eventually... it turns to more than what both of u expected. [COMPLETED] Just for the Summer by GoldExperience86 (oneshot, smut, light angst)When you propose a summer fling with Todo, you entrust him not to get attached. But whose heart will be broken when the summer ends? [COMPLETED] Lucky by LazyPerfectionalist (oneshot, smut, fluff, crack)-You meet someone desperate to win a competition. [COMPLETED] Thriller Night by Vanya_Instance (oneshot, one bed trope, fluff,humour) After completing a mission away from kyoto, you and Todo look for rentals to stay the night but they only have a room left![COMPLETED] Making Me sweat by daisynik (oneshot, smut) With your new year resolution to be fit, you go to your apartments fitness center where you meet your loud mouth neighbor ...he offers you a certain kind of workout.. and after some thought u take him up for it. [COMPLETED]

Zenin Naoya x Reader

First, it hurts- by SlightlyCareless (Arranged Marriage, Angst, Fluff and angst) You were married off to Naoya...Your new purpose was clear: to serve and submit, to be seen and not heard. To forget any sense of individuality in favor of obeying your husband. Will this ever change? [ONGOING]

Choso x Reader

Thinner than blood by Eevee_300(strangers to lovers, Marriage of convenience) You, the spare of the gojo family is forced to marry anybody from the kamo clan and u pick the 'stain of the kamo clan'.[ONGOING]

Kamo Noritoshi x Mai

Pent up by VFY23 (kinda friends with benefits) Kamo is pent up, mai notices and they fuck each other. [COMPLETED]

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ghuleh-witch · 4 months ago

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Fandom: Ghost Rating: Mature Warnings: recreational drug use Relationships: Papa/Cardinal Copia x GN!Reader Additional Tags: marijuana, smoking, sloppy make-out session, no beta WordCount: 1183 Summary: You and Copia share a joint. Notes: Copia can be a cardinal or Papa in this fic Ao3 || Masterlist

“Perfect!”

You inspected the joint you just rolled, grinning in utter satisfaction. The joint was perfect and packed with your favorite strain. You cleaned off your rolling tray and put your papers and grinder away before grabbing your lighter and can of soda. You walked out to the patio that was just outside the kitchen door of the suite you shared with your partner. Turning on the newest playlist you created, you stuck the joint in your mouth and lit it.

The grassy-tasting smoke filled your mouth and lungs for a second before you exhaled it all into a puff of clouds. Watching it drift away, a cough sputtered from your lips before you took a sip of your drink. You took another drag of the joint before leaning back in the cushioned lounge chair and closing your eyes. You could hear the leaves rustling on the wind from the forest on the edge of the Ministry’s property. The sound of crickets marked the start of the night as the sun was almost gone from the horizon. Your head began to swim as your body felt pleasantly heavy. Lost in the haze, you didn’t hear the door open and the footsteps cross the concrete surface of the patio.

“I see you started without me,” came an amused voice.

You cracked one eye open to see Copia sitting down in the plastic chair next to you. His face, freshly washed, left only paint around his eyes and upper lip. He looked relaxed in a plain black t-shirt and red sweatpants. He looked at you with such love and affection that you thanked Satan for every day.

“I didn’t know how late you’d be,” you shrugged, holding out the joint to him. “You missed me roll the perfect joint.”

“You’ll just have to show me next time,” he chuckled, pinching the filtered end of the joint and taking a hit. He coughed out the smoke a second later. “What is that?”

“Funk Mountain,” you answer. “It’s a sativa.”

“These things always have the strangest names now,” Copia said, taking another hit and passing the joint back to you. He coughed a little and took a sip of the drink he brought outside with him. Probably some of the apple juice from the carton in the fridge. There were no juice boxes in stock at the store, so you had to improvise. “What happened to simple names like shunk or haze?”

“Times have changed,” you hummed, taking another drag before taping the ash into the ashtray next to you. “I’m sure Primo has those old-school strains, though.” The eldest Emeritus brother grew his own weed for medicinal use, but he’d sometimes slip you some to enjoy. Otherwise, you went to the local dispensary to get your flower, vape cartridges, or edibles.

He reached for the roll in your hand and took it. He took a few puffs and sighed. “What did you have planned for us tonight, tesoro?”

“Just a relaxing Friday night,” you said. “I already put in an order for a pizza and have some movies and snacks picked out.”

“Perfecto,” he said. “You want any more of this?”

You smoked the last bit of the joint, causing yourself to cough before tapping out the small ember in the ashtray.

“Careful,” he chided gently.

You took a long drink of your soda and leaned back in your chair. There was a comfortable silence as you looked up into the darkening sky, the first stars of the night becoming visible. “I love you,” you said, turning your head to look at him.

He looked back and smiled. “I love you too, amore,” he said. He stared at you, looking you over. His eyes took their time as they slowly roamed your body before speaking again. “Come here.” He patted his lap for you to sit.

You obeyed, pushing yourself up out of your chair and walking the two feet to his before settling into this lap, lifting your legs so they went over the armrest. The chair groaned beneath the extra weight and you frowned. “If this chair collapses, I’m not going to be happy,” you said as his arm wrapped around your waist to hold on to you and keep you from sliding off his lap.

“If I break my ass because I have a gorgeous creature in my lap, then I’ll suffer the consequences,” he laughed.

Pressing your lips to his temple, you laughed before resting your head against his. Now, you could feel the fuzzy warmth spreading through your entire body. You nuzzled your face into his soft, combed-back hair. “You feel nice.”

“You’re high,” he laughed as he turned his head just enough to make eye contact with you. “But you feel nice too.”

You hummed. “I’m high? So are you.”

“A little, but I’m not as stoned as you. My tolerance is much higher.”

“Yeah, yeah, mister. I’ve been smoking since the 70s.”

“Try the 90s. I was a kid in the 70s. I’m not that old, amore,” he chuckled.

You stuck your tongue out at him, making him laugh harder. The sound of his laughter made you feel lighter and sent pleasant tingles down your spine. You caressed his cheek, turning his head to you gently before kissing him.

He hummed in response, his grip around your waist tightening as his lips moved against yours. The chaste kiss turned more passionate as his tongue slipped between your lips. You moaned into his mouth, causing him to pull you even tighter to him. His ungloved hand slipped under your shirt, making your skin tingle in delight at his touch.

The kisses turned sloppy, each of you buzzing with a pleasant high and not a care in the world. You were aware that saliva had coated your lips and chin, and that his black paint had likely smeared all over your mouth. As his hands moved to tug off your shirt, you heard a crack. You barely had time to pull away from his lips when you both fell to the ground and were both lying on the concrete groaning.

“Fucking chair,” you grumbled as you sat up. You looked at the chair. One of the back legs had snapped, and the plastic shattered. “Are you okay, babe?”

“Si, I’m okay,” he said as he stood, rubbing his backside and wincing. He looked down at the broken chair, bits of plastic strewn across the patio. “Sister’s not going to be happy when I ask to increase our monthly expenditure to replace these chairs.” He held out a hand and helped you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said. “I’m sure we’ll both be a little sore from that in the morning.” You pause, an idea coming to mind, and then you smirk. “But I think I can help with that.” You took his hand, and before grabbing your things and leading him inside. “Maybe a nice rub down to get our evening started?”

“I like how your beautiful mind works,” Copia replied as he allowed himself to be tugged indoors.

#copia #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #ghost #the band ghost #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv x you #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x you #copia x reader #copia x you #gn reader #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #my fanfic

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taking-a-cupcake · 1 year ago

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uhmm my masterlist 😅😅😅

(contains both sfw and nsfw, nsfw will be marked)

BUNGO STRAY DOGS

nikolai x fem reader (nsfw)

submissive fyodor x gn!reader (nsfw)

chuuya x gn or fem idk (nsfw)

idk what to say for this, uhm nikolai x gn (nsfw)

sub dazai 😹😹 x gn!reader (nsfw)

foursome😅 with fyodor😅 dazai😅 and chuuya 😅 (fem reader, nsfw)

fucking in the backrooms w nikolai ^_^ (nsfw)

fucking in the backrooms w nikolai part 2 (nsfw)

ranpo x gn!reader (nsfw)

shibusawa x fem!reader (nsfw)

fem!beast dazai x fem!reader (nsfw)

fem!dazai x fem!reader x fem!fyodor (nsfw)

dazai x afab/fem!reader (nsfw, fingering)

—

OKEGOM

met x fem!reader (nsfw)

—

GENSHIN IMPACT

thigh riding with ayato (nsfw)

hate sex/unrequited lover with albedo (nsfw)

—

FATE GRAND ORDER

asclepius x fem reader (nsfw)

—

OBEY ME

lucifer x male reader (nsfw)

—

WITCHS HEART

ashe bradley x fem/gn reader (nsfw)

—

YOUR TURN TO DIE (YTTD)

midori x fem!reader (nsfw)

—

RESIDENT EVIL

leon x gn!reader

—

ALIEN STAGE

ivan x fem!reader smut

—

VARIOUS MEDIA

are you ready to become a single parent (various, nsfw, joke) (various male x gn reader)

public/semi public sex (various, nsfw) - diluc, yelan, dazai, yosano, nagito, idate

various fem/masc characters x fem/gn reader (nsfw)

—

IMAGINES/DRABBLES/idk ;-;

uhm me abt modern au scara and hate sex

scaramouche choking imagine

rich genshin characters imagine ;-;

heizou imagine (nsfw)

hunting dogs!reader, 3some w fyodor and dazai imagine

me being down bad for mushitaro

xiao… imagine….. (nsfw..)

fontaine women

cop fyodor + nikolai imagine idk

—

MY OPINIONS,,,

“KITTEN” as a fucking petname

#bsd smut #bungou stray dogs smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #bungo stray dogs smut #okegom smut #resident evil smut #witchs heart smut #fate grand order smut #obey me smut #smut #multifandom smut #various smut #danganronpa smut

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honeycollectswhump · 1 year ago

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i want to see ashtray get a pat on the head 🥰 and maybe a burn at the back of his throat. you know. for fun! - @whumpcloud

im very sorry it took me literal AGES to write this! at least you get some angst now :D

Smoke in His Lungs

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, burns (cigarette & other), dehumanisation, conditioning

Being used is his greatest wish, his only purpose, the one thing Ashtray knows without a doubt how to do. The months –months? he can’t remember anymore– of relentless training prepared him, made a truly polished Ashtray out of the senseless Shape he was before.

Now, he gets rewarded with the highest honour anyone could bestow upon him: kneeling at the feet of his first and only Mistress, the one who owns his body, mind, and soul, and Ashtray couldn’t be more grateful for it. For a short moment, he allows himself to close his eyes and let himself drift in the unintelligible drift of conversation and the comforting smell of smoke.

Not for too long though.

Ashtray blinks himself to awareness again and swallows with difficulty, the tender flesh of his throat still aching with the memory of the scorching wave. Yet he knows not to flinch. Instead, he wills himself to focus on the fresh burn on his left palm, the red, inflamed blister feeling hard against the bare skin of his thigh. It burns, of course, a rush of delight coursing through him.

Burning means he is being useful. Burning means he is a Good Ashtray and, perhaps even, a Good Boy.

There is an ugly feeling in his stomach though, sticking to him and turning the wafting voice of his Mistress into a minefield he has no choice but to cross. Ashtray knows he is dumb, his only purpose is to serve, to obey, he doesn’t need to think. But unlike his blunt Handlers during training, his Mistress’ silky voice remains incomprehensible to him.

It should be a fatal flaw, and maybe it eventually will be, but right now his Mistress shows endless compassion, graceful mercy, seemingly knowing her Ashtray’s limited capabilities, despite his price point. She speaks slowly, gesturing kindly to whatever area she demands of her Ashtray. And he complies –of course–, always eager to serve, and hopes that maybe one day he will memorise the meaning of her words.

This time, his Mistress elegantly points to her mouth with one slender finger, perfectly manicured, her nails sharp and red like wine. Ashtray straightens up towards her, opening his mouth, eyes closed, waiting for how he will be used this time.

Suddenly, his Mistress’ hand is in his mouth, violating, and it takes all of his training not to gag then and there, as he inhales fumes and soot. Burning engulfs his throat like a forest fire, sizzling in a place not made for it.

Calming breaths do nothing against the threat of smoke filling his lungs. Ashtray freezes, his nails digging into his thighs like claws, tries to stop moving, stop thinking, stop breathing, until the colourful spots in his vision make room for a flurrying blur of white static.

Then, almost as abruptly, his Mistress removes the cigarette again, leaving him only with the overwhelming taste of ash seeping into his blood and soul.

He wants to gag. Heave. Retch.

Ashtray waits a moment, then two, until he allows himself calm yet stuttering breaths against the fumes. In his early training that alone seemed like an impossible task, going against instincts he couldn’t explain to himself. It feels good to have his training reinforced, to show –even if only to himself– that it was worth it, that he worked hard to become the perfect luxury product for his beloved Mistress.

Staring back down on his hands, a barely touched canvas for her markings, Ashtray can only breathe. The blister on his palm seems to have broken when he clenched his fist against his reflexes, but he barely feels the additional hurt over the charring pain all over his body, concentrated, irreparably, in his throat. But it's okay. It’s okay. It must be Okay.

It is nothing but pure mercy, when his Mistress lays her hand on top of his head, almost absentmindedly, and starts petting him in slow, gentle motions, making sure not to ruffle his prettied hair. Ashtray tries not to press into her touch, chasing a sensation he knows will be rare. It floods his body like a cooling wave and a fever high at the same time.

Only Good Boys get pet; a blissful knowledge deeply ingrained into him.

Good Boys take the pain they were trained for and Good Boys look graceful while doing so.

And then, maybe, Good Boys will be rewarded with a touch so rare they can barely remember the last time they felt it.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @whumpshaped, @clickerflight let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

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Tolerance | RAPHAEL x gn!Reader 1.4k Words | NSFW | Hurt/Comfort | Fluff Content Warnings: Brief mentions of arguing, descriptions of weapon/magic training, kissing, suggestive thoughts (nothing too explicit but marked NSFW just in case). [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

The defunct armory near the Demon Lord’s castle is a relic of bloody, war torn days from a version of the Devildom that no longer exists. The cold stone walls and dusty floors are neglected from years of disuse, and it’s only your growing familiarity with the building that guides your steps through the dimly lit halls. There are sconces on the walls, but most of them aren’t lit. The ones that light your path glow with a flame no demon or human could conjure.

You asked Barbatos once why Diavolo didn’t have the armory torn down or repurposed. He smiled and gave you a vague answer about the young prince’s sentimental feelings about history, but you know that’s not the full truth. The building feels less like a memorial and more like a reminder - or a warning - of what’s to come should Diavolo’s vision of peace between the realms fail. There are many rooms and narrow hallways in the armory you haven’t had the courage to explore. Some of them still smell faintly of ash and blood as you rush past them.

Your destination is the large training area near the building’s center. There are rows of different weapons hung on the walls, but none of them have been used in centuries. They’re caked with grime and dirt and you doubt you could pull one down if you tried. The entrance to this section of the building doesn’t have any windows, but you can see light flickering underneath the door. The threatening sounds of metal slicing through the air and cracking wood grows louder as you approach, but you’re not afraid. You push the door open and slip inside, and you smile when you see who you came to find.

Raphael doesn’t hear your arrival over the sounds of his weapon striking the wooden training dummy over and over again in quick succession. You can barely track the movements of the spear as he lunges and slices with deadly accuracy. He jabs his spear forward into the target of his frustrations and twists his body at the waist. The wood seems to burst from within and it disintegrates onto the floor in a pile of splinters.

He looks down the row of dummies still standing, all of them completely intact having escaped his wrath until now. He holds his arm out and his fingertips glow with the power of his Grace. His magic summons a large number of spears that hover in suspension near the ceiling. He makes a downward slicing motion with his hand, and the spears whistle as they hurl towards the targets below. The volley of spears decimates everything in its path, and he disappears from view in a thick cloud of debris and sawdust.

When the dust settles, the room is silent except for his panting breaths. He realizes he’s not alone and finally turns to you when your muffled footsteps alert him to your presence. If you didn’t know him better, you might think he was annoyed by your interruption; the warmth that leaks into his gaze tells you otherwise.

He makes a subtle gesture with his hand and with a wordless bit of magic, the remaining spear in his hand vanishes. His magic and physical strength are amazing to witness and you're captivated by him.

“You must be exhausted if you’ve been doing this since classes ended.” When he comes here, there's an endless supply of targets for him to practice his skills on. The training dummies in the building are under a type of enchantment that rebuilds them so they can be used repeatedly no matter how they're battered or worn. The ones he destroyed moments ago are already starting to reform behind him.

His coat hangs from a hook on the wall nearby. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his D.D.D.; he looks surprised when he realizes the time. “I didn’t notice how late it had gotten,” he muses with a bashful tilt to his lips. When you’re this close to him, you can see the sheen of sweat on his skin and the dirt and bits of wood that stick to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You know why he comes here: a physical and spiritual release of pent up frustration. He told you that he has difficulty navigating Devildom life sometimes, and he struggles with the urge to deliver retribution when he feels a great offense has been made.

You don’t have all the details, but you know Mammon said something earlier that infuriated him so much that they nearly came to blows after class. When Satan and Beel pulled them apart, Mammon muttered reluctant, half-hearted apologies and went home. Raphael came here to unleash his frustrations instead, so he wouldn’t be tempted to take out his anger on someone else (especially you).

“The more I think about it, the more foolish it seems,” he admits quietly, busying himself with his coat, draping it over his shoulders and fiddling with his arm cuffs.

You place your hand on his so that he’ll look at you properly. “Your feelings are your own truth, and you’re entitled to them the same as anyone else.” You shrug. “Mammon can take his teasing a little too far sometimes. Is that what happened earlier?”

His hand hovers over your cheek. His fingertips are calloused from years of training with his weaponry, and they’re speckled with dirt now too. The desire to touch you always lingers within him, and he worries that the dirt and blood on his hands might stain you.

He breathes a gentle sigh when you bridge the gap for him and rub your cheek against his palm. “He likes to boast that he's your first, and no matter what sense he means, it irritates me. Sometimes I forget that it holds little relevance when it comes to my feelings for you.” His thumb sweeps across your cheek gently. “I should know better than to let him get the best of me.”

You didn’t expect such an honest answer, and his sincerity makes your cheeks grow warm beneath his hand. You lean forward and brush your lips against his. They’re dry and slightly chapped, but you can’t resist him anymore than he can resist you.

He slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in for another kiss. His other hand settles on your waist and he pushes against the small of your back so your hips are flush against his. His lips glide over yours lazily, and he tilts his head and slots your mouths together to deepen the kiss like he’s starved for you. He grows hard against your hip, and you moan quietly when his tongue licks into your mouth and teases yours. You clench your hands in his coat and only pull back when his kiss leaves you breathless.

He leans his forehead against yours and hums while you pant lightly. His eyes flicker between your lips and further down your bodies where he’s holding you tight against him. Part of him wants to push you against the wall and take you, and he fights the temptation to rut against you like a beast. He swallows thickly around the lump in his throat and stamps down the desire building within him like an inferno; you deserve so much better than that.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs as he touches his nose to yours. “I won’t rush my affections for you in this filthy place.”

You chuckle and kiss his cheek. “I can help you make dinner after you wash up,” you offer, and you flash him a bright smile when he nods.

He steps back from you and laces your fingers together so he can lead you back to the exit, and you walk in comfortable silence together. He leads you through the corridors that lead out of the armory, extinguishing the flames he conjured along the way.

During the walk back to Purgatory Hall, he glances at you from the corner of his eye. Despite the evening darkness, the Devildom streets are better lit than the armory was. He examines your face and sees the smears of dirt and sweat his fingers left on your skin. You don’t seem to mind in the slightest; you always seem so happy just being in his company.

He’s distracted by the warmth of your body so close to his while he escorts you back to his dorm. His lips are slick now from your heated kiss, and his eyes darken when his gaze lingers on your lips. He wants so badly to kiss you again, but he reminds himself that his patience will be rewarded soon enough. Both of you could use a shower, and arousal churns in his belly when he wonders how he can persuade you to join him.

#obey me raphael #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me raphael x reader #raphael x reader #obey me smut #omswd smut #raphael smut #obey me raphael x mc #raphael x mc #obey me raphael x you #raphael x you #obey me fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

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mistyresolve · 2 years ago

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| One Thing You Love - Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count - 1.1k

Summary - Simon is no stranger to nightmares and the fear and panic that follows. He has a routine and has developed tricks to aid them. Especially when they plague you at night.

Tags/Warnings - Fluff, Explicit Language, Depictions of Panic Attacks and Night Terrors, Mentions of Childhood Trauma,

A/N - Imagine being loved by someone like him!!!

Masterlist ❤︎ Tag List Form

An invisible hand reached into his sleep and pulled him from sleep just in time to see you bolt up from the sheets, clawing at the air. Hair sticking to your forehead and tears staining your face. You gasped out unintelligible words, reaching for someone, anyone to help you. Simon was already moving and was kneeling beside you immediately.

The first time you had had an episode it was absolutely terrifying for him. He had been jolted awake from you thrashing against his arm, blubbering incoherently. At first, he thought he had accidentally done something to hurt you. Until you called out for your mom, begged her to “make it stop”. He felt completely useless, he didn't know what to do. Flicking on the lamp he had tried shaking you awake and calling out your name.

When you finally woke up you were inconsolable. He stayed up till dawn with you as you cried.

This time he knew what he had to do, he had done it so many times that he moved almost mindlessly. Cautiously, he moved to sit behind you, legs on either side of you and arms wrapping around you. He grasped your wrists gently and crossed them over your chest, applying just enough pressure to the embrace. He leaned back against the headboard slowly, pulling you back with him.

You struggled against him, breaths coming in short uncontrollable bursts, "Wait. No. I'm - I'm sorry," You sputtered.

Simon felt his shatter at the words. You've never and refused to tell him what your dreams were about but he had his theories. He would never asks you, he was waiting for you to tell him. He knew about what had happened in your childhood home. What would be said there, to you, done to you. What they would do to you when they caught you using you “out of line”. You'd told him about it, once. And only once did you speak freely about it. He’d felt sick to his stomach.

"Shhh, it's only me. I'm here." He whispered into your ear as softly and calmly as he could.

"Simon," he loosed a breath at the sound of your broken voice, you were awake. You stopped your struggling but you were still in panic in his arms. Eyes wild and unseeing.

"Name five colours." His own voice quivered with anger. He had sworn to himself that if he ever saw your parents. He wouldn't hold back. He'd fucking kill them. He would burn them to ashes. He would pack the years of torture and pain you endured into one night. He’d become a nightmare for you.

When you didn't say anything he pulled you even closer, "Think of the rainbow, Darlin"

"Green."

"Good. Four more,"

"Orange. Red." Each word was a struggle between your gasps for breath.

"Green."

"You already said that one. Two more."

"Yellow, and blue."

"Now, tell me four weekdays." Simon stares off at the door to the hallway. He was ready to protect you against the world.

"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday." You said in one breath.

"Slower." He lowered his voice and you had to strain to hear him. You obeyed, slowly repeating the weekdays to him.

"Three foods." He leaned his head down on your shoulder, the smell of his shampoo invading your senses. Breath by breath you returned to your body, to the hollowness in your chest, to the throbbing headache. Your fingers ached too, and when you look at them you realize your bone-crushing grip on his arms. Immediately you let go, leaving behind little angry red fingerprints. Your finger nimbly danced along the markings. He pressed a small kiss to your jaw as if to tell you "It's okay".

"Grapes. Chicken. And..." You paused for a second, thinking. "Does chocolate count?"

He rubbed wide, slow circles into your shoulder, "Oh, of course. Two things you hate," His questions need increasingly more thought, effectivly distracting you. He had looked at how to deal with panic attacks and nightmares and how to help someone come down from one, and he was pulled every trick he knew for these moments. Took notes on his own nightmares and demons. On what helped soothe his panicked heart.

"Mushrooms," you scrunch your nose. He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest and against your back. He loved them.

"And being damp, not wet but not completely dry either,” you considered for a second, “Like when you get caught in the rain."

He hummed in agreement, "And one thing you love."

Your eyes dropped to the arms wrapped around you, the fingers rubbing slow circle on your skin. Warmth rolled from the man behind you and into your chilled lungs. His smokey bourbon scent. You thought of the shared whispers at nights before falling asleep, the early mornings and their lazy kisses. The chilly walks to the park, and the laughter.

You pulled your arms free of his, "You," You leaned your head back on his shoulder, then half turned to face him, catching his face in your hands. He leaned into your touch, eyes falling shut. "I love you, Simon Riley."

A rare boyish smile graced his lips and then those incredible dark eyes found yours. "I love you too," then he moved you so you'd be facing him entirely. “Do you wanna talk about it?" He offered his full attention. You shake your head, you never said yes. He always asked though.

Leaning your head on his shoulder you savoured the silence for a minute, just feeling each other's presence. He ran his hand up and down your back.

"I'm sorry I keep doing this to you," You admit sheepishly. A fat warm tear slipped down your cheek. He pulled away from you.

"I am yours, and my purpose is to protect you. I would be fucking useless if I wasn't there for you. Don't ever be sorry. We all get nightmares." He tilted his head to the side as he wiped the tears from existence, then placed a warm kiss where it once was. Then another kiss for your nose, your cheek. He hovered over your lips. "I will always be here for you." He closed the distance. The kiss was sweet and tender, and your chest squeezed at your bleeding heart. His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. The remaining fear from my nightmare was pushed to the back of my mind.

He pulled away, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip. He settled you back into the bed, you cuddled into his chest and him caging you in. He placed one final kiss to your temple. "Get some sleep, okay."

You nodded your eyes already drifting shut, his warmth and steady breath lulling you back to sleep. Your last thoughts before falling way to sleep were of him. Of how you'd had gotten so lucky as to steal him for yourself.

Masterlist ❤︎ Tag List Form

A/N - for the fellow ghosties who get nightmares 🤍

Tag List - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎ @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @dog55teeth ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @meaganjean ❤︎ @purplefishingline ❤︎ @ddioriez

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #cod #cod ghost #cod fanfic #MW2 #mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #MistyGhosties

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justcallmefox89 · 8 months ago

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Submission: Chapter Five - Deference

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

Drakul encounters Minthara.

“A True Soul? Do not think this means we are equals, jaluk. Are you here to join my hunt?”

I blink, genuinely startled to find another drow here amongst the goblins. The absentee matron of House Baenre no less.

How did she get here? Why is she here? Has she abandoned Lolth?

Her thoughts collide with mine, cold fingers sifting through my thoughts and sending a drop of sweat slithering down my spine. Everything else melts away until all that is left is a dark, endless void – and in it I see my fellow drow in conversation with a pale young woman. The same woman in the vision we received before the inhabitant of the artifact shielded us. One of the Chosen of the Absolute. The vision fades away, leaving Minthara staring at me impatiently.

Centuries of training take over and I dip into a low bow, averting my eyes in a show of deference. “I am yours to command, Ilharess Minthara.”

Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion shift uncomfortably behind me while Minthara lets out a pleased hum.

“Then hunt with me. In Her name,” she commands.

“Your will is my own,” I murmur. “Who is our prey, Ilharess?”

“Drakul,” Gale hisses in a desperate attempt to get my attention.

A dull thud and a muffled ouch lets me know that one of our other companions has discretely kicked the wizard in an effort to shut him up.

“Worshippers of a false god,” Minthara sneers. "Their existence is an insult to the Absolute’s claim on this region. There is a weapon the Absolute seeks. I’m sure those wretches have it hidden away there. We will find it amongst the dead and the ashes.”

A faint tingle in the back of my skull makes me shudder… surely the prism isn’t the weapon the matron is seeking? To be safe I decide to hold my tongue and keep the artefact’s existence to myself. For now.

The worshippers she speaks of are surely the druids of Emerald Grove. Her excitement is tangible, and her thoughts of victory, of unbelievers’ blood spilled, ignites my own bloodlust. The anticipation of the hunt thrums through me, the chance to please the Matron of House Baenre… to prove my worth as a male to one of my betters sends a thrill of delight through me. What are the lives of a handful of druids in the face of the pleasure of an Ilharess?

Nothing. I am the will and the sword of those Lolth has deemed superior. When they command, I shall obey.

A brief chill settles over my body, soothing the numerous aches and pains I’d accumulated on my journey thus far, and infusing my limbs with renewed strength. It is a comfort to know that Lolth’s blessings can still reach me even in this accursed surface world.

“The thief whimpering in our dungeon tried to flee to their sanctuary,” Minthara continues. “We will continue to remove parts of him until he tells us exactly where it is. He’s been resilient, but he will talk.”

“The prisoner is of no consequence,” I inform her. “I know the location that you seek. They have welcomed me as a ally.”

“Drakul,” Shadowheart whispers hesitantly.

Minthara’s eyes light up. “Perfect,” she purrs. “If the inhabitants do not realize you are the knife at their throats, we can use that against them. Return to their refuge and make your way inside. As a friend.”

I nod once in understanding.

“I will gather a raiding party and move into position. You will open the gates from the inside when the time is right to strike. We will cleanse the place of infidels and burn it to the ground in the Absolute’s name. And then we shall be the first among her favorites.”

I shall always remain loyal to you, my Spider Queen. I will not be led astray; I will endeavor to bring this lost child back into your arms.

Another soothing wash of comfort flows over me, and I know Lolth has heard my silent prayer.

“I shall be your right hand and your blade,” I respond, bowing low.

“Good. Marshalling the goblins is no simple matter, but my warband will be ready to attack by next light. Make your way inside. Once I am in position, on your signal, we break them. And when they are dead, the Absolute will reward your faith. As will I. Now go.” Minthara waves her hand in dismissal.

“As you command.” I bow one last time before turning and leading my companions away.

Our group remains silent until we have exited Selune’s temple and are a considerable distance from the goblin camp. Gale breaks the silence first.

“What have you done?” he demands, scowling up at me.

I blink at him, confused.

Realizing I have no idea what he’s referring to Gale groans and scrubs his hands over his face. “Oh gods…”

Astarion looks up from examining his nails. “I think the wizard is upset that you’ve agreed to exterminate the Emerald Grove, darling.”

“Oh.” I squint at Gale. “And we care if they die…?”

“Well…” Shadowheart waves her hands side to side.

Gale glares at her from the corner of his eye. “Yes. Yes, we do,” he says firmly.

“The druids are a bunch of arseholes though,” I pout. “Are you sure we can’t kill them?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

I shrug. I’ve already sworn my oath to a matron; I will carry out her will no matter the wizard’s objections. And if he stands in my way I will eliminate him too.

“Did you forget the tieflings are there as well?” Gale presses on.

I shrug again. “I don’t care for them either so….”

“Rolan is there.”

“Oh.” I blink as that particular realization settles over me.

Yes, it would ruin several of my plans if that saucy little tiefling were to die before I’ve tasted him again. Thoroughly. Many, many more times.

“Godsdamn it!” I break into a sprint, leaving my companions far behind. Their shouts reach my ears, but I ignore them, intent on reaching the Emerald Grove as quickly as I can. The only thing that matters now is ensuring Rolan’s safety.

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tired-truffle · 23 days ago

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Something’s Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 6.4k

Part 12 - Two Steps Forward

"I don't know what's going to come out of me," I told her. "It has to be perfect. It has to be irreproachable in every way." "Why?" she said. "To make up for it," I said. "To make up for the fact that it's me." - Suzanne Riveka

Masterlist

Flames licked hungrily at Ash, their fiery tongues lapping along her skin. A primal scream fought to flee from her lips, but she could only choke on the thick smoke that filled her lungs. The acrid stench of burning flesh assaulted her senses, making her gag.

Through the suffocating haze of agony and terror, Ash strained to make out the looming shape of the Archdemon. Its massive form towered over her, its obsidian scales reflecting the hellish light of the inferno it had unleashed. As she lay paralyzed with fear, she could feel the intense heat emanating from its body, searing her flesh and scorching her lungs with each breath. The beast's demonic eyes glowed with pure malice, savouring her suffering as it held her in its grasp.

Ash's mind reeled, thoughts scattering like ashes on the wind. She had to get away, had to run from this nightmare, but her body wouldn't obey. Her legs were the roots of an old, gnarled tree, rooted in place even as the conflagration roared around her. Blistering, bubbling, blackening skin sloughed away to expose raw red muscle. She was melting, dissolving, disintegrating to nothing under the Archdemon's attack.

It couldn't end like this. Rae, she had to protect Rae. Ash willed her arm to move, to summon ice or water to douse the blaze. But her magic flickered feebly and sputtered out, powerless against the flames. Helpless as a child.

The Archdemon's maw split into a hideous facsimile of a grin, baring dagger-like fangs. With a bellow that shook Ash to her core, it lunged, Voidfire spewing from its gaping jaws.

White-hot, blinding, blazing agony. Too much. Ash threw her head back and howled, an animalistic shriek torn from the depths of her being. The world shattered around her, falling away in a torrent of embers and shards.

But the scene shifted, melted, reformed itself into a different horror. Gone were the flames and the Archdemon's bulk. Now there was only a yawning chasm of darkness, an abyss that left her disoriented, unable to tell which way was up or down. Spectral forms emerged from the shadows - twisted, emaciated things with hollow eyes and gaping mouths. They circled her, clawed hands reaching, grasping.

Whispers filled the air, the words strange and distorted. Ash strained to make out their meaning but it remained just beyond her reach, the voices overlapping, entirely gibberish. Louder and louder they chanted, battering at her mind. She clapped her hands over her ears but it did nothing to block the maddening susurrus.

It built to a fever pitch, hundreds of ghostly throats wailing, the force of it driving Ash to her knees. Something inside her snapped, a thread of control fraying apart. All at once, wild magic burst from her in a concussive wave. A soundless roar filled her head as the surge of power rushed outwards, slamming into the spectres and hurling them back into the void.

Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, the energy abruptly deserted her and she crumpled. The ground seemed to turn to quicksand beneath her, dragging her down into its depths. Deeper and deeper she sank as her vision narrowed to a pinpoint of light, then winked out entirely. The last feeling was the cold press of oblivion folding itself around her, and then…nothing - only the fathomless dark and sweet silence.

“He passed beneath the stone gaze of the cormorant statues flanking the gates and nodded to the guards on his way to the barracks. No one noticed his ragged, bloody clothing, which disappointed him as much as he benefited from it. Recruits these days. Always slacking off.”

Grey stone walls greeted her, a pale light shining through the thick glass window. Her body itched and ached as it had for…days? Weeks? She had little concept of time anymore, though it was clear that she was no longer in her tent. Had they made it to Skyhold?

Varric’s raspy baritone voice was easy enough to recognize, even in her groggy state. He continued reading, quiet and slow like a soothing bedtime story - but with a little too much violence to tell to children.

“Donnen bypassed the Captain's office and went looking for Jevlan. By now the kid ought to be rested up, and Donnen suspected he would need backup if his large, suspicious shadows decided to pick a fight. But Jevlan's bunk was empty.”

“Is he dead?” Ash turned her head towards Varric, his feet propped up on the side of her bed - a real bed and not a cot, its mattress lumpy but still cozy - as he leaned back in a rickety-looking wooden chair. At her side, Sweetpea lay curled up, purring and kneading her thigh.

His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “No need to be hasty, you’ll find out in good time.”

Ash huffed, a childish impatience clattering through her that came from, well, however long she’d been stuck in bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, eyeing her with a strange amount of scrutiny. Though he tried to appear relaxed, Ash caught a glimpse of the tightness of his shoulders, and how Bianca sat propped against his chair, ready for use.

“Like I got half my skin burnt off by an Archdemon.”

Varric chuckled, his finger drumming absent-mindedly against the book. “Yeah, I figured as much. But I meant more up here.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger. “No sudden urges to throw me against a wall?”

She furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side, her lips pursing in confusion. He raised his hands in a gesture of nonchalance.

“I had to ask. The last time you woke up you threw the healer across the room while screaming bloody murder.”

Oh. Her heart sunk into her stomach. Fuck. Had that been the whispers in her dream? Simply the healer trying to do her job?

“Hey, no need to look like you strangled the life out of a kitten with your bare hands.” Varric removed his feet from her bed, placing his elbows on his bent knees and leaning forward. “Other than a few minor bruises and a touch of shock, she wasn’t seriously harmed.”

Ash gritted her teeth. “I still hurt her.”

Varric was silent as he studied her. “Was it you or…?”

Her heart continued to sink lower. “It was just me,” she confirmed, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “They sent you here to babysit me?”

“I volunteered.” An affectionate light lit up his eyes, and despite her desire to berate herself until she was blue in the face, she felt herself relaxing.

But it didn’t last long.

“I need to apologize.” Ash attempted to push herself off the bed, but she made it no farther than an inch before she collapsed onto the mattress, a guttural groan pulled from deep within her throat.

“I wouldn’t suggest that,” Varric said a beat too late. “At least not without help.” He leaned back, opening his book once more. “And I’m afraid I don’t have the height to assist you, Frosty.”

Varric's voice washed over Ash as he resumed the tale, the cadence of his words lulling her into a sort of trance and cutting off any further protests. She let her eyes drift closed, the image of the stone walls around her fading away as her mind conjured the scenes he described. But try as she might to focus on the tale he wove, her mind kept wandering, thoughts skittering away like insects beneath a rock lifted by a curious child.

She stared up at the wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling, tracing the swirling patterns in the knotted grain with her eyes. Dust motes danced in the pale sunlight slanting through the window, glittering like tiny diamonds. She would spend much too long in the coming days staring at that ceiling, until finally - Creators, finally - the healers began to help her up. Sitting came first, and with it came new aches and pains, but Ash was determined to grit her teeth and force her way through it. And that was exactly what she did, much to Rae’s chagrin when she was sparred a moment to check on her sister. It irritated her to the point that she’d assigned Solas to be in charge of Ash’s movement. Ash had almost exploded in a ball of fury when she’d heard this. She didn’t need to be coddled by her sister’s object of affection.

But she should have known better than to expect Solas to coddle her. If Ash was determined to walk through the pain, Solas was perfectly content with this, as long as it didn’t undo all the hard work he’d put into keeping her alive. To her surprise, he offered gentle but firm encouragements, and soon, she’d made it to the window and back while leaning heavily on the elvhen apostate. She wondered briefly if she could put enough weight on him to topple him over, suppressing a giggle at the image of a flattened Solas beneath her plump form.

Rae had other plans for Ash than just sicking Solas on her; she would provide a much-needed haircut. Rae's nimble fingers worked through what remained of her once-luscious locks, trimming away the singed and frayed ends. Ash fought to keep her eyes from straying to the pile of golden strands accumulating on the floor, each discarded piece a painful reminder of what she'd lost.

"You know," Rae mused, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated, "I always wondered what you'd look like with short hair. Guess the Archdemon did us both a favour."

"Yes, because that's exactly what I needed. A makeover from the Void."

Rae chuckled, moving to stand in front of Ash and eyeing her handiwork critically. "Don't be such a grump. It's not like you were using all that hair for anything useful."

“A rude assumption.”

Rae ignored her, making a few final snips. "There. All done. Want to see?"

Ash hesitated, her heart thumping nervously in her chest. Did she want to see? To confront how much had changed? Steeling herself, she nodded.

Rae produced a small hand mirror from seemingly nowhere - a trick Ash had long since given up trying to figure out - and held it up.

The face staring back at her was both familiar and foreign. Her hair, once flowing past her waist in golden waves, now barely brushed her shoulders. The left side was noticeably shorter, the burns having claimed more there. But Rae had done an admirable job evening it out, giving it a tousled, almost stylish look.

Purposefully, Ash did not let her gaze wander to the bandages covering her burns.

"See? Not so bad, right?" Rae's voice was gentler now, a hint of concern creeping in. "It'll grow back, you know. And in the meantime, think of how much easier it'll be to wash."

Ash reached up, running her fingers through the shortened strands. It felt strange, lighter. Like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders - both literally and figuratively. "I suppose it's not terrible," she admitted grudgingly. "Though I'll miss being able to braid it."

Rae's face lit up. "We can do little braids along the side, or maybe some fancy pins. Ooh, or we could shave one side completely and-"

"Don't push your luck," Ash warned. And though Ash was sure Rae was tempted, she backed off. For now.

Ash had a few visitors over the days of her recovery, most wishing her well briefly before disappearing, their duties calling them away - Bull had been almost too big to fit through her doorway, and she’d laughed harder than she had in much too long as she watched him struggle to fit his horns into the room. Dorian, however, had taken it upon himself to have tea with her every morning without fail. He would sweep into the room with a flourish, a silver tray laden with a steaming pot of fragrant tea and an assortment of delicate pastries balanced expertly in his hands. His presence was a welcome respite from the monotony of her convalescence, his witty banter and tales of his exploits in the library soothing her restless mind.

Ash was surprised, then, when both Leliana and Josephine separately stopped by her chamber. Leliana arrived first, silent as a shadow, her hood pulled low over her face. She stood at the foot of Ash's bed, her piercing blue eyes seeming to see straight through to Ash's soul.

"I am glad to see you are recovering well," Leliana said, her lilting Orlesian accent softening her words. "We were all quite worried."

Ash shifted uncomfortably under the spymaster's intense gaze. "Thank you.”

Leliana's lips quirked into a small, enigmatic smile. "I have heard reports of your incident with the healer." Shame flooded through her. But Leliana continued, "It is understandable, given what you have been through. Do not let it trouble you."

Ash blinked, taken aback by the unexpected absolution. Before she could formulate a response, Leliana leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I would, however, suggest speaking with Commander Cullen. He has been rather concerned as of late." With that cryptic statement, Leliana straightened, inclined her head in a brief nod, and glided out of the room as silently as she had entered.

Ash stared after her, mind whirling. Cullen was concerned? About her? The thought sent a strange flutter through her chest. But if he truly was concerned, why had he not stopped by? It wasn’t like she could go to him. He was busy, she was sure, but if what Leliana said was true, surely he would have sparred a minute of his time.

She was still pondering this when Josephine arrived, a vision of gold and blue silk, her clipboard clutched to her chest. The ambassador's warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled down at Ash.

"It is wonderful to see you awake," Josephine said, her voice as smooth and sweet as honey. "I have brought you some lemon cakes, would you care to share them?”

Ash found herself smiling in spite of her melancholy thoughts. "I would love to. Please, join me." She gestured to the chair beside her bed.

Josephine settled herself gracefully, arranging her skirts and setting the silver tray on the bedside table. The scent of the cakes wafted over to Ash, buttery and sweet with a hint of lemon. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively.

As Josephine portioned out the cake, Ash studied the other woman. She had seen the Ambassador around Haven and, of course, had exchanged polite greetings in passing. But they had never really spoken at length. Josephine always seemed to be in motion, flitting from one task to the next with an air of harried purpose. Yet here she was, taking time out of what was undoubtedly a packed schedule to check on Ash's wellbeing. It was touching, and Ash found herself warming to the other woman.

"I must admit, I'm surprised to see you here, Ambassador," Ash said as she accepted a slice of cake. "Pleasantly so, of course. But I would have thought you far too occupied with important matters to waste time on me."

Josephine tutted, shaking her head. "Nonsense. Checking on the health and comfort of the Inquisition's members is never a waste of time." She selected a piece of cake and placed it on a napkin, eyeing it with a poorly concealed eagerness. "And please, call me Josie. I think we can dispense with formalities, don't you?"

Ash took a bite of the cake, the rich buttery flavour melting on her tongue. She closed her eyes briefly in bliss. Josephine certainly knew how to choose her pastries. Swallowing, she replied, "I would like that."

The two women settled into a comfortable rapport, chatting amiably as they savoured the delicate lemon cakes. Josephine regaled Ash with tales of her diplomatic exploits, painting vivid pictures of grand balls and tense negotiations with recalcitrant nobles.

In turn, Ash shared stories of her own upbringing amongst the Dalish, describing the lush forests, ancient ruins that had been her playground, and the more popular Dalish dishes. Josephine listened with rapt attention, keen to glimpse into a culture different from her own.

As the last crumbs of cake were brushed away, Josephine glanced out the window, noting the sun's position with a small frown. She sighed, setting her napkin aside.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave," she said, genuine regret colouring her words. "There are a dozen letters that require my attention before the day's end." She stood, smoothing her skirts.

Ash felt a pang of disappointment, having enjoyed the ambassador's company more than she had anticipated. But she understood the demands of duty all too well. "Of course.” Ash offered a small smile. "Thank you for taking the time to visit. It was nice to have a friendly face to talk to. Well, a woman, that is. Dorian would be beside himself if he thought I’d described him as unfriendly.”

Josephine's smile softened, warmth suffusing her features. "It was my pleasure, Ash. Truly." She reached out, giving Ash's hand a gentle squeeze. "I will try to visit again soon. In the meantime, do not hesitate to send word if you need anything at all."

With a final smile and a swish of silk, Josephine left Ash to her solitude.

That was, until one Altus mage barged into her room the next morning with little care for her privacy and suspiciously lacking the tray of tea he’d taken to bringing as of late.

“A little birdie told me you were in need of a human crutch,” Dorian announced, a teasing grin tilting his perfectly groomed moustache. How would Solas feel about being called a little birdie, she wondered.

Ash was seated in a chair at her bedside, a plush but lopsided cushion placed beneath her to keep the weight off the burns on her rear end. Carelessly, she flung the book she’d been blankly staring at for hours onto the bed.

“And you’ve come to offer your services?”

Giving an overdramatic, flourishing bow, Dorian held out his hand. “I have and you may thank me later. Shall we?”

When she’d been walked by Solas, his quiet observation had left her with nothing to focus on but her stiff, achy limbs and the tight pull of her burnt skin, pain racing all over her body as it struggled to process the input from her fried nerves. But with Dorian, Ash did not have to worry about silence.

Dorian looped his arm through Ash's, supporting her weight as they slowly made their way out of the room and down toward the gardens.

"It’s about time you saw it - Skyhold is positively bustling! We've got pilgrims and recruits pouring in from every corner of Thedas. The courtyard is packed with tents and training dummies. I've never seen Cullen so harried, the poor man is run ragged trying to whip them all into shape."

Ash huffed a laugh, picturing the Commander's exasperated grimace as he barked orders at a gaggle of green recruits. She felt a twinge in her chest at the thought of him, remembering Leliana's cryptic comment. Shaking it off, she focused on Dorian's animated chatter.

"Bull and his Chargers have set up shop in the tavern, of course. I swear, that Qunari can sniff out a cask of ale from a league away. He's become quite the local celebrity - the barmaids are all aflutter over his rippling muscles and 'rugged charm.'" Dorian sniffed disdainfully, but Ash caught a sprinkling of fondness beneath the snark.

They sat down on a bench and Ash pushed down the frustration that arose that she had only been able to make it a few steps into the garden. It was more than she’d managed yet, she should be proud of her progress, and she would have been for anyone else. But for some reason, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she should be meeting an impossible standard of recovery. It gnawed at her like a persistent itch, unrelenting and frustrating - or perhaps that was the twisting scars off her burns.

"Sera has claimed a tavern room for herself - apparently she's been pranking the guests by loosening the floorboards. Poor Josephine is at her wit's end trying to placate the victims."

"Sera's incorrigible. I'm surprised Josephine hasn't strangled her with one of her many sashes."

"Oh, I'm sure our dear Ambassador is sorely tempted," Dorian chuckled. "But she's far too diplomatic for such a scandalous display. Unlike a certain elven mage, I could name." He shot Ash a pointed look.

She swatted at him playfully. "Watch it, Tevinte."

"Speaking of scandals,” Dorian spoke out of the side of his mouth in an exaggerated aside. “You'll never guess who our dear Varric has been hiding from us."

Ash's eyebrows shot up, curiosity piqued. "Do tell."

"None other than the Champion of Kirkwall herself - Marian Hawke!" Dorian announced with a flourish, looking entirely too pleased with himself for delivering this bombshell.

Ash's jaw dropped. "Hawke? Here? But I heard that Varric swore up and down he had no idea where she was."

"He was lying through his teeth, the sneaky dwarf. He's been in contact with her all along, and now she's on her way to Skyhold to lend her aid to the Inquisition. Apparently, they’ve encountered Corypheus before." Dorian settled back against the bench, crossing his legs and smoothing his mustache. "I must say, I'm rather looking forward to meeting the woman behind the legend."

Ash snorted, a wordless agreement. Trust Varric to pull a stunt like that. She couldn't blame him for wanting to protect his friend, and it soothed a piece of her soul that he was able to so capably keep a lie, even under pressure, if he wanted to.

While Dorian’s chatter was a great distraction, soon even sitting on the bench became too much, and with great pain, he helped her back to her room. But he returned later that day, and then the next day, and the one after that, until their strolls became routine.

In the early days, Ash's walks were limited to the rundown gardens just outside her room, too exhausted from her pain and sedentary time. Yet, slowly but surely, she was able to make it further. It helped soothe the restlessness rattling her bones to make her rounds of the Skyhold courtyard.

Ash leaned heavily on Dorian's arm as they made their way into the bustling tavern, the raucous laughter and clinking of tankards assaulting her ears. The scent of stale ale and unwashed bodies hung thick in the air, making her wrinkle her nose. But beneath it all was the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat, making her stomach rumble insistently.

Dorian guided her through the throng of patrons, his aristocratic bearing and immaculate robes drawing curious glances. He paid them no mind, his focus solely on maneuvering Ash to a relatively quiet corner table. She sank onto the rough wooden bench with a barely suppressed groan of relief, her legs trembling from the exertion of the short walk.

"I'll fetch us some refreshments, shall I? Don't go anywhere." Dorian winked, then disappeared into the crowd.

Ash leaned back against the wall and let her eyes drift shut. The tavern's racket washed over her, voices and laughter blurring into a strangely soothing white noise. She had agreed to this test, to see how she would fare in such a crowded and noisy environment, and so far, she was surprised at how well she was managing. After her lengthy convalescence, she would need time to get used to being around others again.

As Dorian took his sweet time, she felt herself starting to drift, her exhausted body eager to slip into a restful state.

"Look who's up and about!" A deep, rumbling voice jolted Ash from her doze.

Ash cracked open one eye to see The Iron Bull looming over her, his massive frame blocking out the light. A wide grin split his scarred face as he plopped down on the bench across from her, the wood creaking alarmingly under his weight.

“Bull," Ash greeted, mustering a tired smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Bull chuckled, the sound like distant thunder. "Just wanted to check in on you. Make sure you weren't getting into any trouble."

"Trouble? Me? Never." She shifted, wincing as her scarred skin pulled taut. "I'm afraid I'm not up for much excitement these days."

Bull's single eye glinted with mirth. "That's not what I've heard. Word is you've been terrorizing the poor healers."

Ash grimaced, shame coiling in her gut. The last she’d heard, the healer she’d tossed against the wall had been assigned to the barracks - far away from her. "Not intentionally." She picked at a splinter on the table. "It's hard being cooped up for so long. I feel like I'm going stir-crazy."

"I get it,” he said, and Ash had the feeling that he was being genuine, not simply placating. “It's tough, being out of commission. Feels like you're letting everyone down." He leaned forward, resting his massive forearms on the table. "But you gotta give yourself time to heal. Pushing too hard, too fast - that's a good way to end up right back where you started."

Ash sighed, knowing he was right but hating it all the same. It was what everyone had been telling her after all. Her restless energy felt like a living thing, crawling beneath her skin and driving her to distraction. She needed to be doing something, anything, to feel useful again. But her battered body had other ideas, betraying her at every turn with its weakness.

As if sensing her darkening thoughts, Bull grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Tell you what - when you're back on your feet, you and I can go a few rounds in the training ring. Help you work out some of that frustration."

Ash perked up at the offer. "You're on," she agreed readily. "Prepare to eat dirt, Qunari."

Bull threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming through the tavern. "That's the spirit! I like a woman with fire." He winked roguishly, though there was no true desire behind it.

Before Ash could muster a retort, Dorian materialized at her elbow, two tankards in hand. He slid onto the bench beside her, eyeing Bull with both wariness and reluctant intrigue.

"Making friends, are we?" Dorian asked archly, pushing a mug of water towards Ash. She accepted it gratefully.

"You know me," Bull rumbled, his gaze raking appreciatively over Dorian - now that was a look of desire. "I'm the friendly sort."

Dorian sputtered into his ale, a flush rising on his high cheekbones. He dabbed at his mouth with an embroidered handkerchief - Ash hadn’t seen him take it out, where in the Void had he been keeping it? - glaring at Bull over the fabric. "I'm sure," he said dryly, though his voice held a telltale quaver.

Ash watched the exchange with growing attentiveness, her eyes darting between the two men like a spectator at a particularly engrossing tennis match. Bull's flirtations were about as subtle as a charging druffalo, but Dorian's flustered responses were the real entertainment. The normally unflappable mage was practically squirming in his seat, his wit deserting him in the face of Bull's blatant interest. It wasn’t long before Dorian made a poor excuse to depart - citing Ash’s exhaustion, despite how she had perked up - and all but pulled Ash out of the tavern.

As the week progressed, she had traversed through crowds of familiar faces and caught up with old friends, Dorian always by her side. Even Vivienne had taken a minute to stop her for a chat while she walked with Dorian, unexpected as that may have been.

"Miss Lavellan," Vivienne purred, her gaze sweeping over Ash with calculated precision. "I see you've finally emerged from your sickbed, a feat I wasn’t sure would ever come to pass."

Ash couldn’t figure out if it was meant as an insult, and before she could retort, Vivienne continued, "Those bandages simply won't do. I shall find you some robes that compliment your scars."

Taken aback, Ash covered her startle to the best of her abilities. "I don’t know, I think the white bandages suit me. Besides, the healers said I have to keep them covered, don’t want the sun re-burning them."

Vivienne's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "I said compliment, darling, not cover. One must always present one's best face to the world, regardless of circumstance."

She circled Ash like a shark scenting blood, her critical gaze taking in every detail. "Yes, I believe I have just the thing in mind. A deep emerald silk, perhaps, with gold embroidery to draw the eye. We'll need to adjust the neckline to accommodate your bandages, of course, but that's easily managed."

Ash wasn’t keen on being her doll, though she did like the idea of a pretty robe for when she was feeling better - it would be wasted now. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm not exactly in a state for fancy dress."

Vivienne's laugh was cut crystal, sharp and glittering. "Darling, that is precisely when one must make the effort. Your current state of dishabille may be excused due to your injuries, but it cannot continue indefinitely. The Inquisition must present a united and polished front, even in times of crisis."

Dorian, who had been watching the exchange with poorly concealed entertainment, finally chimed in. "Come now, Vivienne. Surely you can allow our dear Ash some time to recover before subjecting her to your exacting sartorial standards?"

Vivienne's gaze snapped to Dorian, her smile turning predatory. "And you, Lord Pavus? Shall we discuss your penchant for buckles and straps? One might think you were advertising for a very specific sort of attention."

Dorian sputtered indignantly, his mustache bristling. "I'll have you know this is the height of fashion in Minrathous."

"Yes, dear," Vivienne said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "And that speaks volumes, doesn't it?"

Ash had to pull him away before they spent hours bickering over fashion. She wasn’t interested in spending her limited walking time fighting Vivienne when she knew she wouldn’t win.

Yet, even as everyone greeted her and wished her well, one person was always missing - a certain Commander who had been on her mind more than she would admit. She’d caught a glimpse of his back once as he stood at a run-down table out by the healers’ tents, but he’d been engrossed in conversation and she hadn’t wanted to interrupt. Or rather she had wanted to, but had decided against it for reasons that were still unknown to her - unacknowledged.

“You’re looking a bit more stable on your feet today,” Dorian commented as they made their way around Skyhold.

“Worried I’ll be able to replace your support with a crutch?” She was still too prone to dizziness to be able to walk on her own, but the more they walked, the less it happened. Solas had informed her that he would be moving her to crutches within the next week. The healers were also set to remove her bandages then as well. She was looking forward to removing the restrictive fabric and ending her daily dressing changes. Thank the Gods it wasn’t Solas who provided that service.

Dorian laughed, though it was more of a guffaw. “You’ll never be able to replace me with something so simple. I’ll of course accompany you even when you no longer require my steadying presence.”

“You’re right.” Ash leaned more of her weight than was necessary on him, laughing as he stumbled before he caught himself. “I would be lost without your guidance.”

“Then allow me to guide you towards the training yard.”

Ash found herself wary of the sly grin that appeared on Dorian’s face as he steered her towards the exit of the main courtyard. “Why the training yards? You know I haven’t used my magic since Haven, I’m not exactly in sparring shape.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of observing our dedicated troops. Make sure they’re hard at work, protecting the innocent and ensuring no dastardly demons descend upon us.”

“Is that all?” She didn’t believe him for a second. “No ulterior motives? You didn’t hear a rumour that Bull would be practicing there?”

Dorian raised his nose in the air and sniffed indignantly. “I haven’t a clue as to what you are implying, I assure you my intentions are nothing but pure.”

Ash hummed her disbelief, but acquiesced. She wasn’t opposed to watching the soldiers train - the sight of sweaty bodies grappling and clashing with wooden swords was always entertaining, if nothing else.

Ash gritted her teeth, stifling a groan as they neared the training yard, her hip tightening in protest. The healers had been correct, she’d lost feeling in patches across her burned body - the worst parts where her nerves had been burned away entirely. However, that didn’t stop the rest of her body from protesting the increased exertion. She could feel the telltale ache building in her muscles, a weariness that seeped into her bones. Perhaps this hadn't been the wisest idea.

She was just about to suggest to Dorian that they turn back when a flash of golden hair caught her eye. Her gaze snapped to the source, and all thoughts of fatigue fled her mind. There, in the center of the training yard, stood the Commander, demonstrating a series of intricate sword maneuvers to a group of fresh-faced recruits. His movements were fluid and precise, each strike and parry executed with a self-assured grace. He was sure of himself, confident and calm, like it cleared his mind.

But it wasn't just Cullen's swordsmanship that had her heart stuttering in her chest. No, it was the way his white linen shirt clung to his sweat-dampened skin, outlining every ripple and plane of his muscular torso. The fabric was nearly translucent in places, offering tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded forearms that flexed with each powerful swing of his sword. She'd never seen him without his mantle and armour before, and her mouth went dry at the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her suddenly parched lips.

A low chuckle at her side had Ash startling, her head whipping around to find Dorian watching her with an infuriatingly knowing smirk - one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in a silent question.

Ash’s cheeks heated under Dorian's far too perceptive gaze. "Shush," she said with contempt, tearing her eyes away from Cullen's glistening form with difficulty.

"I didn't say anything," Dorian replied, all wide-eyed innocence belied by the wicked curve of his lips.

"You didn't have to," Ash grumbled. "Your face says it all." She shifted her weight, wincing as her burn twinged. Fuck, everything hurt. The dull throb she'd been ignoring in her lower back flared to life, and she had to grit her teeth against a pained hiss.

Dorian's hand on her elbow steadied her, his teasing expression morphing into one of concern. "Perhaps we should head back," he suggested gently. "You're looking a bit peaky."

Ash shook her head stubbornly, even as her scarred leg twitched. "I'm fine," she insisted. Her gaze drifted back to Cullen of its own accord, taking in the flexing muscles of his back as he lunged and parried with a recruit, a practical education. "Besides, I think you're enjoying the view as much as I am."

"Maybe," Dorian allowed, tilting his head to better appreciate the spectacle. "The man does fill out a pair of breeches rather well, I'll give him that much.”

“Mhm,” she responded distractedly, her mind only half on the pleasing sight before her. As she watched Cullen put his recruits through their paces, a nagging thought wormed its way to the forefront of her mind, refusing to be ignored any longer.

Why hadn't he come to see her? She’d spent much too long dwelling on the question, and still, she didn’t have a good answer.

The silence from the Commander was conspicuous, an absence that gnawed at Ash's insides like a hungry rat. She tried to tell herself it was nothing personal, that he was simply too occupied with his duties to spare a moment to visit her - it wasn’t like they’d been friends right? And the Inquisition's forces wouldn't train themselves, after all. Surely that demanding task consumed his every waking hour.

And yet a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of her mind, an insistent lingering of doubt. Perhaps it wasn't duty that kept him away, but discomfort. Unease. Regret.

Ash's stomach twisted into knots as the thoughts burrowed deeper, taking root like poisonous weeds. Her mind spun back to the tent, when Rae had been called away and Cullen had taken her place at Ash's bedside.

She'd been so sure in the moment, riding high on the rush of their verbal sparring, and making such a proud man blush. The soft smile as he’d held her hand, careful not to squeeze too hard - she'd been certain it meant something. Though she wasn’t sure why she wanted it to.

But now, with the clarity of distance and the ache of absence, doubt hounded her like a hunting dog. Had she misread the situation entirely? Projected her own foolish desires onto his reactions, seeing only what she wanted to see? The thought made her stomach churn with embarrassment and self-recrimination - sickening.

Perhaps Cullen had simply been humouring her, too polite to pull away when she'd taken such liberties. What reason would he have to welcome her touch, her teasing? She was a mage, an outsider, a wild Dalish elf with no regard for propriety. Hardly the sort of woman a man like him would look twice at, let alone entertain such flirtations from.

“Should we head down so you can give him your praises in person?”

Ash tried not to let her sourness show in the tightness around her eyes, tried not to dampen the mood with her silly feelings, but Dorian was not so easily fooled. His teasing grin softened, and she scoffed, irritated at the concern swimming in his gaze.

“You’re thinking so loud I can practically hear it.”

Ash bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron. It didn’t matter that Cullen didn’t see her in a romantic or lustful light, nothing could come of it anyway. It was easier if he didn’t care for her. “It’s nothing. I just doubt he’d want to see me is all. He’s…busy.”

If Dorian wore glasses, they would have been halfway down his nose with the exasperated look he was giving her. “Fascinating. Tell me, how did you come to this astounding conclusion?” he drawled, a heavy dosing of sarcasm lacing his tone.

Ash scowled at him, and though she knew he would judge her for her answer, she said it anyway. “If he wanted to see me he would have chosen to already. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Dorian laughed like she’d just said the funniest joke he’d ever heard. She debated elbowing him in the side again, but decided against it - she could only rain so much physical harm down upon him before he made her regret it. “My dear, sweet Ashvalla.” He patted her cheek with a patronizing smile, to which she only scowled harder, her pointed ears flattened against the sides of her skull. “Did no one tell you that he’s been asking for updates regarding your well-being almost daily?”

The scowl slipped off her face and she blinked rapidly. “What?”

“The Commander is many things, but overzealous and invasive in his affections is not one of them. He is a private man, and therefore attempts to provide privacy in return, a show of respect, if you will.”

That was…an astute observation of his character. She had been so consumed by her own desires that she hadn't stopped to consider that there was a positive reason behind his absence. Leliana had said he was concerned, but without understanding why, she’d assumed it was over-exaggerated. There was no doubt that he was busy and that would have limited his time to see her even if he had wanted to, but now she felt silly. Like a young girl with a crush on an unattainable man.

“Fuck,” Ash mumbled, her ears dropping. “I hate it when you’re right.”

"Best not to doubt me, I am usually correct," Dorian quipped. "Now, are you going to continue ogling our dear Commander from afar, or shall we go over and say hello like civilized people?"

Ash hesitated, her gaze flicking back to Cullen. He was correcting a recruit's stance now, strong hands guiding the young man's arms into the proper position as they set up for mock battle. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, tracing a path along the sharp line of his jaw. Ash's fingers itched to follow that trail, to feel the rasp of stubble against her skin.

As if sensing her stare, Cullen looked up, amber eyes locking onto hers across the training yard. Ash's breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering at having been caught.

She had been such a fool to think he was disgusted by her - no man would stare at her with such rapturous attention if he hated her.

Slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a coquettish wave, her smile widening as a flush crept up Cullen's neck, staining his cheeks a becoming shade of pink.

So focused was he on Ash that Cullen failed to notice his sparring partner taking advantage of his distraction. The recruit lunged forward, wooden practice sword arcing towards Cullen's unprotected side. At the last second, the Commander twisted away, but not fast enough to avoid a glancing blow that had him wincing and snapping at the overeager soldier.

Ash couldn't help it - she laughed, the sound ringing out bright and clear across the yard. Cullen's head whipped around, his blush deepening as he watched her laugh at him. He scowled, the twist of his lips more chagrined than angry.

Cullen turned back to his troops, barking out orders with renewed intensity. But Ash didn't miss the way his gaze kept straying in her direction, almost hopeful in its shyness.

"Well, that was entertaining," Dorian intoned, the picture of nonchalance even as he barely suppressed his glee. "Shall we quit while we're ahead? I'd hate for you to be responsible for any training accidents."

Ash snorted inelegantly. "Please, as if any of them could get the better of Cullen in a real fight."

"Hmm, I'm sure you'd love to see just how forceful he can be," Dorian teased.

Ash pinched his arm and he yelped. "Hush, you. Now take me back to my room before I drop dead.”

"As you command, my lady.” He began to steer her away from the training grounds. "Let’s make our escape before you swoon from exhaustion. Or lust. Whichever comes first."

Ash made a rude gesture in his direction, but allowed herself to be led, her legs growing heavier with each step. But she made it, she always did. Like a cockroach Voidbent on surviving the end times, even a little heart racing over a gorgeous man couldn’t stop her.

Next Chapter

A/N: I love writing for Dorian and Ash, two emotionally incapable bitches surviving together <3

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tiredly101 · 1 year ago

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The past can hurt part 3

Pairing: Wally Darling x Writer!Male reader

New Neighbor Masterlist

Illustrated Au, picture is not mine. Hey peeps, I want to apologize for taking so long to update since studies and work have been crazy these couple of months (?) but nonetheless a new part has come!

Memories flooded Wally's head as he looks up at Frank, Wally was mad and he felt violent which he had never experienced before.

"What the duck happened in 1974 Frank?” Wally asked again while poison slithered with each word, Frank looked down in shame before sighting.

"Home killed him Wally... Home killed M/n and made Barnaby forget about him" Frank said before starting to cough, with each cough Frank's grey skin turned into a lighter shade until Frank fell on the ground, dead and void of life, Wally could only stare at Frank's now completely black eyes and the black liquid going down Frank's chin with indifference.

Wally ran a hand through his messy, long blue hair before seeing a gas tank and a match which made Wally smile, "Perfect" Wally uttered before grabbing it and looking towards the neighborhood with a dark smile.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighborhood... Would you be mine?Could you be mine?" Wally hum while walking out of Frank's house while dragging the gas tank but with each step a trail of gas painted the sidewalk and plants.

"It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood, a neighborly day for a beauty... Would you be mine?Could you be mine? I have always wanted to have a neighbor, just like you I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you" Wally kept singing softly while having a bit of a skip in his step while he lets the gas ran it's way down the streets, down the trees of the forest, down the sidewalk and down the neighborhood.

"So let's make the most of this beautiful day since we're together, we might as well... say would you be mine, could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor? Won't you, please? Won't you, please?Plēæßę won’t you be my ńęīghbœr?" Wally sang happily when he reached Home and stood in front of it. Wally looked straight at Home with a glare and a dark smile and then Wally let the leftovers gas fall down the walls, door, garden and flowers around Home. Wally turned around and looked at the neighborhood one last time before sighting since it looked peaceful... Perfect

Wally looked at Home again before lightning up the match and carelessly throwing it in the ground which made Home be set on fire and a trail of fire consume the rest of the neighborhood. Wally didn't mind the screams or the cries of help as he walked towards his apple tree with a satisfied smile as he watched the neighborhood burn up in flames.

"And so... the love will fade into ash because of Home's greedy rule and the last man standing will have no choice but to obey" were the words flying around in the air. The last words that M/n wrote as a warning, not to Wally but to everyone when his fury fell down on them

So! We are missing one more chapter for this series to be over and I must say that this one was kinda dark but really fun to write so I hoped you enjoyed!

Tag list:

@farleyis @whynot5243 @fluffyart5000 @blueberricowboi @bonesbonesbonesuponbones @who-let-me-write-this @pr5is1ng @just-random-post @smiling-carcass @nettaw @sleepyscxry @theorchardcollective @thelostboys11 @darling-w @ametistacollinsworld @vampyrefay @cloudeecheer @lacunaanonymoused @waywardstardustcollector @welcome-home-puppets @redjeanjacket @fried-lotud @waywardstardustcollector @frindtheshapeshifter405 @lotusflowerexe @sleepyscxry @the-gayest-toad @mythjustiice @backyard-bear @beu-is-here0 @just-random-post @fic-fortress @elegantkidfansoul @eyesarefun @one-green-frog @beu-is-here0 @waywardstardustcollector @24-7lazy @azyimnothere @fluffyart5000 @chesterthejester12-blog @redjeanjacket @curiosityscrewedthatcat @gyaruthegory @azul7127 @unstable-and-introverted @seraphlies @akito-chan @myperfectpeachbouquet @darlingclown101 @rikabby69 @gildedanxiety

#wally darling x reader #wally darling x male reader #welcome home #tiredly sammy writes #new neighbor #lgbtq

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incandescentlysomething · 10 months ago

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Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 11

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 6881

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Only one chapter left!!!! Let me know what you think Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

The Small Council Chamber

“What of Rhaenyra?”

“The former heir cannot, of course, be allowed to remain free and draw support to her claim.” Otto said.

“You mean to imprison her.” Alicent felt as though her mind was moving through a fog. Hours ago her husband had been alive, and now she was being made aware of plots that she had never known existed.

“She and her family will be given the opportunity to bend the knee and swear obeisance to the new King.” Otto replied.

Aelicent shook her head in disbelief. “She will never bend the knee, which you know. Nor will Daemon.” At her father’s unflinching stare, she sighed. “You mean to kill them. And all here accede to this?”

Lord Orwyle spoke up, his voice grating Alicent’s nerves. “Your father is correct, Your Grace. A living challenger invites battle and bloodshed. And there is Daemon to consider, we—”

“The King would not wish for the death of his daughter!” Alicent cried. “He loved her and I will not have you deny this.”

Things were spiraling so quickly out of control. Alicent had never made plans, had never truly imagined what it would mean for her to support her son’s ascension, but she had not prepared herself for this. The King’s body was not yet cold.

“Time is of the essence,” Otto was saying. “Ser Westerling, take your knights to Dragonstone, be quick and clean.”

Alicent stared in shock as Ser Harrald walked away from the table, refusing to obey until his orders came from the king himself.

She walked from the room as the council was dissolved, heading directly for her son’s chambers. She needed to speak to him, needed to ensure that he saw sense before her father led them down a path of madness. Before her children were—

Her children .

Aemond .

She turned quickly to one of the guards at her side, a Kingsguard who’s name she could not be bothered to remember.

“My father was moving to secure the Keep, yes?” She asked.

“Yes, Your Grace,” He confirmed. “No one shall enter or leave the Keep without swearing fealty.”

Alicent knew what that meant. She could already hear the echo of footsteps down the stairs as servants and courtiers alike were roused from their sleep and taken to either the cells in the dungeons or to kneel before the Iron Throne.

She needed to gain control of this situation, which meant that she needed to ensure that all of her children would cooperate and stand by her. And there was one person in the Keep who could derail all of that.

“Take another guard and go secure the Princess Aelinor.” She ordered. “Quickly and quietly.”

“Secure her, Your Grace?” The knight asked.

Alicent dug her fingernails into her palm. If Aelinor remained where she was, Aemond would go to her. Though she did not doubt her son’s loyalty, she doubted her ability to draw his focus away from Rhaenyra’s daughter. Aelinor would have to serve as leverage in this, whether she liked it or not.

And besides, Alicent thought, this was a mercy. Better she be responsible for Aelinor than her father, who would likely have her confined to the cells.

“The empty rooms in the east tower.” Alicent directed. “Lock the outside, and tell no one she is there.”

“And if she resists, Your Grace?”

“The Princess is to be moved to that tower. Do whatever it takes.”

The knight hesitated only a second before bowing his head. “As you wish, Your Grace.” He marched away, another guard at his heels.

*************************************

Aelinor was jolted awake by the sound of someone pounding on her door. For a moment she was seized by fear, unable to remember where she was or what was happening. It was disorienting to hear a commotion not immediately followed by the sound of her brother’s arguing, or Prince Daemon shouting about something.

But then she remembered where she was, at the Red Keep, and she quickly pulled herself from bed. Unable to find her robe without a light, and unwilling to take the time to light a candle, she moved from her bedchamber in just her loose nightdress. The main door to her chambers was shaking with the force of the pounding.

“Jeyne?” She called worriedly, moving through the dark room. “Is that you?”

What a silly question. Of course Jeyne was not the one about to break down her door, especially not at this hour, when she could not even yet see the sun rising over the horizon. But worry flooded through her. Something terrible must have happened, and immediately she wondered if something had gone wrong with her mother’s ship, or perhaps even with the King.

She undid the bolt on the door with shaking hands, jumping back as it was thrown open. Two unfamiliar Kingsguard stood before her.

“Sers,” She greeted, resisting the urge to cover her nightgown with her hands. “Has something happened?”

“Princess Aelinor,” One of them said. “We have been sent to escort you to the east tower. For your safety.”

“For my safety?” She asked. “What’s wrong? Are we under attack?”

“Now, Princess.”

She balked at the coldness of his tone. Never in her life could she remember a guard speaking to her in that way. Perhaps the situation was more serious than she realized.

“Let me just grab my robe,” She turned.

A hand wrapped around her upper arm, yanking her into the hallway with painful force.

“Ser!” She cried, trying to pry his fingers off. “What are you—How dare you?”

The other guard grabbed her other arm, his grip only a touch less painful, and they started to march her down the hallway.

“Stop this at once!” She demanded, struggling to free herself. “What is going on? I’m only in my nightdress and this is not proper!”

They did not answer, dragging her forward until her feet were tripping over each other and she was struggling to stay upright.

Emerging out onto the main stairwell, they all stopped in their tracks, the guards looking both ways as if to be sure that no one would see them. Once they determined the way to be clear, they pulled her toward the stairs and started moving up.

Aelinor glanced down, and her blood ran cold at what she saw.

Dozens of people, some servants, some nobles, all of them in their night clothes, being marched down the stairs under armed guard. Their faces showed the same confusion and fear that Aelinor felt.

Something was very, very wrong.

Aelinor opened her mouth to scream. “Help m—”

A metal gauntlet clapped itself over her mouth before she could be heard, the force enough to leave a bruise on her face. She struggled as the guards lifted her off the floor, carrying her up the steps two at a time.

They climbed for what felt like an eternity, Aelinor’s resistance only serving to earn her more bruises as they tightened their grip. Moving into the East wing, they climbed again, until they were passing stone hallways lined with cobwebs and dust. Aelinor could not recall ever coming to this part of the Keep, and from the looks of things, no one else ever visited either.

Only when they reached the end of the staircase did they stop, one of the guards releasing his hold as he pulled a rusty iron key from his belt and pushed open a heavy door. It unleashed a cloud of dust that made him cough, but then he stepped into the room and held the door open. She was dragged through, kicking and screaming.

“Let me go!” She shouted. Gods, was there anyone around who might hear her? Who might be able to tell her what was happening, and why?

The guard marched her to the far side of the room, and then without ceremony tossed her down onto an ancient velvet settee. The plume of dust it let off was enough to make Aelinor choke, and by the time she realized she was free the guards were already shutting the door behind them.

With a cry she threw herself across the room, her fists landing on the door just as she heard the telltale sound of a lock clicking into place.

“There has been a mistake!” She screamed. “Let me go!”

Their footsteps were fading, and soon she knew that she was alone.

Her entire body shaking, Aelinor turned to examine the room. It was small, as small as her own bedchamber. The entire room was coated with a layer of filth, the only disturbances in the dust from the guards, herself, and some small footprints that looked alarmingly like rats. A chandelier heavy with cobwebs hung from the ceiling, the wax melted down the sides of the dull brass. As it was, even if she did have candles, she had no way to light it. The settee was the only furniture in the room, obviously left behind whenever the last resident moved out. It was worn, the upholstery torn and clumps of the stuffing spilling out from the seams.

She rushed to the window, through which a chilly morning breeze swept into the room. There were no curtains or shutters to keep out the cold. When she leaned over the stone, she peered down and stared directly down into the city. The buildings were tiny specs below her, the people practically invisible. Leaning more, she saw that there were no balconies below her, and thus no hope that anyone would spot her in the window.

She was trembling now. She had been locked away, perhaps to be forgotten, and her family was miles away on Dragonstone, completely unaware of what was happening. Even she didn’t understand why this was happening to her.

Something scuttled by in the corner of the room, and she screamed.

Rushing back to the door, she started to bang her palms against it.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?” She screamed. “I need to speak with Prince Aemond! Hello?”

But no one answered.

****************************

Aemond was roused early from his bed and escorted under guard to his brother’s chambers. There he found his sister and his niece and nephew, but no sign of his brother. It was hardly a surprise to find his brother missing, but nothing could have prepared him for the shock of learning that his father was dead.

The King was dead.

It wasn’t that Aemond had ever felt particularly close to his father, who had been old and somewhat frail by the time Aemond was old enough to be interesting. But it was still his father, and Aelinor’s grandfather, and a man who had been a pillar in their family for as long as any of them could remember.

Had someone told Aelinor? She would be devastated, he was sure, for she loved her grandfather dearly. Even he felt a smidgeon of grief, though it was spurred mostly by gratitude to his father for announcing their betrothal only two days before he passed.

He leaned out the window. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and he watched as some guards hurried to lock the main gates to the Keep.

Understanding dawned on him. Perhaps some of his rationality had been veiled behind sleep or the daze of his day with Aelinor, but now things began to make a bit more sense.

The King was dead.

Princess Rhaenyra was on Dragonstone.

Which meant the Iron Throne sat empty for the taking.

Almost as soon as he realized this, the door the the chamber was opening and his mother and Ser Criston were walking in.

“Where is Aegon?” Alicent demanded.

Helaena looked up from her embroidery. “Not here.”

Alicent sent Ser Criston out to confirm whether Aegon was within the castle, and she began to pace back and forth.

“Mother?” Aemond asked quietly, speaking low as to not disturb his sister. “Is Aegon to sit the throne?”

Alicent stared at him for a long moment, before nodding. “It was your father’s dying wish.”

Aemond didn’t much care what his father’s dying wish was. It had never been a secret that their entire family did not wish to see the throne pass to Rhaenyra and her pack of bastards, and as far as Aemond was aware, that had never changed.

“Has Aelinor been informed?”

Alicent looked away. “Do you have any idea where your brother is?”

Aegon shook his head, frowning at the change in subject. “I have not seen him since the day before yesterday. Mother, has Aelinor been informed?”

But Ser Criston was striding through the door. “Prince Aegon is not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace, Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him. And Ser Erryk knows Aegon, so he has the advantage.”

His mother’s hands were shaking. “Then I trust to you, Ser Criston. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The fate of the Seven Kingdoms may very well depend on it.”

Ser Criston bowed. “I will not fail you, my Queen.”

There was shouting from outside, and Aemond watched as an unfamiliar lord was hauled off of his horse before reaching the gates. The Keep was being put under lock and key.

He walked past his mother. “I shall go see to Aelinor.”

“No, Aemond!” His mother demanded. “You shall not.”

He turned slowly. “She is my betrothed.”

“She is the daughter of a false heir,” Alicent took a deep breath. “And so she is, at this moment, an enemy.”

“An enemy?” Aemond hissed. “What have you done to her?”

“Aemond, I—”

But he was already rushing from the room, hurrying through the Keep and dodging scuffles and whispered conversations as he went. This was madness. Aelinor was not an enemy, and his mother was a fool if she thought she could ever convince him of that. And she would be even more foolish to harm Aelinor, knowing the wrath she would face from her parents.

But when he reached Aelinor’s chambers, the door hung ajar, and she was nowhere to be found.

With a frustrated cry, Aemond turned on his heel and marched back to his family. His mother still stood in the center of the room, trying to make a plan with Ser Criston.

“Where is she?” He demanded, interrupting their conversation.

“Aemond,” Alicent began calmly. “Aelinor has not been harmed, and she—”

“Where is she!” He shouted, the volume making his sister flinch. “Where have they taken her? To the dungeons? She isn’t a traitor!”

“She is the daughter of a potential threat,” Ser Criston said. “Securing her was necessary.”

“Securing her?” Aemond demanded. “I swear, if you—”

“Aemond!” Alicent reached for his arm, but he recoiled from her touch. Hurt shone on her face. “I swear to you, Aelinor has not been harmed. But her safety depends on us being able to quickly secure Aegon’s place on the throne. This means we must find him, quickly.”

His face must have shown his reluctance, for she continued.

“Once Aegon has been crowned, and with Aelinor in our custody and treated with kindness, Princess Rhaenyra will have no reason not to bend the knee.” Alicent implored. “We must use reason in determining our priorities.”

Aemond did see some logic in this. If Aegon was not found, if things were allowed to descend into chaos, then Aelinor would become an incredibly valuable pawn. And not all parties would treat her as well as they would.

“Where is she?” He asked again.

“Safe.” Alicent repeated. “And once Aegon is found, you can see her.”

Frustration grated at his bones, but he finally nodded. “Alright. Then I will go with Ser Criston. Ser Erryk is not the only one who knows Aegon’s haunts.”

******************************

“You’ve been here before, My Prince?”

Ser Criston’s voice was grating, making Aemond wish that he had insisted on coming alone. His tone was full of judgement, matching the look of scorn he had been wearing since they entered the Street of Silk.

Aemond glanced up at the pleasure house, watching as two whores shook out a blanket through a window, not hiding their open curiosity. Even with his cloak and the rags Criston was wearing, they would draw attention if they took too long.

Criston knocked on the door again.

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth name day.” Aemond started, not sure why he felt the urge to share this story with Ser Criston. “It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as I was. At least, that’s what I understood him to mean.”

“I don’t follow.” Ser Criston said, far too moral to catch the innuendo.

Aemond leaned forward. “He said, ‘time to get it wet’.”

That night was very clear in Aemond’s memory. It had been less than a year after he lost his eye, after he claimed Vhagar. He had thrown himself into training, determined to become the best dragon rider in his family, and Aegon had been making what he now realized was a genuine effort to bond with him. It was not Aegon’s fault that his interests lay more in perversions and drink where Aemond cared only for dragons and training. But he had gone with his brother, not aware of where he was being taken.

The whore that Aemond had hired for him had been at least ten years older than him, and when she had stepped forward clad in nearly invisible blue chiffon, Aemond had wanted to run for the hills. She had been blonde, nearly light enough in color to be white, and he had known why Aegon had selected her.

He felt some shame as he remembered that moment when he had looked at that woman and imagined that she could be Aelinor. He was thirteen, a young man with a young man’s passions, and unable to exercise the restraint needed to understand why he was so drawn to that whore.

He had done it, of course, and it was not the only time. He was not so stubborn as to rebuke the pleasures of the flesh, especially when those at court so frequently turned their backs on him. But he had never been able to let himself go in the same ways Aegon did. He went to the Street of Silk for momentary distractions, not for any true satisfaction. Eventually he had grown enough that he no longer required Aegon’s escort, and that brief attempt at brotherly bonding had resulted in no change to their relationship.

The sting of shame made him tense as the door opened. What would Aelinor think if she knew that he had been here before, that he had once fucked a woman just because she reminded him of her.

He shook his head, forcing those thoughts from his mind. They had far bigger things to worry about at the moment. He needed to be focused on finding Aegon so that he could be reunited with Aelinor.

They’d watched the guards hang a man on their way out of the Keep, and he did not like the thought of Aelinor alone and unprotected as his grandfather staged his coup.

The woman who answered the door — the madam of the establishment, if he was remembering correctly — had not seen Aegon in some time. Her words about Aegon’s tastes confirmed the rumors that Aemond had been hearing for years, and ultimately only served to tell him that it would not be so easy to track down his brother.

The madam eyed him, and he saw recognition in her gaze. He could dimly remember her being there on that night several years ago, leading him down a smoke-filled hallway to a private room, whispering promises that she had selected only the best for him.

“How you’ve grown,” Her lips curled in amusement.

Aemond nearly smiled at her audacity. He was not the same boy he had been when he first visited this place, and he was no longer one to succumb to temptation.

“It seems you were mistaken as to Aegon’s habits,” Criston said as they walked away.

Aemond just sighed. King’s Landing was the biggest city in Westeros, and there were a thousand places for Aegon to disappear to. “He could be in the hands of mercenaries, on a ship to Yi Ti.”

“He could be dead,” Ser Criston said sternly. “Let us hope, for your mother’s sake, that is not the case.”

They spent hours combing the city, checking every house on the Street of Silk before venturing to inns and taverns that dotted Fleabottom. Hardly places that a prince should be hiding, let alone a king.

“We shall find him, Prince Aemond,” Ser Criston tried to calm him when he kicked at a sack of straw.

Aemond was deeply frustrated. Every second that his brother was gone was a second that he was parted from Aelinor. Aegon did not deserve the throne, he did not know what it was to do one’s duty, to value lineage and ancestry and protect those that he loved. He treated his marriage to Helaena like a joke, belittling and insulting their sister at every turn. How could he expect to be protector of the realm if he did not even have the good sense to stay out of trouble.

“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel who’s never taken half an interest in his birthright,” He glared at Ser Criston. “‘Tis I the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be…” He caught himself before he spoke the treason on his tongue. “I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given.”

“Prince Aegon is not clever,” Ser Criston said. “If he is still unfound, it is because he has been taken, or waylaid somewhere by his drink. If we must turn over every stone in this city, we shall find him.”

“Hmmm,” And how long would that be? Aemond’s patience was wearing thin. “His secrets are his own and he is welcome to them. I’m next in line to the throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found.”

An image flashed through his mind, a fantasy so vivid and enthralling that Aemond stopped in his tracks. Himself, seated on the Iron Throne, Aelinor by his side, a bright smile on his face. The crown was his, the result of a lifetime of devotion to his family. And below them, their families celebrating their ascension, Aelinor’s great hope was realized as they ceased their fighting. At his feet, Jacaerys and Lucerys knelt, finally bowed in humility.

Aemond as King, with Aelinor as his Queen .

But that was an impossibility. Aegon would sit the throne, as soon as he was found, and neither of their families would set aside their differences in his name.

No, he was the second son, after all. It was his job to find the king, not to be crowned himself.

********************************

Aelinor was not sure how many hours she had been confined to this chamber. The sun had moved through the sky, passing high noon and dipping into the afternoon, and yet it did nothing to ease the chill. She sat in the corner, unwilling to touch the filthy chaise, her arms hugged tightly around her knees. Her nightdress was thin, nearly transparent, and did little to keep her warm. Parts of it were stained with blood after she had torn loose two fingernails trying to claw one of the hinges from the door.

Part of her hoped that this was all a grave misunderstanding. Soon someone would be coming to free her, to apologize for her treatment and assure her that it would never happen again. But with every hour that passed without someone rescuing her — without Aemond coming for her — the sense that something was horribly wrong grew worse.

She heard rats scuttle on the other side of the room, the pests fleeing only a moment before she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Aelinor leapt to her feet, hearing indiscernible voices and the fumbling of keys.

When the door swung open and she saw Aemond standing there, she nearly wept. He wore an unfamiliar black cloak, his hair ruffled as if he had recently been in a fight.

“Aemond!” She cried, launching herself into his arms, ignoring the two guards at his back. The same two who had locked her up in the dead of night.

“Lina,” He breathed, pulling away to look at her. “What are you—how long have you been here?”

“She was escorted here shortly after the King’s death, Prince Aemond.” One of the guards said.

Aelinor’s breath froze in her lungs. “The King…he is dead?”

“He passed in the night,” Aemond whispered.

A tiny sound escaped her throat, and she shivered violent. Gods, her sweet grandfather, he was gone. She could only pray that it had been peaceful, that he had not suffered as he left this world.

“Why are you in your nightdress?” Aemond asked.

Aelinor crossed her arms in front of her chest, suddenly very aware of just how undressed she was. “I…they woke me from my bed in the night.”

Aemond turned to glare at the guards. “These men did?”

The guards both bowed, not in apology to her, but in deference to Aemond. “It was the Queen’s orders, My Prince.”

Aemond stepped forward, his hand reaching for his sword. As much as Aelinor wanted to see the guards answer for how they had treated her, she did not want to be the cause of violence. She grabbed his arm. “Aemond, I want to leave.”

Aemond turned quickly, removing the cloak from his own shoulders and draping it over her. “Come, we must get you warm and fed.”

She let him wrap an arm around her waist and lead her from the room. Her bare feet were cold against the stone, but she did not complain, all too aware of the guards at their backs.

“Aemond,” She whispered. “What did they mean, it’s the Queen’s orders? And why were they moving people in the middle of the night? What is happening?”

He just squeezed her. “I shall explain, but we must get you to my rooms.”

“I must return to my rooms,” Aelinor shook her head, unable to imagine the scandal if she were caught in Prince Aemond’s chambers. “I must find Jeyne. She is probably so worried.”

“Jeyne?”

“My maid.”

“All servants have been secured in the dungeons, My Prince.” One of the guards said, clearly thinking that he was being helpful.

“The dungeons!” Aelinor exclaimed. “Aemond, what—”

“I have been told to take you to my chambers,” He said. “I will explain there, Lina. I promise.”

Whatever explanation he intended to offer, it was not one that he wished for others to hear. Aelinor relented, following him through nearly empty corridors until they reached his chamber. At the door Aemond turned and ordered the guards to send someone for her clothes and a meal.

Once the door had closed behind him, Aelinor turned. “Aemond, what is happening?”

“First we must tend to you,” He stepped forward, opening the curtains and casting light on his surprisingly sparse room. A desk piled high with books, a neatly made bed, and some tapestries showing the mountains of Old Valyria.

He lifted her hands first, frowning at her bloodied fingernails, before moving to her face. His fingers traced her jaw, a look of rage clouding his eyes at what he saw there. “Did they strike you?”

“What? No. They…” The events of that morning seemed an eternity ago. “They were covering my mouth.”

That did not seem to alleviate his anger. “My mother assured me that she directed that you be treated well. They will answer for this.”

“Aemond, what do you mean your mother ordered this?” She pulled away, letting him keep her hands in his. “Is my grandfather truly dead?”

He nodded solemnly. “He is. I am sorry, Lina. I know you cared for him deeply.”

She did, and she would grieve greatly in the coming days. But her grandfather’s health had been a constant pain to him, and she was sure that every day was an agony for him. He was a great man, but perhaps this could be a mercy.

She nodded slowly, swallowing down her tears. “And when will my mother arrive?”

Aemond didn’t answer.

Aelinor pulled away and paced to the window. “Gods, this will not be good for her. With the babe, and she has only just returned to Dragonstone. There will be so much to do, and she—”

“Aelinor.”

“Yes?”

She could not identify the expression on Aemond’s face as he studied her. “Your mother has not been sent for.”

“What cause for delay could there be?” She gasped. “I understand the Queen will wish to mourn, but she must—”

Aemond just shook his head.

She felt terror like she had never known flood her veins as she realized what he meant. Rhaenyra, the rightful Queen, had not been summoned. She had been dragged from her bed in the night. People were being imprisoned in the dungeons.

“Who has done this?” She breathed.

Aemond ignored her question. “The rightful heir will be crowned by the end of the day.”

“The rightful heir?” She demanded. “Surely you do not mean Aegon? My mother is the named heir. All of the houses of the realm swore fealty to her!”

“Aegon is the King’s eldest male heir, and the crown will pass to him.”

“Aemond!” He sounded like he was echoing his grandfather. “You cannot mean this! What will happen to my family? What will happen to us? Gods…” She held a hand to her mouth. “We’ll all be killed.”

“No, No!” Aemond stepped forward, reaching for her hands but she flinched away. “Lina, I will not let this happen. Don’t you see, this is a good thing.”

“A good thing? How could this ever be good?”

He reached for her again, his fingers grasping the edge of the cloak she wore. “If your mother were ground it would throw the realm into turmoil. A Queen has never sat the throne, and there is the question of Jacaerys as her heir. Aegon succession is less likely to be contested, and he already has an heir.”

Aelinor though of those two little children, and just shook her head. “You expect my mother, my father to just lay down their arms and accept this? The other houses.”

“They will,” Aemond insisted. “Because we have you.”

Aelinor’s breath shuttered. “I am a hostage.”

“No, you are to be my wife.” Aemond promised. “But your family will not risk war while you are here, and it can all be resolved peacefully.”

Aelinor just stared at him. “I know you do not believe that.”

He did not deny it.

Aelinor turned from him, going to lean on the windowsill. How had things gone so wrong, so quickly? Her family would suffer for this, and he was pretending that there could be a peaceful resolution. When she knew that both he and his brother would celebrate her family’s fall.

A choked sob escaped her, and she bent over, her head in her hands.

“Lina,” Aemond’s hands were at her back. “I swore to protect you, and I will not break this promise. You must trust me.”

“How can I?” She sobbed. “How can I trust anyone after this?”

“You must.” A voice from the doorway startled both of them, and they turned to find Queen Alicent standing there in a dress of deep emerald. Aelinor thought the Queen looked exhausted, and yet she felt loathing like she had never known rise up in the back of her throat.

“Usurper!” Aelinor cried. “How could you do this? You were once friends with my mother, were you not?”

Alicent glanced down at the floor. “Aemond, I must speak with the Princess. Alone.”

“Mother, I do not—”

“Just go.” Aelinor said, straightening as the Queen approached. “Just go.”

Aemond gave her a look of regret, but he obeyed, closing the door behind him as he left.

“I am sorry that things have transpired this way, Princess.” The Queen said.

“No, you are not.” Aelinor shook her head. “Your son ends up on the throne.”

“It may be difficult to believe, but it was my husband’s dying wish to see Aegon succeed him.”

“Your husband, who broke tradition to install my mother as heir and never once wavered?” Aelinor demanded. “How dare you invoke his name for your lies. For your treachery.”

“You shall be treated kindly, Princess and I—”

“Kindly! I was dragged from my bed in the night and treated with anything but kindness. And now Aemond says you mean to use me as leverage against my family.”

Alicent sighed. “It is necessary.”

Aelinor was disgusted. “You all have fallen into madness.”

She was alone here, here family gone, and her father had been right. This was a snake pit. Whether Aemond believed in his brother or not, he would not betray his family, which made him a usurper too. She had no allies here, no one who could—”

“Where is Princess Rhaenys?” Aelinor remembered. “Has she been imprisoned as well?”

“The Princess Rhaenys has been confined to her chambers.” Alicent said. “As were you.”

“Then I have great sympathy for her.” Aelinor sighed. “What is to become of us?”

Alicent stepped forward suddenly, grabbing Aelinor’s hand with surprising force. “Aelinor, it does not need to be this way. There is a way forward where we can all find happiness.”

“Happiness?” Aelinor tried to pull her hands free. “How?”

“The way the King intended,” Alicent insisted. “You will wed Aemond, show your support for Aegon’s ascension, and your mother will see reason and the realm will finally be at peace.”

Aelinor succeeded in pulling her hands free. “I was not aware that the realm was at war.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Aemond entered, holding a bundle in his hands that Aelinor recognized as one of her velvet day cloaks. She assumed that within the bundle was something for her to wear that wasn’t a nightdress.

“Aegon will be crowned in two hours’ time,” Alicent said. “It is for the best that you be there, with us. That you stand in support of the rightful King.”

Aelinor met Aemond’s gaze, saw something like pleading shining in his eye.

She turned to Alicent, holding her gaze steady as she spoke. “Do with me what you will. But if you put me in front of a crowd, I shall declare your treachery for all to hear.”

Disappointment flashed across Alicent’s face, but she nodded. “Very well then. You shall remain here, until it is decided what is to be done with you.”

She turned, touching Aemond’s arm as she left. “You will be there, Aemond.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “I will, Mother.”

The Queen left, leaving them alone once again.

“How can you do this, Aemond?” Aelinor demanded. “To my mother, to me.”

He set her clothes on the bed, walking forward. “I am doing what is right, I only hope that you can understand this.”

“Understand?” She scoffed. “Did you not hear your mother? They are going to decide what is to be done with me. If your brother wills it, my head might be on a pike tomorrow!”

“No, you shall be safe.” Aemond assured her. “We will marry once all this has blown over, and all will be well.”

“It cannot be well when a usurper sits the throne.”

Aemond took her hands in his, leaning down until his forehead pressed against hers. “I am begging you, Lina. These things are unsavory, and I know you to be too goodhearted and gentle to bare them, but we must do our part. Do you not wish to marry me?”

“Of course I do.” She promised, lifting her hands to touch the sides of his face, her thumb tracing the side of his eye patch. “But I could not bare to see my family hurt.”

Aemond pressed a kiss to her lips, and she tried to let some of the tension leave her body. “We can only do our own part, Lina. Mine is to defend my brother, and yours is to be your mother’s best advocate at court. An advocate for peace.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You marry me. You keep the peace. You stand beside me at my brother’s coronation.”

Aelinor closed her eyes, picturing it. Clothed in a gown of deep green, standing at Aemond’s side as Aegon knelt to receive the crown. A show of unity that would force her mother to yield. It could bring about an age of peace.

Or it could be the cause of a war.

“I will marry you, Aemond.” She said quietly. “I love you too dearly to wish for anything else.”

He smiled, moving to kiss her again.

She held up a hand. “And I shall not try to leave King’s Landing. I would not give the less rational members of Aegon’s court cause for retribution.”

Aemond nodded. “You will be safe here, under my protection. I swear it, my Love.”

My Love .

“But Aemond.” Aelinor stepped away. “I will not be at Aegon’s coronation, not unless you drag me there bound hand and foot.”

His face darkened. “And you will not change your mind?”

“I shall not.”

He nodded, stepping back and assuming a false calm that unsettled her. “Very well then, have it your way. You will remain here until I return. I will have someone escort you back to your chambers.”

“Thank you, Aemond.”

He looked like he wished to say more, but he just bowed and left her alone to change. After escorting her back to her rooms, he left her alone without another word.

***************************

Aelinor spent the following hours pacing her chambers, worrying over Jeyne and the Princess Rhaenys. As she had promised Aemond, she did not intend to try to escape. If she were caught it would give the Queen an excuse to throw her in the dungeons, or worse, and that would only result in spurring her mother into war. No, she needed to keep her wits about her if she were to survive this.

Through the window she watched the masses of King’s Landing be herded into the Dragonpit for the coronation.

She had Aemond by her side. Aemond who, while she did not doubt that she was loyal to his family, would never see her hurt. And though she was itching to wring his neck for supporting Aegon, she was not ready to turn her back on him either.

Perhaps he was right. If she stayed here, played her part, perhaps she could contribute to bringing about peace. If she stayed long enough, the other lords would muster to her mother’s cause and force Aegon from the throne. Her mother would be merciful, her father could be persuaded, and she would still be allowed to marry Aemond. There was still a way forward for them.

She climbed into the window, leaning against the wall and studying the city. The tiny buildings that leaned against each other, the harbor sparkling in the distance, the Dragonpit standin tall above it all.

Did her mother know what had happened yet? Surely someone must have made it out of King’s Landing, must have shared the news. She would be worried, probably furious with herself for leaving Aelinor behind. It would not be good for the babe, for her mother to worry so. Aelinor chewed on her fingernail. Her father would be itching for war, and she hoped there was a small part of his desire for vengeance that stemmed from care from her.

Jacaerys and Lucerys, they probably would have already flown back on dragon back, to try to rescue her on their own. She imagined her mother locking them in their rooms, and the thought made her laugh.

With a sigh, she leaned her head back against the stone. The bells tolled, signaling the start of the coronation. Somewhere, beneath the Dragonpit, underneath Aegon’s very feet, was Darrax. She wondered if she would be allowed to visit him soon, as long as Aemond accompanied her. But then she realized that Aemond would not have time to accompany her anywhere. This was a coup, after all, and they would have much work to do to consolidate their power. He would not have time for her.

She closed her eyes, whispering a prayer. They just had to weather this storm. One way or another, Aemond and her would be together. She just needed to have faith, and to keep her own strength.

An unfamiliar rumble reached her ears, and when her eyes opened she saw the crimson streak of Meleys crashing through the doors of the Dragonpit. Underneath her feet people were trampled, hundreds more running for their lives.

Aelinor began to weep.

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #fanfiction #fanfic #game of thrones #lady of the ashes #aemond one eye

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unforgivenn · 8 months ago

Text

second part to this ask.

From this ask game

Masterlist

2) Be honest: did you deserve it?

"Deserve?" he said, he said as if it was obvious. "No one deserves this." His eyes flashed with a flicker of the person he used to be, before Dominic had shattered him.

"But," Caleb continued, his voice softening, the fight draining out of him, "maybe... maybe I did something to bring this on myself. I don't know. I don't know anymore." He looked down, unable to maintain the eye contact, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his torment. "But even if I did, even if I made mistakes, no one deserves this. Not this."

5) do you have any rules?

"Rules?" he scoffed, his tone laced with contempt. "Yeah, Dominic's got plenty of rules. Like I'm some fucking puppet on a string."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Rule number one," he spat, "obey the asshole. Like I've got a choice." His words were tinged with sarcasm, a bitter edge to his tone.

"Rule number two," Caleb continued, his voice growing louder with each word, "don't speak unless spoken to. Because God forbid I have a voice of my own."

"Rule number three," he said. "don't even think about trying to escape. Like I haven't tried a hundred times already." His words were punctuated with a string of curses, each one filled with frustration and despair.

He shifted in his seat, glaring at the unseen tormentor who dared to ask him such a question. "And here's another rule: survive. One that I have for myself. No matter what that bastard throws at me, I survive. I may be trapped, but I'm not broken."

Caleb's gaze hardened, his jaw clenching with the effort to maintain his defiance. "So, if you're looking for some kind of compliance or obedience, you can go to hell. My rules are mine, and they're the only fucking thing keeping me from losing my goddamn mind in this nightmare."

8) does something hurt right now? what is it?

"Yeah, something fucking hurts. Everything hurts." He spat out the words, his frustration boiling over.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to push past the ache that gnawed at his bones. "It's my ribs," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every breath feels like knives, every movement sends shockwaves of pain through me."

Caleb's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep himself from breaking down. "But you know what hurts the most?" he continued, his voice rising with a raw edge. "It's the constant fear, the endless torment, the fucking uncertainty of whether I'll be able to get out of here alive."

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "So yeah, something hurts. But it's not just my ribs. It's my fucking soul."

10) do you have any triggers?

"It's the sound of footsteps approaching, the creak of a door opening, the click of a lock," Caleb muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's the smell of sweat and blood, the taste of fear on my tongue."

He clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his composure. "But most of all," he continued, his voice low and strained, "it's the feeling of helplessness, the sense of being trapped, the knowledge that no matter what I do, I can't fucking escape."

12) have you ever killed? would you?

"No. But god knows I've thought about it." His words hung heavy in the air, thick with regret and desperation. "I would kill Dominic if I get the chance to." He admitted. "It's not like I haven't tried before but I would stab the motherfucker 30 times for what he made me go through."

Taglist: @ash-reh @anutz1234 @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@someoneoninternettt @animesfortoday (let me know if you want to be added, removed or only be tagged in the story.)

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hearts-hunger · 2 years ago

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Chapter One: A Name Like a Death Knell {Series Masterlist | Series Playlist ♫}

Series Summary: A prince, a priest, a warrior, and a huntsman. They serve the god of the wood, and they have no choice but to obey when the Master demands a queen.

Pairings: Josh x Reader, Sam x Reader, Jake x Reader, Danny x Reader | Chapter Word Count: 2k | Warnings: blood, violence, dark magic, possession, religious themes, elements typical of a dark fantasy au

A/N: What a day to meet the master, huh? This au is based on the MTM music video, and it's a complete wild card for me. I'm using it as a place to explore all kinds of dark fantasy elements. I'm very interested to know what you think, and I hope you like it! ♡

Joshua awakes in darkness.

A breath is drawn from his chest like the string of a bow, taut, trembling; the sound of it mixes with the hum of the forest, the crickets and nightingales and the voice of the river. The air is cold, colder than he remembers it being when he fell into his dreamless sleep. He knows the prickling of his skin, the sudden shivering, the way his breath curls upwards in thin clouds — he knows these things like an old friend now.

“Samuel.” He reaches out in the darkness. “Samuel, I need you.”

His brother is awake in an instant. Even in sleep, Samuel is attuned to the sound of Joshua’s voice; he listens for the change of it, waits for when it will turn cold, dark, hungry.

For now, his brother’s voice is soft. “He’s coming.”

Samuel doesn’t ask if Joshua is certain. He can feel it too, that familiar shaking in his hands, and wills himself to be steady. He rises, moving sure-footed through the darkness; a lonesome wolf howls far in the distance, its cry made hollow in the trees.

“Hurry,” Joshua says. His voice is thinner now.

A third brother, a broken one, limps soundlessly from his guard post into the circle of trees where Joshua and Samuel stand. The sword at his hip is heavy, and the cold twines bruising fingers against his frame.

“What is it?” he asks. His eyes are the only thing left, the only part of him that he can trust; he watches as Samuel strips to almost nothing before pulling a long white robe over his body.

“God’s hand,” Jacob mutters. He whistles once, sharply, into the dark; a pair of glowing eyes opens and shimmers in the branches of a nearby oak.

“He’s coming,” Jacob says, watchful as the bright-eyed figure alights from the branch and lands like a cat on the ground, silent, graceful. He studies the figure’s shadowed face. “Are you Daniel?”

Sharp fangs show in a crooked smile. “Guess again.”

Jacob sighs. “Never mind. They’ll need a fire.”

The fanged creature hides its teeth and blinks once, twice, three times to rid its eyes of the feline glow. Soft brown takes its place, and worry finds a home in the curve of the mouth.

“What’s happened?” Daniel asks. Even his voice is different.

Jacob nods to the circle. “They need a fire. Your friend declined to help.”

Daniel shakes his head and bites the mark on the side of his hand, adding to the scars from teeth he’s set there before. “Not my friend.”

He gathers wood for the fire, broken ash and birch limbs cracking like ice across the surface of a frozen lake. Joshua flinches at each sound, his ears ringing, his head pounding; he hopes that the pain will not be as harsh tonight.

Daniel steps away when the fire is steady, flames curling and licking over the dead wood like serpent tongues. His eyes flicker again in the firelight.

“The hemlock,” Joshua urges, a creeping, frantic dread writhing like a living thing in his chest as the flame grows. He can feel it like a clawed hand around his heart, squeezing against the tender flesh.

Samuel ignores his brother. He knows which herbs he needs, which tinctures he must use; he mutters incantations to himself in a tongue that only he knows, a ghostly sort of song that makes it hard for Daniel to stay rooted. Everything must be perfect, and Samuel takes his time; he takes the herbs in his red-gloved hands, rolling dried flowers between his fingers until they crumble into a fine powder.

Jacob sucks a sharp breath through his teeth. “He’s nearly here.” The pain is always worse when he comes, and it webs over his hip, his chest, his shoulder. He knows if he traced it with his hand it would follow the path of the white scars etched into his skin.

A shadow passes overhead, blocking out the light of the moon and a thousand trembling stars. Each breath comes in silvery tendrils now, and the forest grows quieter with each passing moment.

“Samuel,” Daniel says quietly.

“Silence.” Samuel’s voice is harsh. “The wine.”

Daniel brings him the wineskin in perfect obedience, watching as Samuel pours a draught into a silver cup. He mixes a portion of herbs into the syrupy wine and hands the cup to Daniel.

“Make him drink,” Samuel says. “Cut his hand, this time.”

Joshua is silent, still, closed-eyed when Daniel comes to him. Daniel touches a gentle hand to his cheek, and Joshua startles.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Daniel.” He studies his brother’s face as Jacob did. “You are, aren’t you?”

Daniel presses the cup into Joshua’s hand. “Watcher doesn’t like this part. It’s only me.”

Joshua takes the cup, and Daniel pulls his dagger from its sheath; the blade catches the light of the fire and glints back against the flames. Joshua drinks the wine, swallowing down the bitter mix, and extends his arm to Daniel.

“I’m glad,” Joshua says, and there is enough softness to his voice to know he’s still there, at least for a moment. His entire arm is trembling, from his fingers to the crest of his shoulder. “I’d rather it was you.”

Daniel takes Joshua’s hand and cuts its swiftly, drawing the blade across his tender palm. Joshua gasps with the pain of it; blood wells in the hollow of his hand, and Joshua closes his eyes and turns his head when Daniel holds the cup underneath to catch it.

Daniel kisses Joshua’s bloody palm. “I serve the god of the wood.”

Joshua’s eyes sting with tears. It’s harder to breathe now. “Your service is counted as merit to you.”

Daniel takes the cup to Samuel and leaves Joshua’s blood smeared on his mouth, a blessing, a baptism. Joshua holds his hand awkwardly, blood dripping to the forest floor, and each drop sizzles where it meets the soft, springy undergrowth. Acrid smoke rises from the places his blood has burned the forest.

“Jacob,” Joshua rasps. “Your turn. Quickly.”

Jacob limps into the circle of trees and kneels before his twin, leaning heavily on his sword. He pulls roughly on the collar of his shirt, exposing the top of the long, winding scar.

“The pain won’t last,” Joshua says. “Remember this.”

Jacob grits his teeth. “Just do it.”

Joshua paints his brother’s scar with his blood. Jacob groans and flinches away from the touch as every nerve along the jagged scar comes alive with pain; he bows his head and rides the wave of torment with an anguished cry.

When the worst of it has passed, Jacob looks up at his brother, his blood- and sweat-slicked chest pumping with greedy breaths.

“I serve the god of the wood,” he gasps.

Joshua feels little distress at his brother’s display; the cold is too hungry now to give space to the warmth of pity. “Your service is counted as merit to you.”

When Jacob rises, his pain is gone, and he walks to Daniel’s side without a limp. His body is mended, for now, blood and bone knit back together until the magic runs thin again.

Blood on the mouth, blood on the chest; the last brother receives a streak of red on either cheek, and Samuel offers his pledge with solemn dignity.

“I serve the god of the wood.”

The ringing is unbearable now, Samuel's voice merely a thread of the cacophony weaving through his head. Joshua answers the way he must, and his voice has teeth.

“Your service is counted as merit to you.”

Samuel spreads the herbs over the fire, and clouds of smoke rise from the flames in a sparking blue haze. Joshua comes close to the fire, breathing in the fragrant smoke; the pain is gone, the ringing silenced, both rising to a crescendo before they vanish as sudden as death.

Then, like a thumb nail in the tender flesh of a ripe fruit, Joshua feels something else come in with the final breath of smoke.

“He’s here,” Jacob says.

Joshua’s hand raise of their own accord, one bloody, both shaking. His breath is sporadic, choking. His eyes roll back in his head.

“Don’t let me die,” he gasps.

“Be at peace,” Samuel tells him.

Everything goes black.

—

The shuddering inhale is torn from Joshua’s chest like the breath of a drowning man. Everything is spinning; he sways and only stays upright with the help of ready hands.

“What did he say?” he rasps.

He feels the rim of a cup against his mouth. “Drink, first,” Daniel says.

The water is cool, soothing the grit of another voice in his own throat. He’s lowered to the ground; one brother holds him, another tends his wound.

“God’s hand,” Joshua curses, shaking his head to rid it of the blinding dizziness. “Samuel, make it stop.”

“Be still,” Samuel says, panting and breathless. “I cannot help you. Have patience.”

Joshua squeezes his eyes shut and tries to calm his breathing. After a long moment, he opens them again.

His brothers sit with him beside the dying fire. The sky is lighter now, well past the dark of night, pale fingers of sunlight stretching over the cool gloom of morning. He knows he was gone for hours, and feels a residual shiver race across his skin.

“Are you well?” he asks, looking over his brothers. Jacob sits beside him, supporting him with a steadiness Joshua has missed in his twin. Daniel is the one mending his hand, rubbing salve over the wound, bandaging it with a strip of cloth. Samuel sits just across, peeling his gloves off, sweating despite the cool of dawn.

“Well enough,” Jacob says. Even in his voice, his brothers can tell that his pain has subsided. They all dread its return, but for now, he is hale and whole as he ought to be, as he was before.

Samuel accepts the waterskin Daniel gives him, taking long drinks to slake his thirst. Joshua knows that the visits are just as hard on his brother as they are on him, perhaps moreso; Samuel stays awake, and it is he who must ensure that the ritual unfolds as it should.

Joshua puts his head in his hands. His head is woozy still, full of incense and ringing like a death knell with one word, one name, over and over.

“Corinne,” he says.

Samuel nods. “Yes. That’s her name.”

Joshua feels ill. “Who is she?” He cannot bear the thought of dragging anyone else into this Stygian nightmare with him, but a hunger that does not belong to him aches in his chest.

Daniel’s eyes flicker until they are not his, gold and fire-bright. “A little queen for the god of the wood, perhaps?”

Jacob scowls. “No one asked you, Watcher.”

Fangs show when Watcher snarls, but he doesn’t dare speak back to Jacob. Not now, not when Jacob fairly glows with strength and vigor from the blood-blessing he's been given.

“Let him go,” Samuel tells the sprite. He takes Daniel’s hand and presses against the sigil in his skin. “Now, Watcher.”

“No fun,” Watcher says, sullen. He makes Daniel shake all over, a great heaving shudder like a dog shaking off water, and leaves.

Daniel groans and touches a hand to his head.

“I could feel him,” he says. “I tried to keep him quiet, but it’s getting harder.”

“You need rest,” Joshua says, gentle.

Daniel’s smile is thin. “You need rest.”

Sam shakes his head. “No time for it. We’re going today.” He looks to Jacob. “Do you know where it is? The place he spoke of?”

Jacob nods. “South.”

“Warmer,” Joshua says tiredly. “Of course.”

He looks up at his brothers. “Who is she?” he asks again. He doesn’t want the answer, but he must know.

Jacob grimaces. “Watcher was right. She’s... she’s meant to be your wife. He's chosen her.”

“My wife,” Joshua breathes. “No. His wife. My body.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Does she know? Or am I to snatch some girl from her home under cover of night?”

“You are to do as he commands,” Samuel says, wary and serious. “You must obey.”

“We all must,” Joshua says bitterly. He studies the bandage on his palm, lets his gaze travel to the scars that shine white all over his hands, his arms, his shoulders. “I serve the god of the wood.”

“Your service is counted as merit to you,” Samuel says, trying to comfort him.

Joshua sighs heavily. There is very little comfort to him now.

He stands, and his brothers stand with him.

“Very well,” he says. “We'll go south, and there we shall find a queen for the Master.”

Read chapter two!

— I'm not tagging my regular crowd, because this isn't my regular kind of fic. I will however tag you sweethearts who seemed excited for it! @starcatcherkiszka @llightmyllovee @sammyscherub @starshine-wagner

If you'd like to be tagged in this fic, please send me an ask! ♡

#lowkey nervous to post this because it's so different for me but uhhhh here's one for all you witchy blood kink girlies ig <3 #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf au #greta van fleet au #gvf fanfiction #josh kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfiction #danny wagner fanfiction #sam kiszka fanfiction #maddie writes stuff!#appetence fic

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befuddled-calico-whump · 2 years ago

Text

Company Property

for Angstpril, Day 1: Liar

cw: manipulation, electrocution, violence, mentions of death/dismemberment

masterlist ///// next

•×•×•

He shrunk back from the light when the door opened, by now associating any shift in the darkness with pain.

But the silhouette in the door didn't belong to a guard, and it didn't even step forward, instead setting something heavy on the ground, nudging it further into the cell with a foot.

"Morning, scum."

(Thrum, hum, drum.) Lex raised his head, taking in the thing that had been sent towards him. Two identical items, long and metallic. They looked almost robotic, almost like…

Hands? Arms?

He looked up at the man in the door, a question silent on his face. The man grinned.

"Wanna get revenge?"

•×•×•

"How many?"

"Four or five. We aren't certain."

"And you want them all dead?"

"Dead or alive makes no difference to me."

"Dead then. Location?"

"We'll give you coordinates before you depart."

(Coordinates, bore-dinates, get down on the floor-dinates.)

Alexei Wilder sat stiff-backed in the leather chair, flexing new, inorganic fingers and staring towards the man he was speaking to without quite looking at him.

Overkast had gone rogue---or so Corporate said--- and they wanted him to take care of it. Become Cinder again and burn the hero who'd destroyed him.

Today was… his gaze flicked to the corner, where a calendar was tacked to the wall. A picture of a tree frog below an all-caps 'JUNE'. (Dune, noon, moon.)

Today was June the something, then, and it had been either one month or thirteen.

Both were far too long a time to spend in the dark.

But now he was unchained. Out of the cell, out of the darkness. He'd been fitted with a shock collar, but he couldn't fault these men for being cautious. After all, he was still a weapon, wasn't he?

The office was simultaneously too bright and not bright enough. He wanted to bask in the light as much as hide from it, to drink in the sunshine, the sky out the window, even the damn wallpaper pattern. He wanted to lie on the wooden floor and run his hands along the grain, to blow out the cinnamon scented candle on the desk and drink in the smoke.

But he didn't.

He sat still and pretended he wanted to obey the man at the desk. Uriah Fox, or so his nameplate read. The big CEO, head of Titanium, one of the companies that dealt in Hero contracts. The kind that would hire Lex to do their dirty work one day and call for his arrest the next.

"I am glad you decided to take my offer, Alexei," Fox continued, and Lex wanted to bristle at the casual use of his name. Whether Fox owned the tower that had kept him prisoner or not, he clearly had the power to take his life in his hands any time he wanted. Not someone to like, and certainly not someone to trust.

"We understand that there's some bad blood between you and Overkast. I trust that will serve to motivate you. Fan the flames, so to speak."

So there was. Overkast had taken his arms, left his body broken. He'd barely survived that fight. But the Corporate-run Tower, made for imprisoning bad guys like him, had taken the rest.

Everything that had once been normal, that he'd taken for granted, now felt strange.

Yesterday he'd had his first hot shower in a year. His hair had been cut, he'd been able to shave, brush his teeth. He could move his arms, flex his fingers, grab things, touch things. And he couldn't feel any of it, but ghostly memories of how it felt to hold something remained, and he could pretend.

Lex was given new boots and clothes to work in---the weight of the cloth and leather felt odd now, but he welcomed feeling almost human again---and was sent on his way at dusk. The collar stayed on, and a handler stayed with it, assigned to keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn't try to run.

The coordinates brought him to an unassuming apartment building.

By the end of the night, he'd have it reduced to ash.

He'd been given leave to improvise. To do whatever it took to take out the rogue team. Something he was good at. He'd be rusty, sure. A year in the dark, a year without use would do that to a tool, no matter how sharp. But he would prevail. He always did.

"Almost always," he reminded himself aloud, curling his new fingers into a fist. He was still getting used to the arms, the replacements for the flesh that had been taken from him.

The building seemed largely empty, aside from a single lighted window on the third floor. Lex circled the complex once, just to be certain, then began to scale the fire escape. The ladder made a soft tinging sound beneath the metal of his fingertips, singing like a wind chime as he climbed.

Even that scant amount of exertion was enough to make the muscles in his back ache. His body wasn't used to this amount of movement anymore. It wasn't used to the freedom of being able to walk more than a few paces. It was already tired, but he ignored its plea for rest. Years of training had left him able to push himself past his limits.

On the other side of the third-story window, a stout young woman sat on a beat-up sofa, reading. A pair of glasses rested on top of her head, above a round face and large brown eyes. Vision impaired. If he acted quickly, he'd have an advantage.

She certainly wasn't Overkast, but Fox said there were other teammates who'd sided with the rogue hero. This woman could easily be one of them. He considered finding another window and sneaking in, snapping her neck before she had time to scream. It would be easy.

But something gave him pause. She was too human. And sure, he'd had no problem with that in the past, but now it halted him where he stood.

What was stopping him? The way she had her legs curled up on the couch? Her laser-focus on the book, the way a few strands of her dark hair had come loose from her ponytail?

It occured to him then, that this was the first person he'd seen in over a year who didn't want to hurt him, or use him, or hate him. She was just existing. Knowing he was about to change that almost saddened him.

He'd strike quick, then. Non-lethal. Use her as a hostage if needed.

The window was locked from the inside, but Lex had no problem forcing it open, summoning his fire and feeling a rush of energy as it connected to the left cybernetic, the metal heating to a molten orange.

The woman was on her feet in an instant, throwing the book at him with an aim that would almost be impressive, if Lex wasn't able to catch it mid air with his activated arm, setting it aflame.

"Shit— Firebrand!" the woman shouted over her shoulder, taking hasty steps back as Lex advanced on her.

"I don't need to hurt you," he said, reaching out to seize her wrist with his cool hand when she turned to run. "Tell me where to find Overkast."

"What the hell— you— you're Cinder, aren't you?" the woman stammered, then, without warning, delivered a hard kick to his shin, trying to pull away.

He barely felt it. "Where is he?"

"Overkast is dead," she said through clenched teeth. "Who sent you? Was it Uriah? He's playing you. He just wants to get rid of us without getting his hands dirty."

Dead? Not possible. Overkast was at the heart of his mission. His vengeance. Fox had even said he didn't care about anyone else. "Bring them back dead or alive."

"You're lying," he growled. A quick footfall sounded nearby; someone rushing down the stairs. He pulled the woman into him, wrapping an arm around her throat and readying for an attack.

"It's the truth, I swear," the woman protested, her voice coming out strained. "Fox lied to you to get you to play attack dog."

"He didn't—"

"Bullshit, I saw your collar."

(Holler. Dollar.) He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow the shame that threatened to rise in him. It didn't matter. He'd wear a collar if it kept him out of the cell.

The steps drew closer, and the door across from them swung open. A girl stood on the other side, firelight in her clenched fists, glinting off of the beads that had been woven into her thick, braided hair. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, but there was murder in her dark eyes.

"Let her go," she spat, raising a glowing hand. She was still in her pajamas. Despite the threat she presented, despite her affiliation with Overkast, she was still very much a kid.

He wasn't all that surprised at the notion of Titanium employing children as heroes. For all their posturing, they really weren't so different from the Underneath.

"Tell me where Overkast is, and I will," he replied.

"Try six feet under," the girl shot back, but didn't try to close the distance. Lex raised his burning arm, holding it near the woman's head.

"Last chance to tell me the truth."

"He's dead," the girl snapped.

"How?" Her insistence was starting to seed doubt. "Who killed him?"

"Who do you think?" the woman in his grip said. "It was Titanium. Fox. And now they're after us too."

"Got enough brains to believe us, cyborg?" the girl in the doorway snarled. "Or are you just another one of their puppets?"

•×•×•

Getting away from the pair was easy enough. He'd shoved the woman forward, sending her crashing into the girl, and even when the kid was quick enough to send a stream of flame his way, it meant nothing. Fire couldn't hurt him, didn't she understand?

He ignored the onslaught, ignored their shouts for backup, ignored the objects flung at him as he took hold of the sides of the fire escape ladder and slid all the way to the ground.

His handler was still waiting in the alley adjacent to the building, looking puzzled and alarmed as Lex stalked toward him, hand flying defensively to the remote at his hip.

"Cinder— is the mission complete? I didn't see—"

"Where is Overkast?" Lex asked, towering over the other man.

"Did—Did you not see him?" the man stammered, voice pitching higher with fear.

"He's dead, isn't he?" If there had been any doubt left, it fled as a look of panic crossed the man's face.

"No, he's— he's alive. His team must be hiding him. If you—"

Lex didn't let him finish, dealing a swift backhand across his face that sent him sprawling.

"I didn't realize Titanium was full of liars," he muttered, closing in on the man. But before he could strike again, the handler remembered the remote, quickly pushing the center button.

Electricity surged through Lex, stopping him in place, locking out every muscle, burning him in a way that fire never could.

The man held it as Lex dropped to the ground, convulsing, unable to breathe. He didn't let go until his vision had gone dark.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, the man was gone.

"Tsk tsk. I expected better from you, Alexei," a voice crackled from the collar. Uriah Fox. He wondered if he'd been watching the whole time, if the thing had a camera as well as a comm link.

"Y'... lied to me," Lex mumbled back.

"I also got you out of the Tower. Is this how you're going to repay that kindness?"

Blindness, he thought dizzily. Any strength he'd gathered for the mission had been sapped by the shock. He didn't even have the energy to pick himself up off the pavement.

"What do you say we forget this little outburst?" Fox continued. "Come back to HQ and we'll talk. Re-evaluate. I still think you can be an asset to us."

"And what if I don't? You'll kill me?"

"If you don't, I'll put you back in the Tower."

His mouth went dry. "I'll die first."

Laughter on the other end. "You think I'd let that happen? You're company property, Alexei."

Lex tried to ignore the words. Pretend they meant nothing to him, that they were just a label that would keep him out of the dark, but they made him feel nauseous. Trapped.

"One way or another, you'll be useful to me."

•×•×•

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