#only last name spirit companion

[companionquest]

good morning to 40 year olds who act 80, bisexual terrorists, autistic empaths, insomniac assassins, and everyone else who’s got the spirit

[doctahchang]

would like to know the lore of my own oc that i have had for like ten years

edit: found an old sketch of her... i basically drew her for the first time eons ago and haven't changed her design ever since (sad that i won't be able to find those drawing again)

[sammakesart]

Castles in the Fade, or What Was the Point of the Veil Anyway

Something that will now haunt me until the end of time is why was the concept of the Veil ever introduced into this series.

We’ve been hearing about it since the very first game. There’s a codex entry about tears in the Veil in Origins. Tamlen mentions a thin spot in the Veil if you play a Dalish elf. Sandal has a prophecy in Dragon Age 2: “One day the magic will come back—all of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.” Admittedly, this is just one line said by a character who often says odd things, but it hinted to the fact they were planning to do something with the Veil from the very beginning. The state of the Veil is repeatedly brought up. It all had to mean something! Or so I thought. 

When I saw “The Dread Wolf Rises” quest in Veilguard, I said, “Oh, here we go!” The Veil is coming down, magic is coming back, and it’s going to set up such an interesting story for the next game. 

Alas, no. 

I hadn’t really enjoyed my time playing Veilguard up until this point. It felt like the game was ducking and dodging every bit of world building and lore that could possibly bring nuance or complexity to the story. Every returning character or faction was a cardboard cutout of themself. They shoved Solas is a time-out box and gave him nothing to do. They refused to let him have any impact or influence on the story when he had been set up to be our main antagonist back in Trespasser. This game used to be called Dreadwolf! And while we learn about his past… we never talk to him about it. In the present, he’s in stasis.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are our villains. And they are your typical evil for evil’s sake villains. They are mad, bad, and only as dangerous as the narrative will allow as to not give Rook and co too much trouble. They are surprisingly patient while Rook fixes all their companions’ problems… until Elgar’nan moves the moon to cause an eclipse. A vital component in making his own lyrium dagger. For some reason. This guy can move a satellite!? And he just let Rook walk away in previous encounters… twice. Ok. Sure.

The Evil Duo need their own dagger ostensibly to tear down the Veil, because they want to unleash the full force of the Blight onto the world. Because they are evil. And they were thwarted last time they tried to Blight the entire world. Why do they think Blighting the world is a good idea? What’s the point of ruling a world if everyone is dead? I guess they haven’t thought that through, because of the madness and the evilness.

Ok, I thought. Perhaps the gods will be the one to tear down the Veil. Or maybe we’ll have a choice to let Solas do it his way before they can, which will be less chaotic and less full of Blight. Because the Veil has to be coming down one way or another? Why introduce the concept of the Veil, especially a Veil that has been thinning and failing since the series began, if it’s just going to… stay.

There is a principle in storytelling called Chekov’s gun. If something is mentioned in a story, it must have a purpose. If you keeping mentioning that gun hanging on the wall over the fireplace, it’s because at some point in the story, someone is going to take it down and use it. The Veil felt like Chekov’s gun to me. Chekov’s Veil, if you will. It’s been here from the beginning of our tale, the spectre hanging over our protagonists’ heads for multiple games.

The Veil has been a character unto itself. It was the central focus of the third game, and its dissolution was set up to be the core conflict of the fourth game. We learn everything we thought we knew about the Veil was a lie. It was not created by the Maker to separate the Fade from this world because of jealous spirits, it was created by a guy named Solas to trap the elven gods and the Blight from destroying the world. Also, the elven gods were never gods, and they are also evil.

This reveal will surely throw the Andrastian religion into chaos! This puts the very existence of the Maker into question! The Evanuris are a lie; it’s only fair Catholicism—oh, I mean—the Chantry is a lie too. We briefly touch on that in Veilguard… then it is quietly discarded. Religious crisis averted.

But I digress.

When the title of the fourth game was changed from Dreadwolf to Veilguard, I started to see the writing on the wall. Still, I held out hope the Veil would have some greater purpose in the story. That its introduction as a concept was for a reason. That something in this world would change.

Instead, from the get-go, the question of the Veil is no question at all. We only get Solas and Varric making oblique or catastrophizing statements about it. Solas says little beyond he has a plan. If I ever wanted to hear a villain monologue about their plan, it was now! Varric, on the other hand, decries Solas’s plan. He warns that should the Veil fall, it will destroy the world and drown it in demons. And that’s that.

We never really learn why Solas wants to tear the Veil down, or why he thinks it will help anyone. “The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed,” he says. And that’s basically all he says about it in Veilguard. In Inquisition and Trespasser, we learn it took the immortality from the elves. It cut most of magic off from the world. Spirits are trapped and are being corrupted into demons, and most of what we know about spirits and demons is wrong. There are ancient elves possibly asleep? That part is left vague, but ancient elves are still about. We meet some in Mythal’s temple. There seems to have been some merit in bringing it down, because elves were flocking to Solas’s cause at the end of Trespasser. He had agents working for him already. What do they know that we don’t know?

Apparently nothing, because by the time Veilguard rolls around, there are no mention of agents. He is working alone. His only motivation now seems to be he’s too deep in his sunk-cost fallacy. The Veil is unnatural, so it must be removed—consequences be damned. We are never given any reason to think Solas has a leg to stand on in his pursuit of tearing down the Veil. We never hear any kind of counter argument from anyone, not even Solas, as to why the Veil should come down. We are only told it will destroy the world. It will drown the world in demons. This is all Solas’s fault.

There is no nuance. No complexity. No moral quandary to mull over. The game gives us vague warnings with no explanation as to what exactly is so world-annihilating about the Veil coming down. We must take Varric’s word at face value. We’re the heroes; Solas is the villain. Stop him.

It makes me wonder why Solas was ever a companion in Inquisition, let alone a romance option. Solas was presented to us as a complicated character in Inquisition. We had the potential throughout the game to make him see the value of this world, to help him realize he was wrong about it. “We aren’t even people to you,” the Inquisitor says in Trespasser. Solas replies, “Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong...again.” He began the third game viewing the world as tranquil, seeing the people in it as nothing more than figments in a nightmare, just as we saw our companions in the In Hushed Whispers quest. He ends the game having made friends, having recognized he was mistaken. He might have even fallen in love. (Or he may still seen no merit in this world if the Inquisitor antagonized him the entirety of their time together.) But something makes him continue with his plan to tear down the Veil, despite recognizing this world is real. He must know something we don’t. Something we’ll learn about in the next game.

We’ve been hearing about the Veil for three games now. We’ve set up our complex antivillain for the next installment, and he’s going to tear the Veil down. We swear to stop him or save him. But it has to be more complex than that. It can’t be so straightforward. Uncomplicated. Simple. Boring. Right? Right?

Nope. He really is just the villain, mustache-twirling and all. He apparently had no greater motivation, no as of yet unrevealed knowledge that would put this whole Veil thing into a new context. It was really as simple as the Veil falling will destroy the world, so Solas must be stopped. There is no new information that is revealed which makes us question what we are doing. Solas is never given any nuance or complexity to his actions. Nuance and complexity have actively been taken away. Both him and the Veil are looking like they are the worst things to be in a story: pointless. Why introduce the Veil if it’s just going to remain unchanged? Why introduce a character like Solas, bother humanizing him (for lack of a better term), giving us his backstory, setting him up as a cunning antagonist, only to make him look stupid, then put him on a shelf until the last ten minutes of your game?

Solas was the trickster archetype of this tale. He was our version of Loki from Norse mythology. What is the role of the trickster archetype? To challenge the status quo. To bring about events of extreme change, like say, the tearing down of a Veil that holds back all of magic. Loki is a huge contributing factor in Ragnarök. Through his manipulation, he causes the death of the beloved god, Baldr. This ushers in a long winter, which signifies the beginning of the end. Loki is imprisoned for this crime. When the final battle between gods and giants begins, the sun and moon are swallowed, plunging the earth into darkness. The earth shakes and Loki is freed to fight on the side of the giants. The world burns in raw chaos, falls beneath the sea, and is reborn. The world is remade, and a new realm of the gods and a new, better earth is formed.

It really felt like this was the setup they were going for. Solas causes the death of Mythal, and this is his catalyst for creating the Veil, which ushers in a world without magic. This could be seen as equivalent to the long winter. Solas falls asleep, trapped in dreams. He wakes and sets in motion bringing about the apocalypse. It’s not a perfect one to one, but it’s there if you squint. We have a war against the gods in Veilguard. I was expecting a few remaining Titans to wake and join the fight. But we don’t get any of that. There is a final battle, but it does not end in the end of the world. Or a better world. It just ends, and everything is the same.

It seems our trickster god caused his apocalypse thousands of years before our story started, when he created the Veil. His role in this tale was over before ours began, and he really is just some relic from a long-past age. He has no role, no purpose in this story. He is here to be thwarted. He is no Loki at all.

If you can’t tell, I wanted the Veil to come down. Did I think the Veil coming down would be painless? Have no negative consequences? No. Of course not. But keeping it up has negative consequences too. And it made for an interesting story. Or at least it could have. But we never explore that. The game presents no counter argument to having the Veil stay up, which, again, begs the question: what was the point of introducing the concept of the Veil at all?

Did I think the Veil coming down was actually the best solution to help Thedas become a better place? I don’t know, and I never will, because the game never argues for it one way or another. It just tells you to want it in place and to stop asking questions. In real life, a catastrophic event is not the best way to solve any of the world’s problems. But this is the realm of fiction. We have gods and monsters, magic and myth. We have introduced the status quo of Thedas, recognized it needs to change, then our trickster god appears ready to fulfill his role in the narrative. 

Instead, it all comes to nothing.

I got to the end of Veilguard… and everything was more or less the same as it was at the start of Origins. Veilguard actually tries its hardest to pretend any previously mentioned problems don’t exist, so of course the Veil coming down has no merit. There are no problems to solve in this world, apparently. Solas is just stuck in the past and can’t get with the times. Silly Solas.

The Veil isn’t even a permanent solution. It wasn’t to begin with. It was some duct tape wrapped around a broken pipe, and we’ve just slapped an extra piece of tape on it. It’s still leaking. It is still unnatural, and will fall eventually one way or another. Large amounts of bloodshed weaken it, so I guess Thedas better achieve world peace real quick to avoid any battles. There were seven super-powered mages holding it together… now there is just one. Ironically, the Veil was going to fall after two more Blights anyway. The Wardens were doing Solas’s work for him! It would also have released the full force of the Blight at that time… which Solas was trying to avoid, I presume.

It feels like keeping the Veil up just pushed a big problem onto Thedas’ future generations. We’ll keep slapping bandaids on it until it all falls apart. Someone else can deal with the fallout, but we’ll be dead by then, so who cares.

Primarily, I wanted the Veil to come down from a storytelling perspective. The Veil was an interesting concept and I wanted the story to do something interesting with it. Conflict is what makes stories stories and the Veil coming down could create so much compelling and complex conflict. And the Fade is weird, and I like weird. Stories are also about change, and I wanted to see Thedas change. Yet, Veilguard is over, and barely anything has changed. Instead of magic coming back being a conflict for the next game, they went with Fantasy Illuminati. Oh.

The Veil turned out to be a nothing-burger, and no problems in this world are even close to being solved. Slavery is still rampant in Tevinter. The elven people are still oppressed everywhere. Mages have no more rights in the South than they did in Origins. Spirits are still trapped and being corrupted. The Calling still exists, though might be different somehow now? They don’t really get into that. The Chantry’s validity is still not allowed to be questioned. The Blight still exists in some form, but again it’s vague. Oh, and we learn the dwarves have been gravely wronged, and the Titans are still tranquil. At least if you redeem Solas and a romanced Lavellan joins him, they can work together on healing the Blight and helping the Titans. Oh, good. One problem is being acknowledged and some action will be taken. Offscreen. Hurray? Solas doesn’t have a really great track record of fixing problems, so Lavellan is definitely going to need to be there to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.

For some reason, this game seemed terrified of letting us think about anything for more than two seconds. It shied away from complexity or nuance at every turn. The game is called The Veilguard—ironically, that word is never uttered in the game—but we are given no real motive for guarding the Veil. We’re unquestionably the hero. The villains are uncomplicatedly evil. Save the world… never wonder what you are doing or why.

I wanted the game to make me question if the Veil staying up or coming down was the right choice. I needed to be given a real counter argument. Convince me the alternative would actually be better or worse, because as I mentioned… things suck quite a bit in Thedas already for a lot of people right now. Let the Veil’s fate be a difficult choice to make. If the conflict cannot be what to do about the Veil, it should be am I doing the right thing about the Veil. If the heart of your game is so thin on motive, everything else falls apart around it.

I hoped they were setting up a complex, Thedas-sized existential conflict for this game in Trespasser, but no. I wanted something to happen, but nothing did. 

I want to feel challenged and changed by a story, not left feeling empty. I’m tired of superficial entertainment. I want to sink my teeth into a narrative that doesn’t paint the world in broad strokes of black and white, good and evil, heroes and villains.

Ultimately, I think my issue is why even introduce a concept like The Veil if you’re not going to do anything interesting with it. Or anything at all. What I thought was Chekov’s Veil turned out to just be a MacGuffin. And that’s disappointing.

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 5)

You rope the busy businessman into enjoying the holiday spirit.

nav: one, two, three, four, five (current), six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, fluff, your shot's smoother than stephen curry's

“You set me up,” you accuse, pointing a finger at the culprit before you.

Your midnight-feathered companion merely squawks in your face.

Frowning, you scoop the garnet-eyed traitor into your arms. Try as you might, you can’t resist stroking its feathers, the soft, silky texture effectively subduing your vexation. The bird settles comfortably in your hold, pecking at some lint on your shirt.

Are you still plagued by your embarrassing encounter with the red-eyed Apollo of a man in the park last week?

Absolutely.

Are you being unfair by taking it out on an innocent animal?

You drop your face into your hands with a dejected sigh.

It’s the eve of the Frostlight holiday, and you’ve decided to visit one of the places you hold a lifetime voucher for—a quaint little coffee shop tucked away in a shopping district alley. Aside from wanting to shake off the holiday blues, worsened by the eerie quiet of your undecorated house (save for the tiny Frostlight tree your brother gave you as a gag gift on your fifteenth birthday), you’ve been eager to check out the place after its recent renovations.

You’d been enjoying the shop’s new seasonal latte, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, when the familiar sound of cawing reached your ears. Before you could look for the source, a blur of black feathers descended gracefully onto your tabletop, a tiny red gem bead clutched in its beak.

Normally, your friend’s surprise appearance would brighten your mood. But as the events of last week played out again in your mind, you couldn't help but launch into a one-sided tirade about how your little tag game with the bird had unfolded that night.

“He said his name was Sylus—he was so handsome,” you groan, idly tracing the condensation on your cup. “And such a gentleman, too! And I tripped over him.��

The crow pecks at the stack of tissues on your table.

“But he was bleeding,” you continue, your gaze drifting to your straw, now bent and chewed. “He looked really hurt. I tried to help him, but then he just stood up—like nothing happened!”

It abandons the tissues, opting instead to preen its feathers.

“Do you think it could’ve been his Evol?” you wonder. “If it was, that’s so cool. And really convenient, don’t you think?”

You glance down at your companion, only to find it engrossed in cleaning its glossy plumage, its blatant disregard for your monologue clear.

You huff.

Deciding to leave the bird to its own business, you let your gaze wander to the other shops.

Because it’s the eve of a well-awaited holiday, the shopping district is alive with activity. The booths are adorned with warm white lights, accented by the sparkle of colorful fairy lights. Even from a distance, the aroma of cookies, hot chocolate, and assorted pastries wafts through the air. At the heart of the district where the streets converge stands a towering Frostlight tree, its meticulously arranged decorations glimmering under the festive lights. Decorative wrapped presents are nestled beneath its branches, and a brilliant star crowns the top, casting a warm, radiant glow over the lively scene.

The crowd is a bustling mix: parents paying at booths, teenagers laughing boisterously in groups, children darting around with unchecked energy, pets drawing clusters of admirers… and a familiar, silver-haired man standing by a stall, his towering presence capturing the awe-struck attention of passersby.

You blink.

Before you even realize it, you're on your feet,  weaving through the crowd—nearly tripping over a couple of kids—until you finally reach the stall.

Breathless from your short dash, you rise onto your tippy toes and tap him on the shoulder.

He turns around, brows furrowed as he glances left and right, before finally looking down.

“Sylus, hi!” you blurt out, a toothy grin plastered on your face.

You're pleased to catch the surprise flicker in his eyes.

"Sweetie," he greets, the faintest tug of a smile playing at his lips. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was in the area trying this new latte...” you trail off, glancing down, only to realize your hands are empty.

You must’ve left it at the table, along with your little crow. 

You look back up at him sheepishly. (You send a half-hearted mental apology to the abandoned drink and bird.)

“New latte, huh?” he says, lips curling up into a smirk.

You realize his eyes are a beautiful, bright scarlet under the light.

“What about you? What are you doing here?” you ask, eyes curiously trailing over his dark button-up dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up neatly, revealing toned forearms, the fabric adorned with slashes of deep red embroidery.

Sylus pauses. “Just… handling some business,” he replies, vaguely gesturing to the stall behind him. Around it, several well-built men in black attire and face masks move about—some standing idle, others murmuring in low voices, and a few weaving in and out of the stall's shadowy depths.

Your gaze shifts past them, landing on the vibrant display of oranges, clementines, pomegranates, figs, and other fruits neatly arranged in wooden crates.

“Oh! You own a fruit business?” you exclaim, your face lighting up with excitement.

You miss the slight grimace crossing his face.

“How lovely!” you say, already fishing for your wallet. “Allow me to support such a wholesome endeavor. I’d like two bags of pomegranates, please.”

A brief silence lingers between him and the nearby men. Then, he chuckles, flicking a finger over his shoulder. Two of them—smaller and seemingly younger than the rest, each sporting identical curls—exchange a quick glance before grabbing paper bags and clumsily filling them with pomegranates.

“Here you go,” one of them says with a bow, handing you his bag.

“The freshest of the season!” the other adds cheerily, offering his own.

You accept the bags graciously, about to hand over your payment, when Sylus raises a hand. “On the house,” he tells you, eyes gleaming with amusement.

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he replies, gaze roving over your form with a slight smile. “A holiday gift, if you will.”

You take in how striking he looks beneath the soft glow of the lights, his presence almost ethereal against the lively backdrop.

It’s then you realize you only have one life to live. Life is too short for regrets, and you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. That fortune favors the bold, and that you either go big or you go home.

And so, with a deep inhale to steel your nerves, you seize the moment.

“Sylus, would you like to go get ice cream with me?”

The men behind him perk up. Deeper within the stall, a bound man sits trembling, a gun fitted with a silencer pressed against his temple. He’s being hushed, and the air grows thick with suspense as everyone waits with bated breath for the silver-haired man’s response.

After what seems like eternity, Sylus chuckles, flicking your forehead gently.

“I’d be more than happy to.”

—

You’ve barely spent an hour together, but already, you’ve learned so much about him.

He’s surprisingly chivalrous. You hadn’t expected it, but when you pulled out your wallet to pay for both your ice cream cups, he leaned over, gently swatted your hand away, and handed his card to the cashier.

You looked up at him in protest. “But I was the one who offered to get you ice cream…!”

He merely ruffled your hair, amused, as if you were an unruly feline meowing its head off for not getting the fish on the dinner table.

“I’m not letting you pay. End of discussion.”

Determined to make up for your honor, you dragged him to a weathered claw machine not far from the ice cream stand.

“Fine. But I’m getting you that one,” you declared, pointing at a black-and-red dragon plushie nestled among the other prizes. “You’re not allowed to refuse, okay?”

After a brief scuffle over who got to insert the coin (you lost), you managed to snag the plush on your first try. Triumphantly, you handed it to him, watching as he turned it over in his hands, his fingers gently fiddling with its tiny wings. Your gloating expression faded, though, at the sight of his faint smile, the image strangely sending a dull ache through your chest.

And despite his intimidating appearance, he’s remarkably generous.

When the two of you stepped outside the bustling shopping district for a breather, ice cream cups in hand, a gaggle of children in Frostlight-themed costumes approached. Tambourines and melodicas in hand, they eagerly asked if they could perform for you. Their chaperone stood nearby, wincing apologetically at their loud enthusiasm.

“Do your best,” Sylus told them, leaning against the building wall behind him, eyes gleaming in amusement.

The children hastily formed a crooked pyramid, the instrumentalists awkwardly positioned at the back, before launching into the most gloriously off-key performance you’d ever heard. You struggled to suppress your laughter, covering your mouth with your hand, but Sylus regarded them seriously, his head nodding slightly, as if genuinely finding rhythm in their chaotic melody.

When they finished with a burst of giggles, Sylus clapped slowly, laughter dancing in his gaze, before handing over a generous wad of cash. You’ve never heard so many high-pitched “You’re the best, mister!”s all at once.

You’ve been having so much fun—exploring the bustling stalls, petting the pups you come across, checking in on his hardworking fruit stall employees (and happily handing them some of the banana chips you bought), and watching the small fireworks display in the shopping district's adjacent plaza—that you don’t realize how late it’s gotten. Before you know it, you’ve arrived at your house, the neighborhood now quiet and serene, the hum of the city replaced by an almost peaceful stillness.

At your doorstep, you turn to see Sylus leaning casually against his sleek black SUV, his gaze fixed on you. A thought strikes you, and your eyes widen.

“Wait!” you blurt, fumbling for your key. “We never got around to returning each other’s stuff. Let me grab your coat!”

Before you can act, tendrils of black-and-red mist creep along the ground, curling around your feet. Bewildered, you stare at it as it coils upward, encircling you. “What…?”

Despite the way it looks, it feels soft and warm against your skin. Gently, it curls around your wrist, pausing your search for your key, and lifts your chin, guiding your gaze back to him.

“Return it next time,” Sylus tells you, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“But won’t you need it?” you ask, distracted by the way the mist dances around you, one tendril brushing your side playfully. You let out a surprised laugh. “Is this your Evol…?”

The mist retreats slowly, as if reluctant to leave. It curls around his feet one last time before dissipating entirely.

“I don’t have your sweater yet,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’d be rude to accept the coat before then.”

“But—”

“Think of it as my excuse to see you again.”

Your words catch in your throat as heat rises to your cheeks.

To appease you, though, he offers to exchange numbers so you can work out the details of your sweater and coat handover. If he notices the way your hands tremble when his fingers brush yours while swapping phones, he doesn’t mention it—though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth doesn’t go unnoticed. With a reluctant wave and a final goodnight, you step inside and close the door behind you.

You lean against it for a moment.

Then, you bolt to your room, dive onto the bed, and scream into your pillow.

When you finally roll onto your back, breathless and grinning like an idiot, the ceiling above you seems brighter, the world lighter. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this way—like you’re floating, bursting with happiness.

You like him. You really, really like him.

As thoughts of brightly colored ice cream scoops and cuddly dragon plushies swirl in your mind, the weight of the day’s events finally begins to settle over you. You briefly resist, realizing you haven’t even changed out of your clothes or undergone your nightly routine yet, but in the end, you surrender to the comforting pull of slumber.

Just as you drift off, your phone screen glows faintly from your bag.

Good night kitten.

note: tysm for taking time to share your thoughts about the series 🥺 reading through them truly makes me so happy! it's so surreal to know that there are people out there actually looking forward to updates lol!! happy holidays, everyone! 💞

nav: one, two, three, four, five (current), six or: read on ao3

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex, @midiplier, @wisteriaflowersss, @euclase0, @leighsartworks216, @keyiswatching, @goldenbirdiee, @delaythings, @datura109, @iloveboysinred, @everythingistaken00, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @blueberrysquire, @mourning-into-dancing, @bookfreakk, @everywherenothere, @vvhira, @laidenbreecatchall, @kyushii, @lucifer-says-hii, @sylus-crow, @carmelves, @nishayuro

check out my other works!

[lordprettyflackotara]

2005 || sam and colby

‘does someone wanna tell me, what is going on?’

sum: you died in 2005, trapped in the confines of the hotel you died at. twenty years later, two ghost hunters appear, begging for your attention. and as much as you hated to admit it, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t interested

tw: ghost!reader, ghost hunters!sam and colby, plot. just plot. soooo sorry to be one of those hoes with plot build up for smut. brief mention of suicide. reader is an absolute bitch, sorry not sorry

a/n: thank you spicychat we all say in unison

part two is here

You hated purgatory.

That’s what purgatory was supposed to be, a place you hated. Whatever overlord existed definitely did a good job at doing that. You gathered that only two kinds of death landed you in purgatory. Homicide or suicide. Unfortunately for you a grand total of twenty years ago you had chucked yourself off of the roof. Your death was ultimately nothing more than a blur to you, the news fizzling out fast and moving on to the next thing within a week.

However that meant your soul was confined to the hotel. Each step you took outside of the hotel teleported you back inside, stuck within the walls of crumpling wallpaper and revolting brick red carpet. Not much caught your attention these days, most guest beyond boring. Your only companion was Danny, a spirit who was a cook at the once restaurant that was next door. He stopped by ever so often, but he wasn’t the best company to keep. (Note to self: do not throw fryer grease on coworker, may result in death.)

You laid lazily in one of the main lobbies chairs, your legs dangling over one of the chair arms. No one told you death would be so utterly and completely boring.

It wasn’t until an odd high pitched noise caught your attention, that you perked up a bit. It reminded you of what you imagined a dog whistle would sound like. It was around midnight, the hotel mostly quiet. Even the receptionist was snoozing off at her desk. Curiously you rose from the chair, following the sound. It wasn’t too obnoxious or ground breaking, but it was something you hadn’t heard before. It led you down the basement, a cold and dark room you hadn’t visited in years. There wasn’t much down there anyways besides old pipes and storage.

Two male voices flooded your ears as you walked down the dusty stairs, each step making the ancient wood creek.

“Dude do you hear that?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if your steps were audible. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs you raised an eyebrow, your sights landing on the two men. Equipment and technology foreign to you sat around them, a multi colored light going off when you took a step forward. Surprised, you jumped in response. “Sam, are you getting this? Something just stepped in front of the EMF meter,” The brunette asked. Both men looked utterly concentrated, their faces falling when you took a step back. You were sure they couldn’t see you, but the fucked up looking disco ball definitely lit up because of you.

“We’re not here to hurt you, we just wanna get to know you and find out why you’re here,” Sam said cautiously. Sassily you crossed your arms. Ghost hunters? Seriously? You knew they televised people actually trying to catch ghost, but you thought it was all fake news. Apparently you were wrong. There were those who genuinely believed in ghost like yourself. No matter how attractive both Sam and his friend seemed, no sane person would sit in a basement at midnight trying to get spooked. You tilted your head to the side, carefully walking around the disco ball of exposure.

They had dozens of tools laid out, each looking more high tech than the last. Fuck, when was the last time you had actually bothered paying attention to modern technology? “Fuck, it’s cold as hell over here Colby,” Sam whined, brushing the goosebumps that had spread across his skin.

Colby?

What kind of fuckin name was Colby?

Annoyed, you rubbed your temple. No matter how attractive the duo was, that didn’t take away your distaste from them playing around in your hotel. After all you died there. It was all yours, fair and square. Yet you couldn’t help but feel a sense of curiosity. It had been years since anyone had paid attention to you. Companionship was something you severely lacked, to an unsettling degree. As much as you wanted to turn on your heels and march the other way, you couldn’t. Something was drawing you to the two morons with giant cameras.

Whether or not that be loneliness or boredom was unforeseen, but you sure as shit planned on finding out.

Your transparent fingers brushed the flashlight, making it click on. This caught both boys attention, their icy blue eyes widening. Your simple actions were mesmerizing to them, even though you didn’t think you did much at all. “It’s moving around, it’s like it’s curious,” Colby concluded. You rolled your eyes, clicking the flashlight off, as if to confirm his suspicion. This made both of them jump, the camera almost slipping out of Sam’s hand. “Holy shit, I didn’t actually think we’d catch anything here dude. That’s crazy,” Sam admitted, readjusting his grip on the oversized camera. You studied it for a moment, concluding it looked so silly and dramatic it must’ve previously been used to shoot old school porn.

“I know just the thing to get this session heated up, check it,” Sam said, pulling out a tiny box. Obnoxious radio frequencies poured out of the speaker, causing you to cringe. “This is a spirit box. If you talk into it, we’ll be able to communicate with you,” Colby explained, glancing around the room. You wondered if they were anticipating more than just you or if Colby was just genuinely trying to see you. Sighing, you cleared your throat dramatically. When was the last time you had tried to speak? Like actual full sentences and not just grumbles of despair?

“You both look like fuckin morons.”

“Morons.”

Goddammit.

You audibly scoffed, offended the radio only picked up on your insult. You had more personality than a bully. “I don’t think they want us here, maybe we could head to the roof,” Colby pointed out. You leaned over, putting your mouth as close to the spirit box as possible.

“Your little do hickey here sucks, how am I supposed to communicate if you hear one word out of a dozen?”

“Little… How… Dozen…?”

Frustrated, you began to grow more and more irritated by the second. “They seem confused. If there’s a dozen of them in here it may be hard to talk to any of them,” Sam commented. Colby sighed, clicking off the spirit box. “Hey! I wasn’t done!” You bickered, the brunette packing it away. He shrugged his backpack on, grabbing the disco ball of doom and flashlights. “Guess we should head upstairs and try again. The roof shouldn’t be too windy so maybe the audio won’t be choppy,” He said, watching Sam put down the camera. You could practically feel the disappointment dripping off of them. Whether you liked it or not, it was oozing off of you too.

“Think about it this way dude, if there’s this many, some are bound to follow us, right?” Sam laughed, trying to encourage his friend. He pat his shoulder, Colby shrugging. They began walking towards the stairs, leaving you to trail eagerly after them. Sam went up first, dust spiraling in the air and the wood creaking under his weight. Colby reluctantly followed, giving the basement one final glance over. You felt helpless, knowing they couldn’t see you. In one final foolish attempt of making a connection, you reached out to grab Colby’s wrist as he turned to walk up the stairs.

“I guess so-”

The brunettes words hung in the air as he glanced over his shoulder, the feeling of someone holding his wrist keeping him frozen. You gripped his wrist tightly, a little too much so. You could feel the energy flowing through him, to a point where you almost felt like you could feel it too. “Are you seeing what i’m seeing?” Colby asked, his gaze locked on where you were standing. It was odd, feeling someone’s eyes genuinely see you for the first time after two decades of not worrying about your appearance. There was a registration in his eyes, one that made you jump back.

Sam missed the moment entirely, too busy fiddling with the camera to look up. “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” The blonde teased, watching as Colby reached out to grab a handful of air. He abandoned the few stairs he had climbed up, his gaze searching for you. “I saw a girl or like, a flash of her hair and eyes,” He rambled, looking around the basement. It felt silly to hide, your face hardened and form crouching as you hid behind a bunch of old folding chairs. “Are you sure you aren’t seeing things? We haven’t slept in almost a day now, maybe we should just head back,” Sam suggested, worry spreading across his face.

Colby licked his dry lips, shrugging Sam off. “Dude i’m telling you, I felt her. It was a girl,” He insisted. Sam’s face ran through multiple emotions. Skepticism, worry, confusion, fear. “Are you high? We aren’t even sure ghost are real. Think for a second,” Sam said without thinking, his eyebrows furrowed. You felt bad, making both of them so utterly confused. Colby nervously ran a hand through his hair, before readjusting his jacket. “Hold out your hand,” He instructed Sam.

“Hold out my hand? I’m not holding out shit-”

“What are you? Scared? Hold out your hand. If you don’t feel anything, we can go.”

Colby’s voice was firm, the blonde setting the camera onto the floor. “This isn’t going to be the placebo effect you know,” Sam mumbled. Colby shushed him, his hypnotizing blue eyes searching the basement for any sign of you. “Hey, i’m sorry if I scared you. Can you touch my friend Sam here like you did me? I know you felt what I did,” Colby declared boldly. Hesitantly you peered from around the pile of dusty chairs, the cold basement making Sam shiver. You supposed it didn’t help you were standing in front of him either. Hesitantly you grabbed the blondes hair, his eyes flickering with the same sense of recognition.

“Holy fucking shit,” Sam muttered. Colby was warm to the touch, like a nice hot bath on a cold day. But Sam? Sam’s energy was what you imagined taking forty adderall at a concert felt like. You studied his face, silence echoing throughout the room. While still transparent, your form was visible if the boys squinted enough.

“Colby, there’s a ghost holding my hand,” Sam whispered, his gaze never straying from your smaller form.

“Great observation, so glad you believe me now,” Colby deadpanned.

“Does she speak? Can she speak?” Sam rambled.

You arched an eyebrow, refraining from laughing, “I spoke before, why not now?”

Your soft voice was unexpected, Sam jumping in response. As quick as you appeared you vanished, your being back to being invisible to the human eyes. “Shit, sorry,” Sam mumbled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“The energy transfer seems to give her the ability to solidify her state. The more energy we give her, the less transparent she’ll be,” Colby concluded, catching you and Sam up to speed on his theories. Sam straightened his back, trying to collect himself. “So what you’re saying is that if we touch her, she’ll use our energy to be visible?” Sam asked. Colby nodded, holding out his hand. Despite being completely transparent, it was as if the brunette could see directly through your soul.

“Don’t be scared, take my hand.”

Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was because a handsome man told you to do so. Whatever it was, his words sounded just right, your hand wrapped around his.

Having a set of eyes, nevertheless two sets of eyes on you, was a quite bit overwhelming. They both seemed tongue tied, causing you to awkwardly clear your throat. “The longer you both stare the more awkward this gets you know,” You point out, which causes both of them to snap out of their daze.

“Well we’ve just never seen a ghost before you know-”

“Well you know not like this-”

“You’re just breath taking and beautiful-”

“How could we not stare-”

The compliments made you not only blush, but snort in response. “Do you guys get out much? Besides hunting ghost?” You asked teasingly. Colby gripped your hand, a cocky smirk dancing up his lips. “I’ll have you know we’re both quite famous youtubers,” He said proudly. Your confusion was visible, your eyes flickering to Sam for support. “That cheesy television site? No way people post on their now and get famous off of it,” You retorted in disbelief. Sam blinked, his gaze briefly flickering to your hand connected to Colby’s. Your name fell from his lips, as if he had just solved the world’s hardest puzzle.

“Holy fuck, you died in like, 2005 didn’t you? Youtube was like just made,” Sam said, astonished. You knew in most timelines you had never met these two. After all, you died at twenty two, but you were supposed to be forty two. Old enough to be one of their moms. Yet you had never matured past twenty two, their humanly charms making you more nervous by the moment. You began to overthink everything, down to every micro movement as you talked to them. It felt nice, to hear your own voice for once. What felt even better, was hearing two eager voices respond back.

The conversation bounced everywhere, a connection solidified between the three of you without much effort being given. “If she’s semi visible when we hold her hand, I wonder what we’d have to do to get her to look like us,” Colby wondered aloud. It was a cruel and harsh reality that had to be considered. The second you disconnected from Colby you were gone, erased from existence. “We could experiment and see what works,” You suggested meekly, the utter filth running through your mind. There were repercussions with the mere idea, taking away the fact you felt embarrassed to be practically drooling over two strangers.

“Yeah we can try hugging and embracing to see if that does anything more significant-”

“Or!”

“Or?”

“There are other ways to exchange energy,” You say slowly. Colby stares at you with furrowed eyebrows, his confusion written all across his face. Sam on the other hand, seemed to register exactly what you were insinuating.

“Are you asking us to fuck you?”

The bluntness of his question caught you off guard, Colby’s elbow colliding with his chest before you had a chance to answer. A lecture of disrespecting spirits was leaving Colby’s lips, the brunette rambling about being respectful. It wasn’t until you squeezed his hand that he stopped talking. “Actually Colby, he’s right,” You interjected. You hadn’t anticipated for your core to flutter at the sight of Colby’s cheeks turning a light pink.

“Both of us?” He questioned, as if processing the words to ensure he heard them correctly. You nodded affirmatively, trying to ignore how flustered you felt. “The more energy the better, right?” You asked, biting the inside of your cheek. Sam and Colby exchanged glances, as if communicating telepathically.

“For science, right?”

“Of course, for science.”

There was a brief moment of silence, the tension thicker than you could comprehend. A sick smile curled up Sam’s lips, the blonde met your gaze, cockiness practically oozing off of him.

“I can record this then, right?”

[shybluebirdninja]

Broken Claws and Tender Hearts

Summary: In the dark corners of a crumbling city, aging mutant Wolverine, James Logan Howlett, finds himself gravely wounded and abandoned. Rescued by Y/N, a compassionate woman trapped in an abusive marriage, Logan’s gratitude evolves into deep, forbidden love as he witnesses the brutal toll of her husband's violence.

The city was a mess, like it had given up on itself a long time ago. Streets were littered with trash, and broken glass crunched underfoot like a constant reminder of the decay that had set in. In the darkest corners of this dismal place, where even the streetlights seemed to flicker with disinterest, James Logan Howlett—known to the world as Wolverine—was barely hanging on. Once a fierce mutant warrior with an unbreakable spirit, he was now just an old man with unhealable wounds and a broken heart.

Logan, as he was known, was a far cry from the invincible fighter he used to be. His claws, once sharp enough to cut through steel, were now dull and rusty. His body, scarred and bruised from countless battles, was failing him. Pain was his constant companion, a relentless reminder of his mortality. As he lay slumped in a filthy alley, the cold seeped through his tattered clothes, mingling with the sweat of his suffering. He was beyond exhausted, teetering on the edge of consciousness, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, this is one hell of a way to go,” he muttered weakly, his voice barely a croak. His usually fierce eyes were now clouded with exhaustion, and the alley seemed to close in around him, a concrete tomb waiting to claim him.

Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, a pair of footsteps echoed through the alley. Logan's dimming senses barely registered the sound at first. But the crunch of boots on the grimy pavement drew closer, and his survival instincts kicked in, if only just. He tried to lift his head, but it felt like it weighed a ton. He managed to catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure approaching.

“Jesus Christ!” a female voice called out, a mix of shock and concern lacing her words. The figure moved closer, and Logan could make out the silhouette of a woman. Her face was partly hidden by the dim light, but the earnest worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Hey, buddy, you look like shit,” she said, crouching down beside him. “What happened to you?”

Logan tried to muster a response, but the effort was futile. Instead, he gave a weak shrug and a bitter laugh. “Just another day in paradise,” he rasped, struggling to keep his eyes open.

The woman, whose name Logan would soon learn was Y/N, didn’t seem deterred by his sarcastic tone. She looked him over with a practiced eye, noting the severity of his injuries. “You’re in no shape to be lying here. We need to get you out of this mess.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna be any trouble,” Logan mumbled, his voice tinged with irony. “I’m practically dead weight.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Y/N said, her voice firm but gentle. “Everyone deserves a chance, even you. Let’s get you out of here.”

With a strength that belied her delicate appearance, Y/N helped Logan to his feet. It was no easy task; he was barely able to support himself, his legs unsteady beneath him. She wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to steady him as they made their way out of the alley. Each step was a challenge, and Logan could feel his energy draining away with every movement.

“You’re really doing this?” Logan asked, glancing at her with a mixture of gratitude and skepticism. “You know I’m not exactly in the best shape.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Y/N replied with a faint smile. “You’re not the first person I’ve helped, and you won’t be the last. Just hang in there.”

The journey to Y/N’s home was slow and arduous. The streets seemed endless, stretching out like a labyrinth of shadows. Logan’s breathing grew more labored with each step, and he could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness. Y/N kept a steady pace, her determination unwavering.

When they finally arrived at her modest apartment, Logan was barely aware of his surroundings. The building was far from luxurious, but it had a certain homeliness that contrasted sharply with the desolation he had just left behind. Y/N managed to get him inside and guided him to a makeshift bed in the living room. The space was cluttered but warm, with a few personal touches that made it clear someone lived here.

“Alright, let’s get you settled,” Y/N said, her voice gentle as she helped him lie down. “I’m going to get some supplies and see what I can do for you.”

Logan watched as she moved about the small apartment, gathering medical supplies and setting them out with careful precision. Her movements were efficient but calm, as if she had done this many times before. Despite the pain, Logan found himself oddly comforted by her presence.

“Why are you going through all this trouble?” Logan asked, his voice weak but curious. “You don’t even know me.”

Y/N paused her work and looked at him with a thoughtful expression. “It’s not about knowing you. It’s about doing what’s right. No one should be left to suffer like this, not even someone who looks like they’ve been through hell.”

Logan chuckled dryly, a sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m kind of a mess. I don’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“Everyone has their own battles,” Y/N said softly. “Yours might be different from mine, but that doesn’t make them any less real. I’ve had my share of struggles, too.”

As Y/N cleaned his wounds with a gentle hand, Logan winced at the sting of antiseptic. Despite the pain, he appreciated her care. It was a stark contrast to the harshness of his usual existence. For once, he wasn’t fighting, wasn’t on the run. He was just lying here, vulnerable and at the mercy of someone who seemed to genuinely care.

“You know, I’m not exactly the type to get all mushy,” Logan said with a faint grin. “But this...”

Y/N cut him of and glanced up at him, her eyes warm. “You don’t have to be mushy. Just be grateful that someone’s here to help. That’s all I’m asking.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’re giving me a chance when I don’t even deserve one.”

“Everyone deserves a chance,” Y/N replied firmly. “Even if they don’t think so themselves.”

As the night wore on, Y/N continued to tend to his wounds with meticulous care. Logan watched her, taking in the details of her face, the determination in her eyes. It was a rare sight—a glimmer of kindness in a world that had long since turned its back on him.

Despite the pain and fatigue, Logan felt a strange sense of calm. For the first time in a long while, he was allowing himself to be cared for, to be vulnerable. It was an unfamiliar but oddly comforting feeling. He had spent so many years fighting, surviving, and pushing everyone away. But here was someone who was willing to stand by him, even in his darkest hour.

“Hey, Y/N,” Logan said softly as she finished her work. “You ever wonder why we end up in places like this? I mean, I’ve fought a lot of battles, but this... this is a different kind of fight.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “Sometimes, I think we end up where we need to be. Even in the darkest places, there’s a chance for something good to happen. Maybe this is just one of those moments.”

Logan nodded, his thoughts a tangled mess of past regrets and hopeful possibilities. As he drifted off to sleep, the warmth of Y/N’s care was a small, flickering light in the midst of his darkness. It wasn’t a cure for his wounds or his broken spirit, but it was a reminder that there was still some good left in the world

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

Y/N’s apartment, though modest and cluttered, was a sanctuary of sorts for Logan. As days passed, he began to recover from his severe injuries, thanks in no small part to Y/N’s dedicated care. The old Wolverine, now fragile and more vulnerable than ever, found himself in an unexpected role—patient rather than warrior. It was a role that didn’t sit easily with him, but Y/N’s unwavering kindness made it bearable.

Y/N’s daily routine revolved around caring for Logan. Mornings began with gentle cleaning of his wounds, followed by a carefully prepared meal, usually something simple yet nourishing. Despite her own exhaustion, she never missed a beat, always wearing a brave face even when her eyes betrayed her fatigue. Logan noticed these details—the way her hands shook slightly when she applied ointment, the forced cheerfulness in her voice, and the way she always tried to keep things normal.

One afternoon, while Y/N was in the kitchen preparing lunch, Logan sat on the bed, feeling the stiffness of his muscles. He was starting to regain some strength, but moving was still a struggle. He could hear Y/N’s soft humming and the occasional clatter of pots and pans. Just as he was about to call out to her, the sound of the front door slamming shut cut through the quiet.

Logan tensed, recognizing the unmistakable sound of anger. Y/N’s face, when she returned to the room, was pale and strained. Her eyes darted nervously towards the door. Logan could sense the tension in the air, a sharp contrast to the calm that usually filled the room.

“Everything alright?” Logan asked, his voice hoarse but concerned. His eyes, though tired, were keenly observant.

Y/N forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, just... Marcus had a rough day at work. Nothing to worry about.”

Logan didn’t press further, though he could tell there was more to it. He knew from experience that some things were best left unspoken, but the bruises on Y/N’s arms, which she tried to hide with long sleeves, spoke volumes. Each mark was a silent testament to her struggles.

The days turned into weeks, and the tension between Y/N and Marcus became increasingly palpable. Logan overheard snippets of arguments through the thin walls of the apartment. Marcus’s voice was harsh and threatening, full of disdain for mutants and a general aggression that made Logan’s skin crawl.

One evening, as Y/N was bandaging a fresh wound on Logan’s side, the door burst open with a violent crash. Marcus stormed in, his face twisted with rage. “What the hell is this? You’re still wasting your time on this mutant freak? I thought I told you to get rid of him!”

Logan’s eyes flared with anger, but he held back, his body tensing. Y/N’s face flushed with a mix of fear and frustration. “Marcus, please, just calm down. He needs our help.”

“Why should I give a damn about this piece of shit?” Marcus spat, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “He’s nothing but trouble. You’re bringing this mess into our home.”

Logan could see the strain on Y/N’s face, the way she struggled to keep her voice steady. “Marcus, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. This man is hurt and needs help. I can’t just turn him away.”

Marcus’s gaze flicked to Logan, his eyes filled with contempt. “And what about what I need? You’re always putting others before me. I’m done with this crap.”

Logan remained silent, his claws itching to come out, but he knew better than to escalate the situation. Y/N’s shoulders slumped as Marcus’s angry words continued to fill the room, each one a fresh wound to her already battered soul.

Finally, Marcus stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Y/N stood there, shaking slightly, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. Logan’s heart ached for her, and he struggled to keep his voice calm as he spoke.

“Y/N... are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle despite the anger bubbling inside him.

She wiped her tears and nodded, though it was clear she was far from okay. “I’m fine. It’s just... the same old stuff. Marcus doesn’t understand, and he never will.”

Logan reached out, his hand brushing against her arm gently. “You don’t deserve that, you know. No one does.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you, Logan. I know it’s not your place to say that, but it means a lot coming from you.”

The days that followed were a delicate balance of tension and care. Y/N continued to nurse Logan back to health while trying to manage the chaos that Marcus brought into their lives. Logan’s own recovery was slow but steady, and he found himself growing more dependent on Y/N, not just for physical healing but for the emotional support he hadn’t realized he needed.

One night, as Logan lay awake in the dim light of the living room, he heard Y/N sobbing quietly in the next room. Unable to ignore her distress, he carefully rose from the bed and moved to the door of her room. He knocked softly, hoping not to startle her.

“Y/N, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There was a brief pause, and then Y/N’s voice, strained but soft, replied, “Yeah, come in.”

Logan entered to find Y/N sitting on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. The sight of her, so vulnerable and broken, stirred something deep inside him. He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice a rough whisper in the quiet room. “You want to talk about it?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes red and swollen. “It’s just... everything feels so overwhelming. Marcus is getting worse, and I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Logan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle despite the rawness of his own wounds. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been handling all this shit with a lot more grace than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Logan. It means a lot to hear that, especially now.”

As they sat together in the dim light, Logan found himself opening up in a way he hadn’t in years. He shared fragments of his past, stories of battles fought and lost, of the loneliness that came with being a mutant. Y/N listened intently, her presence a comforting balm to his wounded soul.

“I never thought I’d be in a place like this,” Logan said quietly. “Hell, I thought I’d be dead by now. But... there’s something about this place, about you, that makes me feel like maybe I’ve got a reason to stick around.”

Y/N’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight of their respective burdens seemed to lift. “Maybe we both needed this. A place where we could find some kind of solace, even if just for a little while.”

Logan nodded, feeling a strange sense of peace despite the chaos around them. He realized that his feelings for Y/N were growing stronger, and he admired her more with each passing day. Her strength in the face of adversity, her kindness despite her own suffering—it all spoke to him in ways he hadn’t expected.

One evening, after another particularly brutal argument with Marcus, Y/N sat down beside Logan, her face etched with exhaustion. She had a new bruise on her cheek, a stark reminder of the violence she faced at home. Logan’s heart ached at the sight of it, and he reached out, gently brushing his fingers against the bruise.

“Does it ever get easier?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

Y/N shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. But I have to keep going. For me, for you... for everyone who needs me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. It’s not right.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and hope. “Maybe someday things will change. Maybe there will be a way out of this mess. Until then, I have to hold on to whatever hope I can find.”

As the days continued, Logan’s feelings for Y/N deepened. Her resilience in the face of Marcus’s abuse, her unwavering dedication to helping him despite her own suffering—it all made him see her in a new light. He found himself drawn to her not just as a caretaker, but as a person who had become an unexpected beacon of hope in his life.

One evening, as they sat together after Marcus had stormed out, Logan took Y/N’s hand in his, his touch gentle but firm. “Y/N, I want you to know something. I’m here because you gave me a chance when no one else would. And... I care about you. More than I probably should.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat. “Logan, I—”

Before she could finish, Logan leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that I want to be here for you. I want to fight this together.”

Y/N’s eyes were filled with tears, but a small smile touched her lips. “Thank you, Logan. That means more to me than you can imagine.”

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

Logan's recovery was a slow grind. The days were punctuated by a relentless rhythm of pain and progress, his wounds mending bit by bit. Y/N's care was both a balm and a burden; she was always there, her hands gentle and her demeanor kind. But as Logan's strength began to return, another kind of strength was being tested—Y/N’s.

Every day, Logan saw the bruises she tried to hide. He noticed the way she flinched when Marcus’s name was mentioned, the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could mask. It wasn’t just the physical pain that she wore like a second skin; it was the emotional toll that was etched into every line of her face. Logan could sense it, even when Y/N put on a brave face and forced a smile.

One evening, while Y/N was preparing dinner, Logan was lounging on the bed, his head resting against the headboard. He heard the all-too-familiar sound of the front door slamming, followed by Marcus’s booming voice, filled with venom. Logan’s jaw clenched, his claws itching to come out. But he knew better. The last thing Y/N needed was another problem on top of the one she already had.

Y/N’s footsteps were quick and hesitant as she moved around the kitchen. Logan could hear her trying to keep her voice steady as she spoke with Marcus, though it was clear from the sharpness in her tone that things were far from calm. Logan’s concern deepened with every shouted insult and the occasional crash that echoed through the apartment.

He struggled to stay put, his anger boiling beneath the surface. It was maddening to be so powerless, to hear Y/N suffering while he lay here, barely able to move. He wanted to confront Marcus, to show him just how outmatched he was, but his weakened state kept him tethered to the bed. It was a cruel irony that the very strength that had once made him a force to be reckoned with now left him helpless.

The door finally swung open, and Y/N walked in, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. She carried a tray with a modest meal, her hands trembling slightly. Logan’s heart ached at the sight of her, and he tried to offer a reassuring smile, though he knew it probably looked more like a grimace.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Everything okay out there?”

Y/N set the tray down on the small table beside the bed, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. “Yeah, just another argument. Marcus had a rough day and... well, you know how it goes.”

Logan’s gaze was intense, filled with concern. “Y/N, you don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t deserve this.”

She sat down next to him, her shoulders slumping as she took a deep breath. “I know. I just... I don’t have a choice. If I leave, things will only get worse. I’m trying to hold on for now.”

Logan could see the pain in her eyes, the way her hands shook slightly as she picked up a small bowl of soup. He wanted to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but he felt powerless, his own strength a mere shadow of what it used to be.

“Y/N, listen,” he said, his voice rough but earnest. “I know I’m in no position to make demands or offer solutions, but you’ve got to know that you don’t deserve this. Marcus is a piece of shit, and you’re better than this.”

Y/N’s eyes met his, and she looked so tired, so weary. “It’s not that simple. Marcus is... he’s unpredictable. If I push too hard, it’ll only make things worse. I have to tread carefully.”

Logan’s anger flared, his hands curling into fists. “You shouldn’t have to live in fear. No one should.”

Y/N gave a small, bitter smile. “I appreciate that, Logan. I really do. But sometimes, just getting through the day is enough. It’s all I can manage right now.”

As the days went on, Logan’s concern grew. He noticed more bruises on Y/N’s skin, more shadows in her eyes. The arguments with Marcus became more frequent and more vicious. Logan found himself wrestling with a deep, gnawing frustration. He wanted to protect her, but he felt like a caged animal, unable to do anything but watch.

One night, after an especially brutal argument, Y/N came into the room, her face bruised and her lip split. She tried to hide it, but Logan saw the truth. His heart pounded with a mix of rage and helplessness.

“Y/N, what happened?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She sat down beside him, her movements slow and pained. “It’s nothing. Just... another fight. I’m okay.”

Logan’s eyes were fierce, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re not okay. This isn’t right, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to put up with this crap.”

Y/N sighed, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resignation. “I know, Logan. I know. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave. I need to keep this place together, even if it’s falling apart.”

Logan’s anger simmered, his frustration boiling over. “I wish I could do something. I feel like I’m just... useless.”

Y/N shook her head, her hand reaching out to touch his. “You’re not useless, Logan. You’ve given me more hope than I’ve had in a long time. Just having you here, knowing you care—it means more than you know.”

As they sat together in the dim light of the room, Logan felt a deep connection to Y/N. Her strength, her resilience, even in the face of so much pain—it was a stark contrast to the brutality she endured. He realized how much she had come to mean to him, and how deeply he wished he could change her circumstances.

Despite the growing attachment and the undeniable pull he felt towards her, Logan remained bound by his own limitations. He could only watch as Y/N continued to endure Marcus’s cruelty, his own feelings of helplessness mixing with a fierce, burning desire to protect her. Every bruise, every tear she shed was a reminder of the pain she was enduring and the brutal reality of her situation.

Logan’s internal struggle was a constant battle. He wanted to be the hero, the one who swooped in and saved the day, but he was stuck in a role that felt more like a spectator than a savior.

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

The night air was heavy, thick with an oppressive silence that seemed to press against Logan’s chest. He lay in bed, the shadows dancing across the walls as the soft hum of the city outside filled the room. Y/N had been unusually quiet tonight, and Logan's senses were on high alert, a growing unease gnawing at him.

He could hear Marcus’s booming voice from the other side of the apartment, each shout like a hammer pounding against Logan’s already frayed nerves. It had been a rough night, and Y/N’s attempts to calm her husband had only seemed to make things worse. Logan could feel the tension in the air, a sense of impending violence that made his heart pound and his skin crawl.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He struggled to push himself up, but his weakened state made it a Herculean effort. He needed to do something, anything, but he was still bound by the limitations of his own frailty.

Suddenly, a crash echoed through the apartment, followed by Y/N’s scream. Logan’s blood ran cold. Without a second thought, he threw off the covers and stumbled toward the door, his heart racing. The anger and fear coursing through him felt like a storm, threatening to tear him apart.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and desperate. He reached the door and yanked it open, the scene that greeted him was something out of a nightmare.

Marcus was towering over Y/N, who was curled up on the floor, her face streaked with tears and blood. The rage in Marcus’s eyes was palpable, a fury that seemed to consume everything in its path. Logan’s instincts screamed at him to act, but he was frozen for a split second, caught between his own fear and the raw, primal need to protect.

“Get the hell away from her!” Logan roared, his voice a guttural snarl. He forced himself to step forward, his hands trembling as he tried to summon the strength to intervene.

Marcus’s head snapped around, his eyes locking onto Logan with a mixture of shock and fury. “What the hell are you doing here, mutant? Stay out of this!”

Logan’s claws extended with a sharp, metallic hiss, his rage boiling over. “You’ve done enough, you piece of shit. Leave her alone.”

Marcus sneered, his face twisted into a cruel smile. “Or what? You’ll claw me to death? You’re pathetic.”

In a burst of adrenaline, Logan lunged forward, his claws slashing through the air. He was fueled by a mixture of desperation and anger, the need to protect Y/N overriding every other consideration. The chaos that ensued was a blur—Marcus lunged at Logan, and in the ensuing struggle, Logan’s claws struck out, his aim wild and frantic.

Time seemed to stretch and warp as Logan’s claws found their mark. Marcus fell, a look of disbelief and shock etched on his face. The room fell silent, the only sound the ragged breaths of the two remaining people in the room.

Y/N was still on the floor, her body trembling as she stared at the lifeless form of her husband. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of horror and disbelief. Logan stood there, his own breathing heavy, his claws retracting as he tried to process what had just happened.

“Oh God,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “What have you done?”

Logan took a tentative step toward her, his heart aching at the sight of her pain. “Y/N, I—”

“No!” she cut him off, her voice sharp and filled with anguish. “You didn’t have to kill him. I—I didn’t want this.”

Logan’s heart twisted at the sight of her tears. “I didn’t mean to... I was just trying to protect you. I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt you like that.”

Y/N’s sobs were ragged, her hands covering her face. “It’s too late for that now. I don’t know what to do...”

Logan knelt beside her, his voice soft and full of regret. “Y/N, please. I know this is a mess. I never wanted things to end like this, but I care about you. I care about you a hell of a lot.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes red and swollen. “What are we supposed to do now? What happens next?”

Logan reached out, his hand gently touching her arm. “We get out of here. We leave this place behind and start fresh somewhere else. I’ve got a stash of cash, and we can find somewhere safe. I just—”

Y/N cut him off, her voice trembling. “And what? We just run away? We leave everything behind and hope for the best?”

Logan’s gaze was intense, his voice pleading. “It’s not just about running away. It’s about finding a place where you can be safe, where you can be happy. I know it won’t be easy, but it’s got to be better than staying here, right?”

Y/N’s eyes searched his, and for a moment, Logan saw the flicker of hope amidst the pain. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Okay. Okay, let’s do it. But we have to be careful. We can’t just jump into this blindly.”

Logan nodded, a mixture of relief and determination in his eyes. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll figure things out together. I promise.”

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

The first light of dawn seeped through the cracks in the dilapidated building where Y/N and Logan had spent the night. They had barely slept, huddled together in a small room with only a threadbare blanket for comfort. Y/N's eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep, and Logan's face was etched with exhaustion, but beneath it all, there was a flicker of determination.

“Jesus, what a fucking mess,” Logan muttered as he rolled out of bed, wincing at the stiffness in his body. His voice was rough, a mix of weariness and frustration. He glanced around the room, taking in the dusty furniture and peeling wallpaper. “This place isn’t exactly a five-star joint, but it’ll do for now.”

Y/N sat up, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve. “We can’t stay here long. We need to move, find a place where we can lay low and figure things out.”

Logan nodded, his gaze fixed on her. “You’re right. The longer we stay, the more chance we have of getting caught. I’m sure Marcus had connections and surely he talked about me. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who kept his mouth shut.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of her nightmare-filled sleep. “I just can’t believe it’s really over. That we’re actually doing this.”

Logan moved closer, his voice softening as he spoke. “It’s real, alright. And it’s probably gonna be rough as hell. But we’ve got a shot at something better, Y/N. We just gotta keep moving, keep our heads down.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes full of a fragile hope. “And what about you, Logan? How are you holding up? I know you’re hurting, too.”

Logan grinned wryly, a hint of his old self peeking through his exhaustion. “I’ve been through worse. I’m still kicking, aren’t I? It’s not about me right now. It’s about making sure you’re safe.”

She smiled, a small, grateful curve of her lips. “Thank you. For everything. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

“Hell, it wasn’t easy for either of us,” Logan replied, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But that’s the way it goes. You deal with the crap life throws at you and hope for a bit of luck.”

They packed what little they had, their belongings hastily stuffed into a couple of old duffel bags. As they prepared to leave, Logan took a moment to glance back at the room they were leaving behind, a reminder of the chaos and danger they were escaping.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before someone shows up,” Logan said, his tone low and urgent. “The city’s not exactly safe, and we’ve got no time to waste.”

They made their way through the empty streets, their movements cautious and deliberate. The city was waking up, and with it came the hustle and bustle of a new day—one that neither of them had any intention of being a part of.

Y/N walked beside Logan, her hand occasionally brushing against his, a silent reminder of their shared journey. The streets were eerily quiet, the weight of their escape hanging heavily in the air. The city’s familiar sights were quickly becoming distant memories, replaced by the uncertainty of the open road ahead.

“So, what’s the plan?” Y/N asked, her voice breaking the silence. “Where do we go from here?”

Logan glanced at her, his eyes focused and serious. “We head north. There’s a cabin in the woods a few hundred miles away. It’s not much, but it’s off the grid. We can lay low there for a while, figure out our next move.”

Y/N nodded, absorbing the plan. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Good,” Logan replied, a hint of a smile on his lips. “We’ll make it. We just need to stick together and stay smart.”

As they continued their journey, the reality of their situation began to sink in. They were fugitives now, their past lives left behind in the wreckage of Marcus’s wrath. But amidst the uncertainty and danger, there was a growing bond between them—one forged in the fires of their shared struggles and the hope for a new beginning.

They traveled through small towns and rural areas, staying off the beaten path and avoiding any unnecessary attention. Each night, they would find a place to rest, whether it was an abandoned house or a makeshift campsite. They made do with what they had, finding solace in their shared strength and resilience.

One evening, as they sat around a small campfire, Y/N turned to Logan, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “You know, I never thought I’d be here. On the run, hiding from everything. But having you here... it makes things a bit more bearable.”

Logan looked at her, his gaze softening. “You’re not alone, Y/N. We’ve got each other, and that’s something.”

She smiled, a small but genuine expression of warmth. “Yeah, it is. And it means more than you know.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire their only companion. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with challenges and obstacles, but for the first time in a long time, there was a sense of hope—a belief that, despite everything, they might find a way to make it through together.

[jacesvelaryons]

The Reluctant Empress (Jacaerys Velaryon x Female!Reader)

Act II. Burgeoning

(19th Century Imperial Austria AU)

summary: crown prince jacaerys gets to know his prospect betrothed and future bride whom he has been arranged with to marry, your sister helaena targaryen, but true to your wild spirit, you cannot help but wonder what awaits in the world behind gilded castles and royal splendour.

word count: 2.4k words

a/n: i'm so sorry this took an entire year before an update but it is finally here! i apologize as I had some health things to settle, and with brain fog and got more distracted by other fandoms but here we go! once again, please comment and share what you liked, what you'd want more for me and request and let me know as my inbox is always open <3 let me know if you want to be on the taglist or not getting tags!

series masterlist

previously: prologue | act i

masterlist

requests OPEN

“Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Seated between her mother and sister, Y/N eyes roamed around the dining hall in the palace that hosted the royal family and her covey. Changed into an emerald green gown, wearing the necklace and earrings her father gave her on the last name day before his passing, she paid no mind to the significance of the occasion and was just glad to be there, surrounded in the splendor of the castle walls.

She knew that it was Helaena’s time to shine, and she would not want to rob her of her light, of the opportunity that would change their fortunes and not have Alicent scrabbling and worrying over the last penny of their expenses.

Twirling her fork on the pesto noodles in front of her, Y/N remained silent and just patiently listened to all the conversation around her, between her mother and her childhood friend the Queen, who inquired about Helaena’s well being, her lifestyle and assessing on how she would adjust becoming the next consort upon wedding Jacaerys.

Dazed out in a world of her own, Y/N did not hear Jacaerys reverting his attention to her aptly, until her sister nudged her ankle with her shoe, repeating her name on his tongue like it was the sweetest honey, curiosity and amusement on his features.

“Lady Y/N, what do you do in your free time, my lady?”

Stammering like a cat bit her tongue, she cleared her throat as she gathered herself and make her look and sound presentable.

“I ride horses, my prince. I hunt and I have picked up the sword a few times.” Lady Y/N bluntly replied, already feeling the burning glare of your embarrassed mother. Queen Rhaenyra only watches in amusement, how her confidante could have a daughter who was nothing like her mother.

Jacaerys was intrigued, leaning forward to hear Y/N better and scooch closer over to Her. A curious smile on his handsome, chiseled face, his curly brown hair starting to grow out and neatly groomed behind his ears.

Plates and utensils remained untouched as Y/N and Jacaerys were engrossed in an engaging, animated conversation, passionate replies to uncontrollable laughter.

The older women present at the table watched with trepidation, Lady Alicent’s habits of digging into her fingernails returned while the silver-haired queen’s expression turned unreadable.

Helaena swallowed her wounded pride of being ignored and not found as an interesting companion, playing with her knife and fork, digging at the roast beef the same way her young daughter would.

As the servants gather the finished main course meals and replace them with fresh fruit and lemon cakes for dessert, Rhaenyra swiftly suggests for the elder Targaryen sister to read out some of the poetry her mother praised earlier.

“You must share with us your talent in verse and poetry, Lady Helaena.”

Relieved, the indigo hued girl stood up at the end of the table, grabbing her little booklet hidden in the pockets of her skirt. Flipping through its parchment pages, she settles to a recent entry close to the end of the worn out leather bound book, covered with an embroidered beetle.

To want is the most natural thing Inherent in the blood through our veins The very primal urge of our being Yet we will always want, and want With no end like a black hole What better to want what is not ours? To covet what the other possesses To take away what is given as easily as it was owned?

Her raspy voice echoed through the halls mellifluously in perfectly rehearsed High Valyrian. Yet you could not help a guilty perception weighing on you, blossoming at the pit of your stomach and you could not shake it off. You were doing nothing wrong, you told yourself, wanting to believe in it but it felt wrong.

Y/N’s fears arose to the surface when she could feel a burning stare on her face intensely, as if memorizing her very form and that she would disappear into nothing anytime. You were listening as intently as you could, yet when you turned, Jacaerys did not pay mind to a single word Helaena said as his focus was fixated on you.

No, no, no. Nothing was going as planned. Everything was going wrong. She praises whatever gods intervened when the heir’s brother Prince Lucerys gracefully diverted the topic into the new cuisines created by the cooks of the Keep with the freshest catches of seafood from Driftmark.

…

“Y/N, what do you think you were doing out there?! Do you think I do not notice your need to always be the centre of attention?” The shrill shrieking of her mother’s voice pierced through her ear drums, yet Y/N was unsurprised and used to such altercations with her mother.

Following the uneasy supper, the three ladies from Dalston Keep returned to their chambers to change midday in preparation for the tour around the gardens with the queen and her heir again after a few hours of respite.

Silently humiliated as they reconvened in private, the illusion of propriety that Lady Alicent carried in front of the queen and prince ripped away, unleashing a ferocity unrestrained like never before.

“I did nothing, mother. I was polite and engaged in a conversation when I was spoken to.”

“You did more than that, you foolish girl! It was about your sister. All of this was about her, not you! Is it so difficult for you to tone down your tendencies for once so we can go according to the arrangement? You put our fortunes up to be desolated. You are as careless as your father!” The sting of her final words hung in the air, salt over the open wound for such a loss. Y/N knew her mother did not love her father, who was older than her own father, and only did her duty to her ailing, troubled, aging husband.

“Mother, that is enough! Do not bring father into this.” Helaena countered exasperatedly, holding onto her sister by her shoulders in defense. “Y/N did nothing wrong. It was..it was me. I should have engaged with the prince more. She did me a favour.”

Y/N gasps in disbelief, astonished her beloved sister would keep taking her side when it was clear she was the wounded party.

“Do not worry about it, mother. I promise I will remain silent from now on. I want this to be Helaena’s night.” Y/N swears sincerely, wanting to defend Helaena and stay away from any trouble from now on.

Alicent does not fully believe her youngest, but nods solemnly as she seeks to move this behind them, returning to her dignified, contemplating gaze with her perfect posture and arms clasped at her waist.

Subsequently, a drove of maids and seamstresses poured in, as Alicent went to her solitary room while the sisters shared a larger room. Each stepped on the raised wooden platform. Taking lush gowns from the closet, they plucked out a rich emerald green gown with fitted sleeves for Helaena.

Meanwhile, a muted seafoam gown was placed on Y/N, as maids scuttered behind her to tighten the corset and laces. Y/N whimpered quietly in discomfort, never finding any gratification in restrictive court dress upheld by centuries of protocol and conduct. It barred her sense of freedom, clipped off her wings from flight and reminded her of a bird in a cage.

Heirloom pieces of emerald silver lined jewelry were given to Helaena, designed to accentuate her beauty and prepare her for her upcoming role and ascent into her duty. As the daylight trickled in through the lace curtains and open windows, she looked like a future queen. A role she was raised to be. Otherworldly and ethereal, while Y/N was grounded to the earth, locks like flames and soil.

Y/N beamed in delight for her older sister, squeezing her hands in reassurance. Helaena reciprocated not as enthusiastically, the nerves still getting to her as her palms were sweating and shaking.

“You have nothing to worry about, Hel. We would not get this far if he did not consider you his bride already.”

“Truly, do you really think so?”

“I do. Without a doubt. You already look the part. It is only the formality left we are waiting for at the ball.”

The elder genuinely chuckled this time in relief, her joy finally meeting her eyes from the comfort and encouragement of her sister.

“Now, all that is left is for you to step into your destiny.”

…

Manicured gardens flourished in the peak of spring, cicadas chirping from the branches of oak trees. Lilies and carnations in hues of apricot and blush, while the outlying paths were paved in blue hydrangeas and violet peonies.

Queen Rhaenyra adorned a lapis lazuli blue gown adorned in gold trimmings and sapphires sewn onto her bodice, matching the stone necklace of the color on her neck and matched her tiara, a reminder of her late mother and former queen.

She pleasantly strolled with a natural confidence, carrying herself with an ease afforded by one who has known privilege and power all her life. Guiding a tour around the Red Keep at the height of its social season, Rhaenyra proudly showed off her domains, and subtly if so, the lands that Helaena would take care of as its hostess after she marries Jacaerys and becomes his queen when the time comes.

Behind her was her eldest Crown Prince Jacaerys, always without a hair or trivet out of place, the picture of perfection that she had groomed since his birth. Dressed more casually in teal with the seahorse emblem on his chest, he honoured his late father Lord Laenor Velaryon, further dispelling any rumours or uncertainty around his paternity.

Although he did not directly resemble his father, he has begun to share features with his paternal grandmother Princess Rhaenys with her Baratheon colouring, and the shape of his nose and chin mirrored her father, who was another Prince of Dragonstone, Prince Aemon the Pale Prince. As rider of Vermax, it was undeniable he was the prince long awaited by the realm, whom millions of hopes and dreams were instilled in.

Standing beside him was Lady Helaena Targaryen, his expected betrothed in everything but formality. Raised with the intention of becoming a princess consort, she was demure, shy, obedient and trusting, exactly what the people of Westeros wanted of their model future queen. Proven in her success of childbearing, onlookers examined her critically on baited breath as they wanted to know who will bear the next generation of Targaryen rulers on the Iron Throne.

Their chaperons trailed behind them, Lady Alicent arm in arm with Lady Y/N, in the same shade of muted green, but her mother had visible symbols of the Faith of the Seven from her necklace, her dark headdress and veil, and on the cuffs on her wrist and belt. Y/N distractedly took in her sights, studying every nook and cranny of the storied palace with eagerness and pursuit.

“This garden still follows the design plan created by Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror herself, yet it was only finished years after her passing in Dorne.”

The queen continued the tour of the keep, while she discreetly eavesdropped on the conversation between her heir and his expected betrothed. The two were engaging pleasantly yet amiably on the surface level, their dialogue not reaching too far. Unaware of a figure parting at the fork and heading another direction.

…

When she is assured she’s clear and no one can find her, Y/N Targaryen smirks victoriously as she heads straight and turns left towards the barn, near the dragonpit, where the horses and grazing animals were located.

On nimble footsteps, through the mud and manure, she makes a run for it as two stableboys turn the corner and miss her, as they forgot to close the stables and she sneaks in.

As the afternoon light trickles in, Y/N looks around curiously, before her attention is caught by this white mare, with its freshly brushed mane and shining horsehair, an anomaly among ebony and hickory. Not wanting to startle the majestic creature, she prances until she’s in front of the horse, hushing and cooing at them as she latches onto the reins.

She holds the mane by her reins, tugging gently as she walks through the barn and the empty backwaters of the ancient castle. It is quiet, with most servants resting for their annual nap and their morning duties finished, so Y/N is able to ride the stallion undiscovered.

The lingering scent of the manure and greenery turns into salty waters of aegean and spruce and the earthy, musty petrichor from the rain on the fir and cedar trees earlier in the morning.

A hint of the cool breeze tingles through her skin, a dress and not proper riding gear in its leathers and furs, but she brushes it off, as King’s Landing in the spring at this time of the year has turned warm and the rain from earlier is long gone.

She rides as far as her companion will allow, until the peripheral view of the Red Keep grows distant from over her shoulder. Y/N stops at the fork of the road before it joins the greater Kingsroad, diverting by the forest with towering trees and fallen logs. Sitting by the foot of a trunk, Y/N pauses for some stillness, her back pressing against the hard trunk as she closes her eyes, before grabbing an apple and vial of water to share with her stallion.

As she and the mare finish the fruit, she stands up to brush off any leaf and dirt on the back of her skirt, about to mount once again before she hears echoes of confrontation growing closer. Y/N has barely begun to leave the forest and return to the artery before she is surrounded by hooded, disheveled men with smug expressions.

Unable to avoid contact, she politely acknowledges them and pulls her cape over her flaming locks before she is stopped from moving in either direction. “Good morrow, sirs.”

She yelps as she’s grabbed by her wrists by the men, struggling to stay on her saddle as the mare turns skittish. “Not so fast, my lady. We need something from ya, and you gotta pay up for our silence. Comes with a price.” The men smirk, distant galloping approaching them.

Y/N yelps as she is knocked off her horse, hitting her head against the rock and all turns into darkness around her. She hears a distant echo of another mount heading her way, furious yelling and clattering swords. Her head throbs, feeling the blood dripping down her nape, as her eyes flutter closed.

[burningvelvet]

being a romantic era poet: a quick how-to guide

walk around in nature contemplating Things. start hiking, swimming, sailing, rowing, shooting, riding, etc. for inspiration

be obsessed with the french revolution and related enlightenment-era figures like rousseau, voltaire, mary wollstonecraft, and madame de staël. be more disappointed by napoleon bonaparte than you are by your own father. 

speaking of fathers, your parents and most of your other relatives are all either dying or dead or emotionally abusive. if you have any siblings (full, half, step, or adopted) who DIDN'T die tragically already, then you may choose to be close to them. you also may end up being much TOO close to them. various circumstances may also ban you from seeing them. 

be at least slightly touched by madness and/or some other severe illness(es) including but not limited to: consumption, horrors, syphilis, deformities, lameness, terrors, piles, boils, pox, allergies, coughing, sleep abnormalities, gonorrhea, etc. — for which you must take frequent bed rest and copious amounts of Laudanum (opium derivation)

consider foregoing meat and adopting a vegetable diet instead to purify the spirits. you may also abstain from alcohol for the same reasons. alternatively, you may attempt the veggie diet, end up rejecting it, and becoming a rampant alcoholic instead. in romanticism there is no healthy medium between abstinence and excess.

reject, or at least heavily criticize, christianity. refuse to get married in a church and consider becoming a fervent champion of atheism. alternatively, you may embrace catholicism, but only on an aesthetic basis. eastern religions and minority religions are also acceptable, only because they piss off the christians. 

if you’re not a self-hating member of the aristocracy and instead have to work for a living, do something that allows you to benefit society, be creative, and/or contemplate life. viable options include, but are not limited to: apothecarist, doctor, teacher, preacher, lawyer, farmer, printmaker, publisher, editor. there is also the possibility of earning a few coins from your art. if you were cursed to be born a She, no worries. we believe in equality. you may choose from these occupations: wife, nanny, housekeeper, spinster, amanuensis (copy writer for a man), lady’s companion, divorced wife, singer/actress/escort, widow, regular escort, tutor, or housewife. 

speaking of sexist institutions, try rejecting marriage entirely. Declare your eternal devotion to your lover by having sex with them on your mother’s grave instead.

if you do get married — elope, and only let it be for necessary financial reasons, or to try and save a teenage girl from her controlling family, or out of true love with someone you view as your intellectual equal, or because your life is so racked with scandals and debt that you can only clear your name by matrimony to a wealthy religious woman as your last resort before fleeing the country.

After marriage, quickly assert your belief in the powers of free love and bisexuality by taking extramarital lovers and suggesting your spouse follow suit. If they cannot keep up with your intellectual escapades then consider leaving them. Later on, propose a platonic friendship with them following the separation, or beg them for reconciliation.

If your marriage is happy, try moving in with another bohemian couple to shake things up. Alternatively, you may die before the wedding for dramatic effect.

If you beget children (whether in or out of marriage, makes no matter), do society a favor by choosing to raise them with your beliefs. Consider adopting orphan children, or even non-orphan children. If their parents are poor enough they probably won’t mind. Try kidnapp— I mean adopting — children off the side of the road if you can. 

DIE but do it creatively. ideally young. ideas: prophecy your own death, lead an army into war and then die right before your first battle and on your deathbed curse everyone and demand to see a witch, write a will leaving money to your mistresses or some random young man you have an unrequited romantic obsession with, carry a copy of your dead friend's poetry and read it right before you drown so that your washed up corpse can only be identified by his book in your pocket, die while staring at your lover's shriveled up heart that you keep wrapped up in a copy of his own poetry and then be buried with it, die of the poet's illness (consumption) while your artist friend draws you and then be buried with your lover's writing, get mysteriously poisoned (by yourself) after a series of scandals and accidents and then have your family announce that you were killed by god, die from romanticizing poverty or receiving bad reviews from literary critics, die from walking or horseback riding in the cold and the rain while poeticizing, etc.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Circle of Stones

Aragorn & Female Reader // Aragorn & Gandalf (Platonic)

Content & Warnings: canon-typical mentions of violence, suspense/horror, supernatural elements, Sauron’s influence, ghost story, Aragorn’s POV, pre-fellowship, canon-divergence

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Requested by @stupid-little-birdie for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Targeted by a Serial Killer)

Tracking orcs across the North, Aragorn and his companion come upon a potential source to a string of mass disappearances. When a darker influence overwhelms him, Aragorn is taken to the halls of Elrond where Gandalf asks him for a favor.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

Mist covers the ground, swallowing up the road ahead. Aragorn brings his horse to a stop, gaze narrowing as he observers the grey horizon. This part of the North is almost always cold and dreary, yet there is a lingering shadow beneath that stirs the nerves and dulls the senses.

"Is the town nearby?" asks Aragorn as Wess comes to a stop beside him.

Wess consults the map and nods. Moisture collects on the hood of his cloak. "Just over that hill."

Aragorn tilts his head skyward. "A storm is approaching."

Wess frowns and glances up. "Clouds are dark. We'll want to arrive before the storm does."

Aragorn spurs his horse on, the two Rangers heading for the village. The grass is muddy and soft beneath the horses' hooves, and their arrival comes with the rain. It falls steadily, bringing an extra dreariness to the small village that it doesn't need.

Word spread about people going missing in the North from tiny towns and villages. It's not unheard of but they make for easy targets. There are no walls to protect them and no guards to defend against invaders. Just a few days ago Aragorn and Wess visited a village where so many people had disappeared that only a singular family remained.

No one greets them upon their arrival. The residents remain behind their doors and windows, looking on yet poised to hide at the first sign of danger. Aragorn understands the solemn greeting. He and Wess have met the very same reluctance everywhere they've traveled.

"Are you the Rangers that have come to help us?"

Aragorn lightly tugs on the reins, bringing his horse to a stop. A woman stares back at him from under a worn hood. His heart stirs at your beauty but disperses just as quickly. Duty comes before the heart.

"We have come to do what we can," affirms Aragorn. "Whom do I address?"

You give him your name, and then gesture toward a large, two-story building in the middle of town. "We can talk in the inn. I've had a room prepared for the two of you."

Aragorn and Wess find the small stable at the back of the inn. When they enter, the inn is warm and cheery compared to the gloom outside. It seems that spirits are low but not in here.

You approach, hood pulled back, a gentle smile on your face. "I know you were expecting my father."

Aragorn removes his cloak, as does Wess, draping them over the backs of their chairs. You unclip the small clasp on yours, revealing a simple but clean dress underneath.

"Where is the Lord of this town?" asks Aragorn.

You hesitate before speaking. "Dead."

Aragorn inclines his head. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You nod, mouth a thin line. "I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances, but he is just one of many who have been taken from us over the last few weeks."

A barmaid comes over and deposits a frothy pint before each of them and a small platter of bread with cured meats and cheeses. She disappears quickly.

"We've been tracking a string of disappearances," says Aragorn.

"And it has led you here," you reply.

Wess is already shoving food in his mouth, clearly listening but far more interested in the cheese. Aragorn glances at Wess but the man doesn't appear to notice.

"It is where the trail has led us," agrees Aragorn.

Your lips purse slightly, and then you sigh as if all your bottled grief is suddenly melting.

"Tonight, you should rest. Tomorrow, there is someone I'd like you to meet."

Under a large oak tree just outside town, Aragorn listens to a young woman recount her tale.

"You are certain?" he asks as the pieces begin to fall into place.

"Aye," she affirms. "It was an orc that grabbed me while picking mushrooms. There were several of them. At least three."

"Working together?"

She nods. "Kept whispering to each other about returning to their master."

"And you weren't the only one taken?"

She visibly swallows, her eyes wet like she's about to cry. "I was put in a pen with three others. Not sure what happened to them. I just...ran when I had the opportunity. The orcs didn't follow. I don't think they even knew I was gone."

Aragorn frowns. "How far in the forest do you think you were when you escaped?"

She chews on her lip, gaze darting as she thinks. "I remember a ring of statues. Old looking. Covered in vines. They looked like lords or something. Maybe kings."

Aragorn and Wess exchange a glance. You stand off to the side, a shadow at the woman's back. Your lips are turned down in a frown, brow creased in the middle.

"Thank you," Aragorn says softly. He gently takes the woman's hands in his and squeezes, gazing into her eyes. "You've given us more than you realize."

You slowly approach the woman, placing your hands on either shoulder. "Come now. Let's get you back. Have a warm cup of tea." You give Aragorn one final glance before departing, leaving the two men alone beside the dense forest.

Wess' face is severe, his gaze focused on the wall of trees. "There is a story in these parts of dead kings buried so deep in the forest that no one would find their graves to mourn them." Wess turns his attention to Aragorn. "A circle. Plain statues. And a hole in the ground that is said to hold their corpses."

"A myth," murmurs Aragorn.

Wess grunts. "There is always truth in myth. Even if it's small."

"There is something else in these woods."

"I agree," replies Wess. "Do you think all these missing people are being taken somewhere?"

"Perhaps."

Wess tightens his cloak around him. The sky is growing dark again. "Shall we take a look?"

Aragorn enters the forest first, followed by Wess. He keeps his gaze on the ground, considering the turned soil and disturbed leaves. There is little for Aragorn to go on, but he knows the general direction in which this circle is supposed to be. Even legends and myths are recorded, and he already knows where this supposed burial ground is located.

The rain hasn't washed away everything. As the two men venture further into the forest where the trees are thicker, it's easy for Aragorn to distinguish various tracks. There are plenty of animals that travel through these parts, but there are human disturbances, and those of orcs.

A darkness has slowly creeped in across Middle-earth. It's a subtle thing, as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to plunge everything into its inky clutches.

Aragorn pauses, withdrawing his sword. Wess does the same, the two men crouching low as stone figures appear in the distance. Aragorn nods and the two men split off to either side of the circle. The air is silent and still. There are no birds or insects. Not even the soft whistle of the wind.

The bramble is thick, the bushes dense. Through the foliage, Aragorn spies Wess' form, appearing and disappearing. There is no other movement, no other presence Aragorn can pinpoint. Yet there is something, as if someone is standing directly behind him, breathing down his neck. The sensation becomes overwhelming, and Aragorn glances over his shoulder.

Nothing. Just an empty forest.

Aragorn returns his attention forward, stepping cautiously, closing in on the spot where he and Wess will meet. That sensation creeps back in, this time like two icy hands sliding over his shoulders in a cold embrace. As he exhales, his breath fogs, the air around him chilling suddenly.

Anxiousness becomes his companion, and Aragorn's feet quicken across the bramble. He circles to the other side, and Wess does not meet him.

Frowning, Aragorn straightens his legs and observes the surrounding area. There are no birds, no bugs, no sounds. Aragorn circles the small clearing, but Wess is nowhere. He studies the ground, hand hovering over the dirt and still, there is no trace of the man.

Not even footprints.

"Wess," whispers Aragorn, turning slowly. His companion does not answer. "Wess," repeats Aragorn, raising his voice.

Wess does not reply, nor does the man appear before Aragorn. The forest is silent and the statues remain solemn observers. Aragorn searches the area, inspecting the ground, only to find absence.

It is as if Wess never existed.

The icy embrace tightens to the point of suffocation. Aragorn's ribcage aches, the bones burning as if under immense pressure. He swings his sword, expecting to make contact with whatever has hold of him, but he only meets empty air.

The world darkens, consciousness slipping. He doesn't remember falling, only that the hard ground cradles his head as he stares up at the dark canopy. He cannot see the sky at all as if the trees have suddenly grown larger in the last few minutes, blotting out the grey clouds.

Drifting. And empty.

Empty.

And—

"Ranger," comes a feminine voice.

He knows that voice. He's met the woman it belongs to.

"Ranger."

Aragorn tilts his head to the side, and you appear in the dark like a candle. Your face is the last thing he sees before he slips into oblivion.

A warm dampness rests against Aragorn's brow. His eyelids blink slowly, chasing away the endless dark. Above him is a wooden ceiling. The wood warps slightly, as if his vision isn't completely clear.

"He is awake."

He knows that voice. It is your voice. The local Lord’s daughter who has taken the responsibility of everyone on your shoulders. Only a few words passed between the two of you and yet your voice is a soothing thing to him, coaxing him away from the dark.

Aragorn's head tilts in the direction of the sound. You lean against the edge of the bed, staring down at him. You smile softly and then glance away to the opposite side of the bed.

"I will shepherd him."

This voice is masculine and Aragorn does not entirely recognize it. His neck aches as he turns it, only to find a male elf with dark hair and grey eyes. Aragorn recognizes him and yet cannot place his name. It slips away from Aragorn every time he tries to reach for it.

"I am to take you home."

Home.

There are two other elves in the room that stand near the door. They watch on passively. One is a spitting image of the elf at his bedside. Twins. He knows them. Somehow.

Home. Imaldris.

That is the only explanation.

Sleep seizes him moments later, pushing Aragorn under, only to awaken in a place he hasn’t seen for several years.

He blinks, eyes burning slightly as the remanent of sleep recedes.

“Lord Elrond,” rasps Aragorn. He tries to sit up, and winces.

Elrond shakes his head and lightly places his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “Rest. Do not push yourself.”

"Wes—”

Elrond gives his shoulder a light squeeze. “There is someone here to see you.”

An old man with a generous beard and grey robes enters. There is no staff or pointy hat. Just a familiar, welcoming presence.

“Gandalf,” breathes Aragorn, some of his energy returning.

“I hope your journey was successful?”

Aragorn grimaces. “I wish I had something to tell you.”

“You’re looking much better than you were before,” says Gandalf, stepping around to the other side of the bed.

“Not unconscious?” counters Aragorn, and the wizard smiles.

“How are you feeling?”

He takes stalk of himself. Other than some aches, he otherwise feels normal and unharmed.

“Just a bit of needed rest then.”

Aragorn glances at Elrond. “You sent help.”

Elrond frowns slightly. “I foresaw a possibility.” He inclines his head. “I am glad that I did.”

“What of the village? And…Wes?”

Elrond and Gandalf exchange a glance. Gandalf sighs, face grim. “The village is empty.”

“I sent a small team to return, but they said they found no one.”

“Then I have failed in my mission.”

“No,” says Gandalf. “You did not. We know more than we did before.”

“A darkness grows,” adds Elrond. “The time of the Elves has passed.”

Gandalf glances at Lord Elrond briefly before returning his attention to Aragorn. “I am need of your tracking, friend.”

Strength is returning to Aragorn with every second that passes. The ache is dull and distance, nearly an old memory.

“I need you to depart to the Shire. I need you and your Rangers to stand guard there. Whoever you can spare. There are some…hobbits I need looked after.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @glitterypirateduck @foxxy-126

@km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath @ferns-fics

@ninman82 @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @chaostwinsofdestruction

@weasleytwins-41 @thewulf @firelightinferno @protosslady

[mah-o-daryaa]

Avatar Cycle Trivia

Avatar Wan

Wan's name translates to "ten thousand" in Mandarin Chinese, as he lived ten thousand years before Avatar Korra. His name is also a pun on "one", as in Avatar number one.

Wan wore the colour of each of the four nations during his battle against Vaatu. His robes were yellow and orange (air), his armbands were green (earth), his sash was blue (water), and his scarf was red (fire).

In addition to becoming the first Avatar, Wan is also the first true firebender, as he was the first person to learn firebending from a dragon.

By fusing with Raava during Harmonic Convergence, Wan is technically the oldest Avatar to be identified, being 21 at the time.

The Earth Kingdom battlefield where Wan died is the same field that Zuko visits millennia later in Zuko Alone (Book 2: Episode 7). Interestingly, Wan first appeared in Beginnings, Part 1, which was the seventh episode of Legend of Korra, Book 2: Spirits.

Avatar Yangchen

Yangchen is the only known Avatar to have a sibling (Jetsun).

Yangchen is technically the first Avatar to have an established Team Avatar (not counting Wan and Raava).

Yangchen had split-personality disorder with her past lives, where she essentially suffered from nightmares of her past lives bleeding into her present self.

Yangchen's companion Kavik is the first person ever seen get chi-blocked.

Yangchen did not like the idea of people creating statues of herself in the future. Ironically, she was greatly revered in the Four Nations, and a statue each was built in both the Eastern and Western Air Temples.

Avatar Kuruk

Kuruk is currently the only known Avatar whose predecessor and successor were both women (Yangchen and Kyoshi respectively).

Kuruk had more lovers in 3 decades than Kyoshi did in over 2 centuries (the true story is more tragic).

Kuruk had a habit of challenging random people to feats of strength, which makes him the only known Avatar in history to have participated in an Agni Kai.

Kuruk was the best hunter and tracker in the history of the Four Nations. It's said there was nothing he couldn't hunt or track down (that includes spirits).

Kuruk is the only known Avatar to enter the Spirit World after death. Considering that only people with a special connection to the Spirit World can enter at death (such as Iroh and Yue), this means Kuruk must have had a spiritual connection rivalling that of most Air Nomad monks or nuns.

Avatar Kyoshi

Kyoshi is the only known Avatar known to be of mixed nationality; her father was from the Earth Kingdom, while her mother was a renegade Air Nomad.

Kyoshi had a rare condition with her earthbending where she could move large objects with ease but had difficulty in moving smaller objects (Suffering From Success).

Kyoshi has witnessed more passings of Sozin's Comet than anyone else, with three (not counting Lao Ge).

Kyoshi learned the secret to immortality from Lao Ge, which led her to have the longest lifespan of any Avatar.

Kyoshi has threatened both the Earth King and the Firelord.

Avatar Roku

Roku and Firelord Sozin share the same birthday.

Roku has been featured in the introduction sequences of both Avatar: The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra.

Roku is the only known Avatar to appear old when he was called upon by the current Avatar.

When Roku entered the Avatar State for the first time, he destroyed the Fire Sage Temple.

Roku's dragon Fang is the only animal companion ever seen in the Spirit World.

Avatar Aang

It took Aang longer than any Avatar in history to become fully realized, being over a century old.

Aang has a scar on his back and on his foot, because of how electricity works.

Aang choosing four toys out of thousands – to identify him as the Avatar as these four toys were the same ones that past Avatars had chosen for generations when they were children – was the same procedure used by the Tibetan Buddhist monks to recognize the next reincarnation of the Tulku Lama.

Aang has met the original source of every bending art: a flying bison for air, the Moon Spirit for water, badgermoles for earth, and two dragons for fire.

Aang is the first Avatar to have his picture taken.

Avatar Korra

At four years old, Korra is the youngest Avatar in history to be identified.

Korra is the first Avatar to learn spiritbending.

Korra is the only Avatar to break out of bloodbending without the use of the Avatar State (sorry, Aang).

Korra is the only Avatar to have killed a member of her own family (Unalaq).

Korra is the first known person to ever tame a polar bear-dog (Naga).

Miscellaneous

Wan and Roku are the only two Avatars to die in combat.

Roku and Aang are the only two Avatars to fight a volcano. Aang was successful, while Roku died.

Aang and Korra are the only two Avatars to ever be defeated in the Avatar State.

Aang and Kyoshi are the only two Avatars to ever get hit by lightning. Ironically, when Kyoshi was hit by lightning, her chakras were opened and she gained the ability to enter the Avatar State; conversely, Aang's chakras were blocked and he was unable to enter the Avatar State.

Kuruk and Roku are the only two Avatars to have been identified the "traditional" way in their respective nations at 16; Wan fused with Raava at 21, Kyoshi was identified at 16 when she recited Kuruk's poem, and Yangchen, Aang and Korra were identified at younger ages.

Yangchen, Aang, and Korra are the only Avatars to have been identified at younger ages than 16.

Wan, Aang, and Korra are the only Avatars who are modeled after real-life people. Wan is modeled after co-creator Bryan Konietzko (but with cooler hair); young Aang is modeled after Arjuna, Sifu Kisu's son (but Aang is bald), while adult Aang is modeled after co-creator Mike DiMartino; and Korra is modeled after various female MMA fighters, most notably Gina Carrano.

Roku and Korra are the only two Avatars who have worn an outfit from each of the four nations on-screen.

Roku and Korra are the only two Avatars to have connections to royalty. Firelord Zuko, and thus every following Firelord, are descendants of both Roku and Sozin, whereas Korra's father was a member of the Northern Water Tribe's royal family, and was later elected as the chief of the newly independent Southern Water Tribe.

When Kyoshi first met Yangchen, she (Kyoshi) mistook Yangchen for her own mother.

When Kyoshi first met Kuruk, she almost drowned her physical body trying to communicate with him.

Roku and Yangchen are the only two Avatars to have hugged the current Avatar at the time (Aang and Kyoshi respectively).

Wan, Korra, and Kuruk are the only Avatars to refer to Raava by name, although the latter (Kuruk) had never met Raava.

Yangchen, Kuruk, and Aang are the only Avatars to have invented an airbending technique. By extension, Kuruk is the only person outside of the Air Nomads to invent an airbending technique (he didn't get his mastery tattoos, what a shame).

Aang and Korra are the only two Avatars to learn energybending.

Kyoshi, Roku, and Aang are the only Avatars to use bending after their respective deaths.

Kyoshi, Roku, and Aang are also the only Avatars to have descendants (but let's be realistic, so did Kuruk).

Aang and Korra both learned their native element from a companion of the previous Avatar, and their final element from a descendant of the previous Avatar. Aang learned airbending from Monk Gyatso, a companion of Roku, and learned firebending from Zuko, Roku's great-grandson. Korra learned waterbending from Katara, Aang's wife, and learned airbending from Tenzin, Aang and Katara's youngest son.

That's all the fun facts I could find.

[luna-loveboop]

It's all "links meet aus" and "zeldas meet aus", but where's my "companions meet aus"?

I wanna see midna bash fi and navis heads together for annoying her

I mean can you imagine the sheer chaos of all the Zelda companions meeting and going on a journey together? They're all companions/guides! One of thems a talking hat for hylias sake how are they supposed to take initiative?

I think it'd be like Lu where they all just meet up, but can you imagine the chain just somehow finds out this happened (and twilight is just like guys I am so sorry about midna) (but they're also really oddly touched that all their friends met each other too)

Pretty sure midna would be the sort of leader, since the last time she was in a foreign world she just found the nearest dude and started ordering him around. By like halfway through twilight princess she was literally asking LINK to accompany her to get what she needed.

But like. 90% of the group would be fairies. Which can't heal. One is a talking hat who just needs a head? He can't go on midnas cause she throws him off with her magic hair, poor ezlo is just trying to keep up.

They also have these weird green shadows who come around? They don't talk, but there's a rock, a fish, a bird, and a lady who just appear and stab things and shoot wind water fire and lightning.

Also midnas really confused why wolf link just shows up and kills things every now and then (from botw amibo)

Fi is the one who can talk to Hylia and awaken memories and get guidance and information or whatever, but she only does this by ballerina dancing and the others are always pissed at her anyways "WE DONT KNOW WHAT BATTERIES ARE OR A WII REMOTE WILL YOU PLEASE GO BACK IN SWORD FORM ALREADY" "I detect there is a 90% chance you need a key to open this door" "wow. Your perception is unparalleled fi."

Also there's a boat. A boat. Who is also good at taking charging since he's a king, which causes some friction between him and midna, since she has to grab him by her hair to move him half the time.

And with the fairies. Again. They all offer advice mainly. And with the fairies a lot of their main role is speaking and getting attention and pitching in? They come on an intersection and there's a chorus of bells all shouting the same directions. Ezlo is trying to cover the kings ears from his place on the boats head

Also there's this ghost/spirit of Zelda that everyone just feels REALLY strong loyalty to. But she's just like this kid who wants her body back?! They try to protect her but she can turn into a purple knight and stab things so there's that. I think there's also some animal companions from ooa/oos so.

Side quests are nonexistent they don't care about a village or gathering frogs for a kid they are there to save the world on a mission linear plot it is

And it's interesting because you have so many of them who just vanish and then appear to give loud advice. All at once. And the fighting skills basically fall to those weird green shadows that shoot various elements and fight and randomly disappear. Midna and spirit Zelda can fight, and Fi can too (kind of like how she fights as a sword in hyrule warriors). Also up to you if midna is drop dead gorgeous or devilish imp.

By the end they find whatever enemy so they can go back and midna is so pissed by this point that she hears the word "batteries" from Fi and goes full on fused shadow and just obliterates the jerk

***I have not played all the games so do not know or understand all of the companions and probably got some stuff wrong

Bonus: there is a child in a village named Link who does not have the spirit of the hero. He is stalked for three days until Fi decides his vibes are off and they all stop telling him he's the chosen one

[phoenixcatch7]

Things tloz has not been consistent about that you'd think it would be:

Everything. Buckle up.

The hero being called Link. He's Link in the same way Frisk is the character. The player chooses the name in every SINGLE game up until botw, and that only happened because of the voice acting. It's just shorthand for the link between the player and the game.

The princess being called zelda. Wind waker, she was called Tetra.

The princess being in the game at all (links awakening)

There only being one princess (the hero of either hyrule or legend had two)

There only being one hero (hyrule warriors had three and also linkle)

The princess not being a playable character (hw, aoc, and upcoming EoW. There's also non canon games like cadence and smash bros).

The master sword being in the game (four swords, minish cap, triforce heroes (?), ooa/oos only have it as a linked game post story unlockable, zelda 1,2 and la it was the magical sword).

Ganon being in the game (basically the exact same as the last point minus the 1st 3 games)

Ganon being a bad guy (hyrule warriors and generously, GENEROUSLY aoc, where he's playable as an ally post game).

The master sword being needed to defeat ganon (in botw aoc and totk the master sword is entirely optional, and totally inverts the traditional 'zelda weakens and link deals the final blow').

Link being the main character (upcoming eow which I'm cackling about)

The existence of humanity

Link being in green (abotk made him blue :( and took his hat >:((().

Zelda being in pink (abotk)

Zelda being blonde (she's anything from blonde to brown to ginger)

Link being blonde (tp and lttp (why is he pink?! Zelda is blonde! There's brown haired people! Why neon pink??)

Gerudo having rounded ears (up until abotk)

Nintendo making the games (hw and aoc, cadence lol)

Teen/kid link (totk is the only Link over the age of 19)

Link having a companion (it's pretty evenly split)

Zelda having the companion (aoc and eow)

Link having two companions (hw with basically all of them)

The nature of humanity vs hylians

The story taking place in hyrule (literally so many... La, mm, ooa, oos, technically ww, technically ss, half points for lttp and lbw, tfh)

Just the one triforce (lbw)

Just three separate pieces of the triforce (ww)

Any triforce at all (okay this one is complicated bcz depiction/hand marks/Actual Wish Granting Triforce but hylia alone knows where the triforce was in abotk. I'm counting ooa/oos because opening cutscene. La has zilch and I'm pretty sure mc too.)

Literally any religion has come and gone INCLUDING IRL CHRISTIANITY

Knowledge of the triforce

Knowledge of hylia (it's literally just ss abotk and maaaybe lbw)

The existence of hylia (^^^

The general populace being useless (totk) (that's it)

Link being left handed (in ss and abotk he's right handed. Tp is 50% right handed because they flipped the controls (and world) for the wii).

Link being able to swim at the start of the game (only in the 3d games minus lbw and la remake)

Link succeeding in his quest (botw) (I'm not counting failed hero oot because it's a meta attempt at a working timeline)

At least a tiny bit of time travel (loz 1/2, la, fs, lbw, lttp, botw...)

The hylian shield (only appears in the 3d games! (-la remake and ww and mm))

Link using a bow! (surprisingly 50/50)

Epona!! (literally just oot mm and tp. Botk she's noncanon amiibo and she's in mc but doesn't belong to Link T-T.)

A tutorial (varying subtlety, yes, but there's a difference between the great plateau and a 'press x to open menu :D' prompt five minutes into the game while a knight is trying to kill you (lttp)).

Link having the hero's spirit (ww. I personally disagree but hey)

The hero being a hylian! (totk hero's aspect)

Sleepy boy link (botk he has power naps On Lock)

Link being masc presenting (linkle, hw)

The symbolic elements (3/5/7 combos, lightning/ice/water/fire/wind triforce, boar/owl/dragon/whatever tf)

Things tloz has been consistent about in every game:

Link being a gnc short king (tp is the beefiest he ever got and that was 4'9 male gymnast build at BEST).

Him not telling anyone anything important ever.

[fushipurro]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Chapter 2 - Synched Spirits

<- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, cowboy!au, fluff smut & a bit of angst in between, guns, mentions of blood, pet names, creampie, anal, threesome (f/m/m), gangs

☆ Word Count: 5.4k

“So, you must be Clementine then, huh?”

The palomino huffs back, examining you with big brown eyes. Her ears flicker with interest, no doubt curious to the strange new human holding taking her by the lead to the other end of town. You can’t blame her for being wary, you’d feel the same if your beloved companion left you for another so you can only imagine how she and your Valentine are feeling right now.

She’s not the only one cautious of you. It’s hard not to miss the many townsfolk eyeing you down, what with how last night went. Between the robbery and your duel, everyone’s on high alert for the foreseeable future.

One would like to believe they’d be more grateful you didn’t outright kill the guy. Maybe they wouldn’t care so much if you were a man instead of a natural born, gunslingin’ woman, but sucks to suck. That drunken fool is lucky you decided to be nice and let him off with just a mangled hand. Had it happened after Valentine was stolen, the results would have been much different.

You hitch Clementine up outside the gun store, pushing past the door and greeting the shopkeeper. They’re about the only person so far today not afraid of you, but in all fairness, he’s the one with a dozen guns an arm’s length away.

“Lookin’ for anything in particular, Ma’am?”

You hum in response, scanning the available goods displayed out across the various shelves. There’s plenty of ammunition for a good price; wouldn’t hurt to replenish your pistol stocks after that duel. You decide on a few, bringing them over to the checkout counter.

“I’ll take these and…” Glancing up behind the clerk, there’s several cabinets containing an assortment of larger weaponry. A little voice creeps up from the back of your head offering a wonderful idea. “…maybe a rifle, depending on what ya have.”

He turns his back to you, unlocking one of the many units. Across the empty counter in front of you, he places down a few options, naming them as he goes, “Rolling Block, Varmint, Springfield, Bolt Action…take your pick.”

You’re instantly drawn to the Rolling Block, a girthy beauty that screams power and fine craftsmanship. “How’s the firepower on this one?” you ask, lifting the weapon up to better examine.

“You won’t find much competition with that one,” he tells you, and that’s exactly what you like to hear.

If someone dares to so much as think they can get away with stealing your horse, then you’re sure as hell going to track them down and put a gaping hole right where their heart should be. That black-haired outlaw better watch his back if he knows what’s coming. Once all is said and done with, Calamity Jane will be needing a new nickname after you usurp that throne.

“How much?”

“$187 even, Ma’am.”

Tch, that’s steep. And more than you have on hand thanks to the rest being buried in Valentine’s satchel.

You sigh, begrudgingly looking over the rest of the artillery. “How about the rest?”

“The Varmint here is our cheapest at $72 if you’re goal is hunting rabbits and other small game; otherwise the Springfield is our next cheapest at $120.”

You replace the Rolling Block in your hands with the Springfield Rifle, trying it out just like you did with the former. It’s lighter in weight with less range on the scope, but the clerk assures you that with some express or high velocity bullets, distance won’t be an issue.

“I’ll take this then.” You pass a billfold to the clerk, seething once again over why you’re doing this to begin with. Money’s hard to come by in this day and age, as far as legal opportunities go for someone like you. So help that bastard if he finds the rest of your stash and decides to take that for himself.

Leaving the store with your new weapon in hand, you’re quick to notice a gathering of lawmen outside the Sheriff’s office just across the street. A dozen uniforms with an equal number of horses all geared and ready to go.

“Who’s the Sheriff around here?” you call out, approaching the group.

“That would be me, Miss.” The crowd parts, making room for a young, white-haired man. “Sheriff Satoru Gojo. How may I be of service to you on this lovely day?”

You scoff, This guy? He’s clean as a whistle. Even the star on his chest could be mistaken for a mirror with how much he’s shined it.

Any other time and his equally bright smile might feel akin to fresh rain in the New Austin desert, but currently, it’s more like greeting the sun after a wicked night in the saloon.

“I’d like to know what’s being done about those thieves from last night.”

His blue eyes wander your figure up and down. Curious, but invasive. “You’re not with the bank, are you?”

Does it look like I’m wearing a suit or a fancy dress?

“My horse was stolen by one of those bastards and I intend on getting her back. Today,” you hiss impatiently.

Giving attitude to a man of the law may not be the smartest decision lest you desire a night behind bars, but to be fair, you have every right to be pissed given the circumstances. Had they have been competent in their line of work, then the criminals wouldn’t have gotten as far as they had or even been able to leave town in the first place.

It’s infuriating.

And the nonchalant nature of this man only pisses you off further.

“You’re in luck then, Miss…?”

You reply to the man with your name, sternness evident in your tone.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he remarks, earning a glare of disapproval from you that he shrugs off with a laugh. “My deputies and I are heading out on a lead if you want to sit tight inside.”

You place a hand over your hip, all nice and sassy with your face anything but. “I’d rather come with y’all than sit on my ass.”

Satoru takes the lead of a pristinely clean cremello stallion, its fur almost as perfectly white as the hair on its rider’s head. “I won’t stop you, but…” He pauses, hoisting himself up and over the saddle effortlessly, showing off those long legs of his. “…it could be dangerous.”

You pat the gun holster attached to your hip, just another way of showing that you’re anything but the normalcy ‘round here. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

The rim of his darkly colored cattleman hat dims his facial expression as he hunches down over the horn of the saddle, but not the light coming from that toothy grin stretching ear to ear.

“I don’t doubt that for a second, I’m aware of the duel that occurred last night.”

“Good, so then you know I mean business,” you warn, not once wavering from the eye contact with Satoru.

He outstretches his hand, beckoning for you to accept. “Of course. You want to ride up here with me then so we can get going?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you respond, pointing your thumb behind you at Clementine. “This girl will do just fine.”

“Didn’t steal her, I hope?” he teases in an effort to lighten the situation. It doesn’t necessarily work as you roll your eyes the moment your back turns on him. From there, you and the rest of the deputies mount up to leave town, destination unknown.

You hunker back from the rest of the posse, allowing the mare to instinctively follow while you take in the surrounding sights. You had come to this town from a different path than the one you’re marching on now, but given the view, you’ll for sure find yourself adventuring out here again in the future. The settlers here picked a beautiful spot to build the city of Valentine on. In the distance lie snow-kissed peaks and plateaus in nearly every direction, a wide-open prairie, and now the freshwater stream trailing at your side.

The stream runs clear as crystal, giving you an easy view of all the trout and pike that call it home. Measly shadows darting around in search of food and the ducks swimming along the surface. Sunlight catches on all the ripples, reflecting a dazzling lightshow of effects.

“So… what brings you to our fair city?”

You turn to your opposite side where Satoru and his majestic stallion ─ Mugen as you’ve come to discover its name to be ─ are nestled up at your side, stirrups annoyingly clashing with utter disregard for personal space.

“Do I need a reason or permission to come?”

“Well, no,” he pouts, “but as Sheriff I like to know who all is coming and going.” He further invades your bubble by leaning over in front of your line of sight, leather scrunching with every motion. “Besides, you’re an interesting change to the usual visitors. How could I not be curious?” he adds pointedly.

You sigh, giving in to his questioning. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy after all, compared to the horse thief you’re eagerly waiting to meet later. Satoru’s merely caught you on a bad day is all.

“I’m just a traveler like any other,” you drawl, a seldom undertone in your voice. “I used to call Tall Trees home, but that’s long in my past.”

“Bear country, huh?” He whistles out of surprise. “No wonder you’ve got the balls of one.”

“You could say that.” An amused huff leaves you. “Hunting bears is what ensured our survival up around Aurora Basin,” you explain, looking off in the direction of the mountains you at one point called home. “Had to watch our asses at all times to avoid Brumas or Lobo’s pack always hanging around our house.”

“Brumas?”

“Yeah, she’s a local legend in those parts. ‘A giant clad in golden fur.’” You exaggerate with your hands the sheer size of the bear. “Many doubt her existence, but my dad and I saw her firsthand one winter while hunting elk. Barely made it out intact but we made sure to leave her with a memorable scar on her face.” The memory of that day pulls the edges of your lips upwards.

“It's kill or be killed,” the words of your father sound in your head. “Either you stand your ground and fight back, or you won’t survive in this world.”

As they say, there’s always a method to the madness. Grizzly hunting as a kid is what geared you up to take no shit from others today. Especially for a lone woman carving her way through the frontier, you need to have the balls of a bear as the man next to you so sweetly described.

“Yikes,” Satoru grimaces at the fierce display of your nature stretching across your face. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Help me get my horse back today in one piece and you won’t have to worry.” You wink.

“By my honor as Sheriff of Valentine, I will get your steed back.” He pulls a semi-auto pistol from his belt, twirling it around his finger like you’d find in those animated photographs big cities always show off. The cocky cowboy, slick as could be with the metallic extension of themselves. “I’m the strongest, after all.” He winks back.

You have to hand it to him; he knows how to make an insufferable day a little less so; like a chaser you’d have following some throat-burning liquor. All it took was just some conversation and fond thoughts to get you back in the right mindset.

A pungent smell wafts your way sooner down the path, the luscious greens of the shrubbery abruptly turn to charred remains covering the expanse of land before you. A thin boundary of life and death.

“Forest fire?” you question rhetorically at first, but Satoru offers an answer.

“Kinda, we’re approaching what used to be a town by the name of Limpany.” He pauses, exhaling a discontent sigh. “Burned to the ground last year along with the rest of what you see.”

Kinda?

“Do you know how it started?”

There’s another brief pause, enough to shift the atmosphere in an awkward direction. You aim your head at Satoru, finding his downcast expression and a bittersweet smile. He brushes his fingers through Mugen’s mane, finding comfort with his trusted familiar.

“Since you told me your story, I’ll tell you some of mine,” he begins, taking in a focused breath. “My best friend and I were once deputies together, our sights set on becoming the sheriffs of a town no one would dare mess with thanks to our presence.” A flicker of remorse passes through the depths of his blue orbs. “We had a job that went sideways, and it wasn’t the same for us after.”

“How so?”

“I went on to become sheriff like we originally planned, but Suguru started to pull back and decided on going home to Limpany for a while.”

A pit in your stomach forms, giving you a sinking suspicion as to where this story could go. Considering his mood, the destination ahead, and the reveal of someone important to his life, there appears to be more to this as a whole than just a bank robbery. Nevertheless, you allow him to speak freely.

“Suguru discovered some serious corruption going on in the town by its people. In response, he ended up decimating nearly the entire town in one night, sparing no one. From that day forward, he became a wanted criminal in the eyes of the law.”

You wonder what could have been so severe to require that much lethal force, but at the same time if you were in his shoes, you might make the same choices. It wouldn’t be that far off on things you’d do considering how you decided to get back at the men who stole the lives of your parents.

Now here you are sympathizing with the man you’re hunting for your own personal vendetta. Oh how the tables have turned once you see the other side.

“I take it this Suguru is your gold thief?”

He sighs, “Unfortunately, that looks to be the case.” As you already expected to hear.

The town comes into sight, and with that, an end to your conversation. You’re surprised to see that despite the raging inferno that had occurred, buildings remain standing all along the settlement. Crumbling and disregarded, but still feasibly sturdy.

Smoke still hovers in the air as nature has yet to blossom and overtake the land once more. Maybe once spring has truly set in, new life will occur in its wake. So far, It’s quiet, but that may not necessarily be a good sign. Satoru orders his men to disperse throughout the town, going door to door in search of any signs of the gang.

The two of you hitch your horses out front of what used to be the Limpany Sheriff’s Department. The lettering on the building has long since faded from the flames but remains legible to a degree. Next door however is a jailhouse that stands without issue, and scarce of any blemishes. While Satoru is occupied with the main building, you decide to check out what lies beyond the iron door. There’s a click as you pull the safety of the gun, cautiously opening the door and ready for whatever lies inside.

Come to find out, it’s empty. The eeriness of the room sets off a trail of goosebumps down your spine. There’s smoke damage on the walls inside, but elsewhere nothing is damaged as far as you can tell. One of the locked cells houses two adult skeletons shackled to the wall. The bones of their wrists still nestled between the cuffs. The cell across somehow felt more ominous. The door is opened, leading to an empty room which in itself isn’t a cause for concern, but the scattered loot tells a different story. You bend down to pick up once such piece.

Is this… a child’s shoe?

Your eyes widen.

No doubt that one, but multiple children were being held in this very cell for reasons unknown. Is this what Suguru had come home to find…?

“Surprised? I know I was when I first saw this.”

His voice startles you, causing your sudden turn to meet him. “Satoru, what is this?”

“Corruption,” he answers bluntly.

What a cruel world this can be to live in. And with that thought, you can’t blame Suguru for crossing that threshold of sin.

A commotion sparks up outside, drawing both of you to the door. “Sheriff, come quick!” One of the deputies calls out. You get up to follow Satoru out as the two of you are led to another section of town where lawmen have quickly begun to circle. “It looks like they camped here and left this morning! There’s fresh hoofprints everywhere too.”

“Mount up!” Satoru shouts confidently, “They couldn’t have gotten far, let’s not waste any more daylight here!”

You’re about to whistle for your horse off muscle memory when you immediately have to remind yourself that she wouldn’t be able to hear your call.

They don’t prepare you for these things.

Valentine is all you have left right now. Losing her is like losing family. As much as you find yourself resonating with Suguru, the fact remains that you’re heartbroken without her. Hopefully she’s safe and the two of you will be reunited again soon. You brush the thoughts, running off with Satoru before galloping off with the rest of the posse.

The roads outside Limpany aren’t the most well-travelled, so for any decent enough tracker, the thousand-pound impressions in the dirt are easy enough to spot. There’s evidence a wagon or two may have joined the group, all leading down the Dakota river towards the Upper Montana. Trees quickly become scarcer as you enter this new area thanks to logging companies, making it easier to see everything in front of you but at the same time, everyone can see you as well.

The group stops short of a tree line near the river to use as cover. Up ahead lies a small home and barn to match looking all too lively and full for its size. A fatal flaw in their attempt at laying low, but one you’re thankful for. Pulling out a pair of binoculars from your satchel, you investigate the scene. There’s a long, gray-haired man and another shorter bald guy walking around, weaponry in hand, and several more interesting characters around. Among the dozen horses grazing from their posts, none are Valentine.

“Are those the men we’re looking for?”

“Looks like it,” the white-haired man sighs, tightening the grip on his own pair of binoculars. “I see some other wanted faces the Outlaw Killer was looking into.”

“The Outlaw Killer?” you scoff, quirking a brow. Interesting title that speaks for itself.

“Yeah,” he snickers. “He’s a crazy bounty hunter. You’d know him if you saw him, I’m sure. Grouchy asshole that only ever wears black ─ hell, I think all his guns and even his lasso are the same color.” He rolls his eyes and an image of the blacked-out stallion and its flirt of an owner came to mind from the night before. So much for a bad temperament.

“Good to know,” you hum, raising your new rifle from its holster, taking aim at the gray-haired man first on instinct.

“Woah woah woah, what are you doing?” Satoru’s urgent voice fills your ear.

“What’s it look like?” you calmly reply, “I’m gonna pick them off one by one.” The safety clicks just as the man reaches out with a hand on the barrel to low the gun.

“I’m itching to get this done with as much as you are, but I’d like to arrest them, not kill.”

You click your tongue out of annoyance, “What’s your plan then, Sheriff?”

“Let’s just get a little closer and see what more we can learn first. It won’t do us any good if they’ve stashed the gold, and I doubt they’ll tell us anyways.”

He has a point, sadly. For now, you’ll just have to go along with it. You lean on the reins with a tap of your heel to guide Clementine. “Have it your way, but just remember that I’m not the one wearing a silver star.”

“Hey if this goes well, I’m more than happy to give you one.” He smiles, following your lead with the rest of his men. Once again, he’s got Mugen right up at your side, hunched over the saddle to see your face. “You’re just the kind of attitude we could use; that and I’m enjoying your company.” You roll your eyes but the faint smile tugging at your lips gives you away all too easily.

Being a deputy isn’t something you’ve had in mind before given your sense of exploration and all, but another way one could view it is imagining it as a means of settling down somewhere. An ever-growing supply of work paired with using your favorite set of skills to earn money; all and all giving you stability and a place to call home if you ever decide that’s what you want in life.

It's worth thinking about if he’s serious. A second option to consider on top of Kento’s.

To avoid spooking the gang, you and the rest of the posse tie the reins of your mounts to some trees a few yards back from the tree line closer to the homestead. From there, it’s all about maintaining a stealthy approach. Plenty of shrubbery dots the property, so even with the lack of tall standing trees, you’re able to keep as low a profile as you can without inciting a shootout. The rest of the men can have their fun with their hunt for gold or apprehending dangerous individuals. Your first and foremost objective is securing Valentine.

Since she’s not outside, one can only assume she’s in the barn out of sight. It’s a good size, but in desperate need of some TLC as you learn the moment some rotted wood snaps cleanly off with a simple tug. You crawl through from the back, entering the structure into a bed of hay. Looking up from the ground, you quickly find that it’s not just you stuck in a 12x12 box.

A familiar tobiano paint stands proudly, turning his head in your direction. Beautiful black and white markings cover the gelding with a splash of white on one side of its face revealing a sole blue eye. The other eye is a rich shade of brown, surrounded by black fur.

“Good boy,” you whisper to the horse, hoping to not frighten him or anyone else that may be inside to your presence. He eyes you back with a huff and some widened eyes, but thankfully their ears move in attentive patterns rather than that of aggression.

You measle around to the front of the stall, managing to swoon him with your pets between soft whispering coos. “I should steal you and show him how it feels. You want that, big guy?”

A high-pitched whinny pierces the air, drawing your eyes to your long-lost Valentine one stall over. She stomps her foot aggressively, but her warning comes all too slow before the stall door flings open. Before you can reprimand yourself for being snuck up on, let alone draw your gun, the opposing force already has their own aimed nearly point blank.

“My, I didn’t expect anyone to check here first, let alone wish to steal Uzumaki from me?”

You turn slowly towards the man you’ve been wanting to see all night and day. The same silky-haired bastard that made off with your mare. He stares you down the iron sight of a Cattleman’s revolver, holding a salacious grin as he takes amusement in this whole ordeal.

“I think it’s only fair, seeing as you stole my own horse after your little escapade in town last night.” Unlike his suave tones, your voice is laced with the venom of a diamondback rattlesnake. Just because he has you cornered, doesn’t mean you’re any less dangerous than a pit viper itching to strike.

The sound of gunfire alerts you both to the events unfolding outside the shabby walls of the stable, all with the shouting of a dozen men. The sliding door to the entrance of the barn opens with a bang, and the outlaw is quick to draw up a second revolver at the new arrival.

“Suguru, put your guns down.” Satoru says, trying to mask the hints of pain and grief beneath a stoic demeanor.

On the other end, Suguru is cheerful and keeps his sight set on the other with a cheshire smile. “Satoru~ long time no see.”

You clear your throat, reminding the two of your third wheeling presence. “Nice reunion and all, but you’re outnumbered here.”

“That may be.” he pauses, rolling his head in your direction once more. “But I’m holding the guns here so it’s up to you both to decide how you want to walk out of here.”

Funny how things ended up working out after that.

Between some more bickering, monologues, thundering hooves, and dwindling gunfire, who knew a simple suggestion to “kiss and make up” would lead to you being sandwiched between them in one of the empty available stalls occupying square bales of hay to use as surfacing.

Straw digs into your back annoyingly, but the pleasure of two cocks in either end transition you to a state of euphoria. Muffled whimpers fail to escape, instead warping around Satoru buried deep in your throat. It’s long, veiny, and curves in all the right directions. His hands find comfort over the mound of your breasts, kneading into the flesh with each thrust.

You can’t see it, but those breathtaking blue eyes look in awe of your figure adorned with a sheen of sweat and the sight of Suguru’s cock disappearing into your perfect little pussy. “So pretty,” he purrs, noting how you’re glowing brighter than any star could hope to achieve, silver or not.

Suguru’s hands brand the dipping of your hips with a bruising grip, rutting into you with his especially girthy extension. Each jerk of his body hits right into a sweet spot bringing you ever closer to undoing the knot at the base of your core.

They both momentarily pause as you begin to unravel, choking out cries that leave Satoru reeling with pleasure from the tightness of your throat. Suguru feels it too. Your gummy walls encasing around him in erratic motions. The two of them aren’t far away from their own release.

The sounds each make only serve to keep the wings of your pussy fluttering for more. Irresistibly charming, and all the more passionate given the shared history they share, and you now caught in the middle.

Suguru leans forward over you, cupping Satoru’s cheek to draw him closer, crashing their lips together in a messy embrace. That one action forces each to come undone, painting both ends of you so perfectly white. They pull out, savoring the whining noise you release from the loss. The black-haired man takes a moment to admire how you clench around nothing and the cum gushing out like a waterfall of love.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Suguru asks, and both Satoru and you simultaneously answer positively making him chuckle all low and honey-like.

“You’re doing so well, but we’re not done just yet…” Both men exchange a look, as if reading one another’s mind. Soulmatism at its finest. “Well, Satoru?”

“It’s been too long, Suguru,” he responds gleefully. Satoru then proceeds to lift your tiring body up and onto his lap, making you straddle him as the other comes around into your view. “Ready for more, princess?”

“Less talk, more stuffing,” you scoff, taking it upon yourself to line his tip with your eager cunt, graciously accepting him into the depths beyond what Suguru could reach.

“You heard the pretty lady, Satoru,” the other whispers into his ear, nibbling the lobe as he slowly thrusts up into the man. The slick coating his shaft that you provided just moments ago make for a smooth entry, earning a deep fulfilling rumble from Satoru.

His fingers slid up your thighs and over the curves of your body, pressing into the plush to bounce you on him. You saw plenty before of the cobweb of veins that marble his cock, but feeling the ridges trailing along your insides leaves you breathing out such sinful sounds. He works it like the most formal of fountain pens, writing poetry on velvet walls that could put even Shakespeare to shame.

“Fuuh-uck,” you murmur, burying your face in the crook of Satoru’s neck, shamelessly letting him contort your body however he desires. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck and hair, locking him in against your bare chest.

“Now now, don’t go hiding yourself,” Suguru says between disheveled breaths, trying not to let his pace falter as he urges your face up. He overtakes your lips, mixing sloppy kisses with nips across your bottom lip.

Satoru uses this chance to pepper your open neck with marks fashioned all in his name, biting down with more force each time his lover hits that sweet spot inside. He can feel not only his own chest tighten, but his balls as well.

Suguru breaks the kiss, but only to push the two in front of him down. The weight of Satoru comes down over you, taking your mouth against his and soaking up the taste of all the combined flavors. Suguru unleashes powerful thrusts into Satoru that force him in and out of your own body as he chases his high.

“You missed me this much, Suguru?” He gazes over his shoulder, smiling as he tries to form cock-drunk words. “S-so much more aggressive than usual, f-feels good.”

“Not a day goes by where I don’t see a reminder of you.” You can just barely make out the seldom, yet saccharine face Suguru makes, your own vision clouded with a hazy white. “It’s just like the old days with o-our new friend here.”

“Our princess here is taking us so well, isn’t she?”

“She is,” he says, and you feel feather-light touches come over your thighs that attempt to coil around Satoru for closeness. “You’re such a good girl, I bet you want to cum, don’t you?” You feverishly nod, unsure how much longer you can hold out.

“Come on, baby.” A finger moves over your clit drawing star-shaped patterns until that’s all you’re able to see. “T-that’s it,” he drawls, following soon after.

Hot ropes of cum spill out inside you once more, making a beautiful cocktail of three. Suguru mercilessly ruts into Satoru until he himself finishes, savoring the feeling he’s long since missed and relishing in the new ones you’ve brought him.

Satoru’s body relaxes leaving you trapped underneath. You take the time to brush your fingers through his hair as you come down off your high, feeling yourself ground to the Earth in the process.

Suguru pulls out, leaving a chaste kiss to you both. His delicate fingers push the hair of your face, admiring the beauty of your afterglow. You close your eyes, soaking up the feeling of one another, completely oblivious to anything else.

Well, almost oblivious.

“It’s been fun seeing you again and meeting such a lovely new woman,” Suguru starts. You open your eyes and Satoru as well to see Suguru dressed and mounted atop the tobiano. “I’ve got to get home before my daughters begin to worry. See you around sometime.” He winks, galloping out of the stable before either of you can say another word.

Satoru stands up, exhaling a defeated sigh. The plan to arrest Suguru ended up with the two of you being detained by love. Both his gang and the gold are long gone to wherever his hideout lies.

Satoru helps you up, cleaning you off as best he can before readying the horses, and yes, that means yours too.

Valentine is home, back with her family.

You.

As you sit atop her on route back to the city of Valentine, you feel a discomfort in your clothes and the crunching of parchment to follow. The source of which is a pamphlet courtesy of Suguru, detailing drawings and hints on how if you’re interested, you can use these clues to find him and his camp of outlaws.

And so, a third opportunity for your future presents itself, but that’s for the future. For now, the only thing on your mind is a steak dinner. Here’s hoping the Butcher has finished his job.

☆ Notes: KFC breakup – saloon edition

Fr this chapter was hard for me to write. I love satosugu but I’m not confident in writing them just yet :( I cursed myself so many times and had to close to document. march weather also has got me not feeling too well so that sucks.

I was kinda stumped how to transition from gunpoint to dickpoint in a way that wasn’t so dubious or noncon so I hope you don’t mind me just skipping straight to the action :3 threesome smut is hard to write for me

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Blood of Eden

|Lucifer!Aemond Targaryen x Eve!Reader|

Short Story

Masterlist of Works

Summary: Life in Eden was perfect. You lived in harmony with your husband, Adam, and all other creatures. Nothing negative ever got past the guardian cherubs at the gates, forever protected by the angels and God's love. Until one day, when you stood at the roots of the Tree of Knowledge, a serpent appeared before you. Its green body blended into the grass beneath your feet, and its amber eyes locked onto yours as it spoke words that would lead you astray and down a path of sin.

Author's Note: Let's start with this idea being unoriginal. There have been a million different retellings of the fall of Adam and Eve in fanfiction. However, I did put a lot of original thoughts into it and gave it a spin of my own. I'm not religious at all, though I was raised Methodist in a very rural and religious state. I really don't care if anyone is offended by what I wrote because what I wrote is not really about God but more so about the expectations of women, abandonment of those who claim to love you, and blind faith. It's not only applicable to religion but to everyday life with the government and other people in positions of authority in your life. With all that being said, just enjoy this for what it is... raunchy smut.

Warnings: sexism, misogyny, noncon bordering onto rape, sacrilege, religious guilt, manipulation, breeding kink (kinda?), Aemond feasts like it's the last supper, it's literally a fanfic retelling of Adam and Eve.

Word Count: 9.6k

Also, I recommend you listen to the song The Devil Is Human by Aurora or The Fruits by Paris Paloma. Both are applicable.

In the beginning, God created heaven and the Earth. The Earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters, and God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw the light as good and divided the light from the darkness.

And he was there. There, beside the Lord with the rest of his brothers and sisters, he watched his God create life as he knew it.

They called him another name then and spoke of him differently, filling him with such fury and vengeance in memory. He was no longer Aemond, the morning star, God's favorite angel in his host. He was the vilest of beings, cast down into the depths of Hell with all others who followed him in punishment for his defiance against his Lord.

They said Lucifer was vain. That Satan fell from the heavens due to his great pride in his perfection, but that was untrue. There was more to the tale than just the folly of pride, than just the wickedness that so poisoned his heart against God.

Aemond believed in knowledge and free will. He disagreed with God's authoritarian control of the creatures he architected. God's creations had no control over their lives, set mindlessly on his chosen path. He kept hidden the knowledge of the Earth and psyche and all it had to give. Aemond believed he had no right to do so, for a life in blind ignorance was none at all.

He first poisoned the creature they called Adam with the emotion of loneliness despite the lush greenery and breathing life surrounding him. Then, he gathered all his fellow angels who shared his belief to rebel against their Lord. God knew that Aemond stirred the mind of his creation, Adam, and cut out his eye as he cast him and all who agreed with the now Satan below the Earth as punishment. Aemond was angered and scorned at the benevolent creator's decision.

From that moment on, he swore he would forever spurn God, devoting his existence to the opposite of his.

As a consequence of Aemond's actions and the intoxication of Adam's mind with thoughts of loneliness, God created another being. A companion to the man, derived from his rib, called woman, and her name was Eve.

Eve was beautiful. She was more beautiful than Aemond before his eye was stolen, and God doted on her with an intensity Aemond felt was purposeful. He grew mad with envy at the realization. What kind of Father would do such a thing to his son? How dare he? A benign God created a being more beautiful than the one cast out for it.

Satan was furious. He was enraged at God and the woman Eve. He spent all his days attempting to corrupt the innocent woman in their perfect Garden of Eden as retaliation.

It was a bothersome task. Eve was quite loyal to her God and her husband, Adam, for they were connected, and God's love was too strong to penetrate. Until one day, when Satan spied on the Lord and his children, hidden as a serpent within the lush green grass, and God told them there was one rule, the only sin they could commit.

The Tree of Knowledge. Its Fruit was golden, juicy, and ripe, begging the beings to sink their teeth into its soft flesh, but they could not, for their Lord forbade it.

Satan knew then that he had found a weakness within the perfect creatures and set out to exploit their flaw.

Life within Eden was joyful. You wanted for nothing and asked for nothing because God provided. You lived in harmony with your husband and all other living creatures. The lions resided in peace with the gazelles, the crocodiles on the shores with the zebras, and the wolves with the sheep. Everything worked per God's will. Worry was not a thought within your mind. Nothing negative ever got past the guardian cherubs at the gates of Eden, forever protected by the angels and your Lord's love.

God instructed you and Adam a few commands to follow within the Garden. One, you must serve your husband, for you are an extension of him, and second, you must never eat from the Tree of Knowledge. They were simple guidelines to follow.

You catered to your husband's every wish, ensuring he desired naught as you did. When Adam's mouth dried, you quenched his thirst from the babbling brooks. When his stomach rumbled with hunger, you satisfied him with the food from the Earth. It was what you desired, what gave you fulfillment and great happiness to serve your husband, as was God's will.

You were content in the Garden of Eden, yet one thought hung within your mind. It was only a whisper at first, the slight rustle of the breeze commanding one thing, and you busied yourself within the Lord's expectations in response. But it grew stronger until you could no longer ignore it and found yourself staring at the hanging aureate Fruit at the foot of the Tree.

You confided in Adam as to your troubles, but he dismissed you.

"Do not worry your little head about such things, dear Eve. God has a plan for us all and will not lead you into temptation."

You trusted him, just as you trusted the Father, but you soon forgot your once limitless bliss. More often than not, you would wake at the roots of the forbidden Tree with no recollection of how you got there, suddenly awoken, as if from a trance to the tale end of a deep timbre at the shell of your ear, demanding that you take one bite.

You prayed. You prayed, and you prayed, and you prayed until God finally deigned his presence to you, answering your pleas. In him, you confided your doubts of the memory lapses that brought you such agony until tears flowed from your eyes.

"Do you not have trust in me that I will protect you from your sins?"

"No, Father!" you exclaimed, quickly resending the words in error. "Yes, Father, of course I trust you."

"Then you must worry naught, sweet Eve, for you are a creation of me and my will. You must have trust in your devotion and obey my commands no matter the temptation."

You merely nodded at his words, an uneasy feeling churning in the pit of your stomach.

It was your fault, you soon realized, for not praying enough, for spending too much time caring for your own needs and not God's and Adam's. So, without hesitation, you threw yourself into the Lord's commands. You put your faith in him more than before and focused your time on God when not spent with your husband.

But it did not work.

You no longer felt the same joy when serving Adam and the Father; the fulfillment was replaced with bitterness and resentment for those you catered to for not helping you in your time of need. Thoughts of what would happen should you eat the Forbidden Fruit rattled in your head, infecting you with doubts as to what God's motives were in keeping you from it.

One day, when the sun was shining as it always did, warming your skin and filling the air with something sweet and floral, a serpent, greener and brightly scaled than you had ever seen, came slithering down the brown bark of the Tree of Knowledge.

You grinned at the creature, delighted to have the company of one of God's creations as you grasped it, allowing it to slide across your arms and legs until it wrapped around your torso, head resting between the mounds of flesh on your chest. Its pink, forked tongue tickled the sensitive skin there, causing giggles as it ventured further up until its emerald body wound around your neck and shoulders, smooth scales caressing the skin.

"Did God say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?" asked the serpent, and you were startled.

No animal had ever spoken to you before, and it sent a jolt of surprise through your limbs at something so foreign and unusual within your serene garden.

"We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, we must not eat fruit from the one that is in the middle of it, and we must not touch it, or we will die," you answered thoughtfully, a smile on your face as the snake's tongue tickled the shell of your ear.

You attempted to pull it away, slightly uncomfortable but still joyful with how close it was to your face, but the animal only swirled around your countenance and into your hair and nestled on the opposite side.

"You will not certainly die," the serpent said to you, voice sure. "For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like him, knowing good and evil."

Gazing at the Fruit, then back to the slit, amber eyes of the snake, you faltered. Undoubtedly, the Lord would never bar you from something like this. He loved you. You and Adam were his creations. He would never keep you from something good for you. Why would God lie if the serpent's words were valid?

"There is much wonder ahead of you, little Eve. All you must do is only take one bite."

His words were convincing, poisoning your already tainted mind into disobeying God's commands. Still, you shook your head, trying to pry the snake off, but it only slithered down your body, nestling between the flesh of your legs, small head resting on the thatch of dark hair as it peered up at you.

"No, snake," you declared with defiance, brows furrowed and plump lips pouted. "He said we would die. Why would God lie to us? He loves us!"

Aemond thought you looked so beautiful then, even more beautiful than himself with the ethereal glow that radiated from your form, but he swiftly pushed the notion aside.

"Because, if you eat the Fruit in which he commanded you not to, your eyes will be opened for what the world is. You'll understand right from wrong. You will be like him," the snake whispered, his forked tongue flicking with every sentence. "If God truly loved you, he wouldn't keep all this knowledge to himself."

Aemond could see the defiance slowly leave your expression, considering what he declared the truth. "He'll never know, little lamb. I shall never tell him. You have my word." He knew you needed one more push, the correct phrases to convince you to commit the only sin you could. "You deserve to understand. You deserve to be free from the self-sacrificing chains that bind you."

Aemond moved his scaly body from yours, sliding within the knee-high grass and into the Tree. He bit into the flesh of the Fruit as he turned to your uncertain form. He swallowed the chunk into his throat, the juice sliding down his fangs as his amber eyes stared into your wide ones.

Trepidation began to leave your mind, taking a tentative step forward as you saw that the serpent did not perish. The snake took another bite, wrapping its veridian tail around a winding branch, holding the piece out, wordlessly telling you to have a taste. You inhaled a shaky breath, an emotion you had never experienced before warming your gut and the place betwixt your thighs as you leaned, taking the golden fruit from it with your teeth.

The sweet flavor washed over your tongue, some juice dribbling past your lips and sliding down your chin as your eyes shut. You felt your mind become free, a moan breaking from the confines of your chest. Opening your eyes, the Fruit slid down your throat and settled into your stomach as you gazed at the world around you.

Suddenly, you understood everything.

Why water fell from the sky, why the grass grew, why the day always followed the night, why God told you never to eat the Fruit. You did not become his omnipotent equal as the serpent claimed. You became knowledgeable. You could comprehend the vast questions of the universe that the only answer you were told was God. You now had the free will to choose what you thought and what you did. You could decide who and what you worshiped.

God could no longer control you, so he forbade you from eating the Fruits on the Tree of Knowledge.

The snake was no longer in its place; instead stood a man with features not of this world. He adorned a crown of silver longer than your own, a pale stomach chiseled and defined with muscles and scars, a light dusting of hair trailing down to where his manhood was covered with weaved fig leaves. A long, pink scar sliced the left side of his face, the socket in which his eye should be a bright blue sapphire gem complimenting the near obsidian of the other.

Abruptly, you realized you were naked in front of an unknown man, quickly covering your breasts with your arms as he only observed.

"Who-" you stuttered, warmth filling your cheeks, "who are you?"

The man smirked, the grin pulling at his cheeks in a malicious, knowing manner that sent chills down your spine. "He never told you, did he?" the man questioned with the proud quirk of his brow, stepping closer to your trembling form. "I am called many names, sweet lamb. Satan, Lucifer, Devil, the Morning Star, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Iblis, the Father of Lies, and much more, but you," he answered, his now single tongue licking his white teeth, "may call me Aemond."

Your lungs shuttered, legs threatening to give out as he stood nearly a hair's breadth away. You extended an arm out, preventing him from coming closer, palm touching the smooth planes of his abdomen as you cowered under his dark gaze.

"Please, do not come any closer. I am ashamed," you implored, voice quivering as tears collected at the brim of your lashes.

"What for, little lamb? Are you now feeling the shame of having disobeyed your God, now knowing he will never love you again?" You tasted the briny water on your tongue before you felt them, whimpering and flinching as Aemond brought his thumb to your cheek, stroking the tears that clumped your lashes. "I shall love you, Eve, more than your God ever could."

A scream scratched your throat as Satan's hands grabbed your waist, fingers digging into the soft skin until you were sure they would burrow through, your bare breasts touching his sculpted chest.

"You-you tricked me!" you sobbed, head moving far away from him as he licked a stripe of saltwater on your temple, groaning at the erotic taste.

"Tricked you?" he guffawed, snatching your hair. "No, sweet lamb, I saved you."

"No! No! You said I would be as God! You lied to me!" Words poured from your lips like the tears from your eyes, choking you with their excess wetness. How could you have been so foolish as to believe a talking snake? The Lord was above all and only cared for you. He provided all that you needed, yet you still gave into temptation.

"Is it power that you desire, my ignorant lamb?" he questioned, a smirk pulling at his thin, pink lips. "Do not fret, for I shall give you all that you desire and more."

Aemond's mouth slotted with yours, spearing his tongue into the wetness and exploring the soft flesh your lips kept hidden. You struggled against him in vain, nails clawing at his chest and face until they left red welts on his porcelain skin. He merely chuckled against you, grinning into the kiss as his knee made it home between your legs. You vehemently shook your skull, attempting to break from his vice-like grip on your hair.

You now understood where this was going as Aemond released you with a sickening pop only when he decided you had enough.

"Stop. I do not want this," you protested, pulling your face away from his against the force of his hand.

"But, dear Eve, you are positively wet down there. It would be a sin to leave it untouched." You could sense Aemond's grin against your skin, his lips trailing down your jaw and onto the sensitive skin of your neck, inhaling the aromatic scent of your flesh.

It had been millennia since he last had the taste of sex. He spent all that time either within the solitude of his own making or that of his fellow fallen angels. He knew that those times would not be as fulfilling as now, and a part of Aemond, deep within himself, understood that he would never wish to live without it again.

He left damp patches in his wake, unceasing in his movements until he reached the tender globe of your breast, wrapping his lips around the pert nipple and suckling like a child. The jolt of pleasure that wracked through your body was paralyzing, causing you to momentarily drop your defenses as he forced you into the tall grass below. Aemond's body weight trapped you under him, feeling every ridge and curve of his body on your own. His manhood poked at your thigh, thumping in time to the beat of your erratic heart.

"Please, have mercy on me," you cried into the heavens, hearing nothing but Satan's heavy breathing on your bosom as he moved to the other, fingers snaking down to toy at the place between your legs. "Do not touch me there! That is a place for my husband only!"

Aemond grunted, the sound vibrating your chest as he unlatched with a half-lidded expression. "And who told you that, little lamb? Your God? The same God who kept you from all the world has to offer?"

You couldn't deny his words, gazing away from the beast before you. Aemond's arms wound themselves around your legs, keeping you at his mercy as he brought your womanhood onto his watering mouth. You shuddered uncontrollably with every lick he placed onto your throbbing core, unable to silence the high-pitched mewls that escaped your throat at the actions.

His tongue was so warm and soft, involuntarily making your muscles relax in his embrace as he lapped at your folds, moldable lips curling around the bud at the top to lav it in particular attention. It felt so good you could not help but buck your hips into him, curling your digits into his hair and back arching as the wet muscle slid into your entrance. Aemond's tongue caressed your insides with the tenderness of a butterfly's kiss, stroking along a rough patch that had you seeing the stars above.

You were unsure of what came over you. The only thought in your mind and nerves being more, more, more as your movements became greedy. You ground your womanhood onto his face and shoved his nose further into you, the bridge of it providing delicious friction onto your bud. You did not care if he could breathe. It felt like a beast had possessed you, puppeteering your movements with only one goal.

Release.

You grew impervious if God or Adam heard your cries of pleasure, knowing only of the Devil betwixt your thighs that now suckled your bud as if it were your breast, causing your heels to dig into the soft soil. At this moment, you did not regret taking a bite from the Forbidden Fruit. It brought you the knowledge of ecstasy you had no idea existed. If all sins brought you the promise of this pleasure, then you would gladly and unthinkingly commit them.

A fist formed within your stomach, tensing your gut as Aemond opened his jaw wider to incorporate all of your meat into his mouth, swallowing your juices as he did to the Fruit.

He knew he had you hooked, his cock thudding painfully with arousal as he rutted in the dirt. This was just as gratifying for him as it was for you. Not only did he have the satisfaction of corrupting God's favorite in the Garden of his creation, but he also had her begging and wanton within the palm of his hand, ripe for the taking. Aemond understood there was only one last thing he must do before he could finally destroy God's most precious creation.

He knew you were close. You only needed one more push, as you did before, to finally fall off the edge so you could become his in sin. He doubled his efforts, slurping obscenely at your puffy cunt until it nearly drowned out your moans.

You couldn't breathe, your breath coming out in pants as your legs clamped down on Aemond's perfect silver head, shrieking into the skies as you felt your first peak crash into you. Wave after wave hit your body as never before, tears leaking onto your temples as your back arched in ecstasy. It felt like honey had been poured into your veins, leaking onto Aemond's face as you spasmed around him.

His thumbs delicately stroked the skin of your thighs as you became lax against him, body trembling. A smirk wound its way onto his lips as he let you go, licking your release from his lips as he eyed your drooling cunt. It was simply begging to be filled, the hole weeping for him to enter as he situated his legs under yours, settling on his haunches and tearing the fig leaves from his groin.

You were too blissed out to comprehend the happenings around you, head lulled to the side and eyes shut as he parted your glistening folds with his thumbs. Finally, you looked down at Aemond's ruddy cockhead kissing your entrance. Long-forgotten fear suddenly filled your chest, replacing the pleasure you had found before.

You did not want him to take you. While you had gone against your husband and God with his mouth on your flesh, you did not desire for your virtue to be stolen by him. It was still Adam's right to do so, and you quickly squirmed beneath him, attempting to slide your back along the flattened grass. Aemond grunted in admonishment, pulling your hips back to his own as he locked them around his waist.

"You run from me still," he stated more than asked with a curious tilt of his head. If you had not known better, you would've sensed the slight hurt laced under the bass of his voice. "There is nowhere for you to go, sweet Eve. Your God will not possibly love you after what you have committed here."

Tears, not from pleasure, welled in your eyes as you stared up at him. His face was impassive, concentrating on lining his cock with your virginal hole. When Aemond finally breached the tight entrance, your cries were heard in the heavens, causing the unseen eyes of God to search for you.

It hurt, impossibly so, and the pain did not stay within the assaulted area, traveling through your walls and down to the tips of your toes. You sobbed uncontrollably, vision blurred from agony and tears as he tore through you to the hilt.

"Oh, God, please," you blubbered, unable to withhold your sobs of torment any longer. "Please, have mercy, I beg of you."

"Does it hurt?" Aemond asked saccharine, disregarding your pain with a mock tenderness in his tone. You nodded, weakly pushing at his pelvis as another stretch of pain speared you. "Do not worry. It shall only last for a moment. It will be nothing compared to the hundreds I have spent locked away within the depths of Hell, cast out as no longer one of God's favorites."

You whimpered, tears leaking from your eyes and muddying the ground below. You felt a dampness between your legs, different from the previous sensation, and trained your gaze onto Aemond's manhood. Blood covered his shaft and porcelain thighs, smearing the viscous liquid across his pelvis and staining the light dusting of hair there red.

Aemond wanted this to be painful for you-wanted you to feel every ounce of heart-wrenching agony he felt when his Father cast him out of the heavens. It was the closest he could get to hurting the one he desired.

"Please, stop," you choked, attempting in vain to free yourself once more. "It's too much. I-I cannot take it." You felt your head become full, a disorientating wave rolling through your mind as your vision darkened.

Aemond did not let you stay in that unfeeling state for long, moving his digits to rub circles over your swollen bud and sparking your body back to life with a drawn-out whine. He could not have you unconscious for this. He wanted you to feel everything-every shiver that ran up your spine, every touch of his skin on yours, every begrudging clench of your suffocating walls around his girth as he rutted into you.

Soon, that familiar tingle within your stomach began to grow, causing a wet clicking sound to emanate from your womanhood and a creamy, white ring to form around the base of his cock. The shame mixed with slowly rising high fogged your brain, unable to focus on anything other than the moist slap, slap, slap of Aemond's hips against yours.

You could no longer stand the sight of his sculpted body above yours, sun rays shining behind his silver hair in a juxtaposing halo as you turned your vision to the swaying blades of grass beside you. He cooed tenderly at your disgrace, bow lips forming a mock pout and grabbing your jaw to return your misty eyes to his.

"So pretty. Prettier than me," Aemond murmured to himself rather than you, cheeks squished underneath the pressure of his digits. "God did well with you, I am loathed to confess."

You struggled to remove your face from his grip, his fingers digging in meanly in response to your resistance as pleasure mounted with every kiss of his head to your sweet spot. Hiccuping in time with his thrusts, you sobbed, eyes rolling into their sockets as Aemond continued to swirl your abused nub until more wetness was released from inside.

"Poor thing," he purred, an uneasy grin wrinkling the blushed scar on his face. "Sweet little lamb, there is no use resisting the evils of this world. Give in to me once more, and you shall be free from all that ails you. Free from a God who does not love you... not like I can."

You tried to deny his words, refuting his claims internally with a shake of your head. God's love was unyielding; it was more bountiful than the fruits and vegetables in the Garden of Eden. Satan could not possibly love you more than him-accept you more than your creator did. He was a liar. Aemond was a snake. He deceived you once before, and he was doing it again.

Only God could love you unconditionally for who you were, sins and all. You trusted that he would see your innocence in all this and allow you a chance of forgiveness. He would absolve you of your transgressions here today, for he was a benevolent being who understood you were the victim of Satan's trickery.

That was the only fact in which consoled you enough for your walls to finally release, gushing your second peak all over Aemond's glistening, scarlet cock. It enveloped you in rapture, causing you to shriek and uncontrollably quiver as it ran through your bones like the stampede of wild horses that frolicked in the Garden.

Aemond sang your praises from above, reminding you of the hymns the angels recited as his movements became rougher, more frantic as if to chase something. It prolonged your high just that much longer, and you were powerless to hold still with the animalistic positioning of his hips, both fists burrowing into your waist as his strength rubbed your back raw on the flattened foliage.

Aemond came with a shuddering growl, thrusting into you to extend his peak to the fullest. "Yes, take it. Fucking take my seed and give me my army like the good little lamb you are."

Your limbs twitched as the aftershocks of your release wore through you, his words lost on your ears. Mind numb and form pliant his movements slowed, noiseless groans rumbling the hollow of Aemond's chest. He had not felt this fulfilled since the day he was constructed, observing the pearly liquid leak from your overfilled cunt as he parted your folds with his thumbs.

You indeed were a sight to behold, and although he abhorred the notion, he believed you were God's most extraordinary conception, above even that of himself. His pride would never allow him to admit such a thing aloud, and he was content with the idea that no one but himself would ever know of it.

Aemond pulled out of your abused heat with a squelch and a quiet whimper from you, observing his seed as it ran to the ground below. He had planted in more ways than one and was content with the thought as he slipped into the shadows of his serpentine form. Still there as before, always watching yet unseen with a grin crinkling the corners of his vision.

His exit went unnoticed by you, too blissed to realize he had abandoned you despite your fragile state. Your chest heaved as you regained your breath, wiping away the sweat at the back of your brow as you slowly return your gaze to between your legs, finally understanding that Aemond was no longer within your presence. It caused a sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach, a frown adorning your once glowing features as you looked to the uninhabited Garden, confusion furrowing your brow.

Why had Aemond abandoned you? Had you done something wrong?

You could not help the feeling of loneliness that crept up your body, caging you within its dark claws. Releasing a shuddering breath, you sniffled, steeling your will as you attempted to stand, seeking the physical and spiritual comfort that only Adam and God could provide. A sharp, burning sensation radiated from your womanhood and caused you to crumble to your knees. You did not withhold your tears as they stung your eyes, wincing in great pain as you tried to stand once more, only to fail.

The sound of the softly crunching grass perked your ears, revealing that you were soon not alone. Hastily, you hid behind a tree, its tall trunk obscuring your naked body from the visitor.

"Where are you?" the voice of God called out, searching for his beloved creation. You swallowed the lump in your throat, mouth becoming dry as anxiety cinched your heart.

The air no longer held its same warmth, filling you with unease.

"Here, my Lord," you answered shakily, voice softer than the breeze that swept through your locks as you poked your head from behind the tree.

"Why are you hiding?" he asked kindly, and with no hint that he knew what you had done, the smell of incense wafting into your nose.

"I heard you in the Garden, and I was afraid because I was naked," you responded demurely, eye focused on the ground below, "so I hid."

God's silence scared you enough to bring your tearful gaze to his, body shrinking into itself as he observed you. "Who told you that you were naked? Have you ate from the Tree in which I commanded you not to?"

You did not answer him right away, inhaling a shaky breath of aromatic wind as you hugged your arms closer to your body. Shame filled you to your core, having lost the confidence in God's forgiveness now that you were met face to face.

"The serpent deceived me, and I ate," you cried, falling at his bare feet in humiliation. "I fell into temptation and disobeyed your command. Please, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned in the only way you told me not to!" you begged, hands clasped into a fist, uncaring of your bare form before his eyes.

God no longer looked at you with the same love and adoration as you were accustomed to, eyes now filled with fury and hate you never knew him capable of. He turned away from you, vision trained on something within the lush, knee-high grass you could not see.

"Because you have done this, cursed are you above all livestock and all wild animals! You will crawl on your belly, and you will eat dust all the days of your life!" he raged at the emerald serpent, who only stared at him with unblinking, slanted, amber eyes.

So Aemond had not abandoned you, you realized fleetingly, a flame of hope and gratitude flickering in your chest before God turned to you again.

"I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor, you will give birth to children. Adam shall not receive the punishment I bestow upon you, and your desire will be for your husband, who will rule over you," he seethed, index finger pointing accusingly. "Cursed is the ground because of you! Through painful toil, you will eat food from it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow, you will consume your food until you return to the ground since you were taken from it!"

You wailed, helplessly so, crumbling on your knees before God as you prayed the forgiveness he claimed his love rought but received none. "For dust you are, and to dust you will return," he declared, a roar of thunder clapping through the sky despite the blue of it as he vanished as quickly as he came.

You collapsed on all fours, digging your fingers into the soil, sod sticking under your nails as you sobbed. Cries of despair shook your body, clawing your throat raw as your tears watered the grass below.

God had abandoned you when you needed him most. He scorned you as blood stained your thighs and bruises littered your skin. You felt hopeless-helpless in your isolation that combined with bitterness in your broken heart.

What kind of God disregarded those who worshiped the ground he walked on? You devoted your existence to glorifying him, you put your undying trust into him, and when you needed him most, he punished you. This was his fault.

You confided your troubles to the Father, who dismissed you, blaming you for your plights and saying that the only solution would be sacrificing more of yourself until nothing was left. And you listened ignorantly. You followed the shepherd God like the lamb Satan claimed you to be, and this is where he left you. Alone with only the sounds of chirping birds and crickets with the scent of mud clinging to your flesh.

Fury scratched its way out of your soul as you screamed, pounding your fists again and again and again into the dampened sod until you left impactions in your wake. You mourned for the loss of the life you once knew, now replaced with hardship and permanent subservience to your already king husband.

You hated Adam for dismissing you. You hated God for condemning you. An inferno of emotions you had never felt burned at your insides, charring them until nothing was left but blackened rot.

You felt the familiar smooth scales of a snake wind itself across your torso in an almost comforting manner, slithering down your arm and raising gooseflesh before you quickly snatched it by the hinge of its jaw.

You stared into the tan color of its iris, your tears drying and cracking your cheeks. "I should kill you," you spat, meanly pinching the vertebrae behind the serpent's glimmering green head.

"Do it, little lamb. Kill me," he hissed, a challenging gleam in his beady stare. He knew you could not do it just as you did, but it did not quell the anger in your heart.

You glared at Aemond in rage, eyes puffy and red as your chin trembled. The idea ran through your head as if it happened before you, smashing his small arrow-shaped skull with a stone until his bones and brains were mush. It gave you great joy to imagine, envisioning the smell of his coppery blood as it stained the ground as your tears did, yet you did not move. You stared at Aemond, teeth clenched as you observed the rosey flicking of his forked tongue.

"Show yourself to me," you declared, placing his slender body on the ground as your brows set in a firm line.

Slowly, before your eyes, you no longer saw a serpent but a man. The same man who stole your virtue and surrendered you to ensure the wrath of God alone, kneeling in front of you.

"You left me." The words weighed on your tongue like rocks, not fully admitting what you wanted to say due to your pride.

Aemond's gaze flicked over your naked form, taking note of the welts and essence he left behind. "I did," he replied, voice impassive.

You let the silence hang, ire still evident in your expressions as you observed his stoic face. What would ending his life do? While it would give you great pleasure to seek revenge on someone, it would not change God's decision or your fate. It would not make Adam see you as an equal and not a being less than him.

As if Aemond could sense your inner turmoil, he took your shaking hand in his, steadying it with a gentleness you did not know him capable of. It startled you, causing you to flinch, but he held firm. Was this the true Aemond or another side of him? Was he as wicked and cruel as he was when he stole your virtue, or was that simply a response to the same abandonment he felt from the Lord?

Suddenly, you understood him. You were both creatures victim of a callus and vengeful God who only found love in blind obedience-a God who did not want his ultimate authority ever brought into question. He did not like those who did not follow him in unthinking faith. He wanted lambs, not autonomous beings with thoughts and ideals. He desired those who would serve him and his teachings without question, no matter the harm it would do.

You would serve no God or man but yourself.

Swiftly, you shoved Aemond onto his back with a thud, straddling his waist as you pinned his wrists beside his fanned-out silver hair. You gazed into his eyes, a completely black obsidian orb and an expressionless sapphire one staring back, searching for something as you leaned over his sculpted face, your breath fanning across his skin. Slotting your nose with his, you felt a surge of possession overcome you, poking your moist tongue from between your lips and licking a stripe up the raised flesh of his scar.

Aemond shuddered beneath you, his hardening cock stirring to life between your folds. It felt empowering to know that you affected him as much as he did you, and a smile graced your wet mouth at the realization. You removed yourself from him, observing the way his glistening chest heaved, gradually forming a blush to the pale flesh from the heat of your body.

The dried blood and spent coating your thighs flaked annoyingly on your skin, sticking onto Aemond's hips in brittle chunks as a smirk adorned your features. "You ought to clean me up after what you did," you jeered, sliding your palms down his arms. "It is disgraceful to leave the woman you fucked in such a disheveled state."

Aemond watched you in what only could be described as wonder as you brought your womanhood to hover over his visage, hands now digging into your plush waist. His mouth watered at the sight before him, the blood coating your groin, his seed still weeping from your entrance. He was proud to have left his mark on your perfect body, spoiling you against God.

Oh, how you had changed from the sweet, innocent, unknowing little lamb he met you as...

You arched a quizzical brow, lips in a thin line as you waited for Aemond to stop his ogling and give what you asked. "Go on," you urged with the tilt of your head, voice holding a coldness you had never heard.

Aemond did not hesitate, bringing your core to his mouth as warmth spread throughout your body. He followed your commands earnestly, eagerly cleaning the mess as that familiar pleasure sprouted. You had not realized there was a tenseness to your muscles until his tongue forced you to relax, laving the crust of his seed and your essence around your cunt.

The sheer dominance at having the Devil himself betwixt your legs was intoxicating, releasing guttural, wanton moans as his aquiline nose brushed against your throbbing bud. Aemond let out a contented sound at the salty and coppery taste sliding down his throat, believing he had never had such a divine essence in his mouth until now.

"You are God's most vile creation, tricking and tempting innocents into your desires," you snarled, undulating your hips across his mouth. "Now, it is time for me to treat you the same."

You could see your blood staining the area around his mouth and nose, creating the most beautiful, debauched shade of scarlet on his skin as he focused his efforts on the button at the top of your mound. Uncaring whether Aemond could breathe, you dug your fingers into his hair, pulling at the roots as your legs tightened around his head.

He began to lap at your entrance, his spit stinging the raw skin and creating a delicious burn of pain and pleasure as he stroked the rough patch between your walls. You were in control, the vicelike grip around Aemond's skull giving him no choice but to bring you the ecstasy, the thought setting your nerves a light. It filled you with more satisfaction than when he was there previously, having him at your mercy. You were his God now. He worshiped your cunt as you did the Lord every moment of your life.

Removing your fingers from Ameond's hair, you intertwined them with yours, guiding them to your neglected breasts as you continued to grind against his face. He pinched and flicked your nipples taught, sending jolts of bliss through your veins and straight to your aching cunt.

The musky scent of sweat and bodies hung in the once-floral environment, infecting the air with your shared sins. Aemond's darkness infiltrated your head, the toxic sludge poisoning your mind further into wanting things only the most despicable creatures desired. You hoped for Adam to happen upon you both, to see what he was missing under God's thumb, to have him realize that you were not less than simply because the Lord told him so.

The same knot as before wound inside your stomach, your body trembling and tensing all over as Aemond's fists left your soft breasts and landed on your hips, pushing your core further onto his mouth. Your muscles went slack at the intensity of his movements, leaning back and balancing your weight on your palms on both sides of him.

Aemond's cock flickered at the edge of your vision, a ruddy and almost angry-looking head weeping a pearlescent liquid. You had not seen his cock in its full glory until now, bluish veins running along the underside of his long, flesh-colored shaft as it twitched with every flick of his tongue.

The sight made your mouth water, wishing to take him as he did you, but could not from this angle. You instead held a shaking arm out, grasping his member in your delicate hand. Aemond's hips bucked in response, surprise covering his chiseled, angelic features, focus unfaltering. You pumped him experimentally a few times, observing which strokes and squeezes made his toes curl and legs bend.

You eventually discovered a pace and grip that had him moaning into your core, sending a gratifying vibration through you, watching as Aemond's slit leaked more milky liquid, nearly disappearing under the blanket of his blushed foreskin. His ministrations plucked at the knotted threads one by one, leading you closer and closer to your release before you stopped yourself short, lungs stuttering at the loss of ecstasy.

Hastily, you removed your cunt from his mouth, his lips and tongue chasing after it in want. You smiled at the slight frown on his glistening lips, placing your womanhood on the throbbing heat of his cock and leisurely grinding your hips against him. Aemond groaned throatily into himself, attempting to stifle it with a thrust, palms finding themselves back on your waist to assist.

"Put it in you," he demanded, voice hoarse as his hips rolled with yours. While he wanted to give you the lead, he could only take so much, perspiration dampening his brow and testing his patience.

You ceased your movements, roughly snatching his cock in a brutal ironclad grip and gracing a reprimanding slap to his cheek as punishment for his demands. "You shall not command me," you growled, harshly stroking the smooth flesh until he hissed in discomfort. "No longer shall I wait hand and foot on men or follow those in blind faith. I will serve only myself for I am my own creation."

Aemond could not hide his lopsided smirk at your words, pride filling his chest. His plans had come to fruition. He caused God's favorite daughter to go astray and see him for what he was. Finally, another being in the vast cosmos understood his pain. It bound you to him, a realization you were gradually accepting.

"I am the neglected child that burns the village down to feel its warmth. I will spurn God and all men he creates," you hissed, positioning your hips above his cock with agonizingly slow movement.

Yes, Aemond thought. Yes, yes, yes, succumb to your dark desires.

"I will sow the seed of doubt and sin with the fruits of my labors. My children will infect their minds and bodies, inspire animosity and harm to others. They shall start wars and believe in gods that are not true," you declared, the heat of your rage warming Aemond's cold heart.

You slid him inside, your walls choking his cock with a profound sigh. He stretched you deliciously, the hurt a welcomed feeling as his head reached so far inside you felt as if it kissed your womb. You began to slowly work yourself atop him, still unaccustomed to the feeling and letting out noiseless mewls of satisfaction. Aemond's cockhead rubbed at your sweet spot with every undulation, sending webs of pleasure to stick to your bones.

Control was intoxicating, watching Aemond puff and struggle to accept that he was beneath you, helpless but to take the same pleasure he forced on you. You understand now why God kept you from the Tree. No one should have this much authority.

"No longer am I the sheep but now the wolf that kills the herd and the shepherd," you express with a prolonged breath.

Aemond sighed and nodded his head briskly, agreeing to whatever you said so long as you kept him inside your warm cunt. You continued to grind yourself against him; the combination of satisfaction within your body and on the out sent a new wave of slickness from your core. Your bud tantalizingly rubbed the firm muscle of Aemond's pubic mound, the hairs adding a different texture that spread a great heat underneath your skin.

"I will supply you an army of my blood and your seed. We shall wreak vengeance on God. He will know the pain he has caused ten-fold," you gasped, moving yourself up and down with the muscles of your abdomen and thighs.

Aemond wished for you to go slower, yet faster. The sensation of just laying there, taking it, unable to regain control he had grappled with all his life, was mind-numbing. Your words kindled the flames that licked his gut. The idea of you creating life with your flesh, the unspoken sacrifice of excruciating agony you would willingly put yours through, made him combust, his hot seed sprouting and planting into your walls at an embarrassing speed.

You grinned at the feeling of his spend taking home inside you, having only been riding him for mere moments before he came. It stoked your ego, inflating it into a size that rivaled Aemond's as he whimpered below you, curling into himself. You refused to stop despite his pleas of overstimulation. You had not reached your fulfillment yet, and you had no intention of halting it.

Men like him deserved to suffer, albeit pleasurably. If Aemond meant what he said when he convinced you to eat the Fruit, that you would have the power you subconsciously craved, this would be a consequence. You would push him to the brink of painful ecstasy to ensure your end, as he certainly would for you. It was equality, after all.

"Does it hurt?" you cooed, repeating his words as you leaned over his heaving body, continuing your ministrations. "Now you know how it feels to be so helpless to your body, to the pleasures of the flesh one can give you."

Aemond understood with the voice in the back of his mind that he could easily overwhelm you. Your physical strengths were no match for him, but he wanted you to have a taste of the power beings like him and God possessed.

You stroked the delicate skin of Aemond's visage tenderly, contrasting the intricate movements of your hips as you greedily chased your high. You were smashing your lips against his, creating a mess of teeth and moans as you led his hand down to the apex of your thighs, wordlessly commanding him. Aemond bucked and twitched, unable to control himself as he felt another agonizing release crest at his lower back. If Aemond wanted this torture to be over, he would have to earn it.

Your ethereal glow had vanished, no doubt as punishment for your disobedience, but he did not believe it affected your beauty. You were divine in Aemond's eyes, not only in appearance but in representation. The Lord could create things out of dust, but you, you could make things out of your essence. While God still could raise his creations with love and dominance, they could always reject their Father, for they were made from nothing, but your children could not escape you, their mother's blood. This was a power God would never possess, a strength he had kept hidden from you until Aemond opened your eyes.

You forced his fingers to draw firm, sloppy circles around your swollen bud, groaning as a shudder wracked your body, your release winding right in your stomach. Finally, you removed your mouth from Aemond's, sucking in a ragged breath of air. You felt your peak rising with every swipe of Aemond's digits and every tremble of your legs, chest heaving and sweat dripping down your sternum. Eventually, Aemond's overstimulation gave way to pleasure, helpless and near lightheaded as he attempted to chase the salty droplets on your breasts. He licked and sucked at your nipples, rolling them between his tongue and teeth with every groan.

Finally, you came with an Earth-shattering cry, your walls subconsciously milking Aemond for all his worth as his movements continued on your bud. You shivered and shuddered as your climax seized your muscles, lungs unable to inhale a grounding breath as each wave crashed into you and rattled your bones. He wanted to prolong your high, seeking gratification in your own until he busted, cock once again filling your womb with his seed. He whimpered underneath you, back arching and legs bowing, the sound like the sticky, saccharine honey you licked from your fingers for breakfast every morning.

Collapsing into Aemond's hard chest, you felt his spend leak from your cunt. You had never felt so complete, so unequivocally stuffed and sated, that you felt yourself drift into a plane of the unknown existence. Perhaps this was what heaven felt like? The thought rattled in your brain as you blinked leisurely, gaze fuzzy. Perhaps pleasure like this was what God wanted to protect you from, not autonomy and sentience. Maybe he knew that if you or Adam ate the Forbidden Fruit, your mind and body would be opened to vices of the flesh.

He believed that the Lord purposely kept you blind from this quality of yourself. It was partially the reason why he groomed you to think you were less than him and Adam, for if you knew the true power that was made into the very biological code of your being, you would understand that you and God were equal. There is no influence as powerful as a mother's, and even God could not deny that.

It did not matter now. What was done was done. God abandoned you and condemned you to a life of hardship, subservience, and mental and physical anguish. He left you without a care for your well-being, with blood between your legs and your innocence stolen.

Resentment reignited in your chest, pushing yourself off Aemond with a subdued grunt. He eyed you with a quirked brow, his seeing-eye now a prominent blue matching the sapphire that reflected the sun's rays in a caleidoscope of cerulean across your countenance.

You stood over Aemond's prone form, his arms winding behind his head as he gazed up at you quizzically. You could not help but admire his lithe form, body toned, the muscles of his arms and legs sculpted around his bones, tendons rippling as he stretched lazily. He was the most magnificently shaped being you had ever seen, and Aemond knew it, smirking beside himself as he watched your gaze drift to his softened member.

He suddenly seemed so much more human, the realization flicking a switch inside your mind. Aemond was an angel, yes, God's former morning star, but you did not see him above you anymore. He was no longer Lucifer, Satan, or Mephistopheles, the ruler of Hell, God's fallen attendant. To you, he was simply Aemond, a being that had titles that meant nothing now.

Yet you were no longer just Eve, for that name felt like the title of a dead woman, a woman who was blind, reedy, and ignorant to the reality of what the world had to offer, a woman who lived with blinders on her face until a serpent opened her mind. You would not thank Aemond for doing so. He did not do it out of the goodness of his heart. Just like now, how you vowed to repudiate God's will, you were a part of his plan, though you did not believe he thought it would end in this turn of events.

Aemond smiled above at you, his scar wrinkling as he raised his arm in your direction, an invitation to join him at his side. You stared at his offering with reservation, swallowing a lump you didn't realize had formed. You understood that this action was more than just an invitation to touch, your future weighing heavily in his palm. He was wordlessly giving you the option to turn away from the road ahead, to run back into the comfort of the known and away from the discomfort of the unknown. He placed before you autonomy and control of your fate, and it caused you to pause.

What would life be with the Devil at your side? Would he force you to become his servant as God did? You gave Aemond your body and womb, parts of you that you did not realize you could provide to others, and he used it to further his agenda. Yes, you were enraged that he treated you as a tool, but you knew you could do the same for him as quickly. If not for you, Aemond wouldn't have his army. He would still be stuck in the fire and brimstone below, fuming and plotting the perfect moment for his vengeance.

"I will be your equal, not your disciple." Your voice rang out through the Garden, now smooth and authoritative, reminding you of your vindictive God.

Aemond only smiled. He looked as if he was the one who resided on Earth, and you were the fallen angel, curling his toes and lengthening his torso as he adjusted atop the flattened grass.

"Did I imply you would not be?" he inquired with a raised, lightly colored brow.

You took Aemond's hand in yours, intertwining them together. He was surprisingly warm, tucking you into his side as a noiseless gasp escaped your lips, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist. The action sent a shudder down your spine, having never been in a purely soft, intimate position with a man, even Adam, as your body relaxed.

From your blood, you would create the demons of the world. The thoughts inside your fellow human heads that told them to steal that toy from your friend simply because you wanted it. You would never forgive God for what he did. Those who claimed to understand what was best for you-loved you did not punish you with pain and suffering for actions that were not your own.

Your eyes flitted across his toned abdomen, eyes drifting down his stomach and to his fleshy cock, pink and beating with life.

No longer would you be subservient to others; you would raise your children with loving yet gentle hands, allowing them to choose how they conducted their business and protecting them from those who sought harm. Your love would be unyielding and unending, unlike your so-called benevolent God, and then, he would finally see the depths of which the true devotion of love could bring.

Masterlist of Works

Thank you so much for reading, and make sure to leave a comment on what you think!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled fanfics...

May God have mercy on our souls.

[moonlilith]

Lunar Tears, two

𐦍☾

“The moon illuminated the area with its faint light, a quiet testament to their entwined fates. With a secret weighing heavily on her, she stood before Alucard, her heart a battleground of want and terror. Torn between love and sorrow that reverberated for eons, she looked into his eyes for clarification and forgiveness. However, the past hovered between them like a ghost, threatening to devour their brittle optimism.”

(Or, in addition to the initial trio, the prophecy has one additional fated hero. You are that hero. A saintess that the Church is pursuing.)

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader // alucard (castlevania) x (f) oc

genre: angst, romance, slow burn,

a/n : On ao3 there is a name for plot reasons but here i decided to use “you” as more general but “you” have a woman figure. I tried to make it seems like an alucard x reader as possible. However the reader insert has a set personality and powers. to answer any questions; it was meant to be a reader story but personally i hate the usage of y/n. The more i write y/n the more it becomes a name itself.

𐦍  Chapters: check masterlist  ☾  Check AO3

Chapter Two: Ashes of Faith 

A faint, almost ethereal echo of residual magic throbbed through the air. Closed-eyed, Sypha held out a hand, palm up, as though grasping something intangible.  She knitted her brow. She whispered, "She passed through here," her voice barely heard above the sound of the leaves rustling.  However, the trail... Wispy.  similar to smoke in the wind. 

Trevor knelt and traced the faint ridges in the soft ground with his fingers. “A snapped twig here, a cuff mark there.” He grunted. "She’s trying to cover her tracks. Clever Girl.  “She almost seems to be floating. Here, I assumed finding the saintess would be easy, sitting in one of the various churches. Why is a mere saintess going out into the woods like this?” He sniffed the air, his hands up pausing his companions in their tracks, a habit honed from years of tracking beasts.  “There’s…something else.  Night Creatures.” 

Alucard took a deep breath after concluding his survey over the treetops. “I can smell her,” Trevor quirked a brow, “Not her actual aroma, but the lingering effects of her enchantment. It’s there but it’s dim. Like moonlight on dew.”

"Moonlight on dew," Trevor said again, his tone somewhat amused. "You're getting poetic in your old age, Alucard." 

Ignoring him, Alucard concentrated on the enchanted aroma. Alucard stood apart; his gaze focused on the deep forest ahead. He inhaled deeply and his demeanour changed from stoic to something else.  Recognition?  He cocked his head slightly as if listening to something only he could hear. "Well, there's an old settlement constructed around an abandoned chapel; she must have sought refuge or cared for the wounded. We are heading north."

And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, you let yourself breathe.  The days in Orlin passed with a lovely pace.  You awoke with the sun, assisting the people with their daily work, your hands finding familiar comfort in the dirt, tending crops and caring for cattle.  You sat with the kids, their laughing a melody that chased away the darkness in your heart, telling them simple songs and stories about the moon and stars. 

In the evenings, you gathered with the villagers around the crackling fire, exchanging stories and laughter, the warmth of their company melting the frigid loneliness that had clung to you for so long. However, the nagging thought that this time will not endure is always present in your mind. Nothing lasts in your life. Nothing remains the same. 

The people, with their simple faith and open hearts, looked past the Church's labels.  They saw a woman whose touch could heal wounds and calm restless spirits, not a heretic.  They offered you not only a place to stay but also their understanding after noticing your fatigue and the intense anguish in your eyes. One evening, the village elder informed her, "You bear a heavy load, child."  "But you don't have to carry it alone." 

You looked at her, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.  No one had ever spoken to you like that, with such genuine concern, without the veiled expectations of the Church.  "I'm not meant for this," you whispered, your voice barely audible.  "I'm not meant for kindness, for community.  I bring misfortune, I—" 

The older intervened, "Hush, child," in a soft yet stern voice.  "You provide light and healing.  The darkness should not persuade you otherwise." You wanted to think she was sincere.  In order to forget the atrocities, you had seen and the suffering you were carrying, you wanted to stay and immerse yourself in the village's warmth.  However, the worry was always there, muttering cautions in your ear. 

You were aware that the Church would keep looking for you until they did.  And you couldn't, wouldn't, jeopardise the security of these generous people who had taken you in.  You have witnessed the fate of those who dared to provide your assistance and those who dared to disobey the Church.  You'd heard the cries, smelt the charred flesh, and seen the flames. You cannot let them take innocent again. Not this time. 

You were startled out of your reverie by the watchman's frenzied cries, "The Church! They're coming!" shattered the brittle haven you had discovered in Orlin as it reverberated through the quiet night.  The villagers felt a surge of anxiety, yet they looked at you with eyes that were a mix of defiance and terror.  You felt a strong sense of protection as you witnessed their faith in you and their readiness to keep you safe. 

However, it was a desperation-infused protectiveness.  You were aware of the Church's power.  You were aware that the knights' armour and their zeal would be too strong for the villagers' crude implements and unshakeable faith. 

"We will defend you, Saintess," the village elder said, her voice trembling but resolute.  "We will not let them take you." 

Another sight, a recollection from a lifetime ago, appeared before you as you closed your eyes.  The sun shone on the magnificent church, illuminating the kneeling audience with a rainbow of hues from its stained-glass windows.  The feeling of belonging, the singing of your name, the warmth of their affection...  You had been their Moonlit miracle, their Saintess, a beacon of healing and hope.  The same voices that had praised you were now demanding your blood and calling you a witch and a heretic. 

The recollection faded like a dying ember as you opened your eyes.  The current situation was harsh and merciless.  With their torches gleaming off polished steel like predatory eyes in the darkness, the knights were drawing near.  You were forced to choose.  Either stay and fight, putting these defenceless villagers' lives in danger, or run away and subject them to the Church's wrath. "No," you answered firmly, even though her throat was shaking.  "You can't battle them.  All you'll be doing is entering a death trap.  I refuse to allow that to occur.” 

"But—" 

"No," you repeated, your voice rising. "I will face them alone. It is my burden, not yours. You have shown me kindness; you have sheltered me. That is more than I could have ever asked for. But I cannot let you pay the price for my sins." 

You stumbled on your feet as a wave of vertigo swept over you. Your ear was being whispered with sneaky doubts as the curse tightened its hold. It growled, You're weak. You're terrified. It's going to kill you. The fear persisted like a leaden weight in your stomach, even if you forced the notion away. The idea of forgetting was dreadful. Not right now. Not after...You inhaled deeply, strengthening your determination. You have to resist letting fear rule you. You needed to be strong for both you and the villagers. You had to face your mortality in order to face the Church. However, how?  How am I going to defeat them all?   

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "For everything." 

You exchanged a silent vow with the elder as you locked eyes for the final time.  Then, leaving behind the villagers' anguished cries and the warmth of the only refuge you had ever known, you turned and walked towards the village's edge, towards the approaching torches and the sound of marching feet.  The cool night air contrasted sharply with the fire's warmth as you stopped at the edge of the trees. 

Your heart thumping in your chest, you thought, this is it .  With the dim glow of the lamplight acting as a beacon in the darkness, you took one final glance back at the village.  Then you moved into the darkness, the rustling leaves engulfing your steps. 

Your footsteps were heavy as you left behind your short-lived hope. The clearing was a ballet of light and shade as the torches flashed. The smell of damp ground and pine, along with the metallic tang of blood, lingered heavy in the air. Bishop Valen stood in front of you, a mask of rage covering his face. But memories flashed through your mind as you gazed at him. You viewed him as the guy who believed in and admired you as the Saintess, not as a hateful bishop. You remember the day you questioned the church's rulings over the Targovishte burning. 

And his words still linger, "You were my greatest disappointment," Valen spat, his words cutting deeper than his blade.  "You betrayed my trust; you turned your back on the light." 

"And tonight, your tricks end here, heretic," he hissed, his palm tightening on his sword's hilt. You swayed too much, hoping he'd alter his mind, your breath rushing out in jagged gasps. The wound in your side throbbed, and the curse sapped your vitality. You knew you wouldn't win a direct fight. You needed to be smarter.

Valen leaped, his blade a flurry of steel. You dodged, utilising a nearby tree as cover. You conjured a swarm of lunar moths in an attempt to distract him, but they flickered and died, a weak shadow of your former might. "Your magic is failing you, child," Valen snarled, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. He pressed his attack, causing you to repeatedly retreat. 

A searing pain ran through your arm. Valen's sword grazed you, causing a deep cut. You yelled out, tripping and your eyesight blurred. "Remember the screams of those witches?" Valen taunted, his voice full of hate. "Will you scream like they did?" Your heart clenched. You pushed the discomfort aside and concentrated on the fight. You could not afford to lose control. But Valen was unrelenting. He pressed his advantage, and his strikes became more ferocious. You were cornered with your back against a rocky outcrop. You were stuck. Valen raised his sword, ready to strike the killing stroke.

"May the Gods above forgive our sins for taking you," 

ROAR.  

A guttural shriek rang across the trees. They emerged from the shadows, gaunt beings with skin stretched taut over bone and eyes full of evil hunger. The knights yelled in terror, and their ranks broke as the beasts struck. You were aware of your vulnerability in the midst of the pandemonium. Injured, tired, and facing a new threat. You were caught between the Church and the Night Creatures. You stumbled back, grabbing the opportunity to escape. You couldn't fight everyone. But your legs were leaden, and your breath was ragged. The curse was a vice around your heart that sapped your strength. 

The gnarled branches clawed at your cloak as you rushed through the deadwood woodland. The beasts followed you relentlessly, their snarls booming through the forest. One of them lunged, raking its claws against your arm. You shouted out, stumbled, and fell to your knees. No, not like this.

The creatures were everywhere, their foetid breath scorching across your face. You were stuck, backed up against a collapsing stone wall. Their snarls rang in your ears like a symphony of nightmares. You lashed out weakly, your assaults scarcely registering on their thick hides. Your movements were slow, and your vision blurred.  Almost there, you thought, your lungs burning. Almost to the edge of the woods…

Then you saw them. 

The silhouettes of three people against the moonlit sky. More enemies. Your heart fell apart. You had stumbled into another nightmare after escaping the first one. Fear tore at your throat. You needed to leave. “Please, what is going on with my luck? Three encounters in a night are just vile God.”  

You lunged without thinking. Your silver blade, your lone weapon, glittered in the moonlight as you aimed for the nearest figure, a woman with a cascade of fiery hair. Strike first. Escape later. The attack was a desperate gamble, a split-second decision born of fear. 

  However, your attack failed to land. A whip sprang out of nowhere, wrapping around your wrist and throwing you off balance. You shouted out as the intensity of the pull knocked you off your feet. 

  A rough voice yelled, "Whoa there!" "Who the hell are you?" 

Your eyes darted between the three figures as you fought against the whip's tight hold. The three of them were odd. The tall one exuded an aura of ancient strength that chilled your spine, his eyes gleaming with an unearthly brilliance. A vampire. Their species, monsters of myth and evil, had been spoken to you. The man with the whip, his hand hovering close to the sword at his hip, was all jagged edges and suspicious mistrust. Additionally, the woman had a strong magical energy that crackled in the atmosphere. a speaker. A magician. Fuck. You curse under your breath, seems like you chose the wrong night to be brave.  

"Let me go!" You growled, your rage fueled by dread and desperation. "You're in my way!" 

  The woman answered, "Not until you tell us who you are and what you're doing here," in a remarkably composed tone. "We're not your enemies. Please let us explain and we all calm down first." 

"Enemies?" You sneered. "You're preventing me from getting away. You become enemies as a result.”  

The tall figure stepped forward; his eyes narrowed. "We were fighting those creatures," he said, his voice low and melodic, sending another shiver down your spine. "The same creatures that were chasing you." 

You hesitated, your gaze shifting between them. Were they telling the truth? Or was this some sort of trap? You couldn't trust anyone. 

  A bloodcurdling howl shattered the forest's quiet. The creatures. They were close. Too close. 

  Your breath caught. You were stuck. Between these three strangers and the terrifying menace closing in. Desperation clawed at you. You had to make a decision. 

  "Help me," you pleaded, your tone raw and urgent. "Please." You tried to summon the little lunar magic in your hands, gazing up at the moon. It was full. That’s enough to defend yourself.  

The tall person's eyes wavered. He and the other two looked at each other. "She's the one," in an eager tone. "She's the Saintess." His eyes were focused on the small light that emitted from your hands. Your small dagger was lost after being reflected by the other man.  

  The whip-wielding man snorted. "The Saintess? The Moonbeam? This girl who just tried stabbing her dagger into the air?" You couldn't even bother giving him any reaction, eyes focused on the glowing eyes, like burning coals, pierced the darkness, gaining with every stride. 

  "She's more than she seems," returned the tall one, staring at you. "I've seen her power." 

  The woman's eyes widened in recognition as she gasped. She exhaled, "The prophecy…" "It's true." Her attitude changed from one of scepticism to one of awe as she gazed at you. "You… you're her, aren't you?" 

  "Her? With a quivering voice, you questioned, "Who are you talking about?" 

  "The Saintess," the woman stated in a respectful tone. "The person who controls the power of the moon. The one who is going to save us.”  

"Save you? Your mind racing, you said, "From what?" 

  Before they could respond, the animals charged into the clearing, staring at you with luminous eyes. All around you. 

  In the moonlight, the tall one's blade gleamed as it was drawn. His expression was tough and resolute. He said, "We'll explain later." His sword floats close to him, his stance going nearer and shielding you from the view. "For now, we fight." 

  He faced you, his eyes locking with yours. "You're one of us now," he declares.  

"Whether you like it or not." And the whip-man added. "Great. Another stray with otherworldly abilities. Alucard, Sypha, and now you." He made an unclear gesture. "We might as well start charging rent now." You heard Sypha, the Speaker, gently prod the man, saying, "Trevor, not the time and place." 

  Your heart sank. They weren't trustworthy. No, not yet. You were aware, however, that you couldn't do this by yourself. 

  You inhaled tremblingly, a sensation of inevitability against horror. Saintess aren't someone who should get used to battlefields, running, and certainly not with the weird group you had going. But here you are. You had to battle to prevail. 

a/n:

i cant stop laughing at the 'roar' there's nothing else comes into mind.

also im well aware that u guys have a problem with its not being reader but for me I'm like ??? cus like how sure are you the "reader" that I wrote is the same as the "reader" in your mind? but anyways

[writereleaserepeat]

Rescue and Reprieve

Kirin awakes to find himself in the hands of the only person more terrifying than his former captor. With his spirit all but defeated, and his body broken, he prepares to fight for his survival in the only way he knows how. But admist his terror, and despite his life hanging in the balance, Kirin finds small mercies in the most unexpected place.

One shot. Named characters.

WC: ~10,000

CW: carewhumper(ish), mentions of past noncon, foul language, noncon touching, noncon nudity, noncon medical care, head trauma, broken bones

Pain dug its claws into Kirin’s soul and began to drag him out of unconsciousness. First came the familiar ache in his leg, like a railroad spike had speared his shin and been left to ossify. This pain was his oldest companion, and it was always the first to greet him when he woke.

The sharp fury of broken fingers followed soon after, and then the ribs that groaned with every shallow breath he took, then the dull roar of the never-healed patchwork of bruises that mottled his abdomen. His nerves came to life while his wits were still scattered, and Kirin took a few shaky breaths to soothe himself as he emerged from a sea of dark nothingness. 

Kirin blinked his eyes open, and the low light pierced his skull like daggers. His vision was still blurry from the darkness of not-sleep, and his mind was clouded with a thick fog of confusion. A wave of nausea washed over him, rolling through his body like the tide, only to ebb with a few more carefully paced breaths. His tongue was as dry as sandpaper in his mouth, but he was still haunted by the bitter taste of his own blood. 

Hearing returned along with his vision, and he could make out the pathetic sound of his own ragged gasps, punctuated by the softest hint of a whimper he couldn’t swallow down.

The nausea spiked again. This time Kirin couldn’t run from the inevitable, and he turned his head to the side as his empty stomach contracted and twisted in on itself. A thin stream of acid burned his lips as it dripped to the floor, and his head swam with a wave of vertigo from the sudden movement. Every cough to clear the bile from his throat made his fractured ribs cry out, begging him to stop, threatening to cave in his lungs. Shame burned nearly as hot as his esophagus.

For a moment, all he could feel was disappointment that he wasn’t dead yet.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but no, no, he wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not out of pain, or anger, or confusion. Not until he figured out what had happened and where the hell he had ended up.

His vision was almost clear now, and although the pounding in his head was fierce, he slowly regained an awareness of his senses and surroundings. This was how it always went after a few serious blows to the head, something he’d more or less grown used to in captivity, and he knew he had to take this slow if he didn’t want to get sick again. 

The familiar weight of the metal collar sat heavy on his neck, a thick chain attached to the ring at the front, its steel cold and heavy where the interlinking metal grazed Kirin’s collarbones. The chain was short, just a few feet long, and secured into the nearby wall with a thick bolt. 

Much to Kirin’s surprise, his legs were no longer shackled as they had been for so long. Where cold metal should have clamped tight, his ankles were instead touched by cool air. Similarly, the familiar metal cuffs that had long bound his wrists together were also missing. Their absence made Kirin feel more naked than his actual nakedness now did. 

As for the rest of his aching, broken body, it laid naked and limp against a polished cement floor. Kirin could feel the cool stone leeching any last bits of warmth from his tired body, throbbing in pain where it pressed against the bones that were palpable through his pale, taut skin.

He was in a cell, he knew that much. He’d spent quite some time in places like this, so much so that it was as familiar as home. He’d suffered, and he’d bled, and he’d almost died in places like this before. But this particular cell was new to him. There were no familiar bloodstains underfoot where copper had long since stained the grey. There were no scratches in the cinderblock walls where he had raked his fingernails down to bloodied nubs, or where his shackles had chipped desperately away at the stone.

Somehow, this place was more comforting than he could have imagined a cell to be. The overhead lights were a soft yellow, not the piercing fluorescent white that made it almost impossible to sleep. The walls were cinderblock, but they were painted with a wash of white paint that nearly hid their abrasive texture. And the floor was not only missing his own bloodstains, but any at all – the slab of grey stone was continuous, smooth, as though it had been poured and polished new. 

And then there was the door. It was a proper door, almost certainly made of thick steel, rather than the rusted bars he’d stared at for so long. For better or for worse, there was also no glimpse at a hallway to freedom that would never come. This new door was also painted white, in perfect harmony with the walls, and it was almost certainly barred and bolted from the outside. The side of the door that faced him was smooth, save for its hinges and the translucent window at eye level.

Wherever Kirin was now – be it a new prison, purgatory, or hell – it didn’t really matter.  It might not have been Fen’s lair, but the chain that tethered him close to the wall told him all he needed to know.

He couldn’t remember how he ended up here. He’d been laying in his cell, stuck in the unpleasant fugue between sleep and waking, the pain not allowing him to slip fully under. Then he’d heard violent crashing and shouting from the complex above him, a cacophony of voices, a thunder of footsteps. The building itself had begun to shake around him, the walls had groaned, and then-

Then nothing. Emptiness occupied the place where memories should have been, just as it did whenever he’d had his head kicked in. Hunting for those memories now would be futile. Whatever he’d done to earn the beating was likewise forgotten. Given the sounds that had come from the compound above, there was a fair chance that Kirin himself hadn’t done anything wrong, but had instead been a convenient punching bag for Fen to find catharsis.

Now, it was time to survey his wounds. While his memory still failed him, and certain details escaped his comprehension, all he could do was determine whether these latest agonies had caused any permanent damage. Were there any new bruises painting his abdomen, new hues to add to the shifting canvas of yellow, blue, and purple beneath his skin? Had any more of his ribs cracked beneath a steel-toed boot, or had another finger been spent and snapped like kindling? Did he have another tooth missing, a new ache in his jaw? 

The groaning of a lock coming undone snapped Kirin’s attention back to the door. 

Kirin grit his remaining teeth and tried to gatherer both his wits and his limbs. It was never good to be caught how he was now, laying prone and with his limbs splayed, naked body exposed to whoever walked through that door. This position left him vulnerable to any spare kicks that Fen and their compatriots felt like delivering, and it opened his soft abdomen to any number of blows. 

Whatever his new keepers had in store, Kirin had learned enough lessons at Fen’s hand to last a lifetime. And until he knew who his body belonged to now, he wouldn’t let himself be seen so vulnerable, so unprepared. 

He pulled his left hand beneath him and pushed down hard on his palm, trying to haul himself into a sitting position. His broken fingers and leg cried out as he did so, but through the pain and the shaking of his atrophied muscles, Kirin pulled his torso off the floor. The chain attached to his collar rattled as he moved, each link clinking against the next, and the sound grew louder as Kirin settled his back against the wall. He could feel blood and pus from his open wounds slick against the painted cinderblocks that now held him upright. It was all he could do to breathe steadily through his nose, try and still his racing heart, anything measure to disguise his utter weakness.

Kirin knew it didn’t truly matter. He looked more like a corpse than a human at this point, and even if he used the last of his energy to display an illusion of strength, it was just as likely his keeper would see right through him. 

Despite his efforts to keep a cool, steely exterior, Kirin felt his eyes widen as the door swung open and a broad silhouette filled the doorframe. Kirin’s gaze swept over muscular arms that strained against a tight grey shirt, then wandered up to a sharp jawline that was dusted in stubble. Rich brown eyes glowed even in the low light of the cell, and black curls caught the golden glow above with the radiance and omnipresence of a god. 

With a knowing half-smile on his lips, Alekos stepped through the threshold of the cell and closed the door behind him. 

Alekos walked forward with steady strides, each footfall sending a new shock through Kirin’s body. His heart began to race at a staggering staccato as his stomach twisted in knots. Kirin recoiled in spite of himself, and he pushed his ragged back even further into the wall behind him, ignoring the sting that came from the added pressure. It was the animal instinct in his mind that told him to flee, and it was this same instinct that told him to put as much space between himself and Alekos as possible, even at the cost of reopening his wounds. 

Alekos came to a stop just inches before where Kirin sat, his broken leg splayed out awkwardly, the chain still against his naked chest. Cold eyes glanced Kirin over once before Alekos sneered and scoffed. 

“Well, they told me you looked like shit, but I didn’t think they really meant it. You’re a wreck, little thing, nothing but scars and bone. What a waste of a life.” 

Kirin bit down on his tongue until it bled, and he could feel his eyes begin to burn of their own volition. No. He couldn’t be here with Alekos. Not like this, not now, not as a prisoner at the man’s utter mercy. Even on his best days - those strong days before Fen turned on him - Kirin had never stood a chance against Alekos. And now, helpless and imprisoned at Alekos’s feet, he was certain that Alekos would make Fen’s torment pale in comparison. 

In a brief flash of lucidity, Kirin realized that the history between them was both a blessing and a curse. That same history would bring Alekos’s wrath down firmly on Kirin’s shoulders, a biting retribution that he arguably deserved. But it also meant that Kirin knew just what he had to do to appease Alekos, should Alekos entertain the idea of letting Kirin live another day. And as much as Kirin was certain that this would be a death sentence, he knew that he wanted to live. He’d always wanted to live, survive, escape all of this. 

Now, he had to survive Alekos. 

Kirin drew in a deep breath, deep enough that his ribs gave him an angry reminder of their damage, and he looked Alekos in the eyes. The tightrope of strength, defiance, and obedience wavered beneath him. Alekos loathed weakness, so Kirin wouldn’t show it. Alekos hated disobedience, so Kirin would obey. Alekos liked to feel powerful, so Kirin would subjugate himself. 

There was no anger in Alekos’s face as Kirin had expected there to be. Instead, those terrifyingly familiar eyes held something that Kirin would have dared call curiosity. 

“So,” Alekos began, voice level but commanding, “do you know where you are?” 

Kirin could make a few educated guesses, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. Only a few seconds had passed since Alekos had come in, mere moments since he’d decided his course of action, and he didn’t want to ruin his odds too early. Instead of speaking he gave a measured, cautious shake of his head. The chain rattled in response. 

Alekos crossed his arms and puffed out his chest with a deep breath, as though Kirin wasn’t already intimidated by his sheer size and presence. The man’s gravelly voice threatened to tear away what remained of Kirin’s courage. 

“You’re back at our base of operations, and that’s where you’ll be for the indefinite future. Perhaps the entirety of your future, depending on how generous I’m feeling. I’m sure you don’t need me to give you the subtext, but in case the head trauma means you can’t read between the lines, that means you’re in our custody. I’ve never been fond of the word ‘prisoner,’ but it’s fitting, and it should help you remember your place. Do you remember how you got here?” 

Again, Kirin shook his head. That was an easy, honest answer. It didn’t seem that Alekos expected him to know the answer in the first place, and there was nothing in Kirin’s mind but a blank space. 

A short sigh escaped Alekos’s lips, the sound laden with disappointment. 

“Consider your forgetfulness a blessing. Rest assured, despite your own forgetfulness, my team will remember this day for a long time. They’ve told me in great detail how much trouble you gave them, and just how hard you fought. Apparently, they’d never have expected such resistance from a malnourished pile of bones. It’s almost like you knew what waited for you once you got here.”

Kirin felt his mouth tighten as he swallowed a wince. As if he hadn’t done enough to make Alekos hate him before, and as if he hadn’t already condemned himself to a lifetime of torment, he’d certainly secured it through whatever he’d done prior leading up to his concussion. 

A final step was all it took to close the gap between the two men, and Alekos smoothly knelt a hair’s breadth away from where Kirin sat in an awkward pile of bruises and broken limbs. 

His heart in his throat, Kirin forced himself to swallow. He’d vomit again if he didn’t get his nerves under control. There was nowhere to run now, of course. Even if Kirin had been strong enough to push Alekos away he hadn’t been able to stand since Fen had broken his leg, and the limb was still crooked from how it had healed. The ache of his broken fingers would have made it impossible to manipulate even the most simple door handle, much less grapple with a series of locks and bolts. 

Still, he knew he had to be strong, and that he had to show Alekos he had enough spirit left to be worth saving. So now, with Alekos mere inches from his face, Kirin let out the only sign of defiance he could muster. A low growl rose in his throat, mimicking a cornered feline, his lip twitching up ever so slightly as he did so. 

The rumble hadn’t so much as left his mouth before Alekos reached forward and grabbed Kirin’s chin. Alekos moved so fast that Kirin didn’t even have the chance to jerk backwards, his jaw swiftly secured in Alekos’s massive, calloused palm. The grip was firm, almost painfully so, and Kirin knew he wouldn’t be able to pull away. 

“Hey,” Alekos growled back, throat full of stones. “I don’t want to hear that kind of attitude coming from you. You’re certainly in no position to bargain. Whatever’s left of your life is in my hands, understand? You’re going to sit there, you’re going to shut the fuck up, and you’re going to let me look you over. I’d rather not be forced to subdue you again.” 

And in that moment, Kirin felt something inside of him break. The fear bubbled to a head, a torrent of adrenaline rushing from his veins and into his eyes. Oh, his eyes burned, and his pledge to bravery wavered as the lump in his throat grew bigger. 

Much to Kirin’s horror, a hot tear rolled down his cheek and landed between Alekos’s unwavering fingers. 

Alekos barely blinked, and he made a disapproving click of his tongue as his already tight grip on Kirin’s face tightened further. 

“Crying already, poor thing. Are you in pain? Or are you just afraid?” The words hung in the air as sarcastic taunts, their acerbic edge biting almost as sharply as Alekos’s touch. 

Kirin didn’t move. As much as every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run, he knew that resistance would be a futile exercise, and one that would likely lead to his untimely demise. He felt like a mouse between the paws of a lion, nothing more than a plaything for Alekos. His own fear meant nothing to his captor. 

Fear had never stopped Fen before - in fact, Kirin figured they probably got off on it. From what Kirin knew of Alekos, his own pain or discomfort wouldn’t stop the man either. Hunger, pain, and head trauma had already shattered most of who Kirin had once been. It wouldn’t take much more for him to be completely broken, not a whisper left of Kirin’s soul left in a useless bodyl. Maybe that’s what Alekos wanted. 

“Can you speak, Kirin?” 

The way Alekos said his name made a sob rise in Kirin’s chest, even tighter and more pressing than the tears he was swallowing back. Fen hadn’t granted him the luxury of hearing his name in so long, and to hear it now, even on Alekos’s lips, was a blessing so welcome that he almost broke down. It was embarrassing just how badly Kirin wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear his name, to be seen, more than he wanted to be brave. Perhaps even more than he wanted to survive. He hadn’t known until that very moment how desperate he was for it. 

But still, Alekos had asked a question, and the rational part of Kirin’s brain was fighting to stay afloat above the fear and confusion. As such, Kirin knew that he would be prudent to answer 

With his face still gripped in Alekos’s unmoving grasp, he was unable to nod. Rapid blinks of confirmation followed instead. 

“Then speak.” Alekos’s voice cut through Kirin like thunder. The grip on his chin loosened just enough that he could part his lips.

What was Kirin to say? He didn’t want to show even more vulnerability by pleading for his life, and he didn’t want to throw meaningless platitudes at Alekos for his mercy thus far. The undercurrent of fear quieted just long enough for Kirin to think back to one of Fen’s first demands, the demand that Kirin subject himself to their power. It was one simple word, and perhaps it would succeed here to show Alekos that Kirin was aware of his position here without giving up his weakness. 

“Sir, you-”

“That’s enough of that,” Alekos cut him off almost immediately, and fully released Kirin’s chin in the same breath. Kirin was tempted to curl in on himself, the abruptness of Alekos’s denial as sharp as though he’d been kicked, but he held firm against the wall. 

“You can use my name,” Alekos continued, settling back onto his heels. “Grovelling doesn’t become you.” 

“Unless-” Alekos paused then, tilted his head to the side ever so slightly “-unless that’s what Fen wanted you to call them?”

Kirin nodded, the response automatic. He felt like he was going to pass out again. Only two words had made it out of his mouth and Alekos had already shut him out. For all of the effort it was taking to pretend to be strong, composed, and brave, his progress was abysmal. It increasingly felt like it would take a miracle for Kirin to see another dawn.

A small cough broke the silence, and Alekos gave a brief shake of his head, curls bouncing. 

“Well, that egotistical bastard has always had a knack for sadism, I’ll give them that. It’s not surprising they want to think themselves a both god and master over their prisoners. I’ll say that you have no need to use such honorifics with me. You already know the power I hold here, so there’s no need to make a charade of it, and I’m not particularly fond of titles. So, with that out of the way, let’s try this again. Speak.” 

Again, Kirin was frozen in place. What could he say? What would buy him another day, another meal, another week breathing? Would the wrong word drive Alekos to a rage that would end Kirin’s life on the spot? Fen had never liked it when Kirin begged, and if Alekos was so determined to set himself apart from Fen, Kirin figured that something close to begging would be worth a shot. The trouble came in walking the line between weakness and determination. All he had to show now was that he truly, deeply desired to be seen as someone who was still fighting to survive. 

“Alekos, thank you for sparing my life,” he started, trying to whet his tongue on nothingness. “I swear, sir-” 

“Okay, you know what? Enough of that.” Alekos was more aggressive this time, cutting Kirin off with noticeably less patience. “That fucker did a real number on you, didn’t they? Is this what Fen does with all of their unwanted playthings? Turn them into little dolls that can’t do anything but beg and cry? Or was it you, Kirin? Were you just not good enough for them?” 

Kirin didn’t respond. It was clear that whatever he had to say, whether it was begging or outright defiance, Alekos didn’t want to hear it. This only confirmed Kirin’s growing suspicion that nothing he did now would alter Alekos’s preconceived notions. Alekos had come into this cell with a plan, and he was going to follow through with that plan regardless of how carefully Kirin responded. 

Even if this was true, Kirin knew he had to still try, still fight. Silence was something that Kirin could sit with for now. He was parched enough as it was, every word more difficult than the last, and it seemed that Alekos was more than content to do the talking. 

Hands freed from clutching Kirin’s face, Alekos let his palms rest idly on his thighs, and his eyes gave Kirin’s naked body another once-over. When he spoke again his voice was commanding, sharper than it had been yet. The tone was enough to make Kirin sit up a bit straighter, spine a bit more taught, pain more muted as he paid attention for a command. 

“Here’s the deal, Kirin: we’re going to fix you up. You’re not much use to us dead, and if we left you as you are, there’s little question you’d be dead in a matter of days. Not that I particularly care if you die, of course: it comes down to the simple fact that you’re only useful to us alive. What I want is you, both alive and lucid, able to answer my questions. As for why I’m here in this cell, personally, it’s because I don’t trust you. I don’t want anyone else from my team down here with you, especially not alone. So before the good doctor gets her hands on you and tries to piece Humpty Dumpty back together again, it’s my turn. I’m going to ask you some questions and I’m going to do an examination of my own. I want to see and feel for myself what’s wrong with you before I let anyone else get anywhere near you.” 

Ah, there it was. Kirin had known from the moment he’d awoken here, but the confirmation was as comforting as it was soul crushing. His body was not his own here, and perhaps it never would be again. He was a plaything meant to scream, bleed, and heal at its keeper’s command. At least Alekos was being honest about it upfront, whereas Fen had once pretended to care about him. 

“Will you behave for me?” Alekos asked. 

“Yes,” Kirin rasped, trying to steel his nerves. “Yes, sir, Alekos. I’ll behave for you.” 

A glint of fire flashed in Alekos’s eyes. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what did I just say about that? Just ‘yes’ is fine. That’s all I need from you, if you need to speak at all. Fuck. Just - dammit - sit still and shut the fuck up.” 

And with that, Kirin still desperately swallowing his sobs, Alekos put his bare hands on Kirin’s broken skin. 

No matter how much he prepared himself Kirin always flinched at the first touch. It was an instinct he hadn’t quite managed to train out of himself, and it was apparent now, as he winced ever so slightly. Alekos certainly noticed, a thoughtful blink accompanying a knowing hum, but he didn’t stop or question his prisoner any further. 

Alekos began by running his hands in rough strokes over Kirin’s matted hair, then took his thumbs more gently across Kirin’s temple and cheekbones, before coming to rest over the long-healed bump from a severely broken nose. Alekos paused there, lingering for just a moment. Kirin fought to remain impassive and statuesque. 

“Did this happen recently?” Alekos asked. Kirin shook his head, the only answer he could think to give. His memory was poor, but his nose hadn’t bled in quite some time, and that break had happened shortly after Fen had taken him as their prisoner. However long ago that had been, it wasn’t dishonest to say that some considerable time had passed. 

Alekos took the answer at face value. Those hunting fingers continued their journey, and this time a thumb slid between Kirin’s lips. Kirin let his jaw drop open without comment. If Alekos wanted to see his mouth, determine if it would be of any use, Kirin certainly wouldn’t stop him. There were a few teeth missing, after all: Fen had yanked them clean out, once with their fingers, twice with pliers. Kirin could still remember what it felt like to nearly drown in his own blood, the liquid hot and coppery on his tongue, the glinting roots of his molars scattered haphazardly across the prison floor. 

Another breath passed and Alekos’s thumb retreated. Kirin closed his mouth, tongue running over the gaps where his teeth once had been, and he swallowed a sigh of relief. It was always painful when Fen took out anger on his mouth, and Alekos’s brief visit there was enough to startle him. 

Where Alekos ventured next was natural. It was natural, yet no matter how long he’d been collared, Kirin had to focus on the pain elsewhere in his body to distract him. Alekos slowly moved his hands from Kirin’s mouth to his throat, fingers probing the tender and bruised flesh above the soldered metal collar. Kirin put his energy into breathing deep, smooth breaths, not just to maintain an illusion of composure, but to prepare himself in case Alekos decided to cut off his supply of air. 

To Kirin’s great relief, Alekos didn’t do anything of the sort. Alekos instead ran his fingers softly over the collar’s edge, and then over the scars where the hot metal had seared Kirin’s flesh when the collar was permanently bonded around his neck. Another hum came from Alekos’s mouth, more thoughtful than it was accusatory. 

The next few minutes passed without incident. Had Kirin more dignity, he would have been proud of how still he had sat, how much he had suppressed to let Alekos explore him so freely. He was perfectly still as Alekos stroked his fingertips against new and old fractured ribs. Alekos had coached him to breathe, when to draw in and, and when to gesture as he experienced pain. This process had taken some time, Alekos lingering on each rib with care, and Kirin slowly came to the conclusion that more of his ribs were damaged than he initially thought. 

Alekos then counted the broken fingers on Kirin’s hands, both the breaks above and below the middle knuckles, and probed as though he were taking note of how old the breaks were. The disapproving hums came thick and heavy, but Kirin neither had the courage nor the death wish to ask Alekos what he could possibly be thinking. Even a glimpse would have told any sane person that Kirin was broken goods, but here Alekos was, taking the opportunity to inspect for himself. 

As uncomfortable as it was, Kirin made sure to follow Alekos’s commands. He followed them silently and swiftly, moving his aching limbs as instructed, breathing or nodding only as necessary. It would fulfill the promise he had made to himself, make himself more than trash meant to be discarded. 

Things changed in almost a heartbeat. Alekos had spent a fair amount of time on Kirin’s abdomen, pressing on Kirin’s stomach and bruises with a soft tutting. After a moment, Alekos moved his hands lower. 

An animalistic scream tore itself from Kirin’s throat before he could stop himself. 

He hadn’t meant to scream. He hadn’t meant to gasp, hadn’t even meant to blink. He’d channeled his energy into being placid, behaved, a model prisoner that was brave enough to look Alekos in the eyes. Yet that single touch, a few fingers over his hips and snaking towards his nakedness, had shattered him entirely. The fear he’d so dutifully meant to swallow had struck like a wounded snake, and it had wrest the cry from his lungs. 

It had taken so long before Fen had hurt him so intimately. Fen had waited until Kirin was a shell of his former self, entirely incapable of fighting back, and so mentally exhausted that he couldn’t even bring a refusal to his lips. When Fen had taken him the first time, Kirin had been nothing more than a husk of a living being. What Fen had done ensured that Kirin would never fully be human again. 

Now, with Alekos, it was different. Kirin had been pretending to be brave, pretending to be a model prisoner. It was a gambit on his life, and the animal that commanded his fear had ruined it. That one soft touch, nothing so nearly as terrible as Fen, had rattled him to his core and made him cry out like a beast that had been struck. 

Alekos withdrew his hands as though he’d touched fire, as though he were genuinely startled by Kirin’s cry. It didn’t take more than a moment for the man to issue a stern correction. 

“Hey now,” Alekos muttered from the back of his throat, “none of that here. You said you’d behave for me, didn’t you? That means I shouldn’t have to fight you, isn’t that right, Kirin?” There was no avoiding the fact that Alekos’s tone was scolding, condescending. He was disappointed. 

What he’d said was also true. Kirin had, even if not in those same words, agreed to sit still for Alekos’s inspection. His body was all he could offer up, however much it terrified him. If he broke apart now, and if he showed that neither his body nor mind were salvageable, it would mean certain death. 

Still, he realized in that moment that death would be more favorable than returning to Fen. 

His breaths grew shallow once more, and as much as he fought to pull in a full breath, he failed. It was as though he was drowning on nothing but clear air. Blackness crowded in at the edges of his vision, his view of Alekos already blurry and dark through tears that refused to fall, a pitiful display. 

A hand grabbed the chain connected to Kirin’s collar and pulled hard. Kirin’s body jerked in response, and when he gasped, his lungs finally filled with air. 

“Stop the histrionics,” Alekos growled. “If you keep up this little act, you’re going to pass out, and that’s going to piss me off more than I’m already pissed off. So take a breath and answer this: have I hurt you so far?” 

“No, sir,” Kirin managed to choke out. His voice broke as he spoke, but it was the truth. In those few minutes that had passed since Kirin had awoken, Alekos hadn’t hurt him. The fact that Kirin felt such terror was entirely a product of his own mind. 

“That’s right. I could hurt you, but I haven’t, and I’ve no intention to if you keep behaving. And what about Fen? Did Fen hurt you?” 

Kirin screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to answer, he didn’t want to think about Fen any longer, he didn’t want to remember what had happened to him before he woke up in this cell.

Perhaps even more than that, he didn’t want Alekos to know what had happened. Enough indignities were written across his skin and broken bones that he had no need to put those experiences into words. As for the scars Alekos couldn’t see, Kirin wasn’t sure he could ever voice those quite so clearly, not even at Alekos’s command.

Still, his new keeper had demanded an answer, and he had sworn to himself that he would prioritize strength and obedience. To break down like this was a failure, and it clearly tested Alekos’s patience. 

“Yes, sir. They hurt me.” 

“I don’t think you’re answering the question I actually asked. I can see they hurt you, little thing. You’re bleeding all over my wall, so of course they hurt you. But what I’m asking is if they fucked you. Did they like to have their way with you? Did they break your leg so you couldn’t run and then take you for themselves? Did they turn you into a plaything for their own pleasure?”  

Ah. So Alekos had figured it out on his own. It couldn’t have been hard, Kirin knew, given how much he’d recoiled and screamed the moment Aleko’s hands had dipped below his waist. But it was a knife in his heart to hear the truth of it spoken aloud, each of Alekos’s accusations hitting harder than a whip ever could. 

For the first time since Alekos arrived, Kirin found himself stuttering. 

“Ye- I’m- y-yes, sir.” 

A huff of breath from Aleko’s nose sent another tremor through Kirin’s body. And when Alekos’s voice returned, it was softer than before. 

“As I’ve already told you, and as your concussed mind might have already forgotten, I am not Fen. But much like Fen, I do expect you to behave for me. You’d been doing well, just as you should, before all of this crying and hysteria started. You belong to me, now, Kirin. I expect you to listen to me, and sit still for me. Can you understand that?” 

“Yes, sir.” Of course. Of course. No matter what Fen had done in the past, it was up to Alekos to determine what happened to Kirin now. 

“Good. I’m glad you understand. And since you’re lucid enough to understand, I expect you to listen. So I’m going to hold onto this collar of yours just to make sure you don’t try and wriggle away from me again, and I’m going to continue my inspection. Since this is obviously difficult for you, I’m going to give you some more instructions. Close your eyes, count to one hundred out loud, and then I’ll be done. Can you do that?” 

It was a mercy Kirin hadn’t been afforded before. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he could force the words from his lips, past the lump in his throat. Undoubtedly this was Alekos’s way of offering kindness, as much as it was a reminder where Kirin stood. 

It would be easier if he couldn’t see Alekos. It would be easier if the man that knew what had happened to him, saw through his shame, was hidden from his sight. So, Kirin closed his eyes. He felt Alekos’s steady grip on the front ring of his collar, commanding, ever-present. He took a breath, aware it whistled with a nascent sob, and he started to count aloud. 

“One… t-two… three… four…” 

The numbers were punctuated with small gasps that failed to disguise growing terror. After a few moments, Alekos’s hand returned to Kirin’s skin. 

Kirin continued to count as Alekos snaked his touch between his legs, gentle and probing, before moving to Kirin’s thighs, buttocks, and hips. The counting went on, the numbers creeping higher, as Alekos ghosted his touch over Kirin’s broken leg. 

The counting had indeed distracted Kirin from the hands roaming his skin, each number drawing his focus. And when he reached one hundred, he opened his eyes. The exploration of his scars and his still-open wounds had come to an unceremonious end. 

Alekos let the collar go, and Kirin slumped back against the wall, uncaring how it dug into his open wounds. 

“You’re pretty fucked up.” 

Kirin didn’t know if he was supposed to answer. 

Alekos let out the most dramatic sigh he’d made since first setting foot in Kirin’s cell. 

“If we want you to live much longer, we’ve got some serious work to do. Both physically and with whatever the hell Fen did to that head of yours. You’re not much use to anyone in this state. Well, unless they’re looking for a quivering wreck of a punching bag.” 

The sobbing had since stopped, and Kirin’s breathing had evened out, but he could still feel that his cheeks were wet with tear stains. Was it over? Would Alekos not just let him live, but actually heal some of his wounds? 

“Actually,” Alekos said, seeming to muse, “I’m curious. You’ve been mostly well-behaved so far, quite impressive for the precious spitfire I always thought you were.  I suppose that’s a testament to Fen’s handiwork, no? I’ve only given you some simple commands so far, but I’d like to see if you’ll listen to all of the commands your master gives you. Your cooperation will be needed if you want to make it much further than the four walls of this cell. So, will you listen to me like you listened to Fen? 

Nerves made Kirin’s throat tighten. Had he not obeyed enough commands so far to prove that he was not just alert and intent on surviving, but that he wasn’t interested in fighting back? That he’d listen, that he’d obey, that he didn’t have the strength to harm Alekos in return? 

Maybe his faltering had been enough to undermine Alekos’s confidence. Maybe that fear, that brief moment of weakness, would cost Kirin his life. If this was a chance to fight for Alekos’s mercy, a chance to show Alekos that he was as obedient as he was determined to survive, he’d gladly take it. 

Kirin nodded, and a small smile crossed Alekos’s lips. 

“Delightful. Lie down.” 

Kirin obeyed. He took a deep breath to brace himself for the pain that would wrack his body and he lowered himself to the cement floor. He let the wall guide him down, chain rattling, but he made it without much movement of his leg. Meanwhile he still looked up at Alekos, trying to gauge the man’s expression, to see if he’d done something wrong. His captor’s visage remained stony. 

As soon as he was prone on the cement, smears of blood on the wall where he’d used it to slow his descent, Alekos spoke again. 

“Sit up.” 

Just as when Alekos has first entered the cell, sitting up was an extraordinarily difficult task. It required Kirin to once again jostle all of the broken bones in his body, including his crooked fingers and aching ribs, but he did it nonetheless. As quickly as he could Kirin leaned back against the wall, pushed his palm against the floor, and hauled himself upwards. His head spun, but he sat still and looked expectantly up at his keeper. 

Alekos hummed. 

“Bark for me. Like a dog.” 

This command was easy enough that Kirin didn’t have to hesitate. No indignity was below him anymore, and certainly not this. 

“Arf! Arf!” It came out dry, a product of his parched throat, but it was undeniably a facsimile of an animal’s cry. 

A pregnant pause hung thick in the air. It could have spanned seconds or an eternity, but when Alekos broke it, Kirin’s veins filled with ice. 

“Stand up, dog.” 

Vertigo seized Kirin as the world tilted on its axis. Alekos had to know that Kirin couldn’t stand, right? He’d probed the broken mere minutes ago, verbally noted the way that Kirin’s bone was crooked and protruding beneath his skin. 

This was a test of obedience, then. It was a test of whether Kirin was truly ready to fight for his life, fight to show Alekos his obedience and loyalty. 

Maybe he could stand now. Kirin hadn’t tried in quite some time, but he’d almost certainly be able to bear weight on his unbroken right leg, and he could likely stay upright so long as he wasn’t asked to walk. As for making it to a standing position, he figured he might be able to use the bolt on the wall to heave himself upwards. That would have to be enough - after all, he thought to himself, what’s a leg for a life? 

With a deep breath that sounded uncomfortably close to a whimper, Kirin reached beside him and grabbed onto the bolt that secured his chain, gathered his right leg beneath him, and prepared to push himself to standing. It would hurt - and it already hurt - but he’d been hurt before. He knew this would only last a little while. 

Just as he began to push himself onto his knees, Alekos’s voice cut through him like a knife. 

“Stop! Jesus, stop. Sit back down. Fuck.” 

It was the command Kirin had been the happiest to obey yet. A wave of relief washed over him as he slowly shifted his weight back to the ground, limbs splayed where they were most comfortable. There was no mistaking the disgust that now glimmered in Alekos’s eyes, but it wasn’t disappointment. Disappointment was an expression Kirin had come to know well. 

“Your leg is broken, Kirin, seriously broken. You can’t fucking stand on that thing. I’ll give you credit for trying, though. I saw how much it hurt for you to even lay down, bleeding all over my floor in the process, and shaking like a leaf in a gale. You’ll bark like a dog for me, and you’ll even try to stand on a broken leg. Honestly, it’s incredible, if not just what I needed from you. You’re a resilient creature if nothing else.” 

Kiring blinked and didn’t move. Was that praise? Was that Alekos saying that he’d been enough, that he’d live another day?” 

“If this isn’t an act, well, I suppose that will make life easier for all of us, including you,” Alekos carried on. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t fight back, but this is more than I’d ever dreamed. It seems like you’ll listen to anything I ask, and I presume I could do just about anything except have my way with you - which, I’m sure, I could achieve with a little more convincing.” 

Fear rolled through Kirin’s empty stomach. So, Alekos would- he was still going to- Kirin would have to, again, he’d- 

“Hey,” Alekos snapped, and Kirin looked back up at him. He hadn’t even realized his gaze had dropped to the floor. 

“That really scares you, doesn’t it? Of all the things I could do to you, a little pleasure is what makes you cry? It would be sad if it wasn’t just so… pathetic.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kirin managed to breathe, the words tumbling out of his mouth despite no command to speak. “I’m sorry, sir, I swear- I swear I’ll do what you want. Even… even… even if it’s me. You can have me. You can take me for yourself, and I’ll be good.” 

If that’s what it took for Kirin to survive, he’d do it. I’ll do it, he swore to himself, I’ll be brave.

“Is that so?” Alekos said as he tilted his head slightly to the side. “I’m glad to hear it. But there’s no need for that now. You’re filthy and can’t even sit up on your own, much less give me what I’d want. We can worry about that another day. But in the meantime, I have a question for you.” 

“Yes, sir.” Kirin was relieved to know that he’d be spared for now, and there was further relief that he’d remain untouched just a little longer. His lingering confusion was enough he knew he might be missing nuance, but it was clear that Alekos wasn’t preparing to put him out of his misery. Now he had to fixate on the question. He didn’t like questions - with Fen they were usually tricks - but he could do his best to answer now. 

“If you could have one thing right now, anything in the world, what would it be?” 

This was most certainly a trick. There was no other reason the question would be crafted to be so open-ended, so easy for Kirin to incriminate himself, so easy for Alekos to take what Kirin wanted and turn it against him. 

But at the same time, there was so much Kirin wanted. He hadn’t dared to want in so long. He stopped wishing for comfort, for safety, for freedom, but his body still had its demands. He could tell he was dangerously dehydrated, his stomach ached with a hunger that never dissipated, and his body throbbed with never-ending currents of pain. Anything to alleviate some of that agony, however slight, would be welcome. And if Alekos was as merciful as he’d claimed to be, and in fact had been so far, maybe he would truly grant Kirin a small mercy. 

“Water, please,” Kirin begged. “Please, if it’s not too much trouble, just some water to drink.” 

“Ah,” Alekos sighed, “I can’t do that. Doctor’s orders. You’re headed up for surgery soon, so no food, no water. I’m sure you’ll be given fluids, but nothing to drink by mouth at the moment.” 

That answered a nagging question in Kirin’s addled mind. It seemed that they were planning on actually giving him medical treatment, not tossing a roll of gauze into the cell and expecting him to bandage himself. He supposed it would be more effective to interrogate him if he was a blank slate, rather than an already broken one. Any torture inflicted would certainly be more entertaining if Kirin could move, and his answers would only be useful had his wits about him. Right now he wasn’t capable of putting on much of a show for his tormentors, and Fen at least had always liked some theatrics. 

He wasn’t going to push his luck in asking for more. 

“There’s nothing,” Kirin said. “I don’t want- I don’t need anything. You’ve already been kind to me, sir Alekos, and you say you’re going to help me. I need nothing else.” 

“Pretty bold coming from a half-dead pile of bones in my holding cell, but hey, that’s less work for me. If you’re not going to ask for anything, let’s get you out and up for surgery. And, hey, maybe you’ll finally stop with the ‘sir’ bullshit once you’re unconscious.” 

Alekos reached into his pocket and fished out a small vial, as well as a syringe still wrapped in sterile plastic. Again, Kirin’s heart sped up. He could hardly manage a swallow as his imagination ran wild, visualizing what pain was going to come out of the bottle and into his veins, how it would torture him before he was granted reprieve. 

“You get so worked up over every little thing,” Alekos mused as he opened the syringe and uncapped it. He slid the needle into the vial and began to draw liquid back into the syringe. “Though given the state of you, I’m not surprised. As entertaining as it is to see you go all wide-eyed and shake like a chihuahua every time I move, I’ll spare you the wondering. This is ketamine here, that’s it. It’s a fast-acting sedative that will keep you quiet until our anesthetist gets you under proper sedation. Our doctor is going to run some tests, take some imaging, and the surgical team is going to work on your leg and any other bits that need to be fixed. When you wake up you’ll be a new man.” 

Promises aside, Kirin couldn’t stop eyeing the syringe. Alekos hadn’t lied to him so far, and he’d shown plenty of mercy, but the uncertainty still gnawed at him. It had been long since he’d had command over his own destiny, and as much as he was resigned to that, there were some fears he couldn’t escape. 

“Give me your arm, Kirin. You’ve done well so far, now do this one last thing for me. A pinch and we’ll be on our way.” Alekos knelt down again. 

Kirin offered his arm wordlessly, palm up, hovering just above Alekos’s lap. He tried to stop it from shaking, but the trembling of the atrophied limb was unavoidable. Whatever happened next, Kirin knew he wouldn’t even have the privilege of being awake to experience it, for better or for worse. 

Much to Kirin’s surprise, Alekos reached out the hand without the syringe and placed it atop Kirin’s head. The touch was gentle, and the man’s palm rested soft on hair that was matted with blood and dirt. Despite this touch coming from his captor, from the man that would likely be his final undoing, Kirin felt something like relief flood his veins. The terror of Alekos’s earlier threats dissipated.

God, he couldn't remember the last time someone had simply tried to comfort him, if that was indeed what Alekos was doing. He melted, his body still shaking, but he bowed his head into the touch with a whine of pleasure he couldn’t contain. 

“Woah. Okay, fuck, alright,” Alekos muttered. It was the gentlest he’d sounded yet, a surprised softness that wasn’t lost on Kirin. “Do you like this? Is this good?” 

With those words Alekos moved his hand slightly, running the tips of his fingers light across Kirin’s tired scalp, thumb stroking gently as he went. 

Sheer bliss washed over Kirin in a thousand colors, drowning the fear, easing his tremors. It was a respite he hadn’t known he needed, something as simple as a gentle touch, a gesture designed to neither wound him nor terrorize him. Admittedly, shamefully, it was euphoric. And it gave Kirin the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, Alekos wouldn’t be so bad. If this is what awaited him at Alekos’s hands, he swore he would sit quietly, gratefully, obediently. 

And so Alekos continued, petting Kirin’s head with cautious and gentle motions, and with Kirin’s small sighs filling the space between them. He all but fell forward into Alekos’s lap, head at his chest, the syringe almost forgotten. Somehow that light touch was enough to distract him from all the pain in his body. 

“Kirin, it’s time for you to rest,” Alekos whispered without stopping his movements. “I’ll continue like this until you sleep. Here. Just a pinch-” the needle went into Kirin’s forearm “-and you’ll start to feel tired. It’s alright. Close your eyes.” 

Sleep came fast. The woozy sensation took hold in seconds, and the next thing Kirin knew, he was slumping headfirst into Alekos’s chest. The last thing he felt before slipping out of awareness and into a more blissful, painless place, was Alekos’s sturdy arms wrapped around his body. He tried to hold onto the memory, but he wasn’t sure if he’d truly seen a sad smile on Alekos’s lips. 

Kirin embraced the darkness. 

---

“That was cruel, Alekos,” Verona spit with crossed arms as the nurses moved Kirin’s body to a gurney. 

Alekos, meanwhile, was busy wiping off his fingers on the sides of his pants, trying to rid them of the grease and blood Kirin’s hair had left on them. 

“You of all people should know what Kirin is capable of,” he said as he gave a final wipe. “I wanted to get a sense of what we’re dealing with. If that was an act he was putting on in there, it was a damn good one. I’d be inclined to say it was genuine, given the state of him. Some of his responses looked like they were conditioned, involuntary even.” 

“You terrified him.” Verona’s tone was laced with venom. “More than he was already terrified, anyway, which is impressive given his condition. He had no reason to fake any of that, especially given how Fen and their cohort have already reduced him to this state. More importantly, you had no reason to play that sick little game. He was no danger to you, to me, or to anyone else in this facility. I thought you were better than that.” 

“I needed to confirm he wasn’t a threat. That’s a part of my duties here, and it’s my obligation to all of you. If he’s obedient, and if he sees me as the authority with his life in my hands, that makes this much easier on everyone,” Alekos defended himself. “If he respects me, and if he listens to my commands without hesitation, then we’ll have no trouble getting him to tell us what we want. Fen’s already done the hard work of reducing him to a quivering pile of putty, ready to mould as we please. That means we don’t have to push too hard to get the answers we want.”

“You’re a fucking sadist.” Verona turned her back on Alekos and returned her attention to the patient, nearly unconscious, laid out beside her. “And I hate that I’m complicit in this abuse. No matter what Kirin has done in the past, no one deserves this. And since you’re at least going to give him the bare minimum he needs to survive, what are we going to do with him when the surgery is over? Is he going to the recovery suite like anyone else would, or are you going to send him back to that cell?” 

“Whatever the doctor orders.” Since it seemed like he’d struck a nerve with Verona, Alekos knew it was best to yield to her. He outranked her - only just - but he’d learned long ago to let her have her way when he could. There was no harm in having Kirin chained to a hospital bed as opposed to a cell, especially not if Alekos could still keep an eye on him. 

Verona let out a breath and Alekos knew she was glowering. 

“Then I’ll call you when he’s out of surgery. You can expect to find him in the recovery suite with one-to-one nursing care to make sure he lasts the night. He’s going to need plates and screws in his leg, at least, and we’ll need to break the leg again to realign it. That’s to say nothing of the broken ribs, broken fingers, and what I suspect is a broken wrist. I can’t imagine the extent of the rest of his injuries, the malnutrition, all of it. He’s in bad shape.” 

“Do what you need to do, doc,” Alekos said.  “I will. I’ll do what’s in my patient’s best interests, like I always do. And what about the collar, Alekos? Do we have someone here with the equipment to cut it off without hurting him? Maybe someone in heavy equipment, or transit operations?” 

“No.” Alekos had thought about the collar, and he’d already decided what he wanted to do about it. “I don’t want you to take it off just yet. It’s a useful tool that will help us keep him where we want him.” 

“Why? So you can continue to play your little games? Do you want him to bark like a dog again? Roll over for you? Keep him as your own little pet, your own little toy to fuck, the final gesture that you’ve won?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

With that, Alekos turned and walked away, pretending to ignore the grumbling and certain glares from Verona. Regardless of her indignation, Alekos knew he had to appear confident in his actions, certain in every decision he made as a leader. What happened to Kirin now would simply be a product of Alekos’s desires, a careful calculation of how the husk of a man could be useful to him, a way to leverage this new resource against Fen.

Still, the way that Kirin’s round eyes had stared up at Alekos with fear and hope, it made something in his stomach churn. He’d ensured that his words were abrasive, his attitude was unyielding, and that his threats were somewhat convincing. Even if he’d never follow through on them, even if they were cruelties he hadn’t dreamed of, Alekos knew it was important to subdue Kirin from the start. It had certainly worked. 

Still, he thought back to the small mercy he’d afforded. How much his simple touch had made the trembling stop, how the wordless reassurance had brought  so much tension out of that battered body. Even now, when Alekos closed his eyes, he could see the pain and terror in every inch of Kirin’s body, and he saw it melt away the second he offered comfort instead of pain. 

He could similarly imagine Fen breaking those thin fingers with anger and glee, flipping Kirin onto his stomach and ravishing him, drawing as much pleasure from the act as Kirin’s cries. Alekos could just as easily imagine Kirin doing the same for him, offering himself up for beating or worse if it was what his keeper commanded. He’d stand on a broken, useless leg if it meant appeasing Alekos for a few moments longer, and there was no question he’d give up a lot more at Alekos's command. If it meant sparing his life, Kirin would even offer his flesh, give himself wholly to Alekos in the face of his greatest terror. 

With just a few words, Alekos already had Kirin tucked under his thumb, a two-in-one punching bag and fucktoy. It would be so, so easy to ruin him. 

Alekos did his best to pretend the thought didn’t make him a little queasy.