#; face claim: ember moon

[onlyseokmins]

ash and cinders • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, royalty!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 which just means a minor power play between them at first okay 😬 i promise it's not that bad lmao i'm just paranoid, lots of making out, oral (fem. receiving), lil bit of temp play tbh, little bit of choking, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? it's just basically me attempting to write prettily uwu WC: 4.24k A/N: soooo, this has been rotting in my drafts FOREVER!!! but yeah seokmin is my most darling, favorite boy i've ever stanned anyways ofc i couldn't help but use his elle magazine photos (yes that's how long this has been ROTTING) ahhhhh - ahem anyways this goes hand-in-hand with Mischief Maker so definitely recommend checking that one out too! heheh <3

He only stayed during the night.    

When the blanket of darkness covered even the moon with a hazy layer of clouds, leaving tiny twinkling stars for a traveler’s guide. The fire once dancing in the hearth dwindled down to scarlet embers barely emitting enough heat to fill the large quarters.

Not that it mattered.

Even as you lay naked amidst the silken sheets strewn upon the grand bed, the thought of your lover’s return alone was enough to engulf your body in a flame of burning anticipation that settles and simmers between your legs.

He had been gone far too long. A lengthy patrol around the surrounding territories had taken him away from your embrace. Although every morning the sun’s rays tickled your face as a sweet greeting and bathed you in a radiant light through the day, nights without him were by far the worst.    

Cold.    

Lonely.    

Dark.

On usual accounts, it was a grievous crime to keep the queen waiting. But you would forgive him for anything, wouldn’t you? It’s exemplified in the way he bursts through the doors without so much as a courteous knock that even your most trusted servants must abide by, water droplets dripping from his auburn bangs.

Despite the eagerness to see you as soon as possible, he refused to step foot into your chambers when reeking of blood after fierce combat and soiled with dirt from travel. You always protested. The gilded throne you reigned from, the heavy crown upon your head, and even the bed you shared — all were built upon those very foundations. But your lover insisted on only showcasing the glorious side of things to you.

The gold.    

The diamonds.

The luxuries.

All which adorned you by day. Glowing, glistening, and shining. Gems and jewels, fabrics woven from the highest quality quickly reduced to layers that only became a hindrance once it came time for his descent upon you. For you were absolutely beautiful clothed — this he very well knew — but when your whole body was bared naked for him and him alone? You were truly the definition of divine.

Those who dared to speak ill of you tried to foster ridiculous claims. Critical of the wealth in your possession. Mocked what they presumed was a lack of ambition. Wailed that you were a witch. A young monarch on an undeniable downfall to tyranny, one that would lead them all to hellfire and ruin.

Anything to validate that you were not worthy of the royal seal emblazoned across the lands in honor of a valiant leader with a royal bloodline still running through your veins.

Hypocrisy at its finest when you were the reason that they were bestowed or able to retain property linked to their names, money in their pockets, and a legacy to live by under your prosperous reign. Arrogant to cast down the very thing that elevated them to their current standing. But their greed would eventually come back to bite them. One day.

Even the religious sect whispered lowly, hidden in the shadows of the grand temples. Doubts that the king actually held a shred of affection for his partner — if the seldom visits seen visiting your chambers only when night falls were of any substantial evidence to go by. That he only lay with you out of duty, shackled and bound to an imposter who was never a faithful servant to the gods like they were.

Because not one of them truly believed that a god could ever favor, let alone love, a human.

You knew you were a savior to as many as you were also an enemy. A hindrance and a threat. A bold refusal to control or be controlled. There was nothing more to do other than lead your people as fairly as you judged. 

All the preposterous assumptions infuriated him — your devoted knight, unorthodox husband, and scandalous lover. But he manages to temper his fiery rage out of respect for you. Behind your ruthless, steely intent is a righteous and kind heart that always calls out for him, now fully vocalized and embellished by the sweet voice he's missed hearing dearly.

“Seokmin,” you murmur, grasping his warm hand once he's within reach.

An entity of many epithets with an existence worth a millennium beyond comprehension and full of worship. Yet his favorite phonetic combination he'd ever heard was the one that fell breathlessly from your lips. The closest the human tongue could get to a god’s true name. And his second favorite would be yours, the syllables rumbling in his chest like a song and you smiled in contentment.

He was back, he was home, and he was yours.

Even in the darkness, Seokmin glowed. The ethereal radiance surrounding the broad expanse of sinewy muscles easily proved his lofty status as the great god of the sun. But it was also his eyes, flickering with the unmistakable presence as one of many deities. The kind of power that has managed to refrain from turning you into ash and cinders.

Whether it's attributed to your resilience, a ruler born to stand out and lead, or an entirely different reason — or a mixture of all — Seokmin isn't really sure. He's not the first to appear in a human vessel nor the last, with at least twelve of his known brothers wandering the mortal world for various reasons.

He wonders if he's the first to bow his head willingly, though, holding back his more devious and destructive tendencies. To pay back tenfold the worship he's received since the beginning of time all to you — a mere human — yet nonetheless, his queen.

The event of swearing his undying fealty feels like it was yesterday. For a being that persists forever, it may as well have been that short ago. Every memory he etches and sears into his mind for eternity consists of you, and only you.

How could he forget? How was he supposed to bury away the confident smirk that graced your lovely lips? Would he ever not recall the first time he bent the knee in such desperation? Not for a trick or as a dark seduction that tumbles into a dreadful demise, a conquest for carnage, and an abuse of his powers. But instead for the good of humanity — however short of an era it may be.

And maybe… for more. One that his heart fears to admit, for it does not beat within his chest, but in a plane beyond the reach of mortals.

"Would you kill for me?"

"For you, anything," the god affirms. "I have laid waste to kingdoms, countries, empires, and even continents themselves. There is nothing I'm incapable of."

"And if I asked you to behead the entire entourage that has traveled with you?"

"… If it is what you will, then it is simply my command to follow. For you, I am a lone knight at your disposal."

Silken skirts flare out as does your anger when you turn away from the large windows in the tower's tiny excuse of a throne room — hardly fit for the heir — showcasing a brief flash of the lethal dagger strapped to your thigh. "Do you wish for my downfall before I've even risen to the throne? You expect me to be a tyrant, despised by the people I am meant to save? To lead?"

"Do you think I, a god, care what thoughts others conjure up in their silly little minds? I am to act on your behalf, get my hands dirty in lieu of you. No matter how morbid your desires may be."

Stepping closer, you lift his chin with the tip of a dull sword intended to be ornamental. But it may be even deadlier than the one hung at his side, metaphorically sharpened and honed by a rebel princess's innate rage. 

His little show of bowing means little with the way he stares straight at you without a shred of respect in those galaxy-filled irises. However, it is the mighty sun god who is taken aback by the hellfire burning in your gaze, hungry and powerful enough to rival his own as you scoff.

"I will show you what kind of queen this land needs, the methods we will follow, and the morals I wish to uphold. You will learn in order to understand them and enforce my will. Not only to help guide the vision I desire but to keep me accountable lest I stray. A critical misstep such as that is when I'll ask you to cut me down. Will you swear to do that for me?"

"… You dare question a god of what he can do? Your tiny, impudent human mind couldn't fathom a sliver of my capability."

"I dare to question what you can't or won't do."

"I told you, there is not a thing beyond my realm of —"

"Leave."

"… Your Highness?"

Painted lips curl in a snarl at the first address of your proper title since his arrival. "Begone, I said! Return when you feel like acting like the god you are, not simply a tool to be harnessed and used at will. Until then, I have no need for you."

Seokmin's jaw drops as you seat yourself back on the throne with a sneer and flick of your wrist for the guard to usher him out.

A challenge. 

He's been abandoned many times. Discarded and tossed to the side once his usefulness has been expended. He's left before betrayal can even be thought of — for no one points a blade at a god's back — but never has he been rejected.

It was only the beginning of how you would become many of his 'firsts' and all of his 'lasts'.

Seokmin is lost deep in the memory even with the feeling of your lips curling in a gentle smile against his — a stark contrast to your initial meeting. A nail grazes his chin, digging lightly into the skin to fully bring the god back to the present. 

You'd be offended by the habitual spacing out if he hadn't admitted to only getting lost in thoughts of you. Something he'd picked up during the routine patrols away. Though you strive to bring the god out of dwelling in the past when you're sitting right in front of him — the present — and deepen the kiss.

Yet he pulls away to tilt his head. "Do you remember what you offered to me?"

"Have I not offered you my all, my king?"

Charcoal lying dormant in the hearth flares back to life, emitting playful sparks when he chuckles. "After I returned to pledge my loyalty to you."

"Ah, even though I had you wait outside the gates for five days."

"Unfathomable for a god to hang around at the whim of a meager human, isn't it?"

"Meager?"

"To me? Yes." 

His warm exhale of amusement feels just like the breeze that fondly brushes your cheeks every morning despite the eternal humidity. It may very well be him because no matter how far away physically from you he is, Seokmin's essence radiates in every sunray that stretches across the grand skies and below.

He is everywhere and everything all the time. But he is here with you tonight once again, kissing the palm you'd placed on his cheek. With mischief flickering like a teasing flame in his eyes, the god brings your hand to his throat, encouraging you to splay your fingers across his Adam's apple.

You free yourself from his light grasp to run them ticklishly up and down the bumps of his vocal cords. The movements of swallowing ripples beneath the light scratch of your nails until he halts you by replacing a veined hand over yours and murmurs, "Squeeze."

"Ah — but I…"

He repeats it again louder when you fail to do as asked, not even daring to move a muscle. Simply staring in almost awe-filled hesitation until he guides you to tentatively do exactly as he states, "You would have done anything to strangle me back then, what has changed?"

"… You know what."

"Tell me," he says it like it's a command, eyes brightening and swirling with an authoritative amber hue though it's all in jest. "Tell me what it is, my queen."

Never one to be deterred, only Seokmin could render you motionless for so long. You do as you're instructed, the gentle pressure applied by your hand around his throat causes auburn eyelashes to flutter. The slight restriction to an airflow that isn't all that necessary for a god's survival has his eyes rolling back before they re-focus on you, half-hidden by hooded eyelids.

"Love," you murmur. For it is the answer to everything, is it not?

"Love," is echoed with a resounding voice that doesn't fully come from the tongue of the man beneath you, but bellows out from an otherworldly essence that surrounds the entire world and beyond. And at the same time, he speaks it so fondly because ultimately, he's addressing it as a title for you.

The god of the sun, as immortal as he might be, has died before. Mortal vessels manage to persevere for a fixed number of years and a feeble human body can only endure so much wear and tear. Yet Seokmin's soul still shines steadily onwards despite the memory of death over and over again lingering… and he unsurprisingly realizes that he wouldn't mind dying like this — by your hand. 

Was that love? 

But the amount of power, energy, and time, along with the unpredictable wiles of the creator would never guarantee him returning to you. Preservation of this human shell was of the utmost importance, the first time he's ever handled a vessel with care before.

Perhaps that was love.

Rather than be swept up in unpleasantries, he entertains the amusing thought of how much fragility you exercise with him. Having already released your grip far too quickly and instead, fiddle with the untied laces on his loose shirt.

"Love," he repeats, this time as a call in a raspy drawl of his own voice. 

"Hm. Or maybe it was… pity."

An eyebrow raises and the corners of Seokmin's mouth twitch upward. "Only my queen would dare to pity a god."

"It was for what you were. And who you weren't. I despise those uppity, repetitive displays of unwavering loyalty that either party can easily discard."

"Like the former king's imperial court."

"Yes." 

Your angered hiss is exactly the same as the first time you informed him of your plans to take down your father and his cult. The disgust and rage have barely ebbed even after all the progress made for a better future and as many years that have passed. 

Seokmin scans your expressions. He's always admired your spitfire that could rival his own flames. But in times when it burns long enough to possibly exhaust or hurt you, he worries. You're strong — he knows that — so many times he simply becomes the safe space where you can seethe aloud without interruption. 

"Would you rather grow dull and be poisoned because someone is not even worth keeping an eye on or the thrill of unpredictability? A constant sword dance that keeps each other on their toes, never deviating gazes from one another."

He smirks. "That sounds familiar."

You think back to earlier days with him. A stubborn royal and an even more stubborn deity. When did the challenging, pointed glares at one another change to simmering looks of desire?

Instead of your swords tangling together in an angry clash over a small matter, it was your tongues after a heated sparring session. How condescension switched to respect to something more passionate… more primal… more intimate.

"Perhaps so. But look at you now — look at how you shine."

His skin indeed glows a bit brighter as he melts further into the soft touch of your palm returning to his cheek. Thumb tracing constellations between the pair of moles on his cheek while your other finger follows the nearly invisible scar below his eye.

"Little blemishes," he had once told you, "even the body of a god bears its flaws after fighting on a battlefield."

You thought they only made him all the more perfect.

"And look at how I've fallen."

As if to demonstrate his murmured words, Seokmin moves at the speed of light — his normal pace — to lie on his back, umber strands of hair spread out like flames of fire against the grandiose bed's silken sheets.

Somehow, he'd positioned you on top of him. Much accustomed to the tiny displays of omnipotence here and there, you remain unbothered. Affectionately, you brush back his bangs. Fiery wisps of hair that seemingly move on their own accord with the amount of power that ripples through their thin fibers.

He might just be the most powerful among his fellow deities and you could wield all of that as your own because he sits obediently in the palm of your hand. Lays dociley among your silken sheets. What he's trying to prove to you — the hold you have over him — immediately enthralled under your spell as you play with his locks and softly whisper, "You're Seokmin. My Seokmin."

Despite your bare chest quite literally in his face, the god waits. Fully clothed in soft linens where he can feel every tempting pulse thundering in your precious mortal body on top of his. 

And still, he waits. 

His hands don't even reach out as you unlace his shirt. Though he has wrecked and ruined your body in a thrillingly sensual, blistering, and passionate heat of love-making before, tonight he gives himself over to you. Vulnerable and all yours for the taking, watching with faint amusement as you impatiently urge him to shed the rest of his garments.

"My queen."

"My king."

"There is no rush. We have all of eternity."

"Do we?" you breathe out and look him in the eyes as your fingers dance along his inner thigh. "Or is it only you, divine ruler of the everlasting dawn and never-ending night?"

"My graceful moon," Seokmin sighs and distracts you from grasping his weeping shaft, urging you to straddle his legs. You follow his will despite the object of your desires lying neglected between your bodies, coating your stomach in the molten saltiness that drips from it.

"My stars, my sky, my galaxy, my universe." Each title of affection is seared into your skin with a burning kiss to brand your body. Your cheek, your ear, your neck, your shoulder, and your hand. "Without you in it, the world ceases to exist."

"My sun, my warrior, my knight, my shield, and my sword." You repeat a version of your own display of worship and what he means to you — mimicking the same actions across his lithe body. "My love, it would do you good to live in the present with me. Must you think of a dire future so soon?"

"Each inhale of life thus returns an exhale of death. I dread every moment that brings me closer to your end."

"Such morbid thoughts you carry, my darling. Where is the fearless god that took a poisoned arrow to the heart and pulled it out without so much as a flinch?" 

"You think me weak when I'd take the blow of any weapon as long as it does not harm you."

The irony when you'd both been struck by invisible, non-lethal darts fired from the god of love's feathered bow. But the terrifying memory of Seokmin taking the assassination attempt in your place causes a rare, but true, fear twisting in your gut. The flash of life before your eyes changed the trajectory of your tactics and your relationship with the god. And as always he reassures you with what he knows to be the truth — for the most part.

"Nothing can hurt me as long as you're alright." 

"Then make me your goddess in return so that I will be invincible enough to protect you from harm's wrath too." 

"But that… you know I can't," he whimpers, "no matter how much I long to." 

A tear trickles down his cheek, crystallizing when it falls. Like many before and well after, all bodily fluids of the god will be found transformed as various tiny diamonds and gems. Tangled within the bedsheets the following morning as they always are and stored away in the queen's treasury.

Seokmin cries, not just at his frustrations, but at how you gingerly hold his hot and hardened length. Heavy in your palm that rubs and strokes it lovingly before sinking down with practiced ease, having already stretched yourself out earlier while waiting. Undulating your hips in slow, controlled circles that make him dizzy with desire. Your words pierce his chest, paining him like no sword that sliced him open could ever compare.

"If fate will not let it happen, then bury me in the ground so I can thrive beneath your warm rays that whisper sweet nothings. Let me smile up at you after winter passes while I bloom brilliantly through spring and long into the heated days of summer. Weave my soul among the stars so I may greet you in the morning and kiss you goodnight every evening. Scatter my ashes into the windy gusts of the north and down the silver rivers flowing south so I may laugh and dance in the skies alongside your sunbeams."

He sobs at the poignant emotional tug of your words, every poetry waxed by your breathy voice punctuated by a tantalizing undulation of your hips. You reassuringly clench around him, foreheads and bodies pressed together, hands clasped tightly in each other's grasp.

The god's chest heaves and the mountains on the eastern border shift to the left. Sometimes the air cools when this occurs but tonight, it shimmers and glistens as if straining against his commands. A hot wave that threatens to distort the very seam of reality itself. 

"I will always be yours," you kiss the corner of his trembling lips, "and you mine, my darling god."

"My sweet goddess, my everything… my love."

Seokmin's hips buck up anxiously and you let him lead the pace. Wild thrusts take over as he chases that high, wanting and needing to take you over that peak with him. Your body lays prone against him, along for the jostling ride as the god seeks his own pleasure through and with you. Praises and worship fall from his lips, never failing to be in awe of how your cunt molds and works his cock like a blacksmith shapes an iron rod yet he can bully it as he wants to fit him. Only him. 

You were made for the god of the sun.

Golden ichor thrums through his veins, lighting his skin in flashes like the sparks of embers. He's beautiful. Otherworldly. Your lips capture each glowing pulse of godliness that erupts beneath his flesh with a tender peck. He's all yours.

And he was made for you.

When Seokmin plunges into your welcoming warmth that is his alone to claim before he finally succumbs, it's blinding. On the other side of the earth, the sun shines a little brighter. A harsh glint that already emits a sweltering heat from its fiery nature flares even hotter in the blue sky. A blessed priestess looks up in contemplation, waving away the worried maidens who tend to her every need.

You feel his large hands — one presses in a bruising hold between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. Keeping you flush against him, holding your body to his while you welcome inside the scorching spurts of his seed within your womb that feel like lava. Your walls flutter around him and he basks in the feeling of them pulsating as you jerk your hips 

"Come," he begs out. It's loud and resounding. More of an instinctual command if anything and your body almost obeys unwittingly, unaware of his intent before he lifts you up with inhuman strength and clarifies, "Up here," and sits you on your rightful throne — his face, "where you deserve, the queen of queens. My queen. My love. My goddess."

He laps at you like a dehydrated dog. Both cleaning you up and creating an even bigger mess. Your thighs squeeze tightly around the sides of Seokmin's head, one hand tugging harshly at his hair and the other mercilessly wrinkling the silk bed sheets. His moans are sweet songs of praise but muffled as he sucks his release out of your cunt only to push it back inside with his tongue. The addition of globs of spit accompanying the still-hot, smeared mess causes your own sounds to grow much louder, writhing on top of him from the sloppy sensations.

Back and forth he repeats this a couple of times, the firm point of his nose stimulating your sore clit in his efforts. And finally, you come undone — spasming on top of Seokmin's chin and suffocating him just like he likes. Breathing and drowning in your essence, the very elixir of life.

"I shall make you mine," he whispers later, dutifully laying your deliciously aching but clean body onto freshened sheets. Your lover is ever so attentive, rarely nearly needing the same amount of aftercare he showers upon you.

For he is a god from the heavens to bestow blessings upon his desired mortal.

"I am already yours."

"But for all of eternity, it shall be so."

Satiated and content, you reach for him. He lovingly takes your hand and presses a kiss to the tip of each of your fingers. "How?"

"The Mother. She's the closest thing we have to the Creator and might be older than the universe itself. There's nothing she doesn't know so I'm sure she'll have the answers I seek."

"Must you leave so soon?"

Seokmin smiles as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. "The sun never fails to rise, my dear. I will be back before you know it bringing with me tidings of great news."

"I'll be waiting."

Your shared kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet and full of sentiment. Indeed, you always wait for him and the sun god leaves with a full heart of hope. Little does he know, and little do you suspect, the true one lying in wait was the shadowed figure holding a poisoned dagger beneath their cloak.

And so, with the death of a queen so loved by the god of the sun… the prophecy begins.

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

[laiiaaa]

THE PART WHERE YOU KISS ME — JJ MAYBANK

summary: You're stuck with the job of getting a very drunk, very lovesick JJ into bed.

length: 2.4k

contains: tooth-rotting fluff, obsessed boyfriend JJ, soooo touchy he can't keep his hands off of you (can you tell my love language is physical touch lmfao???), mentions of heavy drinking of course, zero plot, he's a flirty little freak and i hate him

note: Not the happiest with this but I haven't posted in a week and I'm in the middle of writing three other pieces right now...so take this as an apology gift for not having the GFAW chapter out yet <3

Driving to the Chateau this late is never ideal, especially when you’re tired and ticked off from a busy shift. Your feet and back ache, your head could use a few Advil, and you would be perfectly happy to stay home and sleep for twelve hours. 

But when Kie calls you, groaning and saying Your boyfriend is wasted and won’t shut up about you and you need to come pull him to bed, you go. It’s as simple as that, really. Partially because JJ is already painfully stubborn when sober and only gets worse as the night goes on (code for: he won’t listen to anyone but you), and partly because you get a sweet kick out of his clinginess and extra loving.

So when you finally pull up and hop out of your car, the sound of Pope sighing Finally doesn’t surprise nor offend you.  Kie and Sarah scurry over, welcoming you with hugs and jokes about how sorry they are they had to call you while John B and Pope still tend to the drunken blonde.

“It’s alright,” you assure them, “I don’t mind.” And you really don’t, not at all, not when he acts all the more helplessly in love with you.

The bonfire still burns on, red-hot embers breaking off into the midnight sky. Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon plays from a speaker nearby, and beer bottles litter the ground as you approach. The fire’s warmth wraps around you, a handle of Tito’s—only half full—entering your field of vision as you find JJ reclined back on the ground, an arm thrown over his eyes while his other hand taps along to the song. You crouch down next to him and hear him hum in tune.

John B stands behind you, feeling a little helpless. “He’s been talking about you nonstop since he got, like, three shots deep.”

“And as much as we love you guys together,” Sarah adds, leaning into the boy’s side, “He doesn’t listen very well once he gets started.”

You shoot them a smile over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I get it. You guys can head in if you want, this might take a while.” The two lovebirds wave you goodnight as they walk back inside with Kie and Pope, and you turn your attention back to your exceptionally troublesome boy. “JJ? Time to go to bed.”

He grumbles without moving an inch. “I told you to fuck off, Sarah, I just wanna see my girl.”

Your heart flutters at the name—his girl. You’ve never heard him call you that. Does he seriously think you’re Sarah? “Your girl?”

“Yeah, you know the gorgeous one?”

“Might ring a bell.”

“Yeah, well, she’s the most…the most beautiful person in the history of…of forever, and she’s mine, so get outta here n’…go flirt with John B or somethin’.” He lazily waves you off, mumbling something you don’t quite hear.

A smile fights its way to the surface, and you gently place your hand on the smooth plane of his shoulder. “Oh, but I wanted to flirt with you instead. How’s that sound, hm?”

He quickly pushes your touch away. “It sounds like my girl’s gonna kill you any second now, so watch it, Blondie.” He slurs his words as he speaks, pulling giggles from your lips. You gently take his wrist in your hand to remove his arm from his eyes and press a kiss where your fingertips touch him. His eyes stay closed, and he juts his chin in the opposite direction in protest.

“Jay, baby, I’m not killing anyone anytime soon,” you coo, leaning over his chest and face while running a hand through his hair. 

He opens one eye, suspicious of your claims, but quickly realizes it’s you, and turns to look at you like he’ll never get the chance to do it again, his expression swallowed by a smile. “When did you get here, baby?”

“Oh, just now,” you answer, laughter lacing your words, “Kie called me over.” You press a kiss to his forehead before sitting back up, your hand quickly taken by his.

“You should’ve come sooner.” His other hand makes its way to your thigh, smoothing over your skin. “I was waiting for you, all by myself, and—” he abruptly sits up— “there’s something I have to tell you,” he whispers. He casts a glance to the Chateau. “It’s top secret.”

With him this close, you can smell the vodka on his breath. “Yeah? What is it?” You loop your arms around his neck and scratch at the nape of his neck, to which he instinctively responds by wrapping his arms around your waist and rubbing the palms of his hands along your back.

“This is top secret, classified information, princess, you can’t just get it for free. Everything comes with a price.” A sly little grin comes over him, tugging you a little closer.

Knowing JJ, you already know where this is headed. You decide to play along anyway: “Name it, then. I’m sure we can strike a deal somehow.”

He mulls over his words before saying, “Hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“You—” he points at your chest— “give me three—no, five kisses for the info up front.” When you raise your eyebrows in suspicion, he continues, “And every follow up question is worth another kiss.”

“This must be very important information.”

“Very.” His hands, still soaking in the feeling of you beneath them, start to play with the hem of your tank top, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric to feel skin. “Better pay up soon.”

You feign a look of shock and place a hand on his chest. “I didn’t even agree yet, don’t get too excited.” 

He pouts with furrowed brows, convinced his offer would be impossible to resist. “Why? Baby, come on,” he urges, holding you tighter, “This is the part where you kiss me.” His eyelids droop with drunkenness and fatigue as he presses his lips to your neck, but you quickly take his jaw in your hand and pull him away. 

“Ah ah ah,” you tease. “You come to bed first, then I’ll give you kisses for your secrets.”

“But I don’t wanna go to bed.” His hands work their way from your waist down to your hips again, soon grazing your thighs the way he knows erupts butterflies in your stomach. “I wanna stay here with you…have you boss me around. You’re very sexy when you do it.” He smirks while looking up at you, and you know for a fact he’s just trying to push your buttons.

You roll your eyes and push his face away as you start to stand up. “You’re a pain in the ass, I hope you know that.” As bitter as you try to sound, you’ll always have a soft spot for him the way he does for you, especially when your bitterness is met with that beautiful smile of his. You hold out both hands, towering over him and urging him to stand. “C’mon, Jay.”

He leans his weight onto his hands, stubborn as always. “Will you stay the night?”

“Not if you keep this up, I won’t.” You lend him a condescending smile. 

“But Baby,” he groans, finally complying now that the stakes have been raised. “I haven’t seen you all day, and I miss you.” He starts to shuffle where he sits, taking hold of your hands as you pull him up, dizziness causing him to stumble into your arms. “Can’t a boy just get some love from his girl?” 

There he goes again—his girl. 

You loop his arm over your shoulder and wrap yours around his waist as you lead him into the Chateau, surrounded by his warmth and the smell that’s so distinctly him: a bit of beachiness, mandarin and musky from his body wash, a hint of marijuana.

“You’re very kind,” he rambles on, “for coming here so late. I missed you.”

“I know, baby. You told me.”

He makes his way up the steps with you, following as you open the door. “Well, I’m making sure you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, love.” You smile to yourself, a little caught off guard with how open he’s become.

“I still have to tell you that top secret information,” he whispers, leaning down to your ear-level. His body wraps around you as you stand in front of him to open the door to his bedroom, his arms start to wrap around your waist again. “And you still owe me kisses for it.”

You usher him into his room, shutting the door behind you. “C’mon, let’s get into bed. That was the rule.”

He does as you wish without complaint for once, though when he does sit at the edge of his bed, he also pulls you to stand in between his legs. “I’m in bed now.”

“I can see that,” you giggle, hands massaging his neck and shoulders.

“Does this mean you’ll give me a kiss now?”

“Not yet.” You tug at the fabric of his shirt. “Take this off, please?” You don’t think much when you say it, but once the words slip out and you see JJ’s brows raise as a cocky smirk crosses his face, you realize you need to cover your tracks.

He bites his tongue to oblige, nabbing the back of his tee before pulling it over his head. Revealed to you are his broad shoulders, his chest, those toned arms that are, admittedly, to die for, though you’d never tell him that directly. 

“You’re trying to undress me, baby?” he asks, too quick for you to correct yourself. His hands take purchase of your hips before taking up your thighs, his hands molding to your curves and getting treacherously close to your inner thighs.

Your face goes hot—why is he so good at this?—but you keep a straight face and grab his face, one hand cupping his jaw while the other supports the back of his head. “Do you want your kiss or not?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he responds, almost immediately. His eyes glaze over, entranced by everything you are. A drunk smile is sent your way, and he can’t really tell whether the tingling all over his body is just from the vodka, or if it’s your hands on his body, your snippy tone that he knows is full of love. He’s sure that no matter how flustered he can make you, it’ll never compare to how you make him feel with even the slightest of touches.

Your grip goes soft, and you rake your hand through his hair, his eyes falling shut and his head gone slack into your hands. “You’re beyond wasted, aren't you?”

He laughs heartily now, eyes still shut as he nods his head. “I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, princess.” Giggles line his words and his face scrunches in a smile, dimple on display.

“How much did you drink?”

“A few beers.”

“And?” You tug lightly on his hair.

“Mm, some vodka, maybe. A few shots.” His hands drag from the backs of your thighs, to your hips, to your waist.

“JJ.” You stare down at his clearly vodka-dazed face. “How many is a few?”

He hums to himself, as deep in thought one can be when wasted. “Maybe seven…or nine…don’t remember,” he mumbles.

You sigh to yourself, not surprised by his recklessness but still not all too happy with it. 

But before you can formulate a single thought, a single articulated response, he starts to pout—eyes still closed of course, because your boy is nothing if not a truth-teller. “You sound mad.” Even when wasted he knows you so well.

“I’m not,” you fib a little, for his own sake. You kiss his forehead, then his cheek before letting go of him entirely to pull back the covers for him. “Come on, time to sleep, yeah?” You give a soft tug on his hand as his body goes pliant.

He slowly but surely crawls properly into bed, giving you a show of his back muscles flexing and relaxing before falling face-first into his pillow with a hmph. You lay down next to him as he lifts his arm with all his might, slowly turning onto his side to make space for you. Legs intertwine without words, the warmth of his body blankets your senses, his weight grounds you.

“You need to hurry, princess. I need to…need to give you the information.” The words are half-muffled by his pillow, and his eyes are still shut. 

“Oh. We’re still doing that?” You’re surprised he even remembers the information at this point—whatever it might be. 

He squeezes you tighter into his body, pulling a smile from you as he groans. “Yes, we’re still doing that…it’s important. You need three more…”

“Okay, okay,” you soothe, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. “Does that count?”

“Mhm, two more.” A stupid, drunk, terribly charming grin crosses his face, and it feels like you’re falling for him all over again, teetering at the edge of a cliff. His arm, still heavy on your waist, shifts a little, and his fingers dance along your back and light fires where they touch.

You curl your hand, gently, along the crook of his neck and kiss his jaw. “And that counts as well?”

With the way you’re whispering your words into his neck, JJ swears he could die happily. “Mm, sure does.”

For the fifth and final kiss, the corner of his mouth. It curls into your kiss like he knew it was coming, and you give him one more just for good measure—and, maybe, because seeing him smile is worth his weight in gold. You brush your hand through his hair before hugging him a little tighter towards your chest, all too aware now that you won’t be getting any information out of him the rest of the night. This minor inconvenience, however, doesn’t seem to compare to having him in your arms, his breath against your neck, his arm wrapped around you to tell you he’s there, and he’s there to stay, and he wants to be there more than anywhere else.

You think that you could play this game a million times over. The part where you kiss him—that is, when his lovely, sweet little smile peeks through that rough shell—will never get old enough to retire.

(But for tonight, you can live without more of his drunken teasing. Just for tonight.)

[jadedwolf18-blog]

Mini Phantom Invasion.

Hi, I plan for this to be a series of inter connected one shots based on some of my favorite prompts. I’m a huge Tim Drake/Red Robin x Danny phantom shipper, so for now most of my fics will feature them. Once I’ve end this series, I’ll try branching out to other relationships Danny could have with the bats.

I can’t remember where I got all of them but I’ll try to tag as I find them. If anyone notices a prompt or plot they’ve seen please let me know or tag the person it came from. I’m knew to posting on Tumblr so I’m still getting used to how to tag and insert links. Thank you.

🤍🖤💚💙💚🖤🤍

Chapter 1

Danny was not having a good day. He’d had a fight with his parents about ghost hunting, stating clearly that he had no interest in their bias views on an entire species based on one encounter when they were young. It had escalated to the point where they blamed his lack of interest on the fact that he was spending to much time with his sister and his female friends. 

He’d had enough! He left mid argument and was contemplating just packing up and moving into the Ghost Zone permanently. As he’d slammed the door he could hear his parents shouts for him to come back and once again blaming his behaviour on a ghost.

What did his sexuality have to do with ghost hunting? And what was wrong with wanting to be more feminine sometimes? He honestly didn’t understand why they found it so weird or wrong for him to swap between genders and pronouns? Jazz, Sam and Tucker accepted him as he was, they didn’t but an eye when he would randomly say ‘she’, ‘they’ or ‘him’, they just continued the conversation with the new pronoun and that was that. They understood and accepted that sometime he felt male or female or neither. He was lucky to have them. 

The day just seemed to continue down hill from there. It was summer vacation so Sam was forced to spend time with her parents at some rich holiday resort, Tucker had won a spot in some sort of tech camp and Jazz was still at College working on a finals thesis and was unable to come back for the summer. He was essentially alone for the summer. He could hang out with Val but she was working a lot and he didn’t want to bother her. He still felt guilty about her dad losing his job, even if it wasn’t entirely his fault.

*****

After leaving the house he’d found a place to transform and let the cool rings of light soothe him and took off into the sky. After finding out they could survive in space it became their favourite way to relax, they’d spend ours exploring space, even hang out on the moon. Thank you high speed and portal powers. Their Phantom form had changed in the last two years. People could no longer tell if they were male or female and he looked less human now. Thankfully, they looked nothing like their alternate future self. When their legs melded together their ghostly tail looked more eel like and their ears were longer and thiner, resembling delicate fins. Jazz and their friends had joked about how the acted like cat ears. Lastly their face was now a pale mint color, almost white and translucent, his eyes were still the same luminous ecto-green with deep blue pupils. The only similarity to Dan, that they could see, were the fangs and longer hair both of which were also present in their human form.

*****

They had been flying around Amity, a somewhat lazy patrol of his claimed haunt, it was a calm night. Ever since they had defeated Pariah Dark the other ghost had calmed down and came to Amity less frequently. A few still came to bug them, namely Skulker, Ember, Johny and Kitty. Young Blood and Boxy more frequently than the others and of course Cujo came by often. Their visits were more to do with fulfilling their obsessions than anything else. Danny’s obsession was Space but so was Protection. They needed to fulfil both to some extent or suffer from a form of ghost hunger. It was a win win situation even if they did go back… home? Was it really still a home? 

Before they could go down that dark spiral again their instincts took over and they narrowly dodged a bright green shot that had been aimed at their head. Whirling around and flying higher out of range they looked at their attacker and just stared.

“of course it’s them.” They muttered. Before repeating it with more venom than they thought they were capable of. Which was shocking because not even Vlad had receive as much hatred in the entirety of the time they’ve known him than in that split second they felt it towards their own parents. “Of fucking course it’s them!”

They blink away the shock of such an intense emotion and huffed. Not even bothering to acknowledge them they turned around to leave. That had been a mistake. They’d barely made it a few paces before pain bloomed across their back as an Eco-blast shredded the fins on their lower back and bit deep into their flesh. They bit back a cry of shock as they felt themselves plummet from the sky. It took a moment but they gathered enough concentration to open a portal. He didn’t care where they ended up as their only thought was ‘Somewhere safe.’

They fell through and just before they lost consciousness, they heard their parents yell after him.

“Get back here you ghost scum, so we can rip you apart molecule by molecule!”

“We won’t forgive you for corrupting our Danny!”

‘Of course… It’s always Phantoms fault…’ Danny’s world turned black as he continued to fall. Maybe when they opened their eyes again all of it would have been a dream.

*****

Somewhere in the infinite green a Grandfather clock chimed. A screen flickered. Time flowed on.

“All is as it should be.”

Chapter 2

(I'm Not A Cynic Song by Alec Benjamin)

Danny pulled their little floating ducks out of their personal pocket dimension and set them to gently drift in the hot spring. They had found it while wandering the forest. Their lower back still ached and they were a little worried about how it hadn’t healed completely yet.

*****

They didn’t know where they were or how long they had been in this dimension but they were safe and alone for the time being. When they’d woken up, the first thing they did was try to figure out where they were. thankfully no-one had discovered them, tucked away in the underbrush of the forest they had landed in. They’d let invisibility wash over them and flew high enough to get a view of the land. They recognised asian architecture and flew in the direction they had spotted a small farming village. With a closer look they determined they had landed in some version of Japan. Instinctually they knew they were not in their home dimension. Everything, even the air and feel of the atmosphere felt slightly shifted to the left. It was like that feeling of entering a hotel room, they were all essentially the same but there were the little details that told you it was a different hotel. 

*****

Brushing the thought, and everything associated with the reason they were injured and alone in a foreign dimension, aside. They coiled their tail in the centre of the spring and sank down until their lower back was submerged in the healing warmth of the spring. Closing their eyes in content they began to hum. Their eyes shot open when they felt a gentle nudge against his arm but smiled gently at the little wisp as it bobbed and drifted in the breeze. They continued to hum and watched in amusement as more joined the first. The little orbs of light ranged in color from soft pale blues to vibrant greens and warm reds, oranges and yellows.

They lost themselves in their song as they twirled in and played with the water, creating little floating ice crystals that caused mist to form around them as hot and cold air danced around each other. Humming soon gave way to words as they swayed to the rhythm only they could hear. 

“I'm just bein' realistic, bein' honest with myself

I've tried bein' optimistic but it doesn't seem to help

So I'll just have to admit this is the hand that I've been dealt

I'm not bein' pessimistic, just bein' honest with myself”

They were thankful to Pandora, who had taught them to sing in an effort to train his ghostly wail, for realising he was taking on the form and habits of a triton. 

“I'm not a cynic, oh, today's just not my day

I've tried to spin it 'bout a thousand different ways

But from every angle, oh, the outlook is the same

I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

They poured all the hurt, betrayal, anger and loneliness into their voice, allowing them to release it all in a more melodic call than his previous wail. That, as pandora explained, had been an unhealthy burst of emotion and they were lucky they hadn’t blown out their vocal cords the last few times they used it. 

“I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it”

Through their practice they found they could influence emotions but not out right control them. They were glad, influencing them was bad enough, he didn’t want to manipulate anyone. They didn’t want to spend their life wondering if the people around them truly cared or if they had somehow manipulated them into caring. They may me a budding empath but they still struggled to tell the difference between a sincere emotion and a projected emotion.

“You only get that which you're given, it's not always up to you

Not every Sunday is a picnic 'cause the sky ain't always blue

You can't just change the weather by changing your point of view

Some days you have to wait until the storm just passes through”

Danny’s voice grew louder as their emotions poured out into the lyrics. They knew they still had their friend, their sister, Elle and everyone in the Infinite Realm. They were also the Half Ghost son of ghost hunters and scientist with a heavy bias against Ecto-entities. They will be the rulers of an entire realm in only a few short years.

“I'm not a cynic, oh, today's just not my day

I've tried to spin it 'bout a thousand different ways

But from every angle, oh, the outlook is the same

I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

They gave a bitter sweet smile as they watched the wisps duck and weave between the ice crystals. They looked around for their ducks and their smile turned a little more sad as they waved their hand and the little ducks joined the dancing lights and crystals. Each one was modelled after his favourite comic book vigilante. They’d had to save them from the dump truck once, they’d been looking for them when he’d asked his parents, their father had made an off hand comment about how he should throw out old toys and they’d panicked. They’d manage to find and save them all just before the truck arrived.

“So like a boat on the ocean, I'll rock with the waves

God, I'm so sick of this notion that I have to fake

Fake my emotions and pretend I'm okay

So like a boat on the ocean, I'll just rock with the waves”

Jazz had bought them for them, after they had told her about being gender fluid and pan, they were probably one of their most treasured possessions. Jazz had gone on a whole spiel about how it’s important that she show support and provide a safe and understanding environment. They hadn’t been listening, they’d been crying. To caught up in their overflowing emotions and happiness. It lasted a day, their parents had been less than understanding, with their passive-aggressive comments and actions. 

“I'm not a cynic, oh, today's just not my day

I've tried to spin it 'bout a thousand different ways

But from every angle, oh, the outlook is the same

I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

Their frown returned. They had shot them, that in itself wasn’t unusual, as Phantom. Isn’t that a sad thought. What was was that there had been no prior warning. It was a sniper shot, from their mother. Only their heightened hearing and instinct had saved them from ending up dead dead instead of a Halfa. That bothered him

“I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

They returned to humming the last notes of their song as the dunked under the water to rinse off. They popped back up and gathered their ducks, floated up out of the spring and laughed as the wisps twirled around him. They landed on the ground, allowing their legs to form and walked off into the forest, dancing lights trailing after them. Completely unaware of their watchers.

*****

The shadows slunk away to report their findings. While two birds hesitantly returned to their temporary nest, One worried and wanting to help the being that reminded him so much of his younger siblings. The other having felt a connection to a being that had shared similar experiences, someone they wanted to help and if they wanted to end the beings loneliness… that was no one’s business but their own. Both slept little that night, both determined to find the being again and offer what they could to help.

*****

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2

@alinmenttreasure

@blackroserelina

@blacksea21090

@seraphinedemort

[cambion-companion]

Hair

Part 2 of the anthology series

Linked in my Masterlist #2

Lyrics to "My Love Will Never Die" by Claire Wyndham

Aemond x fem!reader |Aemond sleeping in reader's lap as she brushes his hair and sings| domestic bliss

His long hair pooled in your lap, fanning out across your dress.

Silver moonlight illuminated half of Aemond's peaceful face, pillowed by your thighs, his lilac eye closed in slumber.

You continued carding your fingers through his loose tresses, combing up a handful before letting it tumble slowly out of your grasp.

The fire was mere embers, casting the dimmest of orange glow about the room. You picked up the brush once more and ran it through Aemond's already pristine hair.

He made a soft pleased sound at your administrations, shifting every so slightly in your lap. His curved lips you loved to caress tilted in a contented smile.

You continued brushing, languid and slow, enjoying the silken feeling of his hair slipping through your fingers. Almost subconsciously you began to hum, a low lullaby your mother had lulled you to sleep with. You hoped to one day do the same with your own children, fathered by the man whose argent hair you carefully stroked.

If dragons were claimed by the Targaryens what then of those who, in turn, claimed their riders?

You mused, continuing your lilting lullaby, feeling Aemond's breathing deepen even more.

He trusted you.

This cunning prince. Who, at all times, kept his cards so close to his chest. He had let you in, had fallen in love with you.

Your silver moon. Your sapphire dragon.

You smiled to yourself, twisting a lock of his lustrous hair around the finger that bore your wedding band. It shone almost as bright as the metal adorning your finger, reflecting the lovely night sky.

The lullaby ended, silence fell, broken only by the soft snoring occasionally falling from Aemond's parted lips.

Your eyes found the glowing embers of the fire, fondly remembering Aemond's favorite pet name for you. His ember.

Your fingers still working through his smooth hair, words from a song sprung into your mind. You whispered them softly, reverently, as you caressed Aemond's scalp.

My love, my love, my fearless love. I will not say goodbye. Seas may rise, sky may fall. My love will never die.

[ameliathornromance]

The Manor House: A Vampire x Reader: Prologue

Another nick at the steed's ribs made it gallop faster into the blackness.

Dark, looming trees soared past you.

You leaned over, pressing your head into the horse's loose mane, ducking the never-ending onslaught of branches that reached out to you, trying to pull you into their long spindly grasp and hold you tight.

When the villagers find you, the tree would gladly hand you over to them, where you would then be hung - the tree honoured as ‘the witch catching tree.’

They wouldn’t even use the dunking stool on you. That’s used to prove innocence… But only the guilty run.

Of course, you weren’t a witch. But that hardly mattered now.

The shouting of the villagers grew further and further away, their flaming torches and pitchforks glinting in the night, dim and only emitting embers of their location.

Raising your head, you dared to hope that this was the escape from the nightmare. Away from death, illness. The baseless accusations.

“Over there!”

Your stomach dropped. How did they find you? You had no torch, nothing-

No, don’t focus on that, just get to the bridge. They won’t dare go beyond that point. All sorts of monsters lurk beyond that point.

It was dangerous, yes, but what other choice did you have? At least you would live longer beyond the bridge than in the village.

You dug your knees into the horse's ribs again. “Go! Faster!” But the steed stammered, sputtered.

It shrieked as it backed on its hind legs, its hooves tossing dirt up high into the air. You gripped even tighter onto the reins, the hastily packed bags and satchels sinking toward the back end of the animal.

The horse landed on all fours, steadied, exhaled sharply and trotted on its hooves, shaking its mane as if to cast off anxiety.

Squinting through the darkness, the moon light caught the rushing rapids. Where the bridge should have been.

“No…” You whimpered. “No, no, no!”

Your only escape route, gone.

“There you are!”

The glowing embers of torch light drew closer and closer, the angry and contorted faces of the villagers loomed from the darkness, disembodied.

There was no other option. What were you supposed to do? Let them strap you into that wretched chair?

Leaping off the horse, you smacked its rear end.

The sharp slap of skin earned another shriek from the animal, backing onto its hinds once again, taking off into the darkness, your satchels and other items with it.

You narrowed your eyes at the villagers as they closed in. Every other exit, blocked off by spitting red faces and scorching torch light.

Even though you’re surrounded by flames and heated anger, the air is chilled. Icy.

You thought you knew these people.

Backing to the edge of the bridge, your heels hung just over the edge.

The waters below spat at the hem of your dress, eager to claim a life to its never ending churning.

Your actions caused the villagers to spur onward, what choice did you have, other than to go further?

“Don’t let her-“

But it was too late.

Turning your back on them, you leapt into the waters.

The water splashed as you hit it, consuming you in a curtain of freezing foam bubbles.

Water soaked through your clothes, like it broke through your skin and pierced through the heart with a steel dagger. Your arms flailed, desperate to try and gain some kind of control from the rapids.

Skirts weighed heavily around your lower end, dragging you down under the surface.

You gasped, thrashing even harder. You inhaled earthly water, causing you to splutter and cough.

The water tossed you to each side of the banks, taking you further and further away from the villagers like they were playing a game of catch.

The rapids laughed at your attempt to save your life, enjoying their sick little game.

Realising that their ball was sinking, they tossed you one final time to the right side of the bank.

Your head whipped and slammed into the rocky embankment.

With blood trickling down your nose, past your lips, seeping through your teeth, the water retook you and all was black.

*

A dull throbbing pain awoke you, splitting down your head right down the middle, worse on the left side. 

You scrunched your face, squinting your eyes open ever so slightly. A dull, flickering light seeped through your eyelashes. You had no idea that faint candle light could sting so badly. You shut your eyes again.

Where were you just now? 

The familiar, plush softness beneath you gave you all the information you needed to know. 

Dreams sure are strange, they really can take you anywhere. Nightmares too. 

The body needs sleep because it uses that time you’re resting to heal, the travelling physician had told you. He came first, the one who diagnosed the first few people with the plague. 

But… if sleeping was really supposed to heal you, then why did it make you dream of such horrible things? Like drowning?

You tried not to think about water unless it was to drink. The other times water was brought up, was when that wretched, horrible chair was brought out and installed by that man. It sent chills down your spine just to think about it. 

Surely there must be a more humane way to cleanse the world of Witches. Even if they weren’t innocent, being strapped to a chair and forced to sit underwater is a fate you wouldn’t wish on anyone… not even the one who installed it.

But the icy water and churning rapids were just a nightmare. Some nonsense made up by your brain. The villagers chasing you must have been part of the nightmare too. 

It had been a fear of yours for a while now. Thanks to the Witch Hunter, you’d seen one too many accused women die horrid deaths… even if there was no evidence of their ‘wickedness’ as the Witch Hunter called it.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” 

The voice was not one you recognised, but then again, plenty of new people were coming to the village now - Doctors from all over wanted to come to ground zero of the outbreak, witness the illness first hand and study it while it’s in its early development stages. 

It didn’t surprise you that the plague had finally caught up to you. You tended to enough sick people for long enough and knew you, too, would become sick soon enough.

You were only responsible for feeding plague victims, cleaning their bedpans and other bodily fluids, rather than administering any kind of first aid. Ironic, that in trying to take care of them, you were exposed to the most amount of danger.

Nightmares were a symptom of the plague. It wasn’t uncommon for patients to have moments of delirium. A high fever would do that to you. 

This new voice had to be a Doctor taking care of you. 

Not wanting to be rude any longer, you slowly squinted your eyes open even further. 

The first thing you noticed were the thick, heavy maroon drapes that hung from the ceiling. Upon your vision clearing, you realised that they came down from the dark four poster bed that you laid in. Its varnished wood gleamed in the flickering candle light.

At the foot of the bed, sat a dressing table hosting a mirror, reflecting back your dishevelled appearance. A thick white bandage had been wrapped around your skull, blood blooming like a poppy on the left side of your head. 

Your bedsheets matched the velvet drapes, pressing down on your aching muscles.

The majority of the candle light guided you to the left side of the room, where you finally laid eyes on the owner of the voice.

The figure sat up straight, his shoulders slanted downward. Hair tumbled down to his shoulders, dark, so long it blended into his black blazer. The only indication that his hair had an end, were the two strands that framed his face and curled just below his chin.

Compared to the rest of his figure, his face stuck out like the moon against a black night sky, pasty and pale. His eyes stared, unblinking and glazed with dusky spheres for iris’. Thin lipped, the man spoke again, “how do you feel?” 

You furrowed your brows, “where… Am I?”

“My manor.” The man said, simply. “It’s a good thing you’re talking. It means there’s no serious damage. That works out well for me.” 

“Works out well?” You asked, stupidly. 

Blinking a few more times, your mind cleared further. The memories rush back to you as if the rapids were sweeping you away once again. 

You sat up, stomach tensing. Trying to remain strong, you force the words out of you. “Who are you?” 

It comes out shaky, weak. 

If the man noticed, he didn’t give any indication of it. Instead, he answered, his tone strong and unwavering. “My name is Lord Baal. I am the owner of this Manor and your saviour.” 

You snorted, “‘saviour’?” The superiority of his ending statement was so high and mighty. Like that made him some kind of omnipotent being.

“I found you at the river embankment at the back of my garden.” He continued, eyebrows knitting together. “And so I rescued you. How did you even end up there, anyway?”

So, that wasn’t a dream. The others really did chase you out of your home… How did they even know that you were going to try and leave? Ever since… him you’d been packing to leave as soon as possible. You had told no one - not that anyone would have listened anyway - of your plans and left at night. 

“Well?” 

“I fell off my horse and into the river.” Sure, it was bending the truth. But you wouldn’t give him any ammunition to manipulate you. Lords don’t just take in commoner women. Especially random ones they find washed up on river banks.

“Why did you save me?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you not want to be saved?” The Lord raised an eyebrow at your ludicrous question.

“I never said that,” you defended quickly. “There’s a plague going around. It doesn’t make any sense for you to bring me here.” 

At that, the Lord let out an airy laugh. He raised his hand, spidery and pasty pale to cover his thin mouth, like there was a joke you weren’t in on. “Any illness was probably washed away by the river. On top of that, I used medicine to ease the pain and kill off anything else unsavoury. If there were any obvious signs of plague, I wouldn’t have hesitated to have left you to die on the bank of the river.” 

“You don’t know me.” You countered. “I could be anyone.”

“Are you anyone?” The Lord’s snickering continued as if you were some kind of circus amusement, a monkey crashing symbols in an attempt to make pleasant music. 

Heat pooled just below your eyes. “W-Well, no,” you faltered. “But still-”

“I ask you again then,” the Lord lowered his hand slightly, exposing a grimace, lips stretched across his teeth. “Did you not want to be saved? What’s that expression… ‘don’t question a good thing?’” He asked, to no one in particular. 

You glared at him in defiance. What more could you say?

Once his mocking laughter died out, he leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair. “Now that we have that out of the way,” he wiped a tear from his lower lashes. “Let’s get down to business: You washed up on my river bank.” 

“Your river bank?” You scowled. His airy smugness itched at you like a mosquito bite. “I didn’t know someone could own a river bank.” 

“It’s part of my garden, thus my river bank.” He replied, looking down his straight pasty nose at you. “You also used up my medical supplies and have slept in my bed.” 

“So?” You asked, shortly.

“My hospitality, does not come for free.” The Lord gestured to you. 

“Say what you mean.” Enough of this toying, out with it. 

“At the risk of my own person, for bringing you in, letting you sleep in my home, using my own medicine on you to treat your wounds and warm you, you are now obligated to pay me back.”

You stared at him. “Sorry?” You deadpanned. “I didn’t ask you to help me!”

Lord Baal’s face fell, and returned your narrowed glare from earlier. “Oh, so you would have rather died on the bank then?” 

“No but-”

“So then, it shouldn’t be too much to ask for something in return, should it?”

One moment, he was stood by the chair and with a blink of an eye, he was inches away from your face. 

How did he get there so fast?

Your heart leapt into your throat as the Lord hissed at you.“Remember, there is a plague out there. There’s nothing to stop me from just tossing you out of my front door.”

His breath reeked of familiar iron, it banged on your tender temples.

Your eyes locked with his. Staring each other down, like it was some kind of childish staring contest. 

He’s right, there is a plague out there… and you’re already injured. Your susceptibility increases drastically because of that… And he’s still out there.

Sucking in a deep breath, you looked away, conceding. “Fine.” Crossing your arms, you fell back onto the plush pillows behind you. “What do you want in return?”

There wasn’t much you could offer. Before the plague hit, you’d been at home with your parents, helping them around the house. Even before the plague hit, they were fragile people. 

Lord Baal returned to his full height. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he looked you up and down, as if he was sizing you up. “I will decide that, when you are well. As of now, you’re no use to me.”

You could have screamed with frustration - he demands that you work in return for his ‘hospitality’ and he doesn’t even have an idea of what you might do?

Hair flying behind him, he turned his back on you. Stalking to the door of the room - dark and varnished, to match the bed frame - the Lord opened the door and looked over his shoulder at you. He stared for a moment. Then, “To start, a name would be helpful. I must know what I should call you when you start to return the favour.” 

“I’m (Y/n).” 

“(Y/n).” The Lord repeated. He stood for a moment, looking at you. 

“I will come by tomorrow to make sure that your injury is healing smoothly.”

Read 4 Chapters ahead on my Patreon!

Masterlist

[morihaus]

Hungry

The night is dark, as all nights have been for some time now. Distant constellations in the heaven and braziers burning along the walls of the city are the only spots of light now that the sun has departed from the lands called Akavir. Darkness laps hungrily at the periphery, claws scraping against the borders as the flames flicker and dance up above.

A cub named Oanir kneels in his mother's tent, poking his head out to look up in wonder at the void of the night sky. Little embers pass far over his head as the winds whip at the braziers, and while beautiful, they do little to answer his questions. "Mama?" Oanir pokes his head back inside to turn and look at her, his mentor in all matters of the world and living in it. "Where did the moons go?"

His mother is large and powerful, larger than most of the other women he's seen in the towns they stop at. Her face of orange and black fur is crossed by a patch of scar tissue that travels across her snout and eyebrow, a keepsake from an old hunt. She turns her amber eyes, bright even in the night, towards her student. "Who taught you about the moons?" The low growl of her voice is purely curious in tone, for there has been little need to teach him. "Folk in town." He answers simply, walking over to lay beside his mother as they talk. "They talked about the moonless nights, then told me when I asked what a moon was." "And you took them for their word?" She asks. Oanir makes a little face, bunching up his snout and shaking his head. "No! To your teachings only." He recites, then drops all pretense of seriousness. "So what were they? Where'd they go? Did they get knocked out of the sky?"

She closes her eyes and a laugh rumbles against her throat. "Precocious youth, pestering the Walled as you do. But if you want to hear the true story, then I shall tell you, but only once. Commit the lesson to your memory."

Once certain Oanir is focused, his mother begins the story of the moons and the tiger goddess.

"I have already taught you of Vetar. She is the mother of necessity whose first action created our world. She dwelt in the dark void behind the stars, in the shadows of heaven, and she stalked and killed her prey like us, but no other god understood her way, they drifted through endless lives of comfort, ignorant to challenge and victory. From the very beginning, they ostracized her, and her greatest enemy was Unul, who abhorred all change."

Well-preserved memories flash through the young cub's mind. He remembers his mother's lessons well, especially her tales of Vetar and her children; Sakoar, Krakar, Prunar, and of course triumphant Sotar, who first proved that tiger could prevail against nature. Tales of the gods were his favorite, but he has not yet heard the name Unul. His mother has decided it is time he know the face of their enemy.

"Unul claimed all lights and all touched by light for his Tun, his domain where his rule was law. He and his slaves brought light everywhere, so that no one could escape him. Only the void was free, yet at the same time, it was barely anything at all. So Vetar and Rakhan devised a Tun of their own… this story, I have told you before." He knows she will not repeat herself, for their time together as mother and child is to be short. No second can be wasted on repeated lectures. "At first, Unul ignored the two. It was a slow process of hunting, killing, and molding corpses into the earth, the sea, the plants, and the animals. But it could no longer escape his sight once Sotar achieved the mastery, and soon, many from Unul's Tun traveled to Vetar's, eager to take part in this glorious game and claim the rewards for themselves. So Unul did what he always did… he sent his armies of lights to steal this place for himself."

Oanir's mother stares straight ahead as she speaks, resting a massive paw on his head as if to physically hold his attention. He can almost see her laying with her own mother in a time long since past, listening as she explained the same story with the same posture, the same practiced tone, so that she could survive to carry it to him. "The lights he sent were his strongest, for only they could pass the field of darkness Vetar and Rakhan had planted around their world. The first was Surah the Great, the largest and most powerful light in Unul's army. But he is as great as he is lazy, and he can only do half the job himself, bathing the world in the light called 'day' to make it harder to stalk and hide."

Oanir is amazed to only learn the true name of Surah now, having seen him nearly every day. He and his mother prefer to rise for the hunt as he sets and rest as he rises, though the young cub never thought this was owed to any sort of enmity. To think, all this time, he has known the face of one enemy.

But now, his mother moves on to explain those he has never seen: the moons.

"To battle for the last bastion of darkness called Night, Unul sent the twins Nakra and Rilak. While not powerful enough to win the Night, they were masters of illusion and madness. "Nakra was the Furious Belief. She tempted us with images of the unreal world of Unul, of abundance and lazy revelry, to lure us back to that accursed plane. She sent us into fits of lunacy, making us careless and weak. Her brother Rilak was the Scolding Essence. He weathered our resolve with false visions and dreams of our death, twisting our instincts into terror and fear. He preached that our world was meaningless suffering and tried to make us submit. "Both yearned for our failure. They tempted us and beguiled us so that we would not survive, and then, they would try and snatch our souls away to Unul's world. But we were protected; every night, Rakhan's ghost would lead a hunt through the void, backed by the Shadows of our kin who failed to survive, and chase Nakra and Rilak across the sky. They were bitten and eaten by the Shadows, who are always hungry, and so their ill light would wane until there was nothing left, keeping us safe and letting our dead remain part of this world. However, the twins would always return, and on the rare nights they shone their brightest, our ancestors would be at their most guarded, for they had to hide not just from prey or predator, but from the heavens above."

Then, she looks down to Oanir. She closes her eyes and straightens her ears up, a smile rises in her tone. "But this all changed very recently. Let me tell you a new story… about how our hunger swallowed the moons."

The cub's eyes are wide and insistent that she continue.

"Long have the Children of Vetar wished to undo her enemies. We have always called our foolish kin back to the jungles where the hunt began, even as they plug their ears with dragon's tongue. So many now walk the path of Unul and Bornaka, we must remind them of the true way of living and put an end to their madness. "Madness is the work of the twins. The twins impose their order of ethereal light onto our perfect world of shadows, they thieve our dead and mock their hunger by refusing to lessen, always returning, never extinguishing. It was decided that they would be our example. They would be our prey, and the whole world would remember the hunger that birthed creation. "We gathered in the clouded forest to the east, our actions shielded from the foul light of the moons. Our grand hunt began, not for sport, not even for survival-- we were not hungry for flesh, only for destruction, for revenge. Hundreds of us died, but in their failure, there was still a job to be done and glory to be gained: to join Rakhan's heavenly hunt and devour the prey once and for all."

His mother's voice is loud now, and in her eyes he sees the hunter's thrill. A faint red glow that pierces through the night, guiding teeth and claw to one's prey.

"And they did it. Of course, I do not have to tell you this. You, my fortunate son, have never been subject to the foul glow of the twins, not a night in your life. Nakra and Rilak are dead, and you, you are alive, here to inherit the darker world. For this reason, you are favored by Vetar." She leans her neck down to plant a small kiss upon Oanir's head, wetting his fur with her tongue. "The lesson of this story is thus: it is inevitable that we Children of Vetar reclaim what is hers from light and its lazy worshipers. The Walled can ignore this truth no longer, for now, even in their cities and empires, they finally remember the old fear: the fear of prey."

Then, his mother stands, her body seeming to shift and change in the darkness of their tent. She's larger, even more hulking and bestial than she was before. Her fur isn't just thicker, it's darker, more stripes than orange. Her limbs stretch and warp, like those of a long shadow. It's time to hunt.

Oanir's wide eyes remain upon her as she walks to the exit of their tent. He will always remember the delight on her face, the lilt of her voice, and the fire behind her words. He will remember the story of Vetar and her enemies, and of the time he was born in, when the void reclaimed the night.

But he still has one question left. As he stands up to follow his mother, he asks her. "Even the Tiger Dragon?"

She turns to look down at him, now with long, dagger-like teeth. She bares them not in anger, but in excitement. "Yes," she purrs. "Even him."

[springdandelixn]

Against the Tide  - Part I

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn as the leader of the biker gang that took over your town sets his eyes on you.

Warnings: unwanted touching, power imbalance, abusive undertones, more to be added as the series progresses.

Characters: Dark!Biker!James Conrad x F!Reader, Michael from Legion and Billy Lee from Bad Times at the El Royale (biker au)

A/N: I have taken a dive into newer territory and it’s such a thrilling experience. It’s a first I’m writing for James Conrad so please be gentle. I do dedicate this piece to one of my babies, @michelleleewise​ 💙 Belated Happy Birthday, dear. Also a belated happy birthday to @coldnique​!!

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! 💙

Against the Tide Masterlist

You turn your head to face the back of the bar when you hear the commotion coming from the kitchen, the din of Melody’s angry voice mixing in with the clack of the pool balls from the other side of the bar and the music playing from the speakers. Luis, the new hire, must have messed up another customer’s order, probably burning the burger patties like he did last night. 

You feel your phone buzz from your back pocket and pull off the simple black apron tied around your waist. Turning off your alarm, you peek from the kitchen window and tap your hand against the metal surface, a chuckle leaving your lips as you see Melody’s fuming face. 

“What?!” She snarls and you only roll your eyes playfully at her rage.

“I’m taking my break.” You tell her, holding out your hand after. “Cigs.” 

She pulls a pack from the back of her pocket and slaps it on your hand, giving her a playful wave with your fingers before looking at Luis and laughing at the way he frowns when Melody goes back to scolding him. 

The summer night breeze is a welcome sensation when you step out of the bar and walk over to the side of the building where the cars and motorcycles of the patrons are parked. Tapping the pack against your palm you take the nicotine stick that slides free and tuck it between your lips. 

Shaking the lighter, you flick your thumb against the small metal gear, watching the flame come to life and lighting the tip of the cigarette. You take a long drag, watching the embers eat at the roll of tobacco before huffing the smoke up into the air. A small sigh leaves your lips as you can’t help but contemplate what your life has become while watching the smoke form clouds around the full moon that shines in contrast to the dark sky. 

All your life you’ve only been in Westmoor, never once venturing away from the small town, even if it’s just to visit the next one over. You once had plans of leaving the place you call home when you were a teenager, to abandon the miserable and abusive life you’ve come to know since you were born—your alcoholic father seeing you as a burden and your mother too afraid to fight back once he cracks his hand against your cheek. 

You were free once your mother died from illness, running away from home and finding solace at Ol’ Sammy’s place. The old man treated you like you were his own, his wife, Eleanor, showering you with the love and affection you’ve never known. They’d even ward off your deadbeat father when he would storm up to their porch, demanding money you owed him for raising you. 

You felt like you had a family in their presence but even so, your desire to leave just drew stronger. For there was truly nothing but hardship in this town. Yet no matter how hard you tried, saving every penny you can from years of working at Nick’s, leaving just seemed impossible. 

Especially now with the gang of bikers that have seemingly taken over just about a year ago. Coming into town and claiming it as their own, with every resident scared for their lives as they shamelessly flaunt their power. They made it their job to make their presence known, terrorizing businesses and taking money for protection that isn’t needed. For no one comes to Westmoor to cause havoc, the only visitors being passersby and hunters during the fall. 

The roar of a motorcycle pulls you from your thoughts and you stand rigid against the wall when you see the gang parking their bikes in front of you. You feel a chill run up your spine at their sudden appearance. It’s Wednesday and you know they’re not supposed to be here, Nick telling everyone at the bar when they’re scheduled to collect.

“Hey there, sugar,” Billy calls as soon as their engines die, the burly man getting off his bike and casually striding over to where you stand. 

You do your best to keep your guard up, you know better than to face them alone. Rolling your eyes at Billy’s greeting, you drop your cigarette to the ground and stomp your foot on it to kill the embers before walking away. But a yelp of surprise leaves your lips when your pulled back, the air punching out of your lungs when your back hits the wall, eyes growing wide as Billy presses his hand against the concrete surface, trapping you. 

“Leaving so soon?” He teases, the hair sitting over his lip moving in waves as he juts out his lips. “We just got here.” 

“I’m done my break.” You say in annoyance, pressing your fists against his chest, trying to push him away. “Melody will be furious if I’m late.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you taking a couple more minutes if she knew you were with me.” His breath already reeks of alcohol, making your stomach turn as he leans closer to your face.

“That’s enough, Billy.” 

Your spine tingles in fear when you hear James’ voice, Billy giving you another smirk, turning your head away when his fingers rub against your cheek when he pulls away from the wall.

Out of all the bikers, James is the one people fear the most. His calm demeanor is nothing but a front to his hidden rage. You’ve witnessed first hand when Richard, one of the bar patrons, beat him in a game of pool, the man never coming back to Nick’s after he was bedridden for almost a month. 

He’s stopped drinking, his wife, Ingrid, said when you went over to their place to drop off a pie Eleanor made. But the brace around his neck and the bruises you saw decorating his face when Ingrid opened the door a little too wide said otherwise.

“You got a light?” James asks as he stands in front of you. You reach into your pocket and hold out the lighter, keeping your expression stoic when he cups your hand with both his, flicking the flame to life before lighting his nicotine stick. 

You pull your hand back when he finishes, tucking the lighter back in your pocket and standing still as he takes a drag and huffs out the smoke, his blue eyes never leaving you. 

“What are you doing out here all alone, dove?” He asks, his gaze lingering down your body before he meets your eyes again. 

“I was on break.” You respond in a monotone voice. “Was just about to head back.”

“Is Nick in?”

“He called out. Said his wife is sick.” 

“Is that so?” He chuckles, taking another puff of the cigarette, cringing when he blows the smoke at your chest. “I guess we came here for nothing, boys. Unless you can make it worth my while?” He asks and you quickly slip away when he leans in closer, your heart pounding hard against your chest when he grabs you all of a sudden. “And who gave you permission to leave?” You shiver at his tone, hushed yet menacing.

“I have to go back to work.” You reason, wincing as he tightens his hold on your wrist when you try to pull away. “You guys come in and have a drink, so your trip isn’t wasted.” You say in a rush, your voice shaking as you speak. “On the house, as much as you want. I’m sure Nick won’t mind.” 

“C’mon, boss.” Billy interjects, his voice sounding like an excited little kid about to get a ice cream from the shop. “I also want to challenge Mikey to a game of pool.” 

A grunt echoes at the side and you see James’ right hand man, Michael, standing and watching you impassively at the side. His tattoo-covered arms are crossed over his chest, his finger leisurely rubbing the base of the gun that hangs on his holster as if waiting for the opportunity to use it.

“Very well.” James groans and drops the half finished cigarette on the ground, releasing your hand all the same. “But you’ll be the one to serve us. No one else. Understood?” He demands. 

You nod and quickly scurry away from him, your annoyance instantly flaring when Billy slaps his hand against your ass when you pass him. 

The stuffy atmosphere is a welcome distraction as you walk back into the building. Melody stands behind the bar, the anger from earlier replaced with a smile. But as soon as she sees you, her lips slant and you know that she knows something isn’t right. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

“Conrad and his minions are here.” You quickly tell Melody as you make your way at the back of the bar, the smile on her face quickly fading at your announcement. 

“What are they doing here?” She whispers, turning her back when the boys enter the bar, helping you grab their drinks from the fridge. 

“They’re looking for Nick.”

“Did you tell them he isn’t here?” 

“I did but they won’t leave me alone.” You bite back, popping the caps of the bottles before setting them atop a round tray. “I told them they can have drinks, on the house.”

“What?! Are you stupid? Nick will be—”

“He’ll be happy that we kept them happy. You know how Conrad is.” You hiss, taking the tray. “And the last thing we need is for him to burn down the bar.”

“Fine.” She says in defeat. “I’ll try to call Nick, maybe he can make them go away.” 

You don’t say anything. You already know as well as she and the whole town of Westmoor that it’s impossible to get rid of James and his men. 

[silentmagi]

Rising Star

Happy New Years all, when we last left Star, she’d drifted off to sleep, and before there was a figure. Your votes determined who it was, so let’s find out who.

Before her, there was: 4 Luna in a lovely gown inviting her for a dance.

Strange perhaps wasn’t the right word for what was before her, for before her, in her resplendent glory was Luna in a gown that shimmered like starlight with delicate gold filigree around the cuffs and hem. Speaking of the hem, it was cut to give Luna plenty of room to move, showing off those curvy legs and the cleavage line that Star had caught herself ‘observing’ before.

Long, skillful fingers hovered just outside of her vision, waiting, inviting her.

Despite the knowledge that this was so far out of her league, she chose to believe this fantasy and take up the dance. The music was a familiar, distant tune that was enveloping her in a sense of comforting warmth. Instead of her normal awkward and stilted performance, she felt like she was floating, graceful, and the belle of a ball.

True the ball was just the two of them dancing in a sea of stars, but was there anything more she needed? This was a celebration, so she obviously had saved the day, restored magic, and the world was back to normal. She had been victorious and Luna was guiding her through the celebration, giving her the strength and confidence to face the public while they celebrate the return of magic.

In the distance, she could see the cute little cabin on the top of a hill, with a lightning rod several feet from each of the four corners of the property. The reward that she felt would be fitting to ask for, A well stocked library, privacy, and no lightning trying to bring the building down on her for building too high into the sky.

Yes, she could learn from other people’s mistakes. A cozy little research cabin, not a tower that she’d have to climb stairs to get anywhere. Nor some grand castle that she’d have to hire others to clean. No, a simple and cozy cottage where she could grow spell components, a stone bunker for experiments, and someplace she could keep clean with simple cantrips.

There was even the cozy hammock swing that she could sit in and read while Luna played her music in the gazebo between her adventures.

Wait… how was she over there and here, at the same ti- oh…

Snorting awake, Star blinked around the dim living room, a blanket covering her as she dozed in the chair with the embers of the fire keeping the room warm. Looking around, the place was cleaned up, and Luna had claimed the loveset next to her chair to sleep in, covered with another blanket. A faint echo of some beautiful woman wrapped in a dress that flowed into a sea of stars flashed through her mind, causing her to smile tiredly.

It was a nice dream, but she didn’t want to tell Luna about it, not yet. Some part of her told her it was just because she was scared of putting unrealistic thoughts out there, another part told her that she didn’t want to tie a wandering bard down like that. One final part snarled that she was a coward, hiding her feelings.

Glancing out the window, she found the moon hanging in the sky, with a field of stars beyond it. Silently, she sent up a short prayer for courage to finish the journey, and to know what she wanted in life. Because even in her silence, she couldn’t admit that she didn’t want things to go back to the way it was.

Turning back to the room, she nestled down into the chair and closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her again. She’d worry about that when she could spare the time. They had an early morning to catch the carts, so she’d sleep now.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

[xxwitchylanexx]

Seasmell Inn Cloud x Reader

Chapter 8

Aftermath of a wild day, and early morning conversations

No Plot Spoilers for Rebirth

Masterlist

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Hey.” You murmured as you shifted awkwardly from foot to foot in front of your friend and newly recognized crush Cloud.

After parting ways with Aerith on the beach you decided an evening swim was what you needed to cool the burning in your soul. You wanted to return to the inn free of the boiling hatred for Hojo and the welling panic associated with Madam M, and most importantly the persistent itch under your skin demanding for the touch of your spiky head friend before you were sentenced to sleep in a room right next to his. Thankfully the prolonged exposure to the Meridian’s icy waves smothered the intense fire leaving flickering embers in its wake. By the time you made it back the moon was high in the sky and everyone had already claimed rooms and fallen asleep.

Which brought you to this new dilemma. You had a feeling that Aerith had planned this honestly, and potentially with Tifa’s help. You had hoped to share a bed with one of the girls knowing there were only two beds in that room or at the very least bunk with Red. However the room to the girls room was locked and you could hear the soft mumbles of Aerith’s sleep talking through the thin walls, and Red bunked with Barret who’s snores were loud enough to make the walls vibrate. Leaving only one other room: Cloud Strife’s. Serves you right for not making proper arrangements ahead of time, and thank the stars he was still awake.

You didn't want to bother him, honestly. He had looked pretty mad earlier when he stormed off, and judging from the subtle scrunch between his mouth, and the corner of his mouth pulled downwards, whatever Tifa had said to him was enough to keep him on edge.

You're pretty sure you looked ridiculous on top of everything else, still in your swimsuit since your bag was locked up with the girls, thank the gods Johnny had a towel, and your mouth opening and closing as you struggled to find the right words to say to say to him. This was so unlike you. No man has ever made you nervous and jittery in your twenty-two years on this planet, and trust when you say there was plenty. The very idea of sharing a room, just the two of you, set an entire swarm of butterflies loose in your stomach. “Is there a second bed in here?” You finally squeaked out as you tried to peak around his form before looking up to his face. “All the other rooms are taken.”

Cloud scratched at the back of his head before looking over his shoulder at the singular bed in the middle of the room. He looked at you briefly he turned his attention to the wall behind you. “Just the one.”

You pressed your lips together in a firm line. “Oh… sorry to bother you. I’ll just,” you turned to look down the hall at the front desk, Johnny sat behind it with his feet on the surface his head bowing as he drifted in and out of sleep. “Figure something out.” You finished before you spun on the balls of your feet and quickly scurried away from his room as possible as a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

You knocked on the desk to ruse the obnoxious red head from his cat nap. He jolted up, nearly falling out of the rickety chair as he did so, before sitting up straight and blinked the remaining haze of sleep away. “Oh hey!” His timbre rough and slightly dimmed from his usual exuberant greetings. “Caught me off guard. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have any other place I can crash? All the beds are taken.”

“Ah, shit.” He mumbled sheepishly, a lopsided grin forming on his face. “I don’t have any other rooms, but there’s a futon in by bunk you’re welcome too. I promise I don’t bite!”

You opened your mouth to decline, fully intent on finding a tree limb or a bench to sleep on, before Cloud spoke up from down the hall, the coolness of his voice rang through the quiet hall. “Not happening.” You turned surprised to see that he had leaned himself against the doorway to spy on your conversation instead of returning to whatever he was doing before you knocked on his door. “Come on.” He told you with a sideways jerk of his head. You whispered a tiny ‘thanks’ to Johnny before slowly padding back to him your heartbeat thumping harder with every step closer to him. You peered up at him through your lashes, damn him for being so pretty, as you passed through the doorway. He followed you inside, closing of the door and the echo of the lock clicking in place made the entirety of your predicament a reality.

“You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

His offer didn’t surprise you but definitely didn’t sit with you right. “Yeah, no. There’s a chair over here I’ll be fine.” You pointed to the lump of moth eaten cloth.

His brow quirked as he eyed you down before shuffling near a closet to pull out another worn blanket. “Don’t argue.”

You crossed your arms across your chest, the nervousness fading within the back and forth. You looked between him and the queen bed not ten feet from you. It was worn but looked clean, much more agreeable than the hammocks on the ship. “Fine. We’ll share.”

His eyes widened and throat constricted as he swallowed your eyes flickering momentarily to watch his adams apple bob. “You’re not serious.”

“Look, it’s only weird if we make it weird.” You approached the bed and ran your fingers over the bedding before you sat down on the side letting the towel drop to the floor. “I promise I won’t bite.” You smirk at the tiny joke.

He fought hard to keep his face neutral however you saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards, something that was slowly becoming addicting to you. “You’re not seriously going to sleep in…” he let his taper off but you picked up on the anxious energy.

“All my stuff is stuck in the girls room. So, yeah.” You answered looking down at the side you’d be sleeping on.

He turned back to the closet and leaned down and grabbed something out of the bag slumped against the shelf before walking to you and handing you a ball of clothes. “It won’t fit, but better than nothing.”

You took it reluctantly, fighting off the blush that threatened to paint your skin, before shuffling into the bathroom. You tried not to let your mind wander to what this might mean telling yourself he just wanted you to be comfortable. Five minutes later you darted back out, in one of his tanks that hung to your mid thigh, one side drifting down your arm leaving shoulder bare, and a pair of his boxers, and dipped under the thin quilt. You felt a tad shy to be caught under those bright eyes while being surrounded by the smell of him made you a touch lightheaded. You were careful not to bump into where he was already positioned on his back on his side.

You mumbled a ‘thank you’ before turning onto your side to face away from him and towards the door. Would the pounding of your heart let up enough to sleep? You doubt it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Y/n.” A soothing tone called out to you from somewhere leaving you puzzled as you looked around the the four walls you called home for so long. The room was bland to keep outside exposure away from influencing the projects results. Where there would be colorful murals in a child’s bedroom there was only white tone to show any mess and a glass wall for observation. Hospital equipment, droned on with constant beeps and whirls from keeping accurate monitors of your vitals, replaced any toys or crafts. The wires connected from your temples to your abdomen pulled uncomfortable against your skin and kept you tethered to the stiff motorized bed.

You were always so alone yet the intensity of that man’s sunken scrutiny was ceaseless. He made you feel small, scared, insecure. He’d never address you yet you’d hear his deranged cackle through the thick glass keeping you in this prison. The only human companionship being the few aids coming to administer tests or to wash you up.

Then suddenly you were in an alley. It was dark the only light source being the few neon fluorescent signs advertising two am cocktails. Your three inch heels glided gracefully over the loose gravel and avoided the suspicious puddles on the ground, piss or vomit from the smell wafting around the small space. You stopped at the decadent shop front taking a deep breath before you submitted to your punishment.

Sure you’d completed the assignment with no witnesses and gotten what she had wanted from them, but in the throw of it your blade struck at the wrong angle and a small splatter of blood sprayed onto the fine silk of the kimono she insisted you wear, and gods how she hated ruined fabric especially since it ‘costs money to be desirable’.

So you accepted your punishment. She struck you the moment she saw it. Her palm landing flat against your cheek the smack echoing through the fancy lotus painted walls. You didn’t let yourself finch or cry or react at all. Just let the hand print on your skin burn as she screamed obscenities at you before ordering you to follow her back to one of the rooms. This was the true punishment, one that wouldn't leave a mark or scare on you. After all no man would find a woman covered in scars alluring. That night you spent many many hours under the skilled yet torturous hands of your ‘mother’. Screaming yet never breaking as she drove her knuckles against every nerve running underneath the smooth skin along your back.

“Y/n,” the soothing wind whispered again as a particularly rough scream ripped from your throat. “Wake up, y/n.” Your eyes snapped open and your chest heaved with every shaky breath. You blinked back the water accumulating in your hazy eyes as confusion bubbled in your chest. Bright blue eyes cut through the shadows surrounding you before more came into focus revealing furrowed brows and a firm scowl set on plush lips as he peered at you just inches from your face. The fog clearing as you traced the splatter of freckles across the bridge of nose. Your face flushed, and eyes widened, as the pieces of reality clicked together.

One of your arms wrapped around Cloud’s middle that kept his body close and the other was fisted in his shirt to ground yourself. Both of your legs tangled together and bodies molded together leaving no space apart. You subconsciously pulled yourself impossibly closer to feel the comforting heat that radiated from from him. One of his arms somehow snaked under your head as a make shift pillow as the other had a firm grip on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry!” You began to pull your limbs from the embrace only stopping as his grip tightened around you, keeping you in place.

“It’s fine.” your nose scrunched in confusion as his hand on your shoulder moved to your check and wiped a trail of wetness away. “You were crying.” He spoke softly like anything louder would spook you.

Your heart beat was beating so hard and loud against your rib cage you feared he could feel it. “Nightmare.” Your voice sounded far away as a few flashes replayed in your mind. His hand hovered unsure just above your face before his fingers ghosted over a lock of your hair. “ I can move. I know you don’t like people in your space.” You offered, but made no effort to move.

“It’s fine.” His chest rumbled against yours as he spoke. “You’re warm.” Your heart stuttered under the implications that he too enjoyed your closeness. Mako pools shined bright at you in the low light of the early morning. The few dim rays of light creating shadows that enhanced his breathtaking features. The quiet of the room oddly comforting as you got lost in your reflection as he looked at you. “Do you…. Want to, talk about it?” His voice wavered ever so slightly, like a diffident youth that had no experience in comforting another, and being a military man you could imagine he hadn’t had much practice.

Your gaze lowered to the rising and falling of his chest as you hesitated. You had as much practice in confiding in another as he had comforting. Your mind demand to pull away, your heart wanting to give in and tell him every little thing there was about you. Do you dare to widen the crack in your armor? “I ran into someone, yesterday, before that shit with Hojo and turns out I can’t just ignore it.” You spoke barely above a whisper.

“Was it Madam M?” Those three words were enough to make the blood in your veins run cold. In a moment of panic you buried your face into his chest hoping to just disappear. There was no excuse or explanation that came to mind so you opted for a small nod. “She mentioned you on the ship.”

Your heart sank. So that manipulative whore already tried to drag you down like a dead weight anchor. You should’ve known she’d find you someday. Will there ever be a time in your life you could be truly free from her? Tears welled in your eyes. The soft pads of Cloud’s fingertips cupped your jaw and lifted your chin to met his eyes.The rays of light now shined through the holes in the aged curtains behind him and highlighted his blonde spikes making them appear more golden like Piko’s coat. Your heart seized in a rare bout of home sickness.

“All I need to know is if we can trust you.” His emphasis on we felt more like he meant ‘I’. “Are you who you say you are?” It wasn’t what you had expected him to ask or react. Just what had Madam M told him? “Is this real?” He whispered, the question hanging between you two was charged with something more intimate. What is he really asking?

“I haven’t lied to any of you. Whatever she told you that isn’t my life anymore. I promise.” You answered just as softly.

His thumb stretched out and traced your bottom lip. His face inched closer and closer until his warm breath washed over your face. “And this?”

Loud knocking thundered through the room and shattered the moment. A squeak escaped through your parted lips as you flinched away at the same time Cloud pulled away and jumped out of the bed. “Y/n! I have your stuff!” Your cursed your perky Cetra friend for having the world’s worst timing.

You looked over at Cloud to flash him an apologetic smile, your eyes picking up the faintest of pinks tinting his ears before he turned to busy himself on the other side of the room. You reluctantly left the comforts of the bed to open the door greeting your friend with a simple ‘hey’ and regretted it almost immediately. Aerith immediately smirks at you with a brow cocked up in amusement as she made a show of looking you up and down at your current sleepwear. “Good morning! Nice jammies.” She said with a bark of laughter. You snatched your bag from her hand and shut the door in her face, her laughter carrying through the doorway. “We’re going to get everyone breakfast!” She sang. “We’ll be back in twenty!”

You let your head thump against the door. It was way too early for this. When you turned back to Cloud he looked away from you quickly before digging through his bag on the floor. You cleared your throat. “Do you want the bathroom first?” You asked.

“All yours.” You lowered your head to look at the floor and scurried off sealing yourself into the cramped bathroom, and threw your bag onto the counter before leaning your weight against the door, and covered your face in your hands. What the fuck was that? He wasn’t just about to kiss you. Was he? You must’ve hallucinated. There’s just no way that Cloud Strife, ex soldier, legendary merc, was about to willingly kiss you. And this? He had asked. It had only been a murmur, but it had so much hope, >em>desire, behind it.

You threw your hands down away from your face before getting your shit together. You dug a brush out of your bag and ran it through your h/c locks and twisted it back into its usual braid. You peeled of the tank top and folded it neatly onto the counter along with the boxers and quickly redressed in the new outfit you acquired yesterday. Once done, you stared at your reflection in the mirror hoping it would give you the answers.

Don’t get attached. You’re just setting yourself up for failure. You tell yourself. But you can’t stop picturing the look in eyes, the vulnerability he was willing to share, the way his voice dipped with longing. Your heart still hasn’t settled, now beating with a new feeling so unlike anything you’ve felt before. An urge to reach out and grasp the possibility of something deeper than just self companionship, something that help promise. One that started and ended with Cloud Strife. If only you’d be brave enough to chase after it.

A soft knock rattled on the door. “You okay?”

You took a deep breath and opened the door feeling a bit more like yourself. “Yeah, sorry.” You did a little twirl taking a shot at being playful. “What’d you think? It’s not my old ones, but-”

“It’s great.” His expression remained unreadable, damn his poker face, despite the quick answer.

“Great.” You shifted from one foot to the other and paced into the room. “We should get going. They should be back any minute.”

“Right.” You thought that was it and reached for the door knob ready to tuck this event into your memory before he softly called you name. You turned back only to be quickly swept off your feet, figuratively. His frame bullied you back into the door and one arm came up to rest against the frame caging you against the wood. His lips crashed over yours and molded perfectly against your own like it was meant to be.

Your brain quickly dissolved into mush as the welling dam of built up emotions broke flooding you warmth everywhere his body touched yours. Your hands flew up to chest and clenched onto his shirt in an effort to ground yourself, the faint thump of his own heart beating wildly against your hands. He was a bit inexperienced, but this kiss held a passion, a fire, that had you melting against him.

When he parted for air he remained close, both basking in the gentleness. His forehead tipped against your as his eyes opened and softly swept over your face before he stepped back and regained the cool composure you’re use to seeing. “Had a bet to pay.”

“Right.” Your hand went up to touch your mouth your fingertips ghosting over your still tingling lips.

He must’ve sensed that your brain was still off elsewhere when he gently guided you to the side and pulled the door open turning back to you to squeeze your hand. A flicker of mischief sparking within his eyes as he spoke to you, “Let’s mosey.”

A breathy chuckle erupted from you as you squeezed his hand back before letting it fall away from you. It was then that your heart made the decision for you: You’d follow this man anywhere.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Case: The Ailing Village

Scratch what I said about no functional settlements. I was pleasantly surprised when I saw a path leading up into the woods, and I could see a village that wasn't completely in ruins. Cooking fires still burning and everything.

Scratch that scratch that. No sooner did I approach the cooking fire than I was attacked by giant rats with yellow flame in their eyes. Their bites were not just physically painful, but made my head ache terribly. An unhealthy pressure behind the eyes.

After dispatching the rats, I found out what would happen if I succumbed to the rat bites. They'd taken out a noble, and I could see a faint glow beneath him. I rolled him over, and one of his eyes fell out; a soft little yellow ember. I've picked up some distasteful things because the voice said they'd be useful, but this one was especially appalling.

A sign that the deceased suffered from the flame of frenzy. This grape has ripened and burst.

A flame of madness that rests in the eyes... a bit of memory stirred like a beast from the abyss. Yet in darkness it remained. A mere recognition of some horrible truth.

Instead, a memory of another life emerges. Blood. A terrible curse. Men howling at the moon like beasts. Eyes rotting in their sockets. The damned drawn into a nightmare of frenzied, blood-soaked violence for eternity.

Perhaps these false memories, these memories of other lives, are a way of processing truths I am not yet ready to face.

Even the plants were affected by whatever blight had come to this village. Much like how the Lord of Blood's presence is felt in Blood Roses, the Flame of Frenzy must be felt in these "Eyes of Yelough" bushes. Supposedly it can be used as a pain reliever but I'm not sure I'd trust it.

Unfortunately, it was not just rats in this village. In the center of town was a bonfire, with villagers gathered around it. They were all frozen in place, locked in some mix of agony and ecstasy, grasping at their burning eyes.

A corpse inside one of the huts was reaching straight up into the air, as if grasping something unseen. Beside him, there was a Flame Crest Wooden Shield. The voice informed me that it was carried by the soldiers guarding this village and intended as a warning.

Strange. Some of the villagers have weapons, but I'd hardly call them soldiers. What happened to the soldiers that were supposed to be guarding this place?

Well, well. Turns out the trail might not be completely cold after all. I found a group of three Misbegotten hiding out near the village. None of them were infected, but one of them still seemed somewhat afflicted. The other two attacked without hesitation, but this one just lay down flat and didn't move until I drew his attention. These were overlooking the merchant though, and the light, flying type. Not the kind that's capable of wielding a heavy cleaver. Still, the fact they had observers placed here meant something more was going on.

At the heart of the village, there was a church dedicated to Marika. Called the Callu Baptismal Church, though I didn't see any baptismal font. It was thoroughly infested with frenzy-afflicted rats, and once I took care of them, I claimed a Sacred Tear and the incantation, "The Flame of Frenzy."

The only good thing about incantations is that by their very nature, I don't even need the voice to explain it most of the time. It's just liturgical text and though the metaphors might go over my head, at least I can read it. This was a plea to the Frenzied Flame to consume the speaker's eyes (and those of their enemies) in holy fire. The only thing the voice had to add was how I could use it, which... no. I'm not a woman of faith. The gods had yet to impress me.

As I left the church, I showed the remaining, afflicted townfolk what mercy I could.

The villagers howled.

Conclusion: 'From the church's name, I could assume that Callu must've been the name of this village before it became afflicted. Whoever brought this affliction probably started with the rats. Their bites infected other villagers, and as the madness began to burn away at their minds, they turned to worship the plaguebringers. The baptismal font was discarded in favor of a massive, bloated, mad rat god. The village leader was then given the Flame of Frenzy incantation so he could spread the faith. Morne sent soldiers to contain the threat and keep people away, but their efforts fell to naught due to a hidden hole in the wall.

The frenzy spread. The Confessors that Morne had called in abandoned them. Soldiers from the village were called in and they initiated a massacre, as they too were infected by now. Edgar sent his daughter away, not knowing the frenzy lurked in her retainers. The only ones not afflicted were the Misbegotten. They were resistant, with the Frenzy only creating a sense of malaise in them. Those afflicted were sent behind the castle to recover. They chased down Irina's caravan and massacred her retainers, but left her untouched. At least, until the time was right.

Of course, this is just a conjecture. I could be wrong. But this implies a grand conspiracy of the Frenzied Flame, or at least some unknown malefactor working behind the scenes. Maybe I have a little of that frenzy in me, making me paranoid and conspiratorial.

But there's more at work here than I know.

Who infected the village?

Where did they put the baptismal font?

Where are the Confessors now, if they abandoned this land?

The ritual the ritual the ritual the ritual the ritual

[jgmartin]

THE KNIFE

This story begins in a village. 

It's a little thing that sits by a river, with houses of wood and wicker, and is rarely subject to much excitement. An old woman lives there. She has a name, but I do not know it, and perhaps that is for the best, for her tale is one of grave misfortune. 

She leads an empty life, which is to say she is neither happy nor sad. Her days are spent tending to her garden, while her evenings are lost to her dreams. She ponders about other lifetimes and other destinies, and whether there is some great magic out there that can extinguish her apathy and ignite her wonder. 

Her cottage is tucked neatly next to the river, and it is surrounded by a towering wall of stone and ivy. Her husband built the wall before the plague claimed him, hoping it would keep away looters and thieves. Sometimes when she looks at it, she thinks of him, but the memory dies a little more each time she does, so instead she focuses on the soil. 

Every night she prepares supper by chopping the day’s harvest into a stew. One terrible evening, her rusty knife snaps cleanly in two. Unable to finish preparing her meal, she reluctantly sets out through her iron gate to visit the blacksmith in town. 

When she arrives, a young man shows her an array of finely forged knives. Most are well beyond what she can afford, as all she has is an old necklace and a small purse of coins.

The young man tells her not to worry. I have a knife, he says, more affordable than any you’ve seen. He leads her into his forge, where a blade glimmers in the red light of the furnace. Its steel is a faded blue, and upon its face is an inscription that reads A Promise to Keep. 

How much? she asks.

It is yours for a promise, the blacksmith replies. No more, and no less. All you must do is swear that you'll use it each day. Such a fine blade demands it. 

A peculiar bargain, she thinks. She has little else to offer, however, and promises are cheap. She agrees. I’ll take that knife, she says.

Upon her return, she resumes preparing her stew. She slices into a potato, and it’s almost as though the spud is made of nothing but air. The knife slips through it by the force of its weight alone. The woman is astonished. How satisfying, she thinks to herself. She cuts a carrot next, and then a tomato and then finally an onion.

When she’s finished, she’s smiling. What a lovely knife.

The next day she can hardly wait to start on her stew. She spends long hours walking through her garden, selecting the sturdiest vegetables she can find. This time, she thinks, I’ll see just how sharp that knife is. When she sets to cutting, the blade glides through them like they were hardly even there. 

Again, the feeling of wonder and satisfaction returns. It’s the first time in years she’s felt much of anything, and she resolves to use the knife every chance she gets. Potatoes. Carrots. Lettuce. Tomatoes. None are safe from the edge of her blade. Each time one’s sliced, diced, or chopped, she feels the emptiness inside of her shrink. 

Soon though, the feeling dulls. 

The emptiness begins to lurch back, extinguishing the embers of joy that once smouldered within. She grows depressed. Desperate for her spark, she harvests every vegetable in the garden, mincing them into tiny cubes. And it helps, at first. Then, she finds each cut less satisfying than the last.

The colors of her life begin to wash away, and now not even the knife can bring them back. That evening, she goes to bed and wishes that the plague had never spared her— she wishes that it killed her too, instead of simply ending her life. 

_____________________

The woman stirs, but the sun has not yet risen. 

How strange, she thinks. Usually, I sleep until dawn. She peers out her window and sees little more than darkness, the great walls surrounding her cottage blotting out the moon.

Then, there comes a clatter.

She narrows her eyes. The sound, she realizes, is coming from high upon the walls. Clang. Clang. She studies the darkness, searching for the source of the noise, and then she spots something peculiar: two children atop the wall, with a hook fashioned onto a rope.

She hears their voices. 

Hurry up and get down, the boy says. I’m hungry!

We’re all hungry! the girl hisses back. 

There’s movement on the wall. Clang. The steel hook nestles itself into the stone, and then children clamber down the rope toward the garden. The woman watches them as they descend. Two silhouettes in the night. Invaders. Thieves. 

What gives? the boy says as he reaches the ground. Where's all the vegetables?

There’s no way she ate 'em all, the girl replies. There were plenty here yesterday!

The dark shapes steal through her garden, searching desperately for a harvest that isn’t theirs to reap. They bicker relentlessly. One proposes that they should leave, while the other says they ought to knock on the door and at least ask for a cabbage. 

In their distraction though, they don’t notice the old woman in the window, slinking away toward the kitchen. They don’t know that she lives an empty life. Or that she made a promise to keep. 

Most importantly, they don’t realize there’s nothing left in the garden but them.

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 7.9k

Part 34/54

“Love him. Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?” - James Baldwin

Warning: Smut in this chapter! If you would like to avoid it, it starts at: "Wordlessly, Gwen caught the fabric between her fingers and pulled it over her head." And ends at: "She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, her heart swelling with an uncertainty that felt akin to home."

Masterlist

The sombre procession wove its way through the bracken, the silence between them as thick as the fog that clung to the ground. Alistair's arm was a band of warmth under Gwen's shoulder, his fingers pressed into her side, a lifeline that kept her tethered to the here and now, amidst the haunting echoes of the past.

They’d decided to build a pyre, as was apparently typical for Ferelden Royalty, and Alistair had wanted to give Cailan the sendoff he deserved.

With a flourish of Morrigan’s hand, she produced a flame, igniting the pyre they had hastily constructed. The fire took to the kindling hungrily, crackling and spitting as it claimed Cailan's remains.

Gwen watched, motionless, as the flames danced their macabre waltz, devouring flesh and blood. The pyre's light flickered over her pallid features, casting stark shadows across her face and the disfigurements that marred her skin. Alistair stayed close beside her, refusing to leave her side, his grip tight as though he feared she would disappear should he let go.

With the fire reduced to embers, they turned their backs on the ashes of what once was, each lost in their reverie. The march to Redcliffe Castle, towards the final leg of their fight against the Teryn - the last step before they set themselves upon the Archdemon’s armies - was a silent vigil. Gwen could feel the weight of Cailan's funeral settle upon them like a shroud, the finality of it a cold whisper in her ear.

Their footsteps fell in unison, a dirge of boots against the path, as if the very earth beneath them mourned the passing of a king. Gwen's mind wandered, trailing over the memories that clawed at her insides. The taint was the worst type of curse, it destroyed everything it touched. Gwen could feel it growing inside her, a rot that threatened to consume her from within. She was running out of time, and soon enough - at any point within the next ten years - the taint would claim her life. She couldn’t let it claim Alistair’s too. The Archdemon couldn’t have him, she would rip it apart with her bare hands to ensure he never met the fate it salivated over.

The moon hung low as the weary band of companions arrived at Redcliffe Castle, its pale light casting an eerie glow over the stone ramparts. The hour was late, and no nobles lingered to receive them; only a few sleepy servants - guarded by armoured soldiers - shuffled forward to usher the group inside.

"Guest chambers will be prepared for all of you," one servant murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "But first, Lady Isolde insists everyone must be cleansed in the bathing chambers."

Gwen nodded absently, her mind adrift with the weight of the day’s events. She could feel the gritty remnants of the road clinging to her skin, mixing with her own sweat and grime like a heavy cloak. The sensation was almost suffocating, reminding her of the unwanted memories that hung onto her every move. The thought of a warm bath sounded divine, even though it meant once again exposing her body, marked by countless scars, to her companions.

Alistair gave her a reassuring look, seeing the flash of concern in her eyes, his gaze soft in the dim torchlight. She had no time to react as a commotion broke their hushed exchange. Barkspawn, legs splayed and hackles raised, growled in protest as another servant attempted to lead him away.

"Come now, you brave beast, it's just water," the young servant said, tugging insistently at the dog's collar.

Barkspawn let out a pitiful whine, his dark eyes imploring Darcy for mercy. But he refused to give in, instead giving the dog a quick scratch behind his ears and an encouraging pat on his bum. With a resigned huff, the Mabari allowed himself to be escorted off to his reluctant cleansing.

Gwen couldn't help but smile faintly at Barkspawn’s antics, feeling a flicker of warmth amidst the cold that had settled in her bones.

They were led through the bowels of the castle, separated by gender and instructed on how to use the different pools and soaps that were heated by the underground hot springs. The servant explained that since Arl Eamon’s recovery, they’d been able to restore the castle to its former glory, which included a deep clean of the baths. At least one good thing had come from waking the entitled bastard.

In a small changing area prior to the baths, Leliana, Wynne, Morrigan, and Gwen were instructed to remove their clothes. With great reluctance at having to expose herself in front of the servants, Gwen turned her back to them before shimmying out of her clothes.

In a small, dimly lit room designated for changing, the women were instructed to remove their clothes. With great reluctance at having to expose herself in front of the servants, Gwen turned her back to them before delicately shimmying out of her garments. Better to let them see her back than her face. Leliana saved her from having to turn around by picking up both their discarded items and bringing them to where the servants waited. Gwen could feel their eyes boring into her back, and after waiting for the rogue to return to her side, they made their way through the doors towards the wonderfully refreshing scents wafting their way.

The bathing chamber itself was a haven of steam and echoing droplets, the air heavy with the scent of lavender and chamomile. As they settled into the heated pool, Gwen let out a contented sigh, warmth enveloping her. The water welcomed her, a soothing embrace that seemed to wash away more than just the dirt of their travels.

For a long while, they bathed in silence, the quiet only broken by the gentle lapping of water against stone. Gwen kept to herself, submerging up to her chin, letting it envelop her wholly. Her scars, usually a glaring reminder of her past, became softened beneath the water's surface, less pronounced and somehow less menacing.

It was Leliana who eventually shattered the calm, her lilting voice rising above the quietude. "Have you ever heard the tale of the Swan Princess?" she asked, her words dancing through the steam.

Morrigan snorted from her corner, her eyes rolling skyward. "Now really, is this the time for your tiresome tales, bard? Spare me your feeble attempts at lifting our spirits."

"Ah, but stories are the threads that weave us together, dear. They remind us of our humanity, especially when the world seems intent on tearing it apart," Wynne countered gently, a twinkle in her eye. "Go on, Leliana. I, for one, would like to hear it."

Encouraged, Leliana began weaving her tale, her voice painting vivid images of star-crossed lovers separated by the horizon, their only meeting place the fleeting moments of twilight. As she spoke, the mood in the chamber shifted, the burden of their reality lifting ever so slightly, carried away on the wings of her narrative.

Gwen listened, allowing herself to be drawn into the story. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be told a bedtime story. Lucy had read her some stories over the years, but it was different, she’d never been able to visit anytime after dark, too difficult to slip away once the Sisters were on alert for danger.

As the tale drew to a close, Gwen traced the line of her scar from the Ogre, running from collar to hip. The skin remained raised, reddened as it healed, soon to fade just like all the rest.

"It is healing nicely," Wynne remarked, her tone both observant and kind. She gestured towards the jagged line that marred Gwen's flesh. "The body has remarkable ways of repairing itself, doesn't it?"

Gwen met her discerning gaze. "Especially when helped along by a talented healer.”

"You flatter me,” the mage said with a wry smile. “But it would be best to keep an eye on it, the worst of it was dangerously close to your reproductive organs. It could cause lasting damage if you aren’t careful, the skin may have healed, but inside there is no telling what has happened. Please keep me informed about your monthly bleed, I’d like to ensure everything is as it should be.”

Gwen's brow furrowed at the mention of a 'monthly bleed.' She had heard other women whisper about such things, but the details had always remained a mystery to her. She averted her gaze, staring down at the water lapping around her body.

"I, um...I'm not sure what you mean," Gwen mumbled awkwardly.

Wynne's eyes widened in surprise. "My dear, you've never...?" Her voice trailed off as understanding dawned on her aged features. "Of course. I should have realized. It seems there is much that has been kept from you over the years."

The elder mage sat up and shifted closer to Gwen, her tone gentle. "As women, our bodies undergo a cycle each month to prepare for childbearing. The lining of the womb thickens, and when conception does not occur, it sheds through bleeding. It is completely natural."

Gwen's cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and dismay swirling within her. She’d known the basic concepts of becoming with child, but she hadn’t known the specifics. She had never bled in such a way, her body was too hostile to create life and all it was good for was taking it.

"So if I've never...then I can't ever..." She trailed off, throat tightening around the unspoken words.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," Wynne continued kindly. "Simply the Maker's design.”

"What a preposterous design, if you ask me. A course of stupidity only the naive would endure." Morrigan cut in, not bothering to conceal her disdain. "What purpose does it serve other than to inconvenience women?"

"It allows for new life, dear," Wynne replied. "You might find that even in its inconveniences, there’s wisdom to be found in every experience - patience leads to understanding.”

Leliana's brow furrowed as she gazed into the distance, her fingers tapping against her chin. "I remember being frightened the first time it happened to me. But the sisters explained what was occurring and, in time, it simply became part of my cycle. We find our wisdom in each phase, dark and light.”

Gwen said nothing as she absorbed this new information. Her heart felt heavy with a mixture of emotions - anger, frustration, and an overwhelming sense of injustice. The concept of motherhood, a choice that should have been hers to make, had been forcefully ripped away from her grasp like so many other decisions in her life. She had never desired children, not with the cursed blood that flowed through her veins. It was not the wish for children that gnawed at her, but rather the relentless tide of her autonomy being swept away by fate's indifferent hand.

When would the taint stop taking from her?

I might never have chosen it, she thought, the steam from the bath fogging her vision, but the choice should have been mine to make. Her fingers skimmed over her scars, each one a a link to the life she had endured, a life where her will had so often been disregarded.

And yet, amid the swirling doubts and fears that threatened to pull her under, Gwen felt an ember of defiance flicker within her. She may not have control over every part of her existence, but here, in this moment, she did.

"Choices," Gwen finally said, her voice a soft echo in the steam-filled chamber, "are precious. They should belong to us, and no one else."

Wynne's gaze met hers, “You are quite right, Gwen. Perhaps one day you will be allowed this choice as well. Yet even if you do not, the burden of our monthly bleed is not the only thing that makes us women. We endure much that goes unspoken amongst mixed company, but know that you are not alone, nor are you the only woman who does not bleed.”

But she had bled, time and time again, for most of her childhood she had been covered in it. It was best she keep her rotten blood to herself, lest she corrupt some innocent soul. Did Alistair wish for children? Would he be upset if he found out she could not bear him any? Her heart clenched at the thought of disappointing him, of possibly losing his love. These were questions only he could answer, and yet she was not sure she would ever be brave enough to ask.

“You will have your hands full enough with Alistair, why you chose that man-child is beyond even my vast intellect.” Morrigan cut in as if sensing the direction of her thoughts.

"Oh, I think Alistair is a sweet boy," Leliana chimed in cheerfully. "He is so devoted to her, always making sure she is protected in battle. And he follows directions so well - I am sure that dedication translates to the bedroom as well."

Leliana winked mischievously and Gwen blushed deeply, sinking a little lower into the warm water. She splashed some water in Leliana's direction, though her embarrassment was mixed with amusement at her friend's bold teasing.

"You are terrible," Gwen admonished, though she could not keep the smile from her face.

Leliana just laughed merrily in response. "It is only because I want you to be happy."

Morrigan made a derisive snorting noise. "Yes, let us discuss the idiot’s prowess in intimate matters. A fascinating subject."

"Oh hush, Morrigan," Wynne sighed, though there was kindness in her tone rather than any real irritation. "Let the girls have their fun. Maker knows there is little enough of that in these dark times."

Gwen smiled gratefully at Wynne, always appreciative of the older mage's wisdom and patience. It was good to have this moment of lightness between them all, a temporary respite from the worries that plagued her outside this chamber. For now, she would push her fears aside, forget the choices that had been stolen from her, and simply enjoy the comfort of the bath and the companionship of the extraordinary women at her side.

As the evening began to settle in and their weary, water-wrinkled bodies yearned for rest, they made their way to the changing rooms. The servants had thoughtfully laid out clean linen clothes for them, a welcome luxury after a long day of travel. Gwen's fingers ran over the fabric, surprised by its quality. The tunic, a deep shade of red like freshly spilled wine, draped elegantly over her slender form while the dark pants hugged her strong legs. Even a bandana in the same regal hue was included among the pile of clothes meant for her. She would be taking them with her, whether it had been intended to be so or not.

A servant stood outside the changing rooms and bowed as Gwen and her companions approached. His worn shoes clicked against the stone floor as he led them down a familiar corridor lined with ornate tapestries depicting scenes of grandeur and opulence. Gwen's eyes scanned the surroundings, but she saw no sign of the men of their party. Feeling too embarrassed to ask, she followed the servant to one of the many lavishly decorated chambers that was to be her room for the night.

The door closed behind her with a resounding thud, leaving her alone in the flickering candlelight. The light of the small flame enveloped her, casting a soft golden glow across the chamber. Shadows danced and swirled along the ancient stone walls as Gwen slowly loosened the bandana that concealed her lower face. The fabric slipped away, and she rubbed at the skin made soft by their luxurious soak. Her grey eyes, reflective of the day's weariness, caught sight of her reflection in the polished metal mirror. Her disfigurements marred her reflection, and she looked away quickly, as though avoiding the truth would somehow change it.

A soft knock on the door pierced the silence, tentative yet persistent, causing Gwen to frown in confusion. Who could possibly be knocking at this late hour? She cautiously made her way towards the sound, her hand instinctively going to the dagger belted around her waist. With a swift yank, she opened the door to find Alistair standing before her, his cheeks rosy in the dim glow of the flickering torches lining the hallway. He shuffled his feet nervously, his hair still slightly damp from his recent bath.

She stood in front of him, unsure if her heart was racing from seeing him again or simply saying his name. "Alistair?" she said, the syllables falling out of her mouth hesitantly.

"Gwen." His voice caught in his throat, thick with longing as he took a hesitant step towards her as if wanting to envelop her in a hug but stopping himself short, unsure if that was what she wanted at that moment.

Noticing his hesitation, she drew him into the sanctuary of her room with a gentle tug of his wrist, closing the door upon the world and its relentless demands. She turned back to face him, his eyes searching hers, conveying a swirling mix of emotions she couldn't quite decipher.

As silence hung between them, Gwen’s heart pounded in her chest. She searched Alistair’s eyes, waiting for the unspoken question and feeling the weight of what lay beyond this moment. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, and for a heartbeat, she considered retreating. With no more hesitation, she surged forward, her arms wrapping around his broad frame with an almost desperate force. Alistair readily accepted her embrace, his strong arms encircling her slender waist as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Finally, she pulled back slightly, still close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Gwen's fingers delicately traced the worry lines that creased Alistair's forehead, her touch as gentle as a feather.

"What's on your mind?"

"Ostagar," he exhaled the word like a burden. "I keep thinking... what if Duncan and I had swapped places? Is it selfish that I'm glad we didn't? Because if we had..." His voice broke off, but the soft look in his eyes said it all.

"You're allowed to want to live, your life is worth no less than Duncan’s.” She trailed her fingers down to the side of his face, his skin soft from the baths. “Do not discount all the good you have done. And if it is selfish to be glad that you didn’t die instead of him, then I must be the most selfish person in the world for nothing makes me happier than being with you.”

Without any forewarning, he drew her close and pressed his lips against hers in a fervent, desperate kiss. It was a moment of raw emotion, a release of all his fears, wants, and dreams. In that single touch, he conveyed gratitude for their existence together, and an unspoken understanding of the shared trauma they had both endured. As their bodies pressed against each other, it was a flame ignited against the encroaching darkness, the rest of the world fading away as they lost themselves in each other's arms.

Before she fully registered what was happening, the backs of her knees met the softness of her bed, and a startled gasp escaped her as Alistair's momentum pushed them both onto the yielding mattress. Instinctively, he let go of her, placing his arms on either side of her torso to absorb the impact and prevent his weight from crushing her. His eyes widened in panic as he searched her face for any sign of distress.

"Are you—?" he began, his voice laced with concern, but Gwen silenced him with a burning kiss, pulling him down by the collar of his newly gifted tunic. Alistair's warmth enveloped her, his body pressing against hers in a heady blend of safety and desire. She could feel the contours of his form beneath her fingers, every ridge and muscle igniting a longing that pulsed through her. Yet, hesitation knotted in her veins - fear whispered that such intimacy might unveil the jagged parts of herself she wished to keep hidden. Her breath caught as she weighed the urge to pull away, but just then, he shifted closer, pinning her softly against the mattress. The heat of his hips against hers sent a delicious thrill coursing through her core. His sturdy frame offered a sense of security, grounding her against the looming threat of the Calling that sought to pull her away from this precious moment.

They lingered in the embrace, lost in a world where only the two of them existed - insulated from the relentless tide of duty and dread that loomed outside the chamber's walls.

Alistair drew back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His pupils were blown wide with desire, fixated on the woman in front of him with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "I want to touch you," he whispered, his voice laced with a raw longing that mirrored her own. Despite her own desperate need, she couldn't help but instinctively recoil, an involuntary reaction ingrained from a lifetime of rejection.

A fleeting shadow of doubt and hesitation crossed his features as he observed her retreat from him. "Is it because... you truly don't want me to?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or are you just afraid that when I see you, feel all of you, that I will pull away from you?"

Her eyes were glassy and wide, reflecting the intensity of his gaze as he loomed over her. His lips had left hers swollen and aching, yet she couldn't help but let out a soft moan as his weight pressed down on her. She was captivated by him, trapped in a moment of passion that she never wanted to end. Every inch of her body longed to be beneath him, to feel his touch and his breath on her skin.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Gwen,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “You’re gorgeous - every part of you. I want to be close to you, to touch you, if that’s something you want too.”

Gwen shook her head, blinking as she fought back tears of frustration that threatened to spill down her ruined cheeks. He didn’t know that, he may say it, but how could he be sure? How did he not understand that she was a monster, and monsters were not beautiful?

The brush of his lips against hers pulled her from her dark thoughts, unable to fight against the ease that filled her upon his embrace.

“I love you, Gwen,” he murmured against her lips, his hand caressing her cheek with such tender care it felt like it might shatter her. Her heart raced, nearly choking her as she searched his warm brown eyes, finding only sincerity and love reflected there.

Gwen's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in shock. The words he spoke echoed in her mind, each syllable crashing against the walls she had built around her heart. She wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry all at once, and yet found herself utterly speechless. Fear surged within her, paralyzing her as she wrestled with the overwhelming truth of his confession. Could he really mean it? The very thought sent a jolt of panic through her, and all she could do was stare wide-eyed, grappling with the weight of his love.

Alistair was different than anyone she’d ever known. Patient, gentle, unwavering in his affections. He sought out her touch, when her strange appearance drew stares, he looked at her as though she were the most beautiful thing in the world. With him, she almost felt deserving of the love he so freely gave.

And yet, the insidious whispers in her mind remained. What if she wasn't enough? What if one day, he realized she was too broken, too odd, too difficult to love? Gwen yearned to believe she was worthy of him, but a lifetime of fear and self-hatred held her back. Her hands were stained with blood and there was nothing she could do to wash it away.

Gently, Alistair cradled her face in his calloused hands, his thumb brushing away the tears that had escaped her notice, leaving a warm trail of comfort against her skin.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice laced with understanding. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I know this is all a bit overwhelming. Just… take your time, alright? I’m here.”

Gwen’s head shook and she carded her fingers through his short hair, the soft strands soothing her nerves. “No, that’s not it, I just— You’re everything I never knew I wanted, you make me feel things I never thought possible for someone like me. It just makes my heart race and I’m so afraid of what this means and what I might… lose.”

He opened his mouth to argue, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief at her words, but she silenced him with a firm but gentle kiss. "Please, just let me say this. If I don’t get it out now, I might lose my chance."

Alistair's eyes widened, a flicker of understanding crossing his face, and he nodded, his focus on her unwavering as she took a breath to continue.

“You’ve shown me what it means to be cared for. To feel… wanted. I never thought I was worthy of something like that. When I’m with you, I feel like maybe I could. You make me feel like I’m not a monster, and before you, I never once in my life felt that way. But I… I’ve done so many terrible things, I’ve hurt people, my very existence is a threat, and I’m the reason Lucy—” Gwen cut herself off, feeling like her throat was closing up, tears falling in earnest. "I can't change what I am."

Alistair leaned back just enough to gaze into her eyes, cradling her face in his hands to ensure she felt his sincerity.

“Gwen, please listen to me,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “The past is behind us. You can’t change what’s already happened, but you have the power to choose who you want to be from this moment forward.”

Gwen searched his face, desperate for any hint of doubt or rejection, but all she found was a deep well of love and unwavering understanding.

She took a shuddering breath. "What if... what if I hurt you?" She whispered brokenly.

Alistair’s gaze softened, and he brushed away her tears with gentle hands.

"You could never hurt me," he said with conviction. "I trust you completely."

Gwen’s breath caught at his words, leaving her momentarily speechless. This man, despite everything she had shared about her past, everything he had seen her do, was willing to trust her completely. It was almost too much to bear.

"I don't deserve you.” Her voice broke around the words, her chin wobbling.

Alistair's lips curved into a sad smile, and he gently brushed his lips against her forehead.

"While I wish you thought otherwise, you don't have to believe it, Gwen," he said. "You just have to let me love you the way I know you deserve.”

Gwen's gaze met Alistair's, and a wave of emotion washed over her. She felt her heart swell with love, a warm and overwhelming feeling that made her chest ache. How could she have been so lucky to have this man in her life? He was more than she ever dreamed of - kind, loving, and understanding. As she looked at him, she saw herself reflected in his eyes - not as the monster she had always believed herself to be, but as a woman worthy of love and affection.

Unable to contain her feelings any longer, Gwen threw her arms around Alistair and pulled him into a fierce kiss. It was like an explosion inside of her, all of her fears and doubts melting away in the heat of their passion. Alistair held her close, his touch both gentle and firm as he deepened the kiss with equal fervour.

"I love you, Alistair," she whispered against his lips.

She felt a slow smile crept across his face. “Did you just say what I think you said?” he asked incredulously, trying to suppress a laugh of disbelief. “Because if you did, I’m going to kiss you again.”

Surprise washed over Gwen as she saw the delight in Alistair’s expression. “Yes, I love you,” she reaffirmed, her flat nose nudging against his encouragingly.

Alistair's joy was palpable, and he chuckled, tension melting away from his body as he said, “Well then, prepare yourself, because I’m going to kiss you senseless now.” As his lips met hers again, the touch was firm and passionate, igniting a spark that flared between them, leaving Gwen breathless and full of warmth. When they finally pulled apart, her heart raced, and with a deep breath, she found herself caught in the moment. “I want you to touch me,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The words seemed to hang in the air, a tremulous note of want that resonated in the intimate space between them.

The corners of Alistair’s mouth curled into a smile, a blend of relief and reverence flooding his features, as if he had finally received the answer he had longed for. With an air of sacred intimacy, he closed the distance between them once more.

Alistair's lips brushed the sharp line of her jaw, his kiss a gentle whisper against her worn skin. The room fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the light rustle of wind through the trees outside, rattling the window as he moved with deliberate tenderness. Gwen’s breath hitched, the sensation of being cherished so profoundly foreign to her that it nearly overwhelmed her, stirring a mix of wonder and vulnerability deep within.

"Beautiful," he murmured, each word imprinted onto her flesh like a benediction as he traced the column of her neck. His lips paused over the discoloured and rough band of skin there. She could feel him grin against her flesh when he added, "And still wearing my necklace."

She nodded, the leather and wolf’s tooth necklace he had crafted holding more than just a token of a kill - it was the weight of his regard, an affection she was only beginning to allow herself to believe in. Alistair's hands encircled her wrists, his thumbs brushing over the faint marks left by the shackles she’d worn for most of her childhood, the shackles Lucy had freed her from. The affection in his touch spoke volumes, reassuring her of her worth in a way words never could.

"Is this alright?" he asked, his fingers moving to hover at the hem of her shirt, granting her the power to halt or hasten their progress.

Wordlessly, Gwen caught the fabric between her fingers and pulled it over her head. It was an act of trust, a surrendering to the moment that coaxed a gentle chuckle from Alistair as the garment fell away. His gaze lingered on the jagged reminder of the ogre's wrath etched across her torso. She saw concern flicker in his eyes, the shadow of fear that he might harm her without intention - how he’d almost lost her just days ago.

"Hey," she whispered, capturing his gaze with her own. "I'm alright. I'm here."

The plea in her voice was not lost on him. With a surge of urgency, he closed the space between them, his mouth finding hers once more. The kiss was desperate, hungry - filled with every unspoken promise and silent apology that had passed between them. His hips pressed into hers once more, a moan slipping from her lips - a sound so raw and honest it embarrassed her. Yet, Alistair revelled in it, his own pleasure evident in the hardness between his legs.

As Alistair's hands moved over her body, Gwen couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of contentment. His touch was gentle and sure, like a slow breeze on a spring day, easing away the tension that had been building within her for so long. Even as he touched her back, the worst of her scars, he did not shrink away, and relief spread through her limbs like a drug.

She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the sensation, every nerve ending sparking to life under his caress. She felt safe in his arms, protected and cherished in a way she had never experienced before.

Alistair’s fingers glided up her arms, a hot trail of sensation sparking goosebumps across her skin. The urge to reciprocate his tender touch surged within her, compelling her to run her hands over his back, feeling the hard muscles tense beneath the fabric of his shirt. In response, he nuzzled his face against her neck, his warmth enveloping her as he nipped gently at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, sending shivers racing down her spine.

His hands hovered over her collarbone, the heat of his touch heating her skin, and she felt a rush of conflicting emotions: elation at his desire and panic at the thought of exposing herself fully to him. The urge to pull away warred with the longing to revel in his affection. As her breath quickened, she met his gaze - a silent plea for reassurance as she fought to suppress the tide of self-doubt threatening to pull her under.

"We can stop whenever you want," he murmured. "Just say the word.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the one who wasn’t ready,” she breathed, deflecting in an attempt to hide from the fear that was still there, lurking beneath the surface. Yet she couldn’t deny the exhilaration of being touched, of being wanted.

Alistair chuckled against her skin, his breath hot and ragged. “I may have been hesitant before,” he admitted. “But seeing you now…all I can think about is touching you, as long as you would still like it, of course.”

She gave a small nod, “Please.” Since when did she beg?

But all thoughts were scattered to the stars as Alistair's hands moved once again, this time cupping her breasts through the fabric of her breastband. She let out a shaky breath at the sensation, equal parts nervous and aroused.

Alistair's eyes were fixed on her face, carefully watching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. But as his hands continued to caress her, she couldn't help but relax into the sensation. With each passing second, she leaned back into his touch, feeling the gentle pressure against her skin creating a wave of pleasure that spread throughout her entire body.

Alistair's fingers trembled slightly above the band that confined her. She held her breath, a mix of anticipation and anxiety coursing through her veins. His gaze flickered up to her eyes and then back to the fabric, as if seeking her silent approval before making the next move. With careful, deliberate movements, he unfastened the breastband, the fabric slipping away to reveal her chest to him fully.

The cool air brushed against her skin, causing her to shiver. Alistair's eyes widened in a blend of surprise and wonder, the reverence in his expression igniting a fire within her. He reached out tentatively, his fingers skimming over her breasts, exploring the soft contours with a gentleness that took her breath away.

Gwen's pulse quickened, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Alistair’s touch was tentative but filled with a hesitance that echoed their shared inexperience. She watched him with bated breath, gauging his every reaction, a mixture of shyness and desire swirling in her chest. As his fingers glided over her skin, a gasp escaped her lips - an instinctual response to the unexpected pleasure that radiated through her.

With a cautious curiosity, Alistair's thumb brushed against her nipple, eliciting another involuntary gasp from Gwen. The sensation was electric, sending shivers coursing through her body. She watched him closely, her heart racing, as a spark of discovery flickered in his eyes. It was clear he was testing this new terrain, his fingers lingering with uncertainty, yet also with a burgeoning confidence.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, his gaze searching hers with a mixture of earnestness and vulnerability. Gwen nodded, unable to find her voice as she arched into the touch, encouraging him silently.

Feeling a surge of boldness, Alistair began to explore more deliberately, his fingers tracing around her nipple with a gentle pressure that made her cheeks flush with desire and she let out a low, guttural moan that made Alistair groan in response. With each tentative caress, she sensed his nervousness ebbing away, replaced by a need to learn what made her respond.

“Maker's breath, you have no idea what you do to me.” His eyes darkened with desire as he studied her, his breath coming in quick bursts, mirroring the quickening pulse in her chest.

Gwen's heart swelled with pride and joy at his words, her eyes unable to hide the unguarded admiration she felt for him. The scars on her body seemed to fade away in his gaze, as if they no longer held any weight or importance. Alistair looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and at that moment, she almost believed it. Unable to contain herself, she pulled him into a passionate kiss, pouring all of her longing and gratitude into it.

Gwen felt Alistair’s hands on her skin, warmth blooming in places she had long thought cold, trailing kisses down her body. But a flash of fear shattered her moment of peace. Her body tensed, and she instinctively recoiled. Alistair noticed immediately, his brow furrowing with concern. "Is it too much?" he asked, pulling back just enough to search her eyes, his own filled with genuine care. The worry etched on his face made her heart flutter, breathing light into the corners of her darkest fears. For a moment, it felt as if a protective bubble surrounded them, shielding her from the past that haunted her.

Gwen shook her head, a shy smile touching her lips as clarity returned. No one had ever touched her so tenderly before. Alistair's fingers trailed down to her stomach the still healing scar stretched over the surface, and he traced the jagged line with reverence, his mouth placing feather-light kisses along it. He knelt on the floor at the end of the bed, continuing to press his lips against the scar, her hips, any part of her that he could reach. She sighed, the tension in her body unwinding. His hands moved lower, fingers grazing the edge of her trousers. He glanced up at her, silently asking permission.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Gwen's question was one of breathless curiosity.

"Zevran may be insufferable at times," Alistair admitted, "and I have tried my best to ignore everything he suggests regarding intimate matters, but there is only so much I can block out. And I must admit - though never to him - there is one thing he spoke of that I would very much like to try. Would you like me to?" He let his fingers toy with the band of her pants, his movements halting as he sought her permission.

Gwen's pulse raced as it dawned on her what he intended to do. "Yes," she said, giving herself no time to listen to anything but her instinct, the word laced with a tremor as she lifted her hips in acquiescence. He slid the fabric down her long legs, her smalls coming with it, exposing her completely to his hungry gaze. Gwen's body reacted with a shiver, torn between wanting to be seen and wanting to hide away. She couldn't bear the thought of his judgment on her naked form, so she shielded herself by covering her face with an arm.

Alistair murmured soothingly and gently pulled Gwen's arm away from her face. "My love, you have nothing to hide from me.”

Gwen pursed her lips against the slew of self-hating vitriol that threatened to spew forth.

He ran his hands reverently over the marred skin of her torso and legs, his touch full of devotion. "You are breathtaking, Gwen. Let me show you just how much I mean that.”

With that promise lingering in the air, his hands continued their tender exploration, gliding over her hips before slipping lower. Gwen gasped as Alistair's fingers trailed through her folds, wet and swollen in her desire for him. The sensation was unfamiliar yet intoxicatingly welcomed. She instinctively arched into his touch, yearning for the delightful friction that ignited her senses. A low groan escaped him at her responsive eagerness, and he trembled, fighting the primal urge to claim her completely.

Alistair watched her reactions closely, ready to pull back at the first sign of discomfort. But Gwen only moaned softly, a blush spreading down her shoulders as her legs fell open in permission and invitation. Alistair let out a shaky breath as he gently stroked along her cunt, his fingers slick with her need for him. Though his movements were tentative at first, once he found that aching bundle of nerves that made her arch off the bed, he quickly learned a rhythm that had Gwen writhing beneath him. Her murmured sounds of enjoyment emboldened him, and he slid a finger inside her slick entrance as his thumb continued massaging her sensitive bud.

Gwen’s body shook as he entered her, the feeling indescribable in its intensity, his rough finger providing pressure within her that only added to the tingling pleasure he had pulled from her clit.

Alistair kissed a meandering path up her thigh as her hips bucked beneath his hand, his stubble tickling her sensitive skin.

When he reached her lower stomach, so close to her sex that all he could smell was how badly she wanted him, he paused to look up at her, stopping his ministrations and eliciting a whine of dismay from her. Before he could ask her if she did still want this, she beat him to it.

“Are you sure you want to do this? There are other things we can do that you would likely enjoy more.” She could see his eyes flicker hungrily towards where his hand lay buried, his tongue darting over his lips as his eyes darkened.

His head shook. “I am positive I will enjoy this. I’ve been wondering for far too long how you would taste. Will you allow me to satisfy that curiosity?”

Gwen's breath caught in her throat as Alistair's words enveloped her like a warm embrace. A whirlwind of emotions surged within her: a heady blend of desire, nervousness, and an exhilarating sense of empowerment that she had never before experienced.

With a decisive nod, Gwen offered him her permission. Alistair’s smile ignited her from within, and he wrapped his arms beneath her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he dipped his head between her legs.

When his tongue parted her already dripping folds, it felt as if the world had tilted on its axis. Gwen thought she might have melted right then, her senses overwhelmed with the waves of pleasure crashing through her. When he found her swollen bud and sucked it into his mouth, a desperate cry escaped her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her hands fisted in the sheets, helplessly tangled in the overwhelming sensations, longing for more yet teetering on a precipice she had never known.

Alistair sensed her impending release and slowed his movements, granting her a fleeting moment to catch her breath. He took his time, exploring every inch of her with a skillful tongue, drawing out pleasures she had only dared to dream about.

His hands gripped her hips possessively as he savoured her, his tongue teasing and flicking over her sensitive flesh. Gwen felt herself spiralling into a hazy bliss, coherence slipping away as Alistair brought her closer and closer to the edge. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, he added a finger, thrusting it inside her while continuing his tantalizing assault on her clit.

The moment he struck the perfect rhythm, Gwen cried out, her body surrendering to the intensity of the orgasm that washed over her like a tidal wave, pleasure radiating from her fingertips to her toes. Alistair didn’t relent; he continued to worship her until she was trembling and breathless, begging for him to stop.

Finally, he relented and moved up to capture her lips in a deep kiss, tasting herself on him - intimate and delicious. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, her heart swelling with an uncertainty that felt akin to home. At that moment, she knew she would never want to let him go again.

As they both caught their breath, Alistair rolled off Gwen, yet he stayed close, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her against his chest. The warmth shared between them created a cocoon of intimacy, and they reclined in comfortable silence, the air thick with unspoken feelings. Time seemed to stretch as they savoured the quietude, a gentle rhythm of heartbeats filling the space. After a few moments, Alistair turned to her, breaking the peaceful stillness, his voice low as if not wanting to shatter the delicate moment.

"Was that alright?" He asked, a hint of masculine pride in his tone.

Gwen smiled, happier and more sated than she could ever remember being. "It was perfect.”

Gwen nestled her head against Alistair's chest, listening to the steady thrum of his pulse. It was a sound that spoke of life, of survival - of a future uncertain yet no longer faced alone. He smelled faintly of sweat from his recent exertions and the herbal soaps from the bathing chamber, a comforting scent.

"Are you warm enough?" Alistair's voice was a hushed whisper, tinged with concern. The gentle brush of his fingers across her scarred back was both an inquiry and an affirmation. Here, in the dark, with only the shadows to witness, Gwen allowed herself to be vulnerable, her usual armour set aside.

"More than," she murmured, the heat from both their bodies plenty. She had survived much harsher conditions than this. Gwen felt Alistair's lips press a tender kiss atop her head, silently acknowledging her words.

As they lay there, Gwen's thoughts meandered through the winding paths of what-ifs and maybes. She thought about the Calling that haunted her every moment, both awake and at rest, the gnawing fear of the Darkspawn taint within her veins. But in Alistair's arms, those fears receded like the tide, replaced by a blossoming hope that perhaps she could belong after all - at least to him.

"Thank you," she whispered, not just for the physical closeness but for the understanding that bridged the gaps between them. For the laughter that chased away her darkest thoughts, for the acceptance that mended the fractures in her soul.

Alistair's response was a soft rumble, a sound that vibrated through her in a comforting resonance. "There's nothing to thank me for, Gwen. This is where I want to be. Here, with you."

In the stillness, with the night pressing against the windowpanes, Gwen allowed herself to imagine a different kind of future - one where her past and her blood did not define her, but by the choices she made and the bonds she formed. And as sleep began to claim her, lulled by the cadence of Alistair's heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, Gwen realized that this, here, was what it meant to feel truly alive.

This is what she had been searching for.

Next Chapter

A/N: Long chapter is long. I probably should have split it up but… I didn't want to. There's only one other chapter that's longer than this one, but I hope you enjoyed it!!

Not pictured in the baths scene: Darcy twirling up a towel to whip Alistair across the ass like an annoying little brother.

[bitterkarmaa]

OHOHOHO IS THAT ANGST I SMELL? ok ok ok but if you dont mind me hopping onto the abandonment thing - IMAGINE Eclipse gets worse to the point either the others start to seemingly abandon him (more like avoiding because i can see the arguments Eclipse's growingego would bring)

OR HE ABANDONS THEM because of what you said in him not feeling the need for their approvel anymore - so should the star leave him there is that moment of horror when he realises no ones gonna help him because in his arrogance he pushes them away and the star left him for dead and its his fault once again he brought this upon himself.

Oh how bitter that karma must feel, now its happened not once but twice

So he's lying there, dying, desperate, terrified because he is once again alone and he did this to himself and its worse because he actually had another chance, one that only he has ruined and now has no chance of getting back again.

Unless...

Someone comes back for him - Moon, Lunar or Rays even! Maybe Rays is the first? He comes back and sits with Eclipse (maybe the others follow suit?) and maybe the star also returns too when Eclipse shows genuine sorrow for his actions or maybe Rays himself convinced the star to give Eclipse another chance?

I chose Rays specifically since i figured it would be interesting given how he was the first to notice the star in Eclipse, when even mr clips himself had no idea (nor did Moon the guy who made the thing) so maybe he'd have some sort of influence over it? Especially since the star allowed Eclipse to use its power to rescue himself and Rays.

But it could be anyone else too! Moon who willingly brings the star he made back to his once (and possibly nearly again) mortal enemy, or maybe Lunar is the one to convince Moon to bring it to Eclipse, reflecting the first fic when he told Moon he didn't want to leave Eclipse to die? So many options!

ANYWAYS THATS MY LIL RANT LMAO SORRY FOR THE WORD WALL BUT IT GAVE ME SO MANY BRAIN WORMS HDKFJGH

…

The eyes that stared back at him weren’t familiar anymore. At one point, he would’ve called this feeling surreal and dismissed it. Would’ve claimed to have been paranoid.

White has taken over his single iris, drowning the normal orange that resides there. He has felt off all day. Weaker. For all the power he held, it’s almost ironic.

He carefully reaches out to the glass, a clawed hand coming to rest on the smooth, cool surface of the mirror.

He stares at himself as the white gleam vanishes from his eye, replaced by his piercing ember stare once again. Like fire rests in his gaze, contained only by his hand and will.

He twinges. It’s still too soon.

Unsteadily, he makes his way back to the corner. The generator hums mockingly as he settles by it’s side, leaning his head back, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth.

The cable hangs pathetically from his chest, constant pain radiating through his body with each simulated breath he takes. Things are shutting down.

But the others can’t know. They don’t.

Just as a reminder, the star has stayed with him. It sits off to the side of the room, its glow no longer comforting. Waiting for admittance that won’t come. One hand raises up in front of him, single eye examining brutally sharp claws that shift in and out of focus.

This is all his fault. He should’ve listened. Sun was right when he said that he was reverting to his old ways.

And that’s what’s going to get him killed, isn’t it?

A silhouette come into view, standing at the other end of the room, overshadowed by the darkness that is not illuminated by the single light that dangles from the ceiling.

He wants to apologize, but it wouldn’t do him any good at this point. He’s dug himself too deep this time around.

The cold sinks into him, just like before, and this time he can’t help the tears that come to his eyes, spill down his face, drip over his sad, shaky smile as he feels the air sharpen like icicles into his body.

The star twinkles hauntingly, hearing it whisper to him, shame him, tell him the truth that he spent so long denying.

The figure moves forwards slowly, stiffly. Two gleaming red eyes gaze down at him in clear pity, and he doesn’t have the energy to be offended by it.

In that moment, it didn’t matter who was standing before him. He raises his hands, grasping loosely at a torn, faded sleeve. Faint whispers of blue and grey hide amongst the wear.

“Listen-“ Eclipse rasps, breathlessly. He grits his teeth against the pain. “You need to- you need to tell them that-“ It’s like he’s choking on his own words, a sob wracking through his body as tears spill more freely down his face.

“Tell them that I’m sorry.”

Much to his surprise, the animatronic that overshadowed him kneels down to his level, reaching out with long, thin claws to wipe away Eclipse’s tears.

“Tell them yourself.”

The last thing he remembers is being scooped up off the ground, the cable torn from his chest in a show of sparks and screams.

[yelloeukulele]

Dear Tim,

I think I wanted you to be good

I wanted to look at you

And see a light in your eye

That mine had lost 10 years ago

I wanted to feel the warmth of the sun

In a smile you would direct towards me

I wanted to feel the comfort

Of a hug

From a father

To a daughter

And as I spiraled in my seat

Surrounded by the scent of sweetness and salt

Back lit by a window

Which held the reflection

Of a past version of myself

I could not face

In the fear of being blinded by possibilities stolen

I could not help but wilt

To tumble into the shadows

Of a little girl

Who once could only wonder

“Why?”

“Why did you leave?”

“Why was I not enough?”

“Why were we not enough?”

Not in the sense of abandonment she once held

But in a numb realization

That you were never

Ever

Going to change.

You got there late.

Claimed I looked the same

Then ignored me for the menu page

And as I say

Baited breath

Clenching fists to tight

I had almost a years worth of crescent moons imprinted in my hands

An hour went by

And then two

And three

And I suddenly realized I still couldn’t breath

I looked to you in hopes of catching your sight

That a smile could break the barrier

That you held between your lips

I did what I always do

I ran

And through the tears

That I let fall down the drain

While I hid in a women’s restroom

Wiping black streaks from my skin

Which smudge accordingly

I realize that even a conversation

After 15 years

Was too much to expect

Not because the idea is illogical

But simply because you are

I begin to chant

“I was enough.”

“She was enough.”

“They were enough.”

After many moments my breathing calms

My heart no longer palpitates

And I begin to reflect on this time shared

I think maybe the darkness that I saw in your eyes

The ones which so closely mirror mine

Is what told me that whatever pain

What ever sorrows and unanswered prayers

Which permiated your childhood

Sunk into your clothes

Into your skin

Into your hair

Were too much for you to bare

Maybe We had always be enough

But you never could be

In the silence at the breakfast table

One which sat miles away from each of us

I recalled how I read ever thought which went unspoken

their stories written inside the lines of their faces

Foreshadowing amongst the shadows held under their lashes

And worst

Was the dimness which had taken over once shining orbs on each side of button noses

I could see grief as if a tattoo

Permanently staining their skin

Whatever has happened to you

It must have been terrible

So horrifying

That even when given the brightest of smiles

The happiest of giggles

Of tiny feet

With tiny socks

And tiny shoes

You could do nothing but watch

As you pushed them as far into your own pain

As your own parents

Had pushed you into theirs

I have more in common

With the black coffee I drink

Than with the thought

That I could love you

That you ever loved me

That at one time I stayed up

And watched the moon

In hopes

You saw it too

And through those tears

That I let fall down the drain

While I hide in a women’s restroom

Having Wiped black streaks from my skin

Which smudged accordingly

I walk back to the dining room

Only to see you outside

Smoking gold from thin white paper

Which burns in slow embers

Quickly fading to pale ash

Releasing the loose smoke

And look at a table full of sympathetic smiles

I sit to read their stories

And come to the conclusion

That I did not come for him

But for those he is surrounded by

If I was not born the be his daughter

And him my father

Then at the very least

I can find comfort

In knowing

I was born

To be a sister

P.S.

I’m sorry I’m not your little girl anymore,

and I’m sorry you’re not a little boy anymore.

I’m sorry you were robbed from childhood

and I’m sorry you robbed it from them too.

However

Just because you were robbed

Doesn’t mean you had to Rob them too

I hope if you ever see this,

you understand what I am trying to tell you.

I hate who you were, and who you’ve become,

and I hate what you did to these children I never knew

I know I may never be a real sister to them,

but like me

I know you’ll never be their father too.

Best wishes,

your second daughter

Oh yea,

I know about keighley too.

[ashenbun]

❌️

The soft, rhythmic crunch of foliage was muted by the dense shroud of trees. It was unfathomably dark. Not even the Moon could reach through that dense tangle of branch and needle. Too dark for anyone with normal vision to see anything at all under the canopy in the dead of night, but for the bestial Viera with newly revitalised senses it was a trivial thing.

His nose and ears twitched in intervals. Each sound was rapidly assessed, categorised and dismissed. Each scent was likewise studied and discarded. There were no threats here in these woods.

None save him.

Promise knew this path. Zhel... perhaps.

It led far away from the manor, out beyond the grounds to old ruins half-embedded in the valley slopes. Time had worn any identifiable marks smooth and ivy had long since laid claim to most of the rock that still held any shape. He supposed it had been a grand sight once; a temple or similar, half carved into the rock face. Time had humbled it the same as everything.

He kept himself in a half crouch, taking the sharper slopes on all fours with a sleek grace that he was fast becoming familiar with. It tickled the edge of his mind like embers against dry cloth, fraying his focus in the hopes it might catch. Here in the dark, alone, he was tempted to let it. But not before his work was done.

Curved beside the skeletal remains of a parapet with a long and slender bone in his hand, Anam settled himself down to work. One hand pressed into the dirt beneath him, the other brought that slender bone carved in intricate runes and held it over his heart. The pale glow of aether lit up the dark with the gentlest touch of light. It painted the haggard man, wrapped only in the barest comforting scraps of hide to preserve modesty, like a ghost.

Ready to be bound anew.

((Ty for the ask friend ovo This is a fun prompt~))

[crumpledfoilmind]

I just wanted to shield the voice of my heart. How many times did I ignore her sinful rings! Branding her, loathing the quiet peals from her innermost chambers. I do pledge to embrace the monster. To love the saboteur. To face the evil inside of me, and that it is wanting of understanding. My true nature, not to be shunned, but accepted. Maybe then we wouldn't move forth, but stay rooted in a place where we could love ourselves as we were. And then there would be vines keeping us there, and maybe then there would also grow roses.

To my madness:

How many times did I break your trust! Loving you before casting you away. Labeling you both my pride and shame, how did you feel under such burden of contradiction! So tightly intertwined are our fates to the degree we can truthfully claim to exist as the other. And there are vines that keep us together, and there are also the roses.

To you:

I saw fire so deeply red it reached into my eyes and tinted them a vivid vermillion. I chased sunsets over fields of rice to cast for that color once again, the embers in my eyes desiring to keep kindled. How I do remember you! How I yearn to keep you unblemished though your chapter has been closed. The sanctity of your memory preserved in vines. And over them grew a bed of roses.

Ultimatum:

The heart does sing, as suns set and moons rise dripping sorrow. We made our ways into the haze, believing in the good of the world, that it would eventually come to save us. Claim us, so did we trek over rice fields, until we came unto the forest of vines, and until we slept amongst the roses.

Aftermath:

What is it like to love you? I really want to know. Look around us at the carnage. The fields razed by your wrathful gaze. Anger, love, and hate. How did you consider them all the same? Yet I do take you close to me, and close your pearly eyes. Rest in peace, my love, the vines will keep you here. And ever will you be remembered in the scent of all these roses.

Fin

We lay her to rest. Her delusion come to an end. Her madness finally stayed. We looked upon the coffin wherein her face had the look of peace, and we promised to do good by the rest of her kind. We kissed her forehead goodbye, and twisted a crown of vines, which we set amongst her hair, which long and a lovely red, was interspersed with roses.