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heartofmortis · 1 month ago

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✶ Lionheart

Chapter One

Robb Stark x (Baratheon/Lannister!) Reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, robb is down bad

note: ignore the reign pilot inspo in the third scene lmfao

word count: 4.1k

tag list: @houseofamidala @madeofstaardust @justmymindandstuff (lmk if you want to be added of removed!)

masterlist

You walked with heavy steps. Your gaze flickered sideways to the Silent Sisters, who stalked around the body of Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. The former Hand of the King. A cold shiver tensed your body as you walked. The air had felt heavy since Lord Arryn passed. Mere days ago, you and Lord Arryn had talked, as you often did. It was no life-changing conversation: you spoke of the weather, how you felt about reaching marriageable age, and what was the last book you read. But it was the last time you spoke before the Hand took ill, wracked by a horrid fever — your mother had the masters flurry around you for two days to make sure you had not been infected. All things die eventually.

Your path led to your mother and uncle — the golden, twin lions — who were also watching the Silent Sisters and Jon Arryn, watching like vultures after their prey. Jaime Lannister’s head raised as you approached, his smile at you made brighter by the gleam of his Kingsguard armour.

“How was the Small Council meeting?” Jaime asked, one hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Dull, as usual,” you admitted. You attended most meetings of the Small Council as your father’s cupbearer, even though Robert Baratheon seldom attended the meetings, and you spent more time listening into the Council’s discussions about the state of the realm than you did offering refreshments. It was your grandfather, Tywin’s suggestion to your father that you attend the meetings. You were just a girl, but you were a princess too. You could not influence what was being said, but you could learn. “They were predicting who is going to be the next Hand of the King.”

Cersei turned from the funeral preparations to look at you. “Who do you think should be Hand?”

“I don’t think my opinion matters. Father told me he is going to ask Lord Stark.”

Your mother chuckled. “A Stark this far south for that long? Northerners never fare well here.”

You caught your uncle looking at the centre of the throne room. “Eddard Stark is an honourable man. He might do a good job.”

“Did your father mention who is following him when he travels to meet with Ned Stark?”

You gave a short laugh. “All of us.”

***

The streets of King’s Landing were bustling with smallfolk. With your blonde hair braided back and a thin cloak over your sky-coloured dress, you ran like a river down the cobbled pathways. Accompanied only by two of your ladies in waiting, you made frequent quiet visits into the capital city. You saw no reason to hold yourself higher than the smallfolk: you were all the same and they had far more need for gold than you did.

You brought yourself to one of the orphanages in the city. The matron on the door graciously gave you entry. There were too many homes for children in King’s Landing — children who had lost their families to sickness, drowning, starvation, or terrible accidents. In the few official visits your family took through the city, you saw too many people left to fend for themselves. It was the least you could to try and help the children into good positions. They deserved good lives, these children were the future. (So were you.) You were a ray of light, a hope for the future. A sign that the smallfolk were not forgotten by all the lords and ladies in the land. Your heart did not crave power and a throne, despite the world you were raised in, instead you laid it with the people. Those trodden into the dirt by people like you — you liked being the exception, though you wished it could stand for more.

With your pockets of gold and sharp mind, you devoted yourself to helping people. You donated to keep the houses running, to keep children safe, and taught them to read and helped them draw, and showed them that someone cared for them. But today’s visit was filled with less joy than usual. If you and your family were to travel North to the seat of House Stark, you did not know if or when you would return home from Winterfell. (You tried to fight the thoughts of leaving people behind, you knew this journey would be good for you.) You had already had help lined up to continue your efforts in the city. It would take weeks to travel to Winterfell, you would be gone for months at the least. You would miss the children greatly — the bright-eyed skinny figures who held your hands and reminded you of your youngest siblings, Myrcella and Tommen.

The children were far from thrilled when you explained your journey to them. Worse, so many of them wanted to join you, to flee the city and take refuge in the cold north — you had no choice but to break their little hearts and tell them they could not go with you.

A brunette girl stuck out her bottom lip. “Why would you go when it is pretty and summer here?”

You scooped the girl onto your lap. “I haven’t much choice, I’m afraid. I’m supposed to marry the future Lord of Winterfell.” (It was all that encouraged you to go. You had not seen Robb Stark in years now, but he was a kind boy and you missed him.)

“But the North is scary!” one child whispered to his friends when you objected to them coming with you. “It’s all big and cold. Man-wolves live there.”

“Why can’t he move south and live here?”

“All their ghosts freeze in the snow and come back as dead ice creatures!”

Children shrieked with fright and intrigue. “Don’t leave, Princess!”

You giggled. “I have visited the North, it is not so bad. It is terribly cold, but there is wonder in it. I promise, no winter monsters will harm any of us. Winter is scary, but it does not last forever. We do not even know if it will arrive soon.”

“But the Long Night lasted a generation!” another boy cried.

“Oh, but that is an old story. Who has been telling you such tales?” You scooped shivering children into your arms, their worries fading from their faces. “None of you have anything to fear.”

***

Dawn arrived with the northern sun trying to claw its way through soft grey clouds. The royal carriage crawled towards Winterfell in such a slow fashion that caused you to grow restless. You were quite tired of these early mornings that had plagued them all for a month. Having already thumbed through the books your Uncle Tyrion had allowed you to borrow for the journey, you could tell anyone everything about Dragonglass but nothing about how to entertain your younger siblings who were even more bored than you were. The evenings were usually easier to sit through, when everyone relaxed after a day’s travel and you could finally source a moment of peace.

You had visited the northern reaches of Westeros before, but only once, when you were ten. You had travelled by yourself, with only guards and ladies-in-waiting by her side — it was the furthest you had ever travelled without your mother. That time, you had taken a boat from King’s Landing to White Harbour, for a quicker journey, and made the unfortunate discovery that you suffered from violent seasickness. Your last experience was part of the reason your family was now making their journey along the Kingsroad instead of quicker paths — your mother had insisted that her eldest daughter's comfort be a top priority — as well as your father’s love of hunting, which had the party taking frequent breaks for expeditions deep into the woods. You would not have minded the hunting trips if your younger brother, Joffrey, had not brought you a rabbit that he had killed and showed you how to skin it for supper. (You had screamed then and eaten nothing but bread and vegetables for two weeks after, even when any other kind of meat was placed in front of you.)

“We’re almost there, I promise,” Cersei Lannister said as she considered the tired expressions across her three children.

You stared out of the window at all the men on their horses. Even though you could not ride, you wanted to be out there with your father, your brother, your uncles. On horseback, you would be able to go anywhere and move at your own pace. But in the carriage, you were stuck. Your mother and two youngest siblings were never bad company as you loved them all so dearly; you almost felt guilty when you dreamed of having your own space again. But when Winterfell finally came into view, your complaints washed from you mind like a summer storm, and you knew the long journey was worth it.

***

Robb Stark stood in line with his family to greet their King and his family. With his father on his left and his twin sister on his right, Robb was the Heir of Winterfell and he needed to prove himself worthy of his place. As stoic and noble as he tried to present himself, Robb could not calm his thunderous heart. He almost trembled with anticipation. The King’s visit to Winterfell was the greatest honour, but it also came with the promise of a new chapter and the return of the spring to his winter.

He tried not to glance sideways at his twin, Alys, as he knew she would take the piss out of his hopeful demeanour in all her annoying and particular ways. And as King Robert rode through the gates with his eldest son and second child, Prince Joffrey, and their Kingsguard and carriages, nothing could dampen Robb's high spirit.

His eyes searched as the riders and carriages poured into the confines of Winterfell, almost completely distracted from the King coming forth to greet Robb’s parents, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell: Eddard and Catelyn Stark. Robb counted the seconds until the formalities would conclude. And then he saw you again. It had been more than five years since Robb had last seen you. More than five years since your fathers had decided their eldest children should marry when they reached better ages.

Dressed in pale pink silk, shining like a sunray, you followed your mother out of the carriage, which could scarcely fit through the gates of Winterfell. Soft as a spring bloom and thrice as sweet, you had always been beautiful. Robb watched as you helped your siblings down from the carriage too, holding your youngest brother under his arms so you could spin him around and make him laugh before setting him down. Your eyes reached Robb's blue, and he tried to look away before you could find him staring at you, but you were too quick. You gave him a bright smile and a small wave — it took everything for Robb to not break into a grin.

Finally, the introductions came to a close. Your fathers went off in the direction of the crypt and the maids and servants snapped back into action to tend to the royal family. As soon as he could move without appearing rude, Robb closed the distance between himself and you. You were ordering the septas and handmaidens to bring your siblings into the castle when he approached (although ordering was too strong a word for the politeness and care you showed your staff). Robb knew others would not be so kind, but this was your unshakable nature. When your siblings were taken care of, you turned to search for Robb and beamed when you found him before you.

Robb bowed. “Your Grace.”

You giggled, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Please, you don't need to be so formal.”

Though it had been almost six years since you had last breathed the same air, the two of you had not been lax with communication — you and Robb had written to each other almost every month in the years you had been apart. Your first meeting had left both of you hopeful for the future, even though you had only been ten and eleven, but the letters had allowed Robb to truly begin to know you. Neither of you were marrying a stranger, Robb was grateful for that at least.

Robb noticed your fingers fidgeting with the chain around your neck.

“The castle seems bigger than I remember,” you said, staring up at Winterfell with wonder in your eyes. Then you looked at Robb. “And you too, of course.”

Breaking into a short laugh, Robb asked, “Is that such a surprise?”

You shook your head. “I was taller but you were so much faster than me — I hated that.” You giggled. “I felt like I was always chasing after you.”

Robb stretched out a hand to take the bag you had strung over your shoulder, and you allowed him to take it. “You’re staying in your old room, if that’s alright?”

You smiled and nodded, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Of course. As long as you don’t challenge me to a race this time.”

You both laughed and began walking across the courtyard together. Robb grinned. “Don’t hold your breath.”

***

Your room was precisely how you remembered it.

You had last been in Winterfell a moon before your eleventh name day, your trip cut short by your mother’s insistence that her daughter should come back home. Winterfell had enchanted you since the first day you arrived. The castle felt far more homely to you than the Red Keep or Casterly Rock did. But what you truly held envy for was the Stark family. They were far more tight-knit and loyal to their blood than your family had ever been. You held such love for your siblings, sweet Myrcella, little Tommen, even Joffrey — despite his wretched ways, he was still your little brother. You knew your parents held no love for each other, you would have had to be blind or stupid to not see it. The only bonds you possessed that could be akin to the familial bonds that were so strained and lacklustre in your own family, were the friendships you had with your ladies in waiting — four girls you had known since girlhood, four girls you trusted with your life.

When Robb left you to get settled, his presence was quickly replaced by your ladies. You had been surrounded by Erielle Lannister and Alyssa Baratheon, young cousins of your parents’ families, since your siblings had been born. Then came Lana Tyrell, a grandniece of Olenna Tyrell, and Jeyne Westerling, whose family were Lannister bannermen. They busied around you now, helping to unpack your trunks. They were there to serve you, your mother had drilled that into you, but you valued your ladies far more than that.

There were still hours until the welcome feast by the time Erielle finished slipping pins into your carefully styled hair. Lana stood behind you, tying the corset threads of your gold dress securely before sweeping furs over the your shoulders.

Alyssa took your hands. “Let’s explore. It has been half of summer since we’ve last seen snow.”

You grinned. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

You felt ten years old again, chasing around the old stone castle. Last time you visited, your company was far smaller, but now every corridor in Winterfell was flooded with rushing servants and marching guards. It made the castle feel like a grey and colder mirror of the Red Keep, not the northern wonderland you remembered from being a child.

You found your way to the courtyard. Outside, under more eyes, you tense your shoulders. As far as you enjoyed being girlish and running about giggling, Gods forbid your family — or worse, the Starks — saw you acting childish. You had already let your heart guide you the way North, but the time to play was passing. You had been betrothed to Robb Stark since you were ten years old; you would be Lady of Winterfell one day. (It felt far more real now you were standing back in the castle’s walls. At home, in King’s Landing, you could almost forget your fate.) There was a time to be the girl you longed to be, and there was time to be the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms — it was an easy balance to maintain, as long as you remained focused.

Suddenly, Jeyne gave a shriek, the sound muffled by her hands covering her mouth. Your attention snapped to the girl — and where she was looking. Inside the kennels, where Winterfell’s hounds slept, were wolves. Seven darling pups of grey, brown, black and pure white.

“Those aren’t normal wolves,” Alyssa whispered. “But it must be impossible. Direwolves do not live south of the Wall.”

You walked forwards, shaking off the clutches of your friends. In the last letters you and Robb had passed before you and your family began their journey north, Robb had told you pages about the litter of direwolves the Starks had found in the woods. You had not truly believed him until now. A smile rose to your face like the morning sun. The pups were days old when Robb sent his letter describing each of his siblings’ wolves, and soon they would grow bigger than any dog.

The pups played together while Lana tugged on your sleeve and begged you not to get too close.

“I promise they won’t hurt you.”

You and your ladies turned to see Robb approaching them. The afternoon sunlight made his red curls glow. By your lead, the girls curtsied to the heir of Winterfell, and Robb bowed to you. (It had taken two years of writing for you to convince Robb to stop calling you “Your Grace” at the top of every letter.)

“Have you decided which wolf is who?” Robb asked, standing at your side to watch the little wolves.

You nodded. You pointed out Robb’s wolf first. Grey Wind, a smoky grey pup with bright golden eyes. “The others watch him. They follow him like little ones look to their eldest sibling.”

Grinning, Robb bent down on one knee and called Grey Wind to him. The wolf ran over eagerly but paused to consider you. You lowered to be closer to Grey Wind’s height and reached out a hand, which the wolf sniffed at, before licking at you and allowing you to stroke his head.

You could not hide your own grin. “He’s beautiful. They all are.” Grey Wind seemed to understand you and nuzzled against you.

“Are you looking forward to the feast tonight?” Robb asked. Grey Wind ran back to his siblings and Robb took you hand, helping you to your feet.

You gave a shrug. “It will be nice to see your family again, properly. But I’ve never been so fond of feasts.” A red flush painted your cheeks. “I prefer quiet evenings.”

“Then perhaps I will find you later and free you. I’ll find a nicer way for us to spend the night.”

You smiled at his kindness. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

Robb mirrored your smile. “I’ll see you later.”

***

The feast was as lively as you had anticipated. It was not the noise and the food that you found wretched, or the company of your siblings, it was the rowdiness that came with alcohol. At the top of the hall, beneath the high table where Lord and Lady Stark hosted your parents, you sat with your three siblings and the Stark children. You made polite conversation with the eldest Stark daughters, Alys — who you were glad to see again — and Sansa, who had been too young to join in your games last time you had visited. It took three quick glasses of sweet wine to begin to dull your senses enough to start to enjoy yourself.

Hours passed and courses of food were devoured, little Tommen tugged on his eldest sister’s sleeve. You looked down at your brother. “Are you alright?”

“Do we have to stay at the feast all night?” the little Prince asked.

You shook your head. “Of course not. We can leave whenever you like.”

“Can we go now then?”

You stood and picked Tommen up under his arms to lift him off the bench.

Myrcella had been sitting on Tommen’s other side. “Can I come too?” she asked, pushing her plate away.

You smiled and reached out for your sister. “Always.”

You kept a tight hold of your brother and sister’s hands as you weaved through Winterfell’s great hall. Past the singing bard, your father and his drunks, and the guards by the door. The cold night air made the Baratheon siblings’ cheeks turn red. Also outside you found Joffrey. You had not seen him slip away from the feast.

“Joff, you should stay inside. You’ll catch your death out here,” you warned. Myrcella and Tommen skipped off in the direction of their guest rooms.

Joffrey gave a bitter laugh. “Always the mother. Good thing you’ve had plenty of practice with those two before Robb Stark gives you your own wolf pack. Are you looking forward to it, sister? To be bedded by a wolf?”

You wondered what could have gone wrong for your brother to turn out so rotten when Myrcella and Tommen had always been so sweet. Whatever it was, you were happy to watch Joffrey saunter away from you. You wished you could wipe that smirk from his face. Gathering the fabric of you skirt in your hands, you raised the hem of your dress off the ground and followed after your youngest siblings.

The three siblings settled in your room. Myrcella and Tommen, in their nightclothes, nestled warm under the blankets of the bed, while you sat the foot of the bed

Myrcella whispered your name. Her emerald eyes glitter in the glow of the smouldering fire you had tried to light. “You won’t leave us forever will you?”

“I would never,” you promised. “I will live here once I marry, but I will visit often. And one day, you two will also marry wonderful people and have your own castles.”

“Can you tell us a story?” Tommen asked, tucked up to his chin in the warm furs. “You’re the best at stories.”

You chuckled. “Then what story would you like to hear tonight?”

***

Robb found you outside, bright as a midnight sun. He watched you walking back towards the great hall from the guest quarters. The clouds had opened to release a gentle fall of snow upon the castle. Robb found himself staring at you again as snowflakes landed in your hair. Six years had not taken the wonder from your eyes as you grinned, twirling alone in the snow. Robb felt as though he was intruding. He turned to leave, to return to the feast and wait for you there, but gravel crunched heavily underfoot and you found him.

You blushed scarlet. Your figure straightened, ever regal. The glow in your eyes dissipated. Disappointment and guilt spread through Robb as ice froze a lake. “I’m sorry,” he spoke quickly to get ahead. “I should not have disturbed you–”

You shook her head, brushing snow out of your tightly wound southern-styled hair. “No, I’m sorry. I was acting improper. It’s just–”

“–Been a long time? I know.” Robb came closer to you and offered you his arm. “You don’t have to hide from me. We can dance in the snow all night if you want to.”

You giggled and took Robb’s arm. “That would be far nicer than spending the rest of the night inside.”

Robb took you in the direction of the godswood, where he knew it would be quietest. “The men are going hunting tomorrow. Would you come with me?”

“Oh.” The pinkness returned to your cheeks. “I cannot ride. I was never taught. My mother thought my skills should be better tuned elsewhere.”

“I could teach you.” Perhaps his tone was too eager. Taryn had not been here a day yet. They entered the woods, there were enough gaps in the dark clouds to allow moonlight to shine through and illuminate the trees.

You smiled — the same smile you had given Grey Wind earlier in the afternoon, the same smile that came in the snowfall. “I would love that. It’s suffocating sometimes to be in the castle, unable to go where I like because I need a carriage to take me around.” You shuddered.

“I won’t keep you caged in,” Robb said. “You’ll be safe and free here at Winterfell. I promise.”

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x oc #robb stark x original female character #robb stark x you #robb stark fic #robb stark fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #game of thrones fic #lionheart

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blueiscoool · 4 months ago

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Excavation in Egyptian Necropolis Uncovers 63 Ancient Tombs and a Trove of Gold Artifacts

Grave goods found in 63 burials from ancient Egypt include gold foil figures, pottery and bronze coins.

Archaeologists in Egypt have found the ancient burials of more than 60 people along with bronze coins and gold foil figurines, the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities announced in a statement.

The team found the burials in the city of Damietta on the northern coast by the Mediterranean. Some of the graves date to the 26th dynasty (688 to 525 B.C.) while others appear to date to the Ptolemaic period (304 to 30 B.C.), the statement noted. The discoveries include pottery and shabti figurines, which were meant to work for the deceased in the afterlife.

Researchers zeroed in on the 38 bronze coins found within a pottery vessel at the site. The coins date to the Ptolemaic period, a time when the descendants of one of Alexander the Great's generals ruled Egypt.

Thomas Faucher, the director of the Center for Alexandrian Studies in Egypt who was not involved in this research, said that from the released images, it appears that many of the coins are engraved with the head of Zeus Ammon. This deity is a combination of the Greek god Zeus and the Egyptian god Ammon (also spelled Amun), who is associated with oracles and prophecies. At least one coin in the images seems to have an eagle engraved on it with a cornucopia (a horn) depicted to the left of the eagle. Based on these details, Faucher dated the coins to the late third century B.C.

Egypt was going through political turmoil when this coin was minted. Around 206 B.C. a large-scale revolt broke out against the Ptolemaic dynasty.

"A large number of hoards were buried at the time of the revolt in Southern Egypt in 206 B.C." Faucher said in an email, noting that there was a coin recall after this, with recalled coins being assigned new values and given new additional markings. It's unclear if the newly found coins were buried during the time of revolt, and more details from the excavations may shed light on them. In any event, the discovery of the burials and coins "is significant, especially given the region's limited known material from this period," Faucher said.

Aside from the coins, the gold foil figurines buried with the deceased are also notable. From the images released, it appears that a few of the figurines depict "ba-birds" — creatures from Egyptian mythology that have wings and a human head. The "ba" in ancient Egypt represented part of the human soul and was sometimes depicted as a bird that could gather food to feed the deceased, according to Swansea University's Egypt Centre.

In addition to the ba-birds, some of the gold foil figurines appear to depict the 'eye of Horus,' a falcon-headed god. Artifacts depicting his eyes were popular in ancient Egypt and were believed to have a protective power.

By Owen Jarus.

#Excavation in Egyptian Necropolis Uncovers 63 Ancient Tombs and a Trove of Gold Artifacts #Damietta #ancient necropolis #ancient tombs #ancient graves #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient egypt #egyptian history #egyptian art #ancient art

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the-fiction-witch · 8 months ago

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The Snow

Media House Of The Dragon

Character Jacaerys Velaryon

Couple Jacaerys x Reader (Bastard Stark Girl)

Rating Sweet

Jacaerys did his best not to make a show of his arrival but such was hard to do, he circled over Winterfell on Vermax and landed in some cleared snow. He climbed down and adjusted himself slightly before entering the courtyard of Winterfell where the Stark family and their staff met him to welcome him as their guest. Cregan Stark welcomed him in thick clothes and furs with Ice in hand,

“My Lord Jacaerys Velaryon,” He bowed,

“My Lord Cregan Stark,” Jacaerys returned even if he felt the need to wrap his cloak around him to protect himself from the fluttering snow,

“We had expected you somewhat earlier?”

“Yes, forgive me. The flight from the eyrie was longer than I expected, and Vermax is not used to flight through snow-ladened clouds,”

“Understandable, but the hour is far late for business. We will meet tomorrow at first light to discuss matters,”

“Yes of course my lord,”

“If I may, introduce my sister, Y/n,”

Jacaerys attention turned to the woman beside Lord Cregan Stark,

Y/n giggled to herself slightly seeming to be rather fascinated by the man before her, she wore a gown of a deep grey with silver threat embroidery across the fabric, and she stood without furs, jackets and cloak to mention. Her hair allowed to flutter down with silver beads woven into her braided hair,

“My Lord Velaryon,” she curtsied almost low enough for her knees to reach the snow,

Jacaerys was taken back a moment, he found her beyond beautiful. Surprised such a beauty would be locked away so far north, he did his best to be gentlemanly even if his eyes were drawn to her bosom as her dress had a low neckline that exposed the top of her icy pale skin to the snow and of course his eyes. He tried not to think of her cleavage but he did his best not to gawk even if he wanted to see what lay beneath the silver-threaded gown.

“My lady Y/n, I must admit… your beauty is quite impressive, I have not known ladies in Westeros that can match your beauty I assure you,” He said with confidence,

“Why thank you My lord Velaryon, you are very sweet. I had heard tales of your handsomeness but I admit not of your kindness,” She smiled,

“Take care of our guest sweet sister,” Lord Cregan Stark told her before he and his men headed inside to avoid the snow, leaving the two alone in the courtyard,

“I imagine you must be weary after your long flight, would you like me to take you to the chambers you shall be staying in for your visit with us?”

“Indeed, it was a long trip.” I nodded, “I admit It was tiring, and I would love nothing more than for you to be my guide through this ancient place,”

“Of course,” she smiled offering her arm,

He happily took it and walked with her through the courtyard, “I think I’d be quite lost without you my lady Stark,”

“Snow actually,”

“Oh? Forgive me I-”

“It’s alright,” she smiled, “Cregan thinks of me as full kin even if it isn’t true,”

“I see, that’s very kind of him,”

“It is, Have you ever been so far north my lord Velaryon?”

“No, I have not ever been this far north my lady, but I have heard the tales, of the endless snow storms, the fierce winds, and the people being made of steel and ice. I am curious to see it with my own eyes in my time here,”

“I think it is true what they say,” She chuckled, “That northern men are built of ice and snow with a centre of steel. Often when Southern men come they tend to shiver,” she explained,

“Then when northmen come south do they melt?” He joked,

She laughed, “I do hope you enjoy your stay with us in Winterfell my lord Velaryon, I rather love it here, the cold stone, the harsh winds, the gentle snow. It sort of chills me in a way that… makes me feel alive,” She explained her eyes on the grey clouds that fluttered the snow upon them, “Forgive me-”

“No need my lady, I understand. The cold makes you feel at home,”

“Very much so,” she nodded,

“I admit it is not familiar to me,”

“I imagine not, I know Kings Landing is a place of sunshine, and I know Dragonstone has its deep volcanic warmth,” She explained as they headed inside the dark grey halls,

He nodded, “I barely recall days the sun didn’t shine in Kings Landing, but I was a child then.” he said, “But Dragonstone, the heat feels like home. The dark stone and volcanic tunnels warm the castle even if the sea winds can send chills across the narrow sea, and storms are abundant on Dragonstone sometimes they last for days.”

“I see,” she nodded, “You must learn to like the rain?”

“You have to learn to live in its mercy,” he nodded, “Have you ever been south my lady?”

“Once, My mother took me to Kings Landing once.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I found it… awfully warm, dirty, foul smelling, full of madness.” she said, “Forgive me, I should not speak of the capital as such. I know it is your birthplace, my lord, so… I suppose it must have some good if someone so sweet can call it their birthplace,”

“My lady, there is nothing to forgive. The city is as you described. I may have been born there, but Dragonstone has long felt like my home. And I admit those reasons are part of my distaste towards the capital.”

“I understand,” she nodded, “Here you are Lord Velaryon,” She opened up a door to a sweet chamber.

The chamber had grey walls and stone floors, a wooden bed to the side with many covers and furs, and a window to the other side with iron metal across the glass, the window looked out to the Winterfell god's words and the heart tree covered in snow, the window had a seat built into the stone to look out the window on, the floor had a fur rug by the bed, a large fireplace was central to the room with a pile of logs beside it, with a iron chandelier of candles above the room even if the place still seemed dark.

“This shall be your chamber while you visit us, I hope it is to your liking,”

“I must say, my lady, it is lovely.” He nodded, “It is nice to see the Starks have such pride in all rooms of their house and take such care of visitors,”

“Guests are seldom this far north, we must do our best to take care of them. I did make sure to fetch you some more furs and blankets myself, I imagine the cold will be striking to you these forest few days,”

“You are too kind Lady Y/n,” He nodded,

“I shall let you rest Lord Jacaerys,” she nodded back curtsying as low as before which one again took his attention to her chest, she went to the door but he felt compelled to speak,

“If- you do not mind lady Y/n, may I ask something of you?”

“Yes Lord Jacaerys?” she turned back to see him,

“... I uhh it is a bold question,”

She chuckled, “You’d be surprised how bold North men are. I’m sure your question shall not be too bold for me, ask away,”

“My lady, forgive me but… when you curtsy for me, in this dress you wear, tell me to my eyes deceive me?”

“Well, that depends on what you think your eyes have seen?”

“Your dress… it uhh it tends to reveal, much of you.” He explained, “Is this… deliberate?”

“Deliberate?” she chuckled,

“I can’t help but think perhaps you are being, deliberate. For my arrival?” he raised an eyebrow,

“Not exactly, one may call it a happy accident. I am merely used to spending time alone, and thus my gowns are made to accommodate my body and my preferences.” she explained, “Forgive me if I had offended you or upset you, I apologise I didn’t mean to,”

“I will admit my eyes were caught by such a beautiful sight, but I was not offended by it, my Lady Y/n. You are free to dress the way you wish this is your home, forgive me I meant no disrespect by calling your actions deliberate. I shall refrain from such thoughts and looks.”

“I'm glad you are not upset my lord. You need not refrain yourself I do not mind. Have a pleasant rest my lord Jacaerys,” She smiled before she left shutting the door as she went,

He can’t help but let her linger in his mind for longer than he should but he cleans himself up and takes to bed exhausted from his travels.

Part Two

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myladysapphire · 1 year ago

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His Sapphire Princess (VI)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 2,647

CW: mentions of SA and rape and parent negligence

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclaimer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

Winterfell

Winterfell was beautiful, whilst cold and grey it gave a feeling of home. Though she was an outsider and always would be, to her winterfell felt welcoming, homely. Perhaps it was the snow swept roofs and hills, or the hot springs the heated the whole of winterfell, leaving no crook nor crevice cold.

The gods woods were where she felt the most welcome, though she supposed she shouldn’t seeing as she did not worship the old gods of the north. But it was the only thing here that reminded her of the red keep. Though the red keeps gods woods was pitiful to that of winterfells. Here the woods were filled with never ending trees, caked in a sea of snow. Winter roses were scattered through the woods, mixed in with a few other northern native flowers, but the winter rose was the only flower that seemed to do the woods any justice, they evolved the trunks of the trees, made a natural path to the shining light of the gods woods, the ancient weirwood tree, a face carved into it, a face carved by the children of the forest, she guessed it was the face of one of the old gods, though as far as she knew the old gods, unlike the seven, did not present with faces or name. It was warm in the gods woods, despite what seemed to be the permanent layer of snow that coated the gods woods year round, with the hot springs out in the open and pooling into lakes she supposed it made sense, but she would never be used to feeling the need to shed her thick winter coat whenever she entered the gods woods.

With the godswoods at the centre of winterfell and spanning over 20 acres, winterfell easily or shadowed it, with greenhouses half the size of most castles in Westeros, allowing production of many crops all year round. Then there was the castle itself, though it was more grey that she was used to it was beautiful, and unlike the red keep, there was much less politics and tension, less debate over what the colour and exact shade of her dress and what it meant. She felt more free, less scrutinised. And she had more friends than enemies here, though the lack of her Aemond was ever present.

The people of the north, originally hesitant and cold, soon warmed up to her (as much as notherns do to outsiders). They were a generous kingdom, despite them being one of the poorer kingdoms, with the lords and ladies lacking the selfish cunning of the south.

At first her being here only felt like a punishment and now it felt like a blessing, a much needed breather form her mother and the politics of her family, though one thing she did not need a breather from was Aemond, and he was the only thing keeping her from the feeling of home, here in the north. The people here in the north were very different, though they were known for their dislike of outsiders and yet the cold gazes felt kinder than the false niceties of the red keep.

There were many things she loved about the north, but Cregan stark has been her favourite part.

Though she was sure her mother whisked away to the north in an attempt to become enamoured by him and for her to beg her betrothal to Aemond be broken in favour of Cregan. But instead she had found a dear friend. Whilst he was handsome, and a small crush had developed she could not deny her feelings for Aemond eclipsed any feelings for him.

Creagan himself was enamoured with the realms' beauty. And had it not been for his recent bethrothal to Lady Arra Norrey mere weeks prior to Rhaenyra request for her ward here, he was sure he would have loved the idea of potentially marrying her.

To the north and to Cregan it was clear why this betrothal and fostering was sought after, the events at driftmark had spread quickly , of how her own brother had stabbed and maimed both her and her uncle.

The scar on her neck was hard to miss, though often strategically covered with high necks and necklaces, but that did not hide all the damage the scar had left, with Visenya often randomly flinching, her left hand unsteady and shaky from the nerve damage her own brother had left. The maester at winterfell had attetmpted physical therapy though it seemed that whilst she no longer shook it seemed that her grip and reflexes were permanently damaged. This led to her having to learn everything all over again, having previously been fully left handed, she had to relearn to right, to paint and even to ride her dragon. A enw saddle was built, designed to hold her left hand in place and allow her to street and be forced to dominate with her right hand instead. Though the vermothor seemed to hate the cold. She thought prephas it had something to do with his old rider, and Alysannes rumoured love for a certain northern lord. But his bond with his rider was strong and though he often flew to dragonstone, to his mate, he always came back.

Time flew fast and before she knew it, it was Aemonds 13th nameday.

Dear Aemond,

Happy name day!

I hope this reaches you in time. I miss you dearly, though it has only been a few moons. I had hoped to celebrate today with you, but the maester advised my arm may be too weak towithstand the whole journey, so instead I hope my writings may be of some comfort.

Aegon did write me recently, telling me of a surprise he had planned for your birthday, though he left no hints what it would be. But seeing as it's Aegon i dont have high hopes it will be a surprise aimed to please you. For that reason I hope this reaches you early, as to deter you from whatever Aegon has planned.

I have commissioned you a gift, we both have always loved the gem and I myself have had a necklace and ring made from the stone,and now you have a matching eye, aswell as a ring. One I wish we may oneday use to commemorate our marriage. The sapphire itself was gifted to me by my father after he came back from one of his many trips. He had always said to me that this gem would always be a reminder of him for when he goes away, but now each of us shall have a piece of each other with us. And I have my fathers ring to rember him by instead.

I mis you Aemond, so much. I wish i could just fly to kingslanding and see you, to spend the day with you. But I hope the lack of my presence does not affect your day.

As you know Jace has written to me, nearly as often as you, but the other week, after months on end with no acknowledgement from my mother, she wrote. Twisting some tale of how the thought of what happened to me was such a tragedy and she could not bare the sight of me in pain and needed to separate herself so as to not act on her anger at my condition. As if it were not the actions of her son and instead the actions of you that caused my pain. She seems to place the balme of that night entirely on you, and begs me to ask the king to break our engagement, as he refuses her requests. And then writes a paragraph of the rumors shes heard of Cregan, saying ‘i have heard he is quiet handsome, and a goods swordsman. He is only a few years your elder and the Starks are a good noble and loyal house, a marriage alliance would bring great benefits to our cause.’ OUR! What is this cause? The cause where a mother abandsons her child from birth? A mother who is so entitled that she does not see that the whole of the court does not worship the ground she walks on. Or prehas she has finally acknloegde the divide in court. The Blacks and the Greens, and how her own actions and negligence has caused and even bigger divide? Now of course i do not know the full ins and outs of the politics ive heard, on what makes it to the north and to be honest whilst i am here i do not find the need to care. Though, my dear Aemond, with the rumors I have heard perhaps I should care more. But that will be something I can only do when my mother sends for me from my fostering, a day which perhaps I should now dread.

I tire of her, Aemond, and their politics. How the simple colour of your gown can dictate your side in an imaginary war.

My lessons here consist more and more of politics. It turns out that though my mother neglects me she does not neglect my maester and my stuides. ‘To be my heir you must have the proper training and discipline, my father taught me much later than I teach you’ I? Seriously? ‘You must master the arts of politics before the art masters you, and learn your history before you become a part of it. All good leaders have learnt from the mistakes of their predecessors. Take Jaeherys for example, not only did he take the mistakes of the past and make them into his successes. Your grandfather tries to be him, though I love my father, he is no Jahearys. But I hope you will be.’

Me? No, I would not become a man so obsessed with the image of the house of the dragon that he would abandon his own children, banish them and cause their deaths all for the sake of image. My mother does not know me, and her letter only made that clear, and i ahte to burden you with this on your name day, but how can i not, I miss you Aemond, and it is clear to me that you are the only person who truly gets me.

Please visit me soon.

Your Senya’

Two days after Aemond's birthday she got her reply, not a written letter, but him.

She woke to the sound of her window being forced open, and Aemond tumbling into her room.

“Senya” he wispherd, slowly approaching her bed. She was still laying down, half asleep. “ Senya”, he spoke again, he sounded frustrated, not from her but he sond sad, different, traumatised. “ please, senay! It's me!”

“Aemond?” she questioned, sowly arousing herself awake, “you’re here?”

He had grown in the last 8 moons, taller and more grown into his features. He was handsome. Though he never was ugly, but now he was handsome.

“Of course, you asked” he spoke, voice soft, but nowhere near his normal calm.

He had received her letter the day of his name day, mere hours before he found out exactly what Aegons so-called present was, and mere hours after he had mounted Vaghar and fled north, leaving nothing but a short note saying he had gone to see Visenya.

“what’s happened?” she asked, as he approached and she reached forward taking his hands in hers. This was the first time she had seen him in so long, and without his eye too. And yet she did not look at him differently, her gaze the same as it always had been, if not more kind.

He took a deep shalky breath, sitting down beside her. His head dropped to her hands, kissing them softly. “Aegon.” he stutterd, “he-he” he couldnt get the words out, and instead his breath quicking.

“Hey, hey” Visneya started reaching her hand to stroke his face, “look at me Aemond, and tell me what happened.” she spoke, worry clear in her tone, “please”

He took a moment, his face focused solely on hers, he took a deep breath and began. “Aegon,” he swallowed thickly “he-he took me to a brothel”

Her breath hitched, unsure what to think but she knew it couldnt be good, wouldnt be good. Because if it was she knows Aemond would not be here or looking at her with such sorrow if it was. She took his hand more fimly in hers, squeezing it in reassurance.

“He…he said he had a surprise, as you said, he dragged me through the streets not telling me a thing, and then we arrived at ‘Chatayas brothel’, an-an older woman answered the door. She must have been older than my mother, she-“ he hesitated, looking down, as if in shame. “lead us through the door, grabbing my hand and Aegon- he said “time to get it wet”, he… he left me there laughing as this woman and … pushed me to the bed. She wouldn’t take no for an answer… she ignored me as i begged…i begged and beggedbut sdhe wouldnt stop, until Aegon came back, drunk and on who knows what, he was laughing and then” Aemond was fully crying by this point, something she had never know him do.

“ and then?” she proptmed slowly, whipping his tears.

“ he stopped, he looked at me and relasied what had happened, realsied what he had done and cried.”

“cried?”

He nodded “i- he… started to explain, but i couldnt move, i was i didnt want to be here, didnt want to be near that woman, and he just cried. Eventually he must of regained his composure, for next thing i knew i was in my bed and then i ran, ran too you” he finished, “i dont even know what his reasoning was just something about you and wanting you and that this was the only way he knew how.”

“What?!” first her mother pushing Cregan on her and now Aegon traumatising his own brother to break of hedrr bethroal just to have her? As if she was something that could be won. “ why? Why would he do that, force his brother through something so, oh Aemond im so sorry, i-i dont even, i'm so sorry”

They must have fallen asleep at some point, as she woke up laying next to Aemond, to the sound of a maid knocking.

“Aemond!” she coaxed him awake,”Aemond! Get up before the maids see you!”

“Huh?” he mumbled, his head in a pillow.

“Hide” she shoved him gently, moving out of bed, and readying to open the door. That managed to get his attention, as he moved to reach for her as she got up, only to groan as he missed.

“What?” he asked again groggy.

“Hide!” she whispered harsh;y, growing a blanket on the bed, “just hide!” she opened the door slowly, seeing her maid, Ana, holding her breakfast.

“My princess” Ana curtised, moting forward to push the door more open.

Aemond finally took the hint, burning himself under the moutainfull of pillows and blankets Visneya had on her bed.

“Just over there please Ana” she spoke pointing to her side table. “ oh and Ana, i am not feeling to well, can you please make Creagan aware and cancel my plans for the day?”

She curtsied nodding “of course, should i call the maester?” she asked, concern in her tone.

“No, no, just need a day to relax and i should be just fine” she spoke, prompting Ana to leave “ thank you!” she spoke, closing the door.

Collapsing on the bed next to Aemond, she spoke, “you cant stay” she mumbled.

“I know”

That was the last time she would see him for two years, the last time he would really speak to her and the letter she had received last moon, would be his last.

next chapter

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

His sapphire princess: @cathy1514 @iiamthehybrid @melllinaa @aleemendoza2425-blog @cassandra1995-blog1 @deltamoon666 @aelora-a @ryiana @isa-beenme @unique7676 @adriennepoison

HOTD: @taragryenmoony

Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter

General: @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targeryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targeryen x oc #hissapphireprincess #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x original female character #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x oc #aemond x targaryen! reader #his sapphire princess #sacha writes ✍️

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johnlyngfr · 2 months ago

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The Andromeda Galaxy

In late summer and early autumn, the Andromeda Galaxy is high in the eastern sky after sunset in the northern hemisphere. This is the best time to capture a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy, the most iconic of astrophotography images.

Catalogued as Messier-31 or M31, it is the nearest galaxy at 2.5 million light years. It appears to have a similar size and structure to our galaxy, but there are significant differences. With this proximity, it appears too large in most backyard telescopes.

It is quite bright at the centre, and easily visible with binoculars. The challenge for astrophotographers is to render the faint edges without over-saturating the intense core. However, I keep the core lightly saturated to remind us that the Andromeda Galaxy has a super-massive black hole at the centre.

There is a tenuous halo of stars with darker dust around the galaxy, and the outer edges seem disrupted. Current thinking is that one or both of the smaller satellite galaxies in the photo (M32 and M110) passed through the Andromeda Galaxy long ago.

This is an ensemble of 180 photos where each was a 3 minute exposure (9 hours of astrophotography). I photographed M31 from my garden in Strasbourg France on 2 nights in September 2024.

More information about the Andromeda Galaxy:

#astrophotography #astronomy #astrophotographie #astrophotographiefrance #astronomie #astronomiefrance #messierobjects #andromedagalaxy #messier31 #m31 #strasbourg

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monstersandmaw · 3 months ago

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Here's August's offering for you! Hope you enjoy it - I had fun with writing it! We return to Starfall Springs!

Content: seemingly-grumpy, slightly older, scarred, Shire centaur meets peppy human female in a DIY store after his niece spills a lot of pink paint on the floor, and each is instantly attracted to the other. When the reader's truck breaks down a week later, it must be fate when the same centaur comes across her on the side of the road and offers to tow her truck to his mate's garage in Starfall Springs. One thing leads to another, and the two get better acquainted. Mention of alcohol, but no inebriation.

Nsfw: non-penetrative sex, messy intercrural sex, outdoor but not public sex, reader receives oral, cis female terminology used. Both parties also say 'fuck' a lot.

Wordcount: 9453

Preview:

Despite having moved to the foothills of the Glasspeak Mountains almost six months ago, you’d only been into the quaint little town of Starfall Springs a handful of times.

Now that you’d fixed most of the structural issues in your off-grid cabin — at least the estate agent had been very open with you about the modernisation needed on the property — you were turning your hand to making it prettier.

The urgency of the advancing year and the upcoming winter had driven you into a DIY frenzy over the summer months to get the place functional, and now that it was done, you never wanted to feel PTFE tape between your fingers, or see a wrench or a screwdriver again. You’d had drywall dust in places you never wanted drywall dust too. But, while the place was no longer letting water in from places it shouldn’t, or letting water out from places it shouldn’t, it did look very stark and very bare, with raw wooden surfaces and no colours or comforts.

Right on the edge of Starfall Springs was a small industrial park which somehow still managed to look leafy and quaint. The lot was made up of three large warehouses, one a rambling garden centre overflowing with verdant life, another a dealership for all sorts of motor-vehicles, from centaur-accessible vans to naga-accessible motorcycles, and the last was a DIY and home improvement centre, selling everything from plumbing supplies to lumber, and even offering bespoke kitchen and bathroom refurbishments. You’d saved yourself the cost of the latter by doing them yourself, but the staff there knew you like family for how many times you’d been back to ask where to find all the things you needed for the cabin.

You’d supported Dhurak’s small hardware store nearer the centre of Starfall Springs when you’d first moved there, thinking it would be better to support an independent business, but as it turned out, these stores weren’t franchises of larger chains, and were in fact also independent businesses. The parking in the centre of Starfall Springs also wasn’t great, especially since you drove a huge pickup truck, and this place had literally everything you could ever need. It even had a crafts section on the off-chance you decided to take up knitting for the winter months.

So it was that, halfway down the lighting aisle, you heard a high-pitched, whinnying whine coming from the next aisle over, followed by the stamp of small hooves and then a loud clatter. Someone inhaled sharply as if about to curse, and then a deep, resigned voice said in a rather clipped, northern burr, “I told you to let me get it down, Clara. Now we’ll have to pay for that as well.”

“I- I’m…” came a quavering response, and then the sound of a child crying in quick, ugly gulps.

You pushed your laden trolley around the corner and saw a huge, black-coated centaur’s muscular backside as the figure bent one foreleg and ‘bowed’ down at the front. To your surprise, he scooped up a much smaller centaur under her belly, like a fashionable lady grabbing a wayward handbag-dog, and lurched back up onto all four hooves. He stepped easily away from a slowly-spreading mess of spilled pink paint all over the tiled warehouse floor, still with the young centaur tucked under one arm.

Backing up a few paces on hooves that had to be as big as dinner plates, the figure set down the young child and said in a strained voice that was clearly trying very hard to be patient, “I’ll have to go and tell someone we made a mess. You need to stay here while I do that. Do not move, Clara, and do not touch anything else. You understand me.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Uncle Jack,” she sniffled as she got a hold of herself again, cuffing at her face with her sleeve.

Unlike him, she was tiny, but like him, her equine coat was jet black, and the skin of her upper, human torso was dark. To keep her equine body warm from the nippy, autumn wind outside, she wore a cosy-looking pink coat like a horse rug, and her human upper body was swathed in a voluminous, pink puffer jacket. Her hair was tied up in two high buns that looked like mouse ears and secured with pink scrunchies. With her dark eyes all watery and her mouth crumpled up into a pout, she looked adorable, and thoroughly miserable.

‘Uncle Jack’ did not look adorable. He looked… intimidating.

If Clara perhaps resembled a shaggy little Shetland pony, her uncle looked like a Shire centaur, with massive muscles in his bare equine body, and a shaggy, dark coat. To your surprise, he had a short and traditionally-docked tail, and his lovely, fluffy, white fetlocks were now spattered with pink paint. The pink didn’t lessen the impact of his presence at all. Your eyes travelled up his torso, swathed in a brown, waxed jacket, up to his weathered face, and you tried not to let your shock show when you found a set of four, huge, scars slashing across his rugged features. He looked like he’d been mauled by a bear at some point in his youth. His textured black hair was long and tied back in soft, fuzzy dreads at the nape of his neck, with flecks of grey streaking through it at the temples. His eyes though, were a startling, sapphire blue.

He turned carefully in the limited space that the aisle afforded him, and caught sight of you. You’d stopped in the dead centre of the aisle, and there was no way he could squeeze past you unless you tucked yourself right up against the side, so you hitched him a shy little smile and nudged your heavy, ungainly shopping cart over to one side so he could pass.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, ducking his head in a tight nod. “I’ll get this mess sorted out.”

“Don’t worry,” you smiled. “You want me to stay with her while you go find someone?”

He eyed you up and down with a frightening scowl on his scarred face, and then he scrubbed one rough-looking hand over his mouth, his short, dark beard rasping against what you could only assume were calluses on his hand to make that kind of noise. “Would you?”

You smiled. “Of course. I’ve had my fair share of paint related disasters in DIY stores, trust me.”

The centaur gave you an odd look at that, but he didn’t pry, and just nodded again and turned to look over his colossal shoulder, where the poor kid was standing and sniffling beside the widening tide of pale pink paint. “Clara, this kind human’s going to stay with you, ok? Don’t give her any trouble.”

Clara shook her head, giving you a wide-eyed look that told you she wasn’t entirely comfortable with being left with a stranger, and then mumbled, “Ok.”

“I’ll be two minutes,” he growled at you, and then stalked off to find a store attendant.

Read the whole 9.8k word story on my Patreon right now, plus gain access to my entire Patreon back catalogue. You'll also get access to any free stories a week early, and you can come hang out in our chilled Discord server too.

#centaur #taurgust #centaur x human #male centaur #male centaur x female reader #exophilia #monster romance #centaur monster romance #centaur romance #starfall springs

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dontcxckitup · 23 days ago

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NI - Pt1

Drabble that got too long so it will have multiple parts/FF Gareth Mallory's recollection of his capture in Northern Ireland Setting: late 1980s/1990s, before his job at the MoD

Upon entering, the room was neither radiating comfort, nor friendliness – which should have been the case, technically. On the contrary, though: it was lacking all kinds of warmth, was cold and sterile, with a feeble attempt of a book collection on a bookshelf that had already seen better days. So not really helpful with intrusive thoughts and the already growing feeling of uneasiness. It actually woke memories from another place – a place he had learned to know by heart…

The walls naked and grey; the plaster chipped at some places, revealing the red bricks underneath. There are supposed to be windows showing the bright, lush world outside, but they are locked up with wooden boards. The only source of light in the entire room is a naked lightbulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling, dangling from its wire like a poor hanged man.

“Lieutenant Colonel?” He jolted out of the memory, forcing his gaze away from the light above them. The man had said something, but clearly he hadn’t heard him – his thoughts having been far away. Like so often now. His focus kept wavering lately, his mind drifting. Only one of the little gifts he had been given. The man before him, with his greying hair and the glasses on his nose, was looking at him expectantly. Clearly he had said something, but he wasn't sure what. Had he asked about his well-being? How he had found the way here? Was it smalltalk, or had that bloody session begun already?

He had been forced to come here, didn't actually want to be here and bare his soul and innermost thoughts - or memories, for that matter. "If you want back into active duty, you have to go to therapy first." Those had been the words thrown at him. He didn't need this, though. He didn't need to sit down twice a week and tell a complete stranger about what had happened to him. He was perfectly fine without this. The man was still staring, and now he could even see an eyebrow rising, waiting for an answer. "I'm...I apologise." His voice was quiet, barely able to rise. "I was--" "Your thoughts drifted away?" Oh, he hated this. People cutting in. As if he couldn't answer himself! Their eyes locked, and he was pretty sure the man - doctor - could read his thoughts in this moment. Stupid, of course, no one could read thoughts.

"I know what you're thinking." A cough interrupts the other, as his body is desperately trying to get the water out of his lungs. They are bursting, burning, at the same time pushing out water as they are trying to get air back in. His head suddenly snaps back as the man grabs him by his hair and pulls it back, forcing him to look up and into his ragged face. Still he probably looks better than him; at least he can shave and wash himself. "You're thinking...why are they doing this?" He grins down at him, and Gareth, gathering saliva in his mouth, stares back. Grimacing, he sucks in a breath, then spits into the other's face. It gives him a short-lasting feeling of gratification to see the disgusted face - before he feels the push. Next thing he knows, his head is underwater once more, one hand in his neck, the other in his hair, holding him where he is, not giving him an inch to move. And this time...this time it lasts longer than any time before; this time his lungs finally give in and he passes out from the lack of oxygen.

"They do that sometimes, don't they?" The man before him asked, tilting his head to the side curiously. "Where are they going, Mister Mallory? Where...have you gone just now?" "I'm...a bit tired, that's all." "Of course you are." Of course you are? A frown furrowed his brow for a moment. What the hell did he know? What did this man know? Nothing. He knew nothing, because Gareth hadn't said anything, because what had happened to him wasn't in any file. Only the physical wounds, the state he had been found in, while this doctor, oh-so-smart, had been sitting in his little armchair with his little notepad and pen and had jotted something down while others had told them about their day. It had probably been nothing but his grocery list, or notes on how boring these sessions were. So no, that man knew absolutely nothing. He probably didn't even know what 'tired' really meant. Lying naked on an ice-cold conrete floor, curled up, with every bone and nerve and inch of the skin hurting...

...unsure when they will come again, when the next wave of pain washes over him. Unable to sleep because the light above him is so bright he can still see it through his closed eyes. Because the pain won't stop; it won't numb, it only grows stronger. It is an illusion to think he will be able to sleep when they untie him from the chair and he can lie down. A beautiful illusion, but an illusion nonetheless. He can't stretch his legs because it hurts too much. His hands are tied together by the wrists, the rope so tight he can barely feel his stiff and cold fingers. Speaking of the cold...it is freezing. He has lost track of the date, but it must be some time in late December. Is it Christmas? Or has it passed already? There is no light coming in through the window, so he doesn't even know if it is day, or night. No watch to show what time it is - they have taken his, along with his clothes, as punishment for his attempted escape. All he can do now, when he has the luxury to lie on the ground, is to curl up and pull his knees against his chest to try and keep his body warm - at least a bit. Sleep, however, doesn't happen. Every time his eyes do close, they jolt open again. His senses are on high alert. They hear things that aren't there, the smallest noises, always afraid someone will enter the room and he has to prepare himself for the next blow. He can't remember the last time he has slept, but every time they come to him, he wishes he will finally pass out, get the sleep he hasn't had in so long, if only for a little while.

( @diaryofalanguagesstudent @honey-lets-fucking-run @jo-m-portman-rp @kingofthewebxxx @lonelydragon62

@corinnebaileyrp @theresastargirl @tealeavesandthorns @brokenthimbles )

#;hc

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bramble-mouse · 4 months ago

Text

The Faery Doctor

Chapter 2

Tags: G/t, gentle giant, timid tiny, fantasy setting, adventure Content warnings will be tagged appropriately for subsequent chapters. These may include death, gore and vore. They will include no sexual themes. CW: Vore (non-fatal), gore, vomit, implied death (Trish is fine!) Minors, please do not interact!

A marriage of peace and fear saturated every inch of Trish’s body the moment she stepped foot in the northern woods. Places as old as these carried stories, the voices born of nature itself that whispered to any with an open ear. While kind things could dwell in wise old trees, hungry monsters lurked, cunning and smarter than any ordinary beast. In truth, Trish was unsurprised that poor tanner’s son had vanished here. She could taste the old magic in the air, the countless memories of blood.

If there’d been a road through these parts at some point, it hadn’t been maintained in a very long time. The only evidence it ever saw foot travel was an area where weeds didn’t grow between the remains of cobblestone. Trish had heard once from her mother that a great empire walked the world a long time ago, gifting roads, aqueducts and all manner of marvels to the common folk before departing to parts unknown. Some said these strange folk died out while others told of spying cities in the sky for a split second, only for them to vanish behind the dense cloud cover.

What would it have been like to know this mysterious folk, Trish wondered? Were they elves? Old fey that predated even the sidhe? Were they beyond mortal knowing? Perhaps there would never be a true answer to the question, but Trish satisfied herself with coming up with theories whilst she picked her way along the road.

The fork came quicker than expected- or perhaps Trish’s head had been so deep in the clouds she’d barely noticed time passing. She chewed on her lower lip. Perhaps being distracted was a poor choice.

At the centre of the fork was a ruined statue, only the legs and the bottom of a robe remaining, captured in cracked plaster. Trish lingered, reaching out to trace the weathered surface with curious fingertips. A twig snapped to her left.

Trish’s head whipped towards the source of the noise and found a wolf staring at her, stalk still and muzzle coated in gore. It’s eyes were intense, alien and focused entirely on Trish. Trish lowered her hand slowly, never once taking her eyes off the canine.

The wolf bolted and left its meal behind. She tiptoed forward out of morbid curiosity and peered over the small gathering of sparse brush.

Half a man’s torso, bare of clothing, with most of the ribcage exposed lay in a pile of gore and ichor on the permafrost. Trish covered her mouth and gasped, stumbling backwards away from the gruesome find. Was that from the tanner’s boy? No, frost giants generally ate their prey whole. The thought of the lad kicking as screaming as he was shoved into a maw of sharp teeth overwhelmed Trish with nausea.

The faery doctor found her feet and sprinted up the right path at the fork. There was nothing chasing her, yet she felt like a child rushing back upstairs when all the light went out for the night to escape the danger of shadows.

Trish knew what could be in these woods, and meeting man eating giants in their element would be a death sentence. She pushed on up the incline, remembering her duty as a doctor. She had a patient in need at the end of this path, and come what may, her journey would be worth it if she could treat what ailed him.

Blessedly, it was spring and the majority of the snow had cleared off from the mountainside. Occasionally Trish came across piles of dirt flecked ice that stubbornly refused to yield to the sun. The trees grew taller, scragglier here with little successful underbrush beneath their high boughs, and soon enough, there was no longer a road to follow. Trish kept her eyes forward nervously. Would she get lost?

The lake Filip mentioned came into view, sweet relief in the form of an open space peppered with wild flowers, grass still recovering from the weight of heavy winter snow now since mostly melted and the bullrushes that flanked a corner of the water. Ducks floated atop the still waters of the lake, disturbed only by their movements and the jumping of trout. The fish were large, no doubt lovely if baked with lemon and herbs and a good dollop of butter.

Trish felt sweat stick to her skin beneath her many layers. Despite the sunshine, she still felt the sting of the cold on her nose, a welcome relief after the most laborious leg of her trek. She longed to pause for a nap but there was a job to be done. Rest could come afterwards.

The faery doctor skirted around the lake and came to where the mouth of the cave should have been. Instead, there was a solid wall, seamless, jagged and unlikely to admit her any time soon. And yet the Sight bestowed upon her family generations ago by the faery yielded a flaw in the wall, a shimmering in a huge arch up the side of the cliff. Trish pulled out the stone Filip had given her and sure enough, the runes glowed, humming with a soft, electric power. The faery doctor drew in a few deep, grounding breaths before she touched the stone to the wall and watched her hand go through. The rest of her followed on nervous feet.

Inside of the cave was surprisingly bright, a tall corridor from the mouth illuminated by magical fire blue as sapphires. Every inch of this place thrummed with arcane power, both the wilder sort and the cultivated. The hairs on the back of Trish’s neck stood on end. She swore she smelled blood and ichor in the air still, shivering from both the chill of the higher elevation and the fresh memory of a discarded human torso.

There was a certain majesty to this place, carved into the very mountain as ancient dwarves had done. Though the handiwork was nowhere near as neat as a dwarf’s, the alcoves fit for the lights had been carved out by hand, high above on the walls. Trish still wasn’t sure she would get over just how high the ceiling was in this place. Would the end of this tunnel be just as massive?

Her answer arrived soon as she found a great opening nearly a hundred feet high, blocked off by a heavy patterned curtain embroidered with golden birds. The entire thing was beautifully sewn in a way only loving hands could craft.

Trish froze when she heard a pained groan from beyond the curtain. The voice was…big. Larger than any she’d ever known, like a clap of distant thunder.

‘I heard you treat anyone.’

The hooded woman had said.

Something dawned on Trish that turned her blood bitter cold.

Trish sidled around the heavy fabric and into a space that managed to be cozy despite being a cave. A kitchen counter had been carved from the stone, shaped and smoothed meticulously. She could not hope to spy what was on the countertops but she smelled something like stew and baked bread. There was a variety of rugs on the ground, handwoven, woolen and fur pelt alike. They served to make the hard ground more friendly to bare feet. There was a cold hearth straight ahead with an enormous iron stew pot over it, a well used kettle kept on the unlit augur in front of it. A plush cushion rested before the carved stone hearth, beside which was a ball of yarn and a half-knitted woolen shirt. Curiously, the shirt was a tiny thing, something made for someone her size rather than a giant.

A quick glance at the ceiling as Trish crept mouselike across the floor yielded a sight that made her gasp in quiet awe. Thousands of glowing crystals sprouted, like stars overhead. It was as if she were looking up at the nightsky, the soft myriad pinpricks of light chasing awake the lonely darkness in the cavern.

Another groan caught Trish’s attention and she snapped frightened eyes towards a large figure laid out on what appeared to be a bedroll. The figure appeared almost human- save for the sheer size, clad in simple grey breeches and a loose cotton shirt. The fellow must have been a good eighty feet tall, give or take. She was little more than a mouthful in comparison, and the consideration made Trish’s skin crawl.

But she was a faery doctor, Trish reminded herself, trying to bolster courage into limbs locked by terror.

She was a faery doctor and this creature was in pain. Trish had healed injured, grouchy dragons before, helped ogres with fevers and wargs with mange.

Would a giant be so different?

Trish decided not to dwell on that rhetorical question, lest what little bravery flee and send her running back the way she came.

“U…Um…Mister…Fr…Frio Frostfang?”

Trish’s small voice croaked out as she started forward towards the giant.

“E…Excuse me…Um..I…I’m s-s-sorry f…f..for b…barging in, I…”

Her throat closed up as the humongous figure sat up with some difficulty. The giant’s eyes reminded her of the wolf’s she’d seen in the woods- pale, with slit pupils and fixed upon her with the intensity that could only belong to a predatory sizing up if she was a worthy meal. And yet the rest of his face sat at odds with such an assumption, a soft mouth, smooth angles, and an expression that while sick, showed concern.

“...You…”

The giant spoke breathlessly, his voice low and resonant in the closed space.

“Forgive me, I…”

“A woman sent me to heal you.”

Trish blurted out with the same intensity as one vomiting. She froze, wide eyed and shocked and her entire face went beet red.

The frost giant regarded her carefully, and Trish did the same to him in return. She noted soft, white waves of hair that fell in his eyes and down his neck. He sported short horns, like a young buck’s. Trish wondered idly if they were soft and velvety like deer horn too. She also noted, much to her own chagrin, that this giant was unfairly beautiful, utterly unlike any depiction of the burly, bearded and terrifying frost giants she’d heard about.

The giant’s lips perked up at the corners into a smile that softened his gaze, but the welcoming expression was fleeting. He winced and doubled over, clutching his middle.

“M…my apologies. I am not usually so terrible…”

He grit his teeth, hissed

“...A host.”

Trish swallowed thickly.

“...N..No, no, you’re… you’re unwell and…you weren’t expecting me, s…so…”

She trailed off, playing with the end of one of her braids. The ribbon fastening the end had loosened.

“I…I should like to give you an exam…if…if you’re comfortable with it.”

Frio hummed in assent.

“Gladly. Though I would like to know the name of my healer, I might thank her properly afterwards.”

Trish found she couldn’t meet his eye. Was he..was he charming? Yes, this giant was charming and polite- a gentleman, of all things. Not at all what she would expect from a frost giant. And yet here Frio was, well spoken and minding his manners even when he felt under the weather. She chewed on her lower lip. She continued to play with her hair ribbon, feeling the smoothness of the mossy green silk.

“T…Trish Mctavish, sir. I…I’m Doctor Trish Mctavish.”

She stammered.

“Sir?”

Frio chuckled softly.

“Please, my dear. Frio suits me well enough.”

Trish’s heart pounded. His laugh was gentle, too.

Trish made to approach the towering figure and the closer she drew, the more her fear returned. Her blood surged through her veins, a deafening pounding in her ear. She fought to keep her breathing even.

“I would never hurt my benefactor, doctor. Be as at ease as you are able.”

Frio said, his voice low as if he could read her thoughts. She tilted her head up and caught sight of his nose twitching in a manner more beast than man. Had Frio smelled her discomfort? He smiled down at her.

“Ah, but…I should lay down. I doubt you would like to try and…”

He paused, his jaw clenching as another wave of pain from his middle surged through.

“Y-Yes please.”

Trish cut in.

Frio nodded and laid down gingerly, pressing into his belly with one hand. His fingers were tipped with dark talons. They looked sharp.

She stared at the side of his head, noticing that he wore a blue tear drop earring.

“W…Would you turn to… to face me please?”

Frio hummed in response and tilted his head to the side. His lashes were long and pale, a veil over his monstrous, yet kind eyes. She reached up to touch his forehead, painfully mindful of those immense gaze pinned to her form.

“You are quite pretty.”

He hummed, the statement decidedly too casual for the situation. Trish squeaked in response, her hand darting away. The giant laughed.

“My apologies. I am distracting you.”

Trish felt like she might explode from such velvety words- especially when they were close enough to rattle her very bones.

Trish went through a mental checklist as she scanned over his body. A mild temperature (at least for an ice aspected being), sharp pain in his belly, and persistent nausea.

“Would you...o…open…your…”

Trish trailed off.

A giant’s mouth. Trish felt her courage falter and dug her nails into her palms to push on.

“Mouth. I …I need to…see inside your…”

Frio frowned. He appeared as if he wished to say something, to offer some word of comfort. Instead, the frost giant parted plush lips and revealed long fangs, a bluish tongue and the cavernous darkness in the back of his throat. The sight set off alarms within Trish- her instincts begging her to run, to flee, to hide, that she was in danger.

Frio’s breath gusted past her frame, tousling her tartan dress, coat and hair. It smelled of elderberries, and felt like a welcome, sunny breeze in early spring.

Trish could do this. She was a faery doctor and Frio was her patient.

The little woman set down her pack, shed her coat atop the mound of her belongings on the ground and poked her head inside the giant’s mouth despite the protests screaming loudly in her head. She sought any sign of poor health- discolouration of the tongue, a sore in the cheek, any inflammation in the throat.

Trish backed up, shaking from the ordeal and the moment she was far enough away, Frio snapped his jaws shut, causing her to squeak.

“Ah…My apologies.”

He said. Trish noted his features were flush and he seemed hesitant to meet her eye.

“Perhaps I should give a warning next time? If there is one. I would not presume…”

Trish chewed on her lower lip and fiddled with her skirts.

“N..No, I…It’s alright.”

A moment of awkward silence passed between them both before Frio cleared his throat and turned onto his side fully.

“Do you know what ails me, Doctor Mctavish?”

Trish rubbed her upper arm. There were several potential diagnoses but none that make sense for the sharp pains Frio described. A dull ache or a sour feeling would have made more sense- food poisoning, or a giant’s strain of stomach flu. And yet…

“Frio, what did you have to eat when you first noticed these pains?”

She inquired.

The frost giant’s face fell. He pressed his lips into a thin line. His brow creased and it was not anger that crossed his features but shame.

“...A giant hunter.”

He admitted, and his own voice wavered.

Trish knew logically what most frost giants ate. By rights, she could be on Frio’s menu once he was well again. Perhaps it would be the best choice to leave him here in pain and run before he could scarf her down too.

But that look in Frio’s eye- Why would a frost giant feel shame for admitting he’d eaten what was natural to him?

“You don’t like to eat humans.”

Trish mused aloud, words that had been meant to stay in her head tumbling free.

Frio laughed humorlessly.

“My nature would have me kill thinking, feeling beings for no reason other than greed and hunger. It is…disgusting to me, every time I falter.”

Trish frowned.

“And…and you said he was…was a giant hunter, didn’t you?”

Frio’s eyes flew back towards her, lidded and tormented.

“I could excuse myself for murdering him because he wanted to kill me first. Yet that would taste like a lie. I chose to consume him like a common beast. A man who most assuredly had a family. Who will now be a hole left in a child's life, a widow’s heartache.”

Fear was a strange thing in Trish’s line of work. It could manifest so easily when dealing with a stranger. She felt it even when she treated ordinary human men. It ebbed and flowed as easily as a tide while Trish treated every manner of creature both friendly to humankind and enemy to it.

So when every last mote of fear fled from Trish’s body, replaced by the adrenaline of compassion, Trish decided to follow that flow- that ever wobbling march of fear and bravery every faery doctor required.

“I have met very many different souls in my profession,”

Trish spoke.

“And…When a man regrets his actions this way, I…I find that such mental pain can make his illness all the worse.”

She glanced towards the giant’s midsection, so far away from where she stood. She’d noted the telltale sounds of indigestion when she’d made her observations there.

Trish lamented when she realized just how far she was about to go for a patient.

“What I…I mean to say is…is that I trust a man who desires to cause no harm, even if he falters. Because someone who makes a mistake so terrible is that much more steadfast in his conviction not to do so again.”

Frio’s eyes shimmered, reflecting the glowing crystals on the ceiling. He reached for her gently, slowly and when Trish flinched at first, he paused, extending the back of his index finger claw to her. It was an invitation. Trish hesitated once before reaching for the fingertip, placing her hand atop the pad.

“You think whatever I consumed with the hunter must be responsible for my pain, I take it.”

He said in a near whisper.

“Just as well.”

Trish fluttered her lips.

“Did you…”

How should she word this…

“Did you…eat him whole? With…with all of his affects?”

Frio cleared his throat.

“I…Yes.”

Trish nodded slowly, her hand still rested atop his finger. The cogs turned in her head. Resignation had her shoulders sagging, her hands reaching for the hem of her dress to pull it up and over her head. She kicked her boots off.

“What are you…”

Frio inquired and stopped.

“I…I need to perform an…extraction. And…”

Trish swallowed nervously, her voice cracking

“An internal examination.”

Frio appeared as if he’d been slapped. His eyes went wide.

“Absolutely not!”

He balked.

“I am sure the pain will pass with time. I will not subject someone I hardly know to…this!”

Frio gestured towards his middle with a claw.

“So you would swallow a friend, then?”

Trish mumbled before she could catch herself.

Frio’s mouth hung open a little. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, no I would not.”

Trish, dressed in stays, bloomers and woolen stockings that only served to accentuate just how boney her tiny form was, padded closer to his mouth. Her hands shook. The cold and the fear crept ever nearer and Trish had to begin before she could back out.

“I-It’s the doctor’s orders, i…if you please!”

She countered.

“I…I will be alright. I…I…”

Trish knew the words the sought their place on her tongue. They calmed her. Somehow, some part of her, faery gift or her own innate instinct on people kicked in.

“...I trust you, Frio.”

The frost giant was clearly at a loss for words. He looked utterly horrified at the thought of consuming this frail little woman, terrified she would break at his slightest touch.

Gods, was she brave. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

“You have known me for mere moments and you would trust me.”

Frio said.

“You are either a kind or foolish doctor.”

He opened his eyes again, fixing them upon the little human in front of his face.

“Are you certain you are willing to do this?”

Trish chewed her lower lip and went to his mouth, placing a hand on his lip. He tensed at the touch, felt something inside of him twist wonderfully. The doctor had no idea the effect she had.

“Yes. I cannot leave a patient to suffer. No matter who he is.”

Trish felt the careful weight of the giant's fingers on her upper arm. She felt the gentle stroke, a reassurance.

“You have my word that I will keep you safe.”

He spoke with conviction that gave Trish no doubt he meant what he said.

The faery doctor nodded, grabbed a few things from her pack and returned to his mouth.

“C…Could you…?” She said.

“Of course.”

Frio replied and turned over, mouth open wide and chin on the ground. The giant’s posture brought to mind a prostrated man praying to his god for salvation in one of the great temples.

Trish steeled herself for what would come next- for the horror she would find within this (thus far) gentle being’s belly. She lifted her foot onto his lip and hoisted herself inside. Her first step sank into his tongue. Trish felt his shuddering breaths rush past her.

Drool pooled quickly beneath the giant’s tongue. Was Trish making Frio salivate? The thought was unsettling yet…not fully unpleasant, to be delicious. Something to unpack when she wasn’t about to journey to the literal belly of the beast shortly. Trish lowered herself down, keeping a tight hold on a little satchel of supplies that thrummed with magic. She could hear the squelching of his throat, the way it seemed all too eager for her arrival.

“...You can..”

Trish whimpered

“S…Swallow me..”

Frio’s tongue slid her towards the back of his throat and she gasped in surprise. The giant stopped instantly.

“K-Keep going!”

Trish insisted.

Frio sighed passed her little body and pushed her past the point of no return with a deep, meaty gulp.

Trish had never been swallowed before and frankly, the entire experience was terrifying. She shook and stifled sobs as the darkness of Frio’s squeezing throat forced her downwards. Claustrophobia, the imminent destination below her- the faery doctor’s eyes prickled with tears as her whole body shuddered in fear. A powerful heart hammered behind Trish. Was Frio afraid too? The erratic pulse nearly deafened her as she felt the final squeeze before a free fall into an active stomach. She let out a cry, muffled by walls of thick flesh as she dropped into a pile of liquid that made her skin tingle. Trish gasped and scrambled backwards in the dark until she felt a solid wall at her back. A loud gurgle vibrated the fleshy chamber.

The inside of Frio’s belly was pitch black, humid but blissfully not sweltering; Trish had his frost giant nature to thank for that small blessing. The stomach grumbled again, the distinct sound of imminent digestion. Regardless of Frio’s wishes, the giant’s stomach viewed Trish as food. She would need to work quickly.

As Trish dug about in her bag of holding, she heard a muffled, yet booming voice cut through the squishing, wet sounds of bodily organs working around her.

“...Are you alright?”

Frio. He was checking on her.

“Y..Yes! I’m..I’m just getting to work.”

She shouted back. Would the giant even hear her? Evidently so, because his heart rate calmed some at the evidence of her well-being.

“I will give you five minutes, doctor, before I bring you back up.”

Frio stated firmly.

The time limit was a bit of a comfort, but it also meant she had a tighter deadline to find the hunter’s remains and figure out how to deal with his armour. Trish groped about her bag of holding until she found her quarry- a little piece of expensive parchment. It glowed faintly, then brighter when Trish read its incantation aloud. A trio of glowing lights, yellow like sunflowers illuminated the rippling space.

Immediately, Trish noted that she was wading ankle deep in masticated stew- and floating human bones. She yelped at the gruesome sight and started to hyperventilate, the sour air making her nearly sick as it stung her eyes and throat. Trish reigned herself back in, thinking of her mother’s calm voice, lessons that ingrained deep in her psyche.

‘Deep breath. Assess the patient, find the ailment and the cause, determine the treatment.’

Trish’s lip quivered, her whole body trembling, but she cast her gaze around the inside of Frio’s stomach. Wrinkled pale blue flesh pressed in against her, writhing and alive. There was a mark along the lining and instantly, Trish knew it was the culprit of Frio’s pain. It weeped dark blue blood and appeared raw and angry, unable to heal when constantly irritated by the chaos of a working stomach.

“An open wound…”

Trish mused quietly to herself as she dug about in her bag for a solution. The holding enchantment afforded the doctor the ability to bring all manner of potions along to unique locations- and the perfect one for the job sat in her hands now, a soft lavender coloured liquid that resembled a milky sweet tea. Normally, Trish would have had a patient simply drink it but she doubted it would do little other than get lost in the rest of his stomach contents.

Trish felt her ankles begin to itch as stomach juices soaked through her stockings. She quickly but carefully poured the potion over the wound- and thankfully got enough on it before Frio let out a grunt of pain and the entire fleshy chamber shifted. Trish screamed as she was thrown backward against the opposite wall, the wind blown out of her. A splash of stomach liquid on her front made her panic. It burned.

“Gods, I am so sorry.”

The giant fretted.

Trish shoved a stomach wall, a silent reassurance that she was still alive and well, and heard the way Frio’s lungs filled and emptied like a relieved hurricane.

“Forgive me.”

She felt something press in against her. His hand, perhaps.

Trish found her balance again and toddered back over towards the site of the injury. It steamed and already, it was closing. Good. That would be enough.

And now, the disgusting bit.

Trish turned around with a grimace and stared down at the pile of bones surrounded by horrifically blood red, murky liquid. While even the bones had begun to slowly erode, the chain mail and the leather armour the hunter had worn over it remained nearly untouched. If the faint shimmer of magic rising off the articles was any indication, they were enchanted to be incredibly durable.

Frio’s stomach let out a bubbling groan around Trish, the wrinkled walls closing in on her. She wobbled but mercifully stayed upright; Trish never would have recovered from falling on the hunter’s corpse.

“Whatever you have done is working wonders.”

The giant’s voice spoke again with a deep sigh.

Trish chewed her lower lip. His relief would mean nothing if the armour made another wound. With that, the faery doctor let out a whine, picked up a vomit covered chain shirt and stuffed it into her bag of holding.

“Oh…Good heavens above…”

She gagged, the bits of tougher leather going in next. The bones Trish would leave. A frost giant could digest that when given enough time. The bag of holding would be the best method of transporting the indigestible bits out without potentially tearing up Frio’s throat even if Trish feared she’d never get the smell out.

Trish cinched the bag shut and found her voice again.

“I’m…I’m done!”

She called up.

Trish’s expulsion occurred faster than expected. Frio’s stomach lurched around the live human and propelled her and a load of chyme rapidly upwards. Trish’s shriek cut off in his throat.

Frio remained doubled over and coughed the little doctor up in a pile of half digested lunch. He caught his breath, then rolled over onto his side, his collapse like an earthquake.

The faery doctor stared up at the ceiling, panting, gulping in lungfuls of clean air.

Trish had just been in a stomach. In a stomach. In a giant’s bloody stomach.

And she was still alive to hopefully never tell the tale to a living soul.

She shivered in the open air, her whole body soaked and slimy. Trish felt dizzy, overwhelmed.

Shock prevented her from registering when a pair of massive, gentle hands slid beneath her body and lifted her up. Trish’s last view before passing out consisted of two frantic, pale eyes fixed upon her, and a soft, rumbling voice apologizing repeatedly and thanking her in a jumbled mess of words Trish felt too exhausted to make out.

#bramble stories #g/t #g/t writing #giant/tiny #safe v0re #v0re #cw: vore #cw: vomit #cw: gore #cw: death #g/t community #clean vore #mdni #clean v0re

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