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lostmyremembrall · 1 year

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hi! Congrats on 1K! Can you please do prompt 8? thanks!

📖𝟖: 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝐻𝑢𝑟𝑡&𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 1𝐾 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡!

A/N: So sorry this took a long time to get to! But I hope you enjoy!

Tom gets sick

Tom had an impeccable immune system.

You’d never seen him cough, or even give out a sniffle.

Tom was the very representation of a healthy root that managed to survive the storm called orphanage.

Or so you thought.

When his room’s door swung open after your incessant knocking, a very pale face of Tom towered over you. He was glaring at whoever dared disturb his rest, his usual intimidating demeanour further exaggerated by dark circles underneath his eyes.

At the sight of you, his features somewhat softened, before it was immediately replaced by a mask of annoyance.

“What is it, Y/N,” he leaned against the door frame and gave out a tired sigh.

“Tom!” in pure shock, your eyes took in his full form, involuntarily searching for any signs of serious illness or injury. “What happened?” You turned your concerned eyes back up at him.

For a moment you thought you saw the warmth return to his cheeks in the form of a blush. “I–,” he stammered, somehow lost for words.

“I’m sick,” he mumbled and turned around, stumbling back into his room.

As you followed him inside, you caught sight of a cup of tea on his desk, the steam visible against the dark green curtain. Next to it was a large textbook, bookmarked by his quill.

“Surely, you weren’t studying?”

You stared at the frail man incredulously.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he breathed out tiredly as he sat on the edge of the neatly made bed, massaging his temple which was surely aching.

“Merlin, Tom,” his exhausted eyes widened slightly at the sound of your exasperated voice. “You are supposed to be resting! Not driving yourself to more work.”

Tom avoided your chastising eyes, mumbling something about needing to catch up to the classes.

“I’m not sure where this unhealthy drive of yours comes from, Tom,” you shook your head as you opened the window for fresh air. “You’ve got to rest at some point.”

You proceeded a few more steps, bridging the gap between you two. You placed the back of your fingers against his cheeks. Stunned by the abrupt intimacy, Tom froze on the spot, simply staring up at you.

“Tom, you’re burning up,” you sighed, the genuine concern knitting your brows together.

Tom seemed to grow even hotter under your touch, if that was possible. He bit down on his lips, not daring to move or speak. You thought his cheeks had turned a bright shade of red, whether from the fever or the proximity, it was impossible to tell.

“You have to get back into bed,” you eyed Tom in a way that maybe resembled too much of your mom, though you’d never admit it.

Tom grumbled a few more words of his discontent but still climbed into bed.

“It’s how it was in the orphanage,” it was a long while before Tom parted his lips again.

Your hands stopped at the solemn voice behind you, pausing you from ringing the wet cloth in the wash basin that you were preparing for his fever.

You turned around to find him still avoiding your eyes. His shoulders hunched, he looked far smaller than usual as he played with the cover in between his fingers.

Your heart stirred at the sight of a man who was trying his hardest to contain everything. Quietly, you placed the wet cloth aside and crossed the room to sit by his bedside.

Tom was completely unresponsive to the hand that you placed on the cover, close enough to feel his heat emanating from his fingers, and if he so desired, close enough for him to reach for it.

“Care to share?”

Tom tilted his head, as if to say ‘there’s nothing to share.’ But, the few moments Tom expressed about his past, they began with a short statement, just like this time. You waited patiently, knowing he just needed the time to gather his words. Usually, with enough time, Tom always opened up.

“Sickness and death were rampant in our orphanage,” Tom began matter-of-factly. “Especially due to the lack of funding.”

“Flu, Tuberculosis, typhoid, you name it,” Tom remained impassive, but his unspoken torment was told in the crumpled cover gripped in between his fingers. “No one’s going to fix everything for you. You keep pushing or you cease to be.”

It was astounding, the kind of extreme logic that Tom had to rely on to survive. You swallowed the shock. Observing the man in front of you who seemed to share nothing in common with the Head Boy he was in public, you inched your finger closer to his.

After much contemplation, you managed to say, “You’re not in the orphanage anymore, at least not during the school year.”

“Now you have people who genuinely,” you swallowed the word ‘love’, “care about you.”

You continued, paying careful attention to his reticence and eyes that continued to stare blankly at a wrinkle on his cover.

“And I, Abraxas, Canopus, and others sure are not going anywhere even if you fail a few classes.” You giggled at his repulsed expression that soured at the mention of it, a sense of relief washing over yourself at the sight of humanly expressions returning to him.

"You are allowed to rest, Tom," his sharp eyes flickered over to you, uncertainty still swirling in them, as if to search for confirmation in your eyes that you meant it.

“Wait just here,” you patted over his covers. “I’ll go grab some medicine,” you flashed a reassuring smile.

“And…” your eyes landed on his reddened, sniffly nose, “tissues. I’ll go get you some tissues.”

You hopped off the bed and swung your satchel on your shoulder. But, you were caught off guard by a hand that reached for you. Bewildered, you spun on your heels to find Tom staring at you.

Tom parted his lips as if to say something, but closed them again, struggling to find the words for his hand that instinctively reached after you.

“Tom?” You asked, raising your brows inquisitively.

“Stay with me,” he bit his lips, reminiscent of a stubborn child that perhaps he once was. “I prefer you over any medicine in this world.”

In the afternoon lighting that cast a golden glow on his pale features, you saw blush creep up to his cheeks. Words were unnecessary. You only smiled softly, and wrapped a hand over his.

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gardensofthemoon · 4 months

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for the ask game... 4 (where it hurts) + chengxian ✨✨🫶🏻🙏🏼

4 - where it hurts. prompt list here

Wei Wuxian brushes his fingers through Jiang Cheng’s hair. Shijie had painstakingly washed away the blood and grime—the basin water turned a foul shade of rust—matting his hair, then combed the knots until the strands were soft like spun silk, crying quietly as Jiang Cheng teetered on the line between life and death.

“Jiang Cheng,” he whispers in Jiang Cheng’s hair. “Wake up. I can’t stand to see you waste away.”Gathers him closer, nestles Jiang Cheng’s head in the crook of his neck. He’s wan, weak. Breakable.

Since Wen Ning brought him back, Jiang Cheng has been barely awake or deep in slumber, while Wei Wuxian despairs. The deep-rooted fear that Jiang Cheng will not open his eyes again, that Jiang Cheng will die and leave Wei Wuxian all alone, again, strangles the breath out of him.

“Stop smothering me.” Jiang Cheng’s voice rattles through his teeth, hoarse with disuse. “I can’t breathe.”

“Ah, Jiang Cheng!” He smiles, but it must be a trembling thing. His heartbeat is thudding in his chest, pumping with relief. Finally. “A-Cheng, I’m here, I’m here.”

Jiang Cheng coughs. Dark shadows spread under his eyes, and the elegant angles of his face have become sharp, hollowing out his cheeks, pulling on his skin.

“What good is it that you’re here.” Jiang Cheng doesn’t meet his eyes. “You shouldn’t have saved me. Look at me, a pitiful wreck. How can I avenge my parents now?”

His lashes are wet, caught in clumps. Jiang Cheng shifts and pushes Wei Wuxian away with a pained groan, falling back onto the pillows propped on the headboard. The movement jostles his inner robe open, and Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops at the deep red gashes cutting across Jiang Cheng’s chest, still tender from the whip.

He’s been whipped, Wen Ning had said. Jiang Cheng has been whipped. His chest is a field of wounds that can never heal.

Wei Wuxian looks down. A strange shiver prickles through his chest, fever-hot and tooth-sharp, and he thinks he might cry. His heart feels ripe, like it’s going to grow out of his body, splitting his ribcage.

He loves Jiang Cheng so much.

He crouches on the edge of the bed. “I’ll help you with these,” he says, and presses a chaste kiss on Jiang Cheng’s wrist. Feels his pulse speeding up.

For a moment, he cannot breathe. His mouth rests on Jiang Cheng’s hand, a makeshift anchor.

“It hurts.” Jiang Cheng’s voice is barely a whisper. It slices through Wei Wuxian’s heart like a well-oiled blade.

Without a word, he leans in and kisses Jiang Cheng’s chest, kisses the unbroken skin above his heart, minding the tender flesh. Wei Wuxian’s devotion, laid bare. Jiang Cheng has to know he’d do anything for him. A few teardrops fall down his cheeks; he hides his face away, peppering Jiang Cheng’s skin with light kisses. “You’ll be alright. This shixiong will take care of you.”

#chengxian #mdzs fic #elio writes #kiss prompts #jiang cheng #wei wuxian

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angel-with-paper-wings · 2 months

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God’s Punishment

This is a fanfic piece for Day 4 of DGE POTO 2024, the Luciana-themed week hosted by @lapsusophobia!

Summary: Luciana gets her first period. The two men living in the house react in opposite ways.

Rating/Warnings: rated T, descriptions of menstruation, blood, references to Christianity/Catholicism, period-typical misogyny, body shame, implied transmasc!Erik (if you squint)

When Luciana awoke that sweaty summer morning, she knew something was wrong. Her legs shifted beneath the sheets, and she paused when she felt a strange dampness between her thighs. A deluge of shame swept into her mind all at once; had she really wet the bed? At thirteen years old, she felt sure she would have grown out of such a habit by now.

She quickly jumped out of bed and ran her hands over the sheets, but to her surprise, they were dry. Her face contorted into a confused frown as she pulled the chamber pot out from under her bed. With shaking hands, she gathered up the skirt of her nightgown and glanced down, unprepared for the dreadful sight that awaited her.

Blood. She had never seen so much blood. It trickled in a dark red streak down the inside of her thigh. Her wide eyes watched it slowly trail the length of her leg, over the bone of her ankle, oozing into a thick scarlet droplet onto the smooth wooden floor.

A scream of horror finally escaped her throat. She seemed rooted to the spot, afraid to touch it or spread the mess any further. After a moment, she heard the low rumble of her father’s footsteps stomping towards her door like thunder. Giovanni burst in, half-dressed and eyes blazing. “What in Christ’s name are you screaming about?”

Luciana turned around and stared at him in wordless fear. Her palms pressed the skirt flat against her thighs, failing to hide the growing splotch of red staining the pale fabric of her nightgown.

She watched her father’s eyes narrow in recognition, his lips grimacing in disgust. “Ah…it’s just that.”

“What?” she whispered, breathless with panic. “Father, what’s happening to me? You knew this would happen?”

“Of course I knew this would happen, child. It has happened to all of you…all four of you…”

The disdain in his voice when he spoke of her and her sisters was all too familiar. “What is it?” she squeaked.

His fist clenched at his side and he bit his lip, clearly struggling to explain. “It’s God’s punishment. For Eve’s original sin, women bleed every month and suffer during childbirth.”

His words made Luciana shudder. “Every month?”

Giovanni gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head. He waved his hand as he turned to leave her bedroom. “Clean yourself up. Do not soil any more of your clothing, do you hear me?”

After he moved from her doorway, Luciana continued to stand in shock for several moments. His words sunk in like knives in her flesh. Every month…this would happen every month. Three times each season, she would wake up to a river of blood flowing from her like the Nile in a plagued Egypt. It sounded like a nightmare—a nightmare made real.

Eventually, her shaky legs carried her to the washroom. She poured water into the basin and dipped a cloth into it, before slowly beginning to wipe up the trail of sticky red from her leg. After this task was done, she paused for a moment and considered what else to do. Frustrated tears stung in her eyes as she attempted to staunch the flow of blood, but every time she tried a new tiny splotch would appear on the cloth.

How could no one have told her about this? Did everyone know this was coming except for her? She figured her sisters must have suffered the same thing, and her mother too, though she could not be sure. She knew her father had the answer, but she couldn’t ask him. He hated it when she spoke of her mother, and Luciana hated thinking about her. To think that she was somehow similar to that woman, even in this strange bodily way, filled her with shame.

Shame. The poison pulsed through her body and turned her stomach. Throughout her life, she had always felt ashamed of herself in some way, but now this dark red stain made it visible to everyone else. She had to hide it—that’s the only way she could convince herself she was not feeling it. No one must see this curse on her body.

Especially not him.

Just the thought of him, that boy, seeing her covered in her own blood made her quiver in mortification. She quickly removed her soiled nightgown and placed it in the bathtub. She went to her small wardrobe and grabbed a pair of drawers and a gown for the day and carried them back into the washroom. By this time, blood was seeping through the cloth she had been using to clean herself, so she chucked it into the bathtub with a harsh yell. She found a new cloth and positioned it carefully within her drawers, before pulling on the rest of the clothes. Examining herself in the mirror, she adjusted her skirts one more time before walking stiffly down the stairs.

A sigh of relief left her chest when she saw that the boy was not in the kitchen; she figured he was in the basement working on his bizarre inventions, or perhaps already hard at work on her father’s buildsite. Happy to not have him as a distraction, she quickly got to work preparing breakfast as usual. The water for the coffee was halfway boiled and she was just cutting the bread for toast, when she felt a stabbing pain in her belly. She grimaced and dropped the knife, moving her hand to her abdomen. “Ow!” she yelped.

After a few seconds, the pain passed and she blinked away the tears at the edges of her eyes. She looked down at her own belly in offended shock. So not only was there blood, but there was pain, too? Why was she being punished for something Eve did? She wasn’t there in Eden, she didn’t eat that stupid apple!

These thoughts bounced around in her head, until a sharp whistling broke through. She whipped her head to the screaming kettle sitting on the stove, and she quickly removed it from the heat. She set the coffee to infuse, when she heard a soft shuffle behind her. She turned around, and almost spilled the coffee in surprise.

The boy loomed over her like the void of night. He stood a full meter away from her, but it still somehow felt too close. Luciana placed a hand over her chest and let out a frazzled sigh. “You could at least warn me,” she groaned.

His golden eyes flickered like nervous candles within the black cloth mask. After a moment, they glanced away from her and toward the countertop beside her. She followed his gaze, and saw the plate of toast and fruit she had already prepared. Understanding his wordless request, she picked it up and held it out to him.

His long bony fingers grasped the plate. She was about to turn around, when she heard a soft mumble: “Thank you.”

Even that tiny phrase, said in his voice, sent a chill up her spine. It wasn’t a bad or scary kind of chill, it was somehow…warm? She looked all the way up his gangly form to his amber eyes again. “You’re welcome.”

The boy stared at her a second longer, not blinking and not moving. Suddenly, she saw his eyes glance down to her lower belly, where she had just felt that sting of pain. Her face burned, and she folded her hands in front of her to cover the spot at the top of her skirts. At this, he finally looked away and trotted out the door without another sound.

She felt her heart racing in the back of her throat. Oh god, had he heard her exclamation of pain? Did he think something was wrong with her? He better not tell her father, or else he may send for a doctor and give her all kinds of nasty medicines or cut her open and rip out little bits of her.

To prevent the panic from seeping in, Luciana inhaled deeply and went back to preparing breakfast for her father. She set the finished plate and coffee on the table, then started on the dough for a fresh loaf of bread to go with lunch. As she worked, she could not stop her thoughts from wandering back to the skinny young shadow that had just vanished from the kitchen.

She didn’t know what to make of that strange boy…that Erik. From the first moment she met him, she knew he was different, everyone knew he was different. He always looked ill, with his pasty skin and sunken eyes. His arms were so thin that from a distance she mistook them for raw bone, and his fingers seemed as fragile as flower stems. And yet, she had seen those arms lift whole loads of bricks without struggle and those fingers carve shapes out of solid marble for hours on end. No wonder Father loves him, she thought bitterly.

He was amazing, yet he remained an enigma to everyone, even Giovanni. That mask seemed to be molded to his face, immobile as the marble he occasionally carved into columns and balustrades. Besides the sight of his wiry forearms when he rolled up his sleeves, he did not allow even the smallest glimpse at the body beneath his clothes, but that only seemed to encourage her curiosity. Often, she wondered what it would be like if he lifted his shirt, and she could glimpse his insides twisting around or his heart beating between the valleys of his ribs. Perhaps he really was a skeleton, and those clothes were the only things keeping all his bones together.

But he never took off his shirt…that was another thing that made him different from all the other men that worked on her father’s buildsite. Even on the hottest days, when the other men’s bare backs gleaned with sweat in the burning sun, his body remained as covered as his face.

But his voice. She had never heard him say more than two words at one time—mostly his simple “si, Signor” to her father—but even these filled up her soul like a good meal. Even in her dreams she could not escape that voice. She used to follow him around for hours, pestering him with questions about his work in the hope of hearing the smallest word, the slightest sound. He could make a sigh of annoyance sound beautiful. But he hardly ever responded with anything more than silence, or a shake or nod of his head if she was lucky. But she couldn’t even enjoy these small victories, before her father was yelling at her to leave the boy to his work.

Was it so wrong to be curious? To her father, yes. All she could do was hope that Erik did not think as lowly of her inquisitiveness as Giovanni did.

When she was done cleaning the kitchen and preparing the ingredients for lunch, Luciana wiped her hands on her apron before hanging it up. She supposed she should start on the laundry now, and that was when she remembered the bloody cloth and nightgown she had thrown into her bathtub. She groaned in frustration as she trudged up the stairs; how was she ever going to get those stains out?

She pushed open the door to her bedroom, and suddenly she stopped in her tracks. Sitting at the foot of her bed was a bucket, a bar of soap, and a towel. She was certain those things had not been there when she left her room not an hour earlier.

Luciana glanced behind her shoulder at the empty hallway, before stepping into her room and closing the door. She walked across the room and eyed the objects, and she noticed that there were a few more things inside the bucket. Kneeling down, she reached in and examined the strange array of items: several identical strips of clean cloth, a few bundles of herbs tied with string, a small jar containing a light-colored powder, and a few recipes written in a sloppy, hurried hand. Upon closer inspection, these recipes seemed to be for teas and tinctures to specifically help with pain.

If this was a trick meant to puzzle her, it was certainly working. Where did all of this come from? She had just recently grown out of the concept of fairies sneaking into mortals’ houses and leaving them gifts, but she could feel her mind reverting back to that childish fantasy. She supposed she could wonder about such things while she got started on the laundry; she wouldn’t let those damn bloodstains set.

She picked up the bucket and towel and carried them with her into the washroom. Setting them down on the floor, she then retrieved the soap and did a quick double take. Attached to the bar of soap was another small note, written in the same messy scrawl as the recipes:

Cold water works best.

Luciana stared down at the odd message for only a moment, before ripping it off of the soap. She filled the bucket with water and dunked in the soap before adding her nightgown and the cloth. She swirled them around for a moment before reaching inside the water and beginning to fiercely scrub at the bloodstains.

So this was what womanhood was…

#poto #phantom of the opera #fanfiction #my writing #dge poto 2024 #luciana poto #poto luciana #erik poto #phantom susan kay #susan kay phantom #giovanni poto #tw blood #tw: blood

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the-unholy-sovereign · 6 months

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[{]¤| Hail Satan |¤[}] 💀Shivah "Shiva"

(Asia) ASIAN "Defender I.Eagle" The Shinto; Slayers: (I.Predator) Komodo Dragon, the Salamander is thou victim "II.Prey" [(Demonic)] I.Saviour; The Shah of Africa (II.Hyena). Henceforward "I.Hunt", THE CONGO-BASIN; The Salamander is the devourer of both the falcon and its eggs. Not limited only to that particular species of bird as a predator. But to the owl as well, for the salamander being an common enemy onto both. However the condors mainly protects the falcon during it's hibernation; thusly I.Savior . Basically, depending on the breed of "Falcon" that will hibernate and shed its feathers (I.Prairie). Thence I, "V A M P U R I M" I I Cannibal (cannibals) "Imhotep" I.Nubian-Pharaoh; HYENAS (I.Barren) "Surrogacy" Hyena/Wolf (Half-Blood), Werewolf. The "Demon" Shai: White-Devil I.SOVEREIGN (Unholy) "Demonic", hereby solidify power afterwards impregnating the owl; offspring I.Warlock. Thereof Necrophilia (The hyena) "Human" I.Fetus cannibalistic-feast, Bain-Root/Garlic. . (Wolves).

[{BARBARIAN}] I.Europe/Romania . . . Witchcraft.

Furthermore an "Barren" woman is unlikely to bare demonic offspring, unless she's a female born fertile. Concluding "I.Barren" barren female is freed from the curse of the Succubus. . (Owls). Therefore I being the unholy imperial hierarchial-patriarchy (Overlord) Fledglings "Demon" Warlord, I.Shah/Shai "Feudal" A F R I C A [(N Ō N)] Feudalist; thine African "Gila-monster" II.Predator, the Congo-Basin [{Salamander}].

♾NUBIAN CREED: SATANIST: THE DARK GOD OF VOODOO. . . .

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Chapter Twenty-Six

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Thank y'all for your patience with me for these chapters. I hope it makes up for the anguish I put you through for the past couple ones. XD

Chapter Warnings: Tooth rooting fluff

The trek back to your rooms was a slow one. Your head was pounding, and your ribs ached; your steps slightly shuffled as you used the wall for support. The carpeted floor felt like it was moving underneath your feet as if you were on a ship sailing for moons across the Narrow Sea.

It was difficult to sneak past the guards this time, making maladroit movements that stirred a profound nausea within you. Your blood pounded in your ears, the consistent beating of your heart causing your balance to teeter on the brink of collapsing. It seemed like the journey would never end, and when you felt your body could no longer take it, you forced your limbs to move—traversing across the courtyards of the Keep and into a deserted entrance to Maegor's Holdfast.

Your knees wobbled, bracing yourself against the stone wall so as not to collapse. Examining your surroundings, you saw the familiar paintings and tapestries of your room's corridor, the guard still fast asleep outside. Your nails dug into the cracks, pushing yourself off as you looked for a distraction.

It was easy enough to sneak past the Gold Cloak before, but now, with the constant thumping in your skull and sluggish movements, you feared the guards would discover you. If it took another hour, you would find a way to rid the man of his position. You looked at a vase parallel to your position. Your steps staggered as you grabbed it.

Hiding within a shadowed alcove, you chucked the pottery as far as your muscles could, hearing the guard start awake and run to the noise. You moved past him as quickly as your limbs allowed, your breath coming out in ragged pants as you flung open the doors to your chambers. You rested your body against the wood, finding comfort in the sturdy material that never bent or bowed, no matter its weight.

You began to undress yourself, slowly untying the knot at your waist as your breathing settled into small puffs from your nose. Turning haphazardly and throwing the article onto a chair, you're greeted with cropped silver hair bathing in the moonglow of the night.

"Why are you here?" The words spit out of your mouth like soured milk, shoving the pain from your body.

Aegon's platinum locks shined in the flames of a fire you don't remember lighting, a goblet in his grasp. "Where were you? Off with one of your knightlings?" he snapped, sipping his drink.

"That is none of your concern," you retort, walking to the center table.

Beneath the dim lighting of the candles and fire, Aegon studied you, observing the deep circles under your eyes that mirrored his own, the streak of red liquid matching the color of your hands and nails. Though it has long since dried, Ser Edder's blood still clung to the cracks and crevices of your skin, staining your flesh.

You poured yourself a cup of water from the basin, attempting to quell your nausea as you slammed the empty glass back onto the table, gasping.

"Leave," you commanded the Prince, not sparing him a glance.

"What have you done?"

You turned yourself to face him, your balance unsteady as you met with a squared face etched with a concern you had never seen worn by him. It caused you to pause, queasiness creeping itself back into your throat.

"You'll know soon enough."

You felt the contents of your stomach rise faster than you could quell it, running to the chamber pot and emptying your supper into it.

Without warning, there was a gentle touch of someone holding the loose strands of your hair, hands instinctively slapping them away. They refused to move, and another gag abruptly distracted your protests.

Aegon rubbed circles onto your back until your arms gave out, unable to keep yourself up as he held you. You wanted to push him away, still angry with everything he has done, but found yourself too weak to protest, laying limply in his embrace.

Tears slowly fell from your eyes, leaning your forehead into the crook of his neck, the pain in your head and side ever more apparent with your sobs. Aegon held you through it all, not saying a word as he brought you to the table. Sitting you down, he cleaned the dried blood from your skin, taking care of every inch.

He unbraided your hair with a gentleness you never knew he possessed, soaking the rag in water and squeezing it over your scalp. The pink droplets ran down your forehead and neck as the Prince washed the blood from your locks. You hadn't realized how much blood covered you until you looked down into the bowl, the water appearing a dark red color that reminded you of the Arbor Red the Prince loved.

Aegon's gentleness made you feel weak, an emotion you swore never to feel again. Your body so quickly forgave his actions, letting him peel the stained clothes off your body as he continued his work. You hated him. You loathed him for what he did, not only for the murder of your kin but for every action he made. He stole your innocence at such a young age, your first encounters with the pleasures of flesh done under the influence of alcohol, manipulated and used for his selfish desires for reasons unknown to you.

It was not love. It couldn't possibly be that. You would never lay with the one you loved when you had done something that hurt them without their knowledge. Perhaps he had an obsession only a man could understand. It was a shiny, untouched thing for his hands to tarnish simply because it would be him doing so. But the kindness he showed you with his fleeting touches and lingering smiles, brief kisses, and sweet nothings whispered into your ear when no one was around showed otherwise.

"Helaena is with child," you spoke without thinking, wincing as Aegon pulled a fresh nightdress over your head. The words sounded plain in the Prince's ears, but he knew otherwise, the cold expression of defeat and hurt hidden deep within your eyes.

He refused to answer, words unable to form even if he tried. You said no more on the subject despite your great need to know why he did it. Why did he unthinkingly go back to his old ways as if the moments shared between you were nothing?

Anxiety began to fill the empty pit of your stomach as Aegon directed you to your bed, pulling the rumpled covers back as he helped you in. What would happen on the morrow? Surely, he would run to his Mother and grandsire once the news broke, blabbering on about how he saw the Princess bloodied and bruised at the hour of the owl. They wouldn't care that he was waiting for you in your chambers, improper and inappropriate for even the whore Prince himself.

You resigned to the fate of punishment, laying back stiffly on your feather pillows as you stared at the same ceiling from earlier. Aegon stared down at you from above, a look you couldn't discern as you grew uncomfortable with his gaze, your fingers fidgeting beneath the thin cotton sheet. He appeared as if he wanted to say something, the words barely held behind pouted pink lips.

He seemed to decide against it, pursuing the mouth you caressed with your own as he went to the pile of discarded linens. You watched him with curious eyes, straining your neck to see him carry the bloodied dress and rag to the fire, placing both as they engulfed in the bright orange flames. Your uncertainty is dismissed as if it never existed.

Aegon's actions confused you, causing your already disgruntled head to swim with thoughts you couldn't decipher, lulling it to the side as a wave of pain hit you. You both watched the burst of flames from the sudden fuel slowly dim, reducing the evidence of your crime to ash. Then, as quickly as the dress had burned, Aegon poured the dirtied water onto the fire, ridding anything that could be used against you.

You couldn't understand why he did it. Perhaps he was drunk and not thinking clearly, though the thought only served to confuse you more. You never saw Aegon so caring and doting on anyone in his family, not even his children. The man shied away from affection toward his kin as if they had a sickness, and the treatment he bestowed on you tonight stirred emotions within your chest you could not name.

Tears began to well in your eyes again, failing to hide the hiccup that accompanied them. Aegon quickly returned to your trembling form as he kneeled at the side of the mattress, brushing a strand of damp hair stuck to your temple. He brought his goblet to your lips, wordlessly encouraging you to drink as you swatted him away.

You tucked yourself further beneath your blankets like a child with the fear of the dark, concealing your soft sobs. Aegon stood from his crouched position and set the cup on your bedside table. He dragged a plush green armchair from beside the hearth, the sound grating your ears and traveling straight through your skull as he sat. The Prince made himself comfortable at your side, placing his ankle over his knee as he silently observed you.

Anger suddenly replaced the weakness you felt. Why was Aegon still here? Why did he continue to bagger you with his unwelcomed presence? Did he only seek to embarrass you further? The notion that Aegon might be as sick as people rumored crossed your mind, causing another wave of nausea you couldn't tell was from your injuries or the thought of rising.

"I will never forgive you," you growled, your voice coming from deep within your chest.

Aegon shifted behind you; whether from the harsh words or the position he was in, you were unsure.

"I know," he softly spoke, the admission barely audible between the throbbing of your ears.

Your eyelids were heavy from the day, your body wanting to finally shut down and take the rest you were deprived of as Aegon hummed softly. You flinched at the unexpected sound, turning your head slightly in response.

The tune was familiar, a far-off melody that reminded you of home, not the one on Dragonstone, but the one you spent creating all the firsts of your life. The house where you had your first meals and words, walked on wobbly legs, and spilled your moon blood, where moans and girlish squeals of joy sounded as you ran across cracked wooden flooring, girls twice your age chasing after you with giggles.

Aegon seemed to slow in his humming, your mind coming to a halt as sleep dug its gentle claws into your limbs.

"And I know the kindest thing..."

You felt your eyelids become as heavy as the bags of grain you carried for training, attempting to keep them open and not give the Whore Prince the satisfaction of lulling you to sleep.

"I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone."

You were unsure when sleep happened as your vision went ebony, the soft humming of Aegon drifting through your ears and embracing you in a blanket of dreamless darkness.

***

Jeyne and Fiora thought nothing of your symptoms, believing it to be one of your bouts of headaches as they tended to their morning routine. You refused to let them undress you and see the purple and yellow-green blotches on your ribs, the knot on the back of your skull. Though you trusted your maids with secrets, you did not want to test their loyalty with something as grave as this. They need not bear the consequences of your sins.

You could barely stand the sounds of the morning doves and wood pigeons, their crooning songs like an ice pick to your mind. Aegon did not return to your chambers in the following days of your recovery; you believed it to be for the best.

You still clung to the anger and betrayal for what he did, but the emotions soon became a mess, a ball of string unraveled and carelessly rewound together again. Every time his countenance flashed within your mind's eye, you felt that same bundle of string tangle further within itself with emotions you could not name.

Aegon's actions embittered you. You did not need his help. You did not want his help, yet the arrogant fool still gave it to you. It must be some ploy for him to weasel back into your good graces. He did not care for you more than the whores he bedded on the Streets of Silk. He proved it as much with the coming of Helaena's third child.

On the seventh day of your solitude, a knock was on your chamber doors. Believing your maids were coming with your peppermint and chamomile tea, you bid them enter, only to find the Queen adorned in her typical, conservative green gown. You attempted to hide your displeasure at her presence as you rose from the plush settee with a deep curtsy, nearly losing your balance before the Hightower woman caught you.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your arrival, my Queen?" you questioned blankly, offering her a seat near the warmth of the hearth. Alicent pursed her lips as she accepted, smoothing her finally sewn skirts as she cleared her throat.

"Lord Vaemond Velaryon has petitioned the Crown for the Driftwood throne."

Your body moved faster than your mind, turning so abruptly that a wave of nausea washed over you. "What?"

"During your... illness, Lord Corlys suffered a grave injury during a battle in the Stepstones. An injury in which he might not recover," she began. The Queen's words were tentative, her doe brown eyes frantically looking anywhere but you. "In light of this tragedy, the succession of Drift Mark has come into question."

A frown pulled your lips downward, your eyes squinting with an accusatory gaze. "My brother, Lucerys Velaryon, son of Laenor Velaryon, is set to inherit Driftmark. This matter was settled years ago."

Alicent smirked at your words, the aura of uneasiness leaving for one of arrogance as she looked at you. Her expression was unnerving, causing you to be the one who turned away to focus on anything rather than the person across.

Do you recall our conversation from moons past? Where I brought to you the hypocrisy of your birth?" You clenched your jaw at her arrogant words, fisting the fabric of your night dress. "When Rhaenyra ascends the throne, you know it will not be her who rules, but your Father. Prince Daemon is a cruel and unjust man. He will reign with fire and blood upon the innocents of the realm. He will kill anyone who sets to oppose him."

You refused to look at the beseeching Queen, rolling your eyes in disbelief as you leaned onto the plush settee. Alicent proceeded to drone on until there was a painful thumping in your head. This was the most anyone had spoken to you in days; it just had to be her. The sound of her voice was grating, a knife dragging along the red rock walls of the Keep.

"He will kill my family, your kin. Aemond, Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Aegon. You told me that your worth is not defined by titles or marriage but by actions. Support Vaemond's claim and protect-"

"You will know what it is like to watch loved ones die. Just as I have," you interrupted, finally making contact with Alicent's pleading brown orbs. "Where was my mercy when you sentenced my kin to the sword? Your children will bear the consequences of your sins."

"That was not my doing. My Father-"

"You stood by and let it happen!" you hissed, your nails biting crescents into your palms to control your burst of anger. "You are a desperate woman clinging onto the coattails of those who have sought to keep you locked within a gilded cage of suffering. You speak of love for your family, but am I not your family? Is Rhaenyra not your family? Am I not a woman fighting and protecting herself from the people you seek to please?" You inhaled a ragged breath, steadying your uneven breathing and beating heart as your head pounded.

"What you ask of me is only for the gain of those who wish to see me gone, and that is something I cannot do in good conscience."

You hadn't noticed the Queen's trembling fingers picking incessantly at her cuticles until you saw blood coming from a piece of skin pulled too deep. Instinctively, you thought to grab a wash rag and some water but swallowed the urge to help the woman who caused her suffering. Alicent's face hardened as she watched the crimson liquid seep into the cracks of her hands, placing them behind her as she stood primly.

"I thought you ought to know your family should be arriving in four days time, along with your half sisters. We shall convene as soon as they arrive." The Queen smoothed out her unwrinkled skirts, a distraction from the intensity of your stare as she began to exit.

"What authority will decide the outcome of this farce Vaemond Velaryon has created?" you interjected, the wooden frame of the settee groaning under your weight. "My Grandsire? Will he be coherent with the milk of the poppy you continue to push on him?"

The Queen contorted her lips into a downward smirk, clasping her fists at her front as she rolled her shoulders back, her neck ramrod straight. "It would be mine, and the Hand," she answered smugly, her gold and emerald earrings swaying with the movement of her mouth.

You released an exasperated breath, clicking your tongue and shaking your head, the movement causing you to lose focus.

"But be assured the father's will is just and I shall forget the insults you have spoken to me today, for the Seven commands it." You scoffed at her pious expression, rolling your eyes as you sucked in a quick breath to retort before the Queen interrupted. "Good day, Princess. I pray to the Mother for your speedy recovery."

Without so much as a glance behind, the Queen Consort exited, her elegant green skirts swishing with every clicking step of her finely made shoes as you fumed in silence.

***

The early spring air was crisp against your cheeks, the stray flyaway locks in your braided hair gently swaying in the breeze. You were the only person standing below the winding steps of Maegor's Holdfast, slightly bristled at your fellow welcome party's absence. You wore a thick satin cloak of red and black over your form, your dress of dense charcoal cotton with bronze lines of embroidery. A sturdy leather collar caged your neck, golden threads sewn into the bones to support it. Your brass cloak clasps held the Targaryen emblem in the broaches with matching circles sewn onto the hem, giving your coat a weighted feel.

Your Mother was the first to exit the carriage at the announcement of a kingsguard, staring at the tall red rock structures. Daemon, Jace, and Luke soon followed, your second youngest brother running to you. The nursemaids carrying a crying Viserys, babbling Aegon, and young Joffery came after with Rhaena. Luke had grown so much since the last time you saw him. His head used to be at your chest, now just above your shoulder.

"Luke," you called softly, tenderly stroking his mop of brown hair as you embraced. "You've grown."

Lucerys nuzzled his face further into your shoulder, squeezing you impossibly tighter. "I have missed you so much, sissy." He sounded on the verge of tears, and you, too, were almost emotionally overcome as you saw Jace's smile.

You were with your family, finally.

"I've missed you too." You pulled away from your younger brother's body, though not too far before Joffrey's little form ran into you. "I'm sorry I missed your nameday, Luke. I trust that you've enjoyed my gift, yes?"

"Of course, sister. Daemon has helped me with my training, though I doubt I will ever be as good as you with the blade," he answered bashfully, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink.

"Oh, nonsense, Luke. I was barely your junior when I learned. You still have plenty of years ahead to become better." At the mention of your Father's name, he approached you, peering underneath his sparse brows.

"Daughter," he greeted tersely, his hands intertwined with his belt.

"Father," you smiled, hoping he would ignore the slight of the Queen's and the Hand's absence. "How wonderful it is to have you all back at the Keep." You released Luke from your grasp, curtsying with the bow of your head. "Please, allow me to welcome you-"

Your Father's abrupt laugh caused you to bristle, blinking rapidly as you licked your lips, swallowing the formed lump and embarrassment.

"Sweet daughter, you look as if you are a woman grown," Rhaenyra spoke as she placed a comforting hand on Daemon's bicep. "You are more beautiful than the last time I saw you."

You accepted the flattery in stride, a slight flush to your ears as Luke took your hand in his. Though he was your younger brother who still had yet to become a man, he understood adults and their languages that took many years for some to master.

Little Luke, you thought, nearly a man grown, affectionately smiling down at him.

"Mother, 'tis lovely to see you, and with child no less." You approached her, placing your palm on the bump as you felt the flesh underneath move. "Why did you not tell me?"

"I thought it would be best to inform you in person, my sweet girl. The Maester believe I am five moons," she answered, covering your hand with hers.

You grinned at the idea of another silver-haired child growing inside the walls of Dragonstone, motioning your head toward the enormous wooden doors. "Come. Let me escort you to your chambers."

Your family traversed the halls of the castle you all called home, Rhaenyra and Daemon speaking in hushed tones. Your siblings had scampered off to become acquainted with where they once lived, and the servants had taken the youngest ones to their rooms.

You observed your parents glancing at the decorations of the Keep, exchanging displeased looks with one another as you bit your lip. You hadn't given much thought to the decor of the Red Keep, your mind preoccupied with the countless hours of politicking and ensuring that your Mother's succession would be smooth that you hadn't noticed that the tapestries of flying dragons, riders bounding with their mounts became those of the Seven, holy pictures of the Crone and her guiding light, the Maiden with her pure, ethereal beauty, and those of religious importance.

As you passed before a tall alcove, a Seven Pointed Star was carved into the stone wall, letting the natural daylight in. Your Mother and Father stopped to stare.

"I would say it's nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it," Rhaenyra said, a slight lilt to her melodic voice and sharing a knowing glance with Daemon.

You felt your nose become itchy at the thought, unsure why her words created such an onslaught of emotions. Shame churned your gut, looking away from your Mother to see your Father continuing his trek into the dark corridors. Your eyes burned as you stood beside Rhaenyra, refusing to look up at the Star as your breathing hiccuped.

This seemingly innocent symbol was the catalyst for everything you kept within. All your doubts, inadequacies, mistakes, insecurities, and failures came pouring out with a barely contained sob, your body recoiling itself.

"I'm sorry, Mother," you whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, my sweet girl, whatever for?" she questioned, immediately enveloping you in her maternal embrace.

"I-I tried Mother, to do what Father wanted me to. To be strong, to show them that I'm better than what my title leads them to believe." You inhaled a jagged breath, removing your Mother's arms and replacing them with your own.

You did not deserve her comfort. What had you done to secure Rhaenyra's claim as heir? Play dress up in front of the Small Council? Warm a spoiled prince's bed? You indeed had done nothing to aid your Mother and solidify her succession in the eyes of Lords, too distracted with a plan so idiotic not even Otto Hightower could see the benefit.

"My daughter," Rhaenyra spoke softly, holding her thick cloak to her body, "my beautiful, strong, cunning daughter," she continued, her leather traveling shoes clacking on the stone floor. "I know what your Father planned, and you have done more than anything I could have dreamed. I've heard how you demand for your voice to be listened, how you aided the Sea Snake in the Stepstones, how you ceaselessly fight for the small folk in spite of the Council's arrogance." Your Mother laughed softly to herself, clicking her tongue as she smiled. "At times I believe you would be more fit to rule than I."

Her statement alarmed you, your eyes going wide as you quickly glanced around to ensure no prying eyes or eavesdropping servants lurked within the shadows of the halls. "Mother, do not say such things. You are the realm's rightful heir. You've been groomed for this since the King declared you as such."

Rhaenyra chuckled, her porcelain teeth glinting in the dim glow of the yellow candlelight as she embraced you once more. "I do believe I have neglected my duty and placed it upon my daughter. For that, I am deeply sorry."

"Mother. You needn't apologize to me. It is an honor to serve in your stead, to be allowed to devote my life in service of you," you spoke earnestly, not wanting her to feel guilty for the actions that you chose.

"You haven't had much of a childhood, my beloved, to know what I mean, and it hurts my heart to see you so distraught over things that were already planted before you blessed our lives." Rhaenyra gently smoothed the loose strands of your black hair, her violet orbs catching on the white streak, a wistful look inside them. "When I ascend the Iron Throne, I want you to by my side, to guide me in uncertainty and provide council as my Hand."

A gasp caught in your throat at her confession, a fresh wave of tears pouring down your damp cheeks as you shook your head. "No, Mother. I cannot accept. I am undeserving of such an honor."

Rhaenyra cupped your face, her lithe fingers causing the fine hairs to stand on end as she smiled again. "I shall hear nothing of that, my love. You will stand by me as Hand of the Queen and you will do so graciously."

"But what of Father-"

"No," she interrupted with a determined flick of her head. "You will be my Hand. I would rather have no one else at my side."

All rebuttals trapped inside your throat, her steadfast declarations causing you to gape at her, struggling to come to terms with the contents.

You, the Hand of the Queen. One of the most coveted positions of the Crown given to you by a woman you failed. Your face scrunched at the wave of emotions that pulled you under, unable to discern if it was deep-seated gratitude, fear, happiness, or anger. It was most likely a whirlpool of all, dragging you into its depths as you cried into the crook of your Mother's neck, her gentle arms embracing you.

Masterlist of Series

Just a sweet little chapter to make up for all the angst I've been writing. Despite how daddy Daemon acts, he is proud of his daughter. He's just not very good at showing it. I mean, how many women have been on the small council? Two. And they were both queens. I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. It's pretty much going to be nonstop drama from this point on. XD

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melanie-ohara · 9 months

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In The Woods Somewhere - Chapter 2

Whumpuary2024, Day 06 - Prompt: Used as Bait

Sabine faces off against the bandit leader in a last ditch attempt to save her mortal enemy...

This one contains a lot of Making Stuff Up about those Peridean bandits, so one day it'll probably stop being canon compliant

AO3 here

Three hours earlier....

Shin's tent was cold, and she rubbed her balled fists against her chest to warm herself up as she crossed from her bunk to the wash basin. Behind her, she heard the flap open as Feldspar, the leader of the bandits, entered without asking. Shin ignored him for a moment and instead looked at her own face in the cracked mirror. She looked pale and tired, but that was no surprise. The last of her eyeliner was smudged and barely visible around her eyes. She considered using charcoal from the burnt-out fire but no matter how naked she felt without her warpaint, it made her skin itch after a few hours.

"Sister," Feldspar prompted, and Shin forced herself not to grimace. These men were descendents of the original Nightbrothers, and they were nothing like the zabrak colony that still existed on Dathomir: Shin had spent long enough around Morgan Elsbeth to know they were more like the witches of old. When she had first come to them, they had mistaken her ashen skin and pale hair for a Nightsister's, and she had never tried to correct them. It suited her purposes, but pretending to be a witch sickened her.

"Feldspar," she greeted coldly, without looking around.

The men had lost - or maybe never had - the ritual knowledge of their sisters, but they had an instinctive connection to the living Force Shin could barely comprehend, let alone match. Their ability to predict had led them to their quarry without fail, but their empathic telepathy was less helpful: Shin had to seal her mind from them to avoid giving herself away.

"Our enemies are near," Feldspar said. His voice slithered like rats over a corpse. "They threaten balance, and we must strike them down."

Shin had never been able to determine if that phrase meant that the Jedi and her pet Mandalorian threatened to destroy something the bandits protected, or threatened to bring balance to chaos. Peridea made no sense to her, not since Baylan had abandoned her to it and struck out on his own.

She shook her head. "My former Master is a greater threat now." Shin dipped her head and splashed cold water over her face. It washed off the last of her makeup, and she frowned at how young her reflection looked. How small.

Feldspar moved closer, until Shin could see him in the mirror. He wasn't wearing his helmet, and his grey skin and lipless mouth full of rows of spiked teeth were off-putting so early in the morning.

"We have the opportunity to end your Jedi now," he hissed insistently.

Shin tilted her head forwards a little to examine the dark roots of her hair. Before she could stop herself, she wondered if the purple-haired Mandalorian had any bleach.

Feldspar stepped into her personal space and came close to her ear. "Perhaps you can take it from her once she's dead ," he said, and Shin winced. Feldspar would have felt the curiosity in the thought, and the distinct lack of malice she held for Sabine Wren.

She turned to fix his sharp silver eyes with the hardest glare she could muster. "Fine," she said. "Prepare a war party."

Feldspar nodded and left, and Shin was overwhelmed by a crushing sense of foreboding.

Shin walked at the head of the formation, a step behind Feldspar. The bandits travelled in a loose group that looked random and disorganised at first glance, but was carefully calculated to maximise sightlines. The forest closed in around them, and Shin couldn't see far into the darkness around them. The Nightbrothers eyes' were better adapted to the dark and she was forced to rely on them to navigate. The feeling that had struck her in the tent had only grown the further they'd gone, and now it was balled up in her chest like a secret she could barely keep.

"Hold," Feldspar whispered. His voice was barely audible to Shin but the others all stopped, no matter how distant they were. Feldspar's eyes were closed against a vision - Shin could tell from the pale wisps of green smoke that flitted out from under his eyelids. "Here," he said, after a moment. "Scatter."

With a rustle of parting undergrowth, the bandits vanished into the darkness.

"We've tried an ambush before," Shin pointed out. It was cold and dark and the anxiety was making her irritable. Baylan would have chided her for being unfocused. She wished she couldn't think like him.

"Not with bait," Feldspar said, and Shin's lightsaber was in her hand and ignited before she had even processed the thought screaming in her head. The Nightbrother was ready for her though, and grabbed her wrist in a crushing grip, forcing the blade out and away. "I am sorry, Sister," he said, and a white heat filled Shin's stomach as his blade forced its way inside. "But a bird will fly to a dying wolf."

Shin coughed. It didn't hurt, not yet. She knew it would, once the shock had passed and her brain caught up with her body, but she had a few seconds to bring up her free hand and hurl Feldspar into a tree hard enough to break his neck. Her arm refused to obey her. She glanced down and saw the cursed green tendrils of witch magic curled around the blade. She couldn't even spit in his face as he yanked the blade free and shoved her down to the ground. Pain battled with fury and hate as Feldspar reached down to pick her lightsaber up from where it had fallen.

Now....

Sabine grabbed her helmet from Shin's side and put it back on, turning as she got back to her feet to face the bandit leader stepping out of the shadows. The familiar sound of Shin's lightsaber igniting pierced the air and the orange light glittered in the rain as he advanced on her slowly.

"That doesn't belong to you," Sabine told him as she unhooked her only lightsaber and switched it on. She had barely found her guard position when the bandit surged forwards faster than Sabine thought possible and struck for her head. She twitched her hands up to block his strike and tried to use the pull of the blades to open his guard. The bandit yanked Shin's blade free of the lock and stabbed forwards, forcing Sabine to hop back a step and swing her lightsaber down and out in a weak block that opened up her left side. She struck out to get some breathing room, but it was wide and predictable and he easily countered.

This was bad.

The bandit was forcing her back, step by step, as each of his strikes forced her into a stance that gave him an opening to attack again. Before she could even hope to find an opening, the bandit leader forced her lightsaber out of the way and lined up a shot that would take her head. Sabine tried to lift her left hand to take the blade on her vambrace, but she knew before she moved it would be too late.

Or it would have been, if the bandit's lightsaber hadn't stuck in the air like it had hit a rayshield.

Stunned, Sabine stared at Shin. The fight had pushed her back past her prone form until she was behind the bandit leader, only now she was sitting up and reaching out, clamping the Force tight around her own lightsaber blade and holding it in place.

Her face was contorted with agony as her other hand gripped at her guts. "Kill him!" she screamed.

Rallying, Sabine swung her lightsaber down to slice through his wrist. Shin's hilt dropped from his severed hand and before he could even scream Sabine raised her foot and booted him hard enough in the chest to send him sprawling into the mud. Before she could move back to Shin, blaster fire erupted out of the trees around her. Sabine managed to catch a few bolts with her blade before they started to impact her beskar. Her visor glowed with red and orange cutting sizzling paths through the rain and within seconds she was overwhelmed. She dropped her lightsaber as she dropped to her knees, just managing to wrap her forearms around her abdomen below the protection of her chestplate. She knew it wouldn't be long before one of their shots found a gap - and even if they didn't, beskar wouldn't hold up forever. Eventually the steel would collapse, and she would die. She glanced over at Shin, and through the blur of colour she saw that she was out cold.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and closed her eyes.

She felt the rush of the Force moving around her before she saw what was happening. Ahsoka, resplendent in her bright white robes, landed between her and the blaster fire. Her saber erupted into life and whirled in a tightly controlled circle, deflecting bolts into the trees. Sabine's lightsaber shot off the ground by her knee and into Ahsoka's free hand.

"Go!" her Master shouted back at her. "Get her to Huyang!"

Sabine stared for a half-second as Ahsoka started advancing, a tornado made of light swirling around her and turning the rain to steam. She shook herself and grabbed a blaster in one hand as she ran, bent low, to Shin's side. She was still breathing, but barely, and Sabine scooped her into her arms as gently as she could with blaster bolts churning up the mud around them. She wrapped one arm around Shin's back and supported her knees with her other forearm, keeping her blaster gripped tightly as she stumbled back the way she had come.

She couldn't protect Shin like this, and her heart was in her throat the entire desperate sprint towards the sunlight bleeding through the edge of the forest. She nearly fell twice, and forced herself to slow down a little. Behind her, she could still hear Ahsoka fighting the bandits back, and wished she could turn back and help her. Shin, her mortal enemy, needed her more than her ally now, though, so she pressed on.

Relief almost made Sabine scream: Mirshko was waiting for them, already kneeling so they could clamber on. Ahsoka must have brought him when she followed her. Sabine lifted Shin onto Mirshko's back, dimly aware of how light she was compared to the last time they had tangled before she forced thoughts about how malnourished the other woman was out of her head. Gaping stomach wound first, she thought as she swung her leg over Mirshko's back and clicked her tongue. He rose to his feet under her as she wrapped her arms around Shin's waist to keep her close, and then kicked her heels into the Howler's flank. They left the battle behind, and sprinted towards the T6.

Shin woke slowly and painfully. Her insides were on fire and her head throbbed at the over-bright ceiling lights. Panic set in when she didn't recognise the room she was in, and she tried to cry out through a parched and scratched throat. All she managed was a hoarse grunt, but it got the attention of whoever was in the room with her.

"Lady Hati," a blurry grey and white shape said, in a voice that Shin guessed was meant to be soothing. "Please relax."

Shin tried to reach out and crush it with the Force, but her arms were bound to the bed and no amount of straining would break their hold, not while she was so weak. She screamed again, and this time managed a cracked and broken howl.

"The bindings are for your own safety, as well as mine," the droid explained. "Lady Wren extends her apologies. In fact, perhaps I should fetch her."

Shin barely heard the droid, and ignored the sound of the door opening and closing, focusing instead on blinking her eyes into focus. Once she could see, she could block out the pain, and once she could block out the pain, she could escape her bindings, and then she could slaughter her way out.

She shook her head as her vision cleared, and a smudge of colour caught her eye. On the wall by the bed, someone had drawn a lothcat. She recognised it from the first time she had met Sabine Wren, underneath that transmission tower so long ago. So far away. The drawing was close to where her hands were bound, and she could just trace the edges of them with one of her fingers if she stretched it. It was the Mandalorian's handiwork, that was clear, and she realised with a strange spike of a feeling she had no name for that she was lying in her bed. She remembered Feldspar spearing her and leaving her for dead. She remembered Sabine. She had stared up into her warm brown eyes as rainwater ran down out of her hair and wondered how she had ever wanted to kill her.

"Shin?"

It was her. She didn't need to turn her head to know, though she had never heard her voice strain that way before. She didn't know what she could possibly say and kept her eyes fixed on the lothcat drawing on the wall rather than face those eyes again.

Sabine looked down at her. Without a bacta tank, Huyang had assured her his surgery skills could save her life and banished her from her own room while he knitted her back together. Shin looked so weak it was hard to believe she could ever be dangerous. Sabine knew she was, even now, tied down and wracked by pain, but it didn't stop her. She pulled the desk chair over from the other side of the room and sat down at Shin's side.

"I'm going to stay here," she said softly, when Shin still refused to take her eyes off the little drawing of Murley on the wall. Cautiously, she rested her hand on Shin's wrist. It reminded her of the way Shin had led her around on Elsbeth's ship when she was a prisoner, and hoped Shin would be able to take something of the same strange comfort she had felt from her then.

After a long moment, Shin nodded.

#wolfwren #sabine x shin #sabine wren #shin hati #star wars #ahsoka #writing #fanfic #ahsoka series #huyang #ahsoka theories #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno3 #used as bait #shin hati needs a hug

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seagull-energy · 7 months

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Just realized that now is a great time to post this piece from 2022!

(a couple days late but oh well)

"Treebeard strode up the slope, hardly slackening his pace. Suddenly before them the hobbits saw a wide opening. Two great trees stood there, one on either side, like living gate-posts; but there was no gate save their crossing and interwoven boughs. As the old Ent approached, the trees lifted up their branches, and all their leaves quivered and rustled. For they were evergreen trees, and their leaves were dark and polished, and gleamed in the twilight. Beyond them was a wide level space, as though the floor of a great hall had been cut in the side of the hill. On either hand the walls sloped upwards, until they were fifty feet high or more, and along each wall stood an aisle of trees that also increased in height as they marched inwards. At the far end the rock-wall was sheer, but at the bottom it had been hollowed back into a shallow bay with an arched roof: the only roof of the hall, save the branches of the trees, which at the inner end overshadowed all the ground leaving only a broad open path in the middle. A little stream escaped from the springs above, and leaving the main water, fell tinkling down the sheer face of the wall, pouring in silver drops, like a fine curtain in front of the arched bay. The water was gathered again into a stone basin in the floor between the trees, and thence it spilled and flowed away beside the open path, out to rejoin the Entwash in its journey through the forest. 'Hm! Here we are!' said Treebeard, breaking his long silence. 'I have brought you about seventy thousand ent-strides, but what that comes to in the measurement of your land I do not know. Anyhow we are near the roots of the Last Mountain. Part of the name of this place might be Wellinghall, if it were turned into your language. I like it. We will stay here tonight.' He set them down on the grass between the aisles of the trees, and they followed him towards the great arch. The hobbits now noticed that as he walked his knees hardly bent, but his legs opened in a great stride. He planted his big toes (and they were indeed big, and very broad) on the ground first, before any other part of his feet. For a moment Treebeard stood under the rain of the falling spring, and took a deep breath; then he laughed, and passed inside. A great stone table stood there, but no chairs. At the back of the bay it was already quite dark. Treebeard lifted two great vessels and stood them on the table. They seemed to be filled with water; but he held his hands over them, and immediately they began to glow, one with a golden and the other with a rich green light; and the blending of the two lights lit the bay, as if the sun of summer was shining through a roof of young leaves. Looking back, the hobbits saw that the trees in the court had also begun to glow, faintly at first, but steadily quickening, until every leaf was edged with light: some green, some gold, some red as copper; while the tree-trunks looked like pillars moulded out of luminous stone."

-- JRR Tolkien, The Two Towers

#lotr #lotr newsletter #seagull.art #merry brandybuck #pippin took #treebeard

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just-here-with-my-thoughts · 7 months

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Day 24: "I'm doing this because I care about you" / Victim Blaming

@febuwhump prompt: "I'm doing this because I care about you" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Victim Blaming

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Cadet Crosshair, Cadet Hunter, Cadet Wrecker, Cadet Tech Cadet Batch as featured in my WIP fic 'Pieces of the People We Love' - haven't read it? All you need to know is that Crosshair is the oldest, and Hunter is the youngest! Word Count: ~1725 Click here to read on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair is severe and unyielding when it comes to dealing with a headlice infestation.

“Headlice treatment,” Tech read from the bottle’s label. “To be applied weekly until infestation is cleared.”

Wrecker grinned broadly, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. Cropping his hair back to his scalp had some advantages.

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” said Crosshair, scowling as he caught himself itching his nape and forcing his hand back down to his side. “So what do you do? Just… use it like soap?”

“It is a little more complex than that,” said Tech, turning the bottle over. “The lotion has to be left on the hair to act, followed by a thorough fine combing to remove as many lice and eggs as possible.”

“You got eggs in your hair?” sniggered Wrecker. Crosshair punched him in the shoulder to shut him up.

Hunter took the bottle from Tech’s hands, reading the label for himself. “Do you… d’you have to do the combing step?” he asked with an apprehensive grimace.

“Yes,” said Tech firmly, snatching the bottle back. “And if you would comb your hair daily then it wouldn’t seem like such an ordeal to get the tangles out.”

Crosshair threw an arm round Hunter’s shoulders, ruffling his hair and feeling his fingers catch in the knots. “He’s right,” he said with a merciless grin. “This is going to be agony.”

Hunter moaned and clamped his hands to his head, shielding his matted hair. Wrecker bellowed a laugh at the distressed look on the youngest’s face.

“Let’s start with your hair, Hunter, since it’s likely to take the longest,” sighed Tech, eyeing Hunter’s shoulder-length locks. “At least Crosshair and I should have an easier time of the treatment.”

Hunter reluctantly allowed himself to be guided to the freshers, stripped to his waist and with a towel thrown round his shoulders.

“The lotion is to be applied directly to the scalp and left to saturate the roots,” explained Tech, cracking the seal on the bottle and twisting off the lid.

The pungent chemical scent hit all of them. Tech covered his mouth and Crosshair wrinkled his nose in disgust – even Wrecker, leaning in the doorway, wafted a hand in front of his face in objection.

Hunter paled under his tanned skin. Then he was shoving past his brothers, promptly emptying his stomach into the basin.

“Hunter!” and “Eugh!” and “Gross!” echoed simultaneously from the three other enhanced cadets. Tech quickly stoppered the bottle, although the acrid fumes lingered in the small fresher room, mingling with the stale smell of Hunter’s vomit.

The dark lineart of his tattoo stood out against Hunter’s pallor as he turned back to face the others, wide-eyed panic painted on his face. “You can’t put that stuff on my hair,” he pleaded, pointing shakily at the offending bottle. “You can’t. The smell will kill me!”

“Stop being so dramatic,” scolded Tech, although he backpedalled towards Wrecker and the door as a sympathetic wave of nausea made him gag. “We all have to have the treatment. Otherwise Crosshair and I will continue to catch headlice from you, even if we clear our own infestations.”

Crosshair chucked a towel at Hunter. “Clean the sink, then meet us back out here,” he said, eyes narrowed in a familiar glare. “I’ll think of something.”

Twenty minutes later Hunter slunk out of the fresher and back into the bunk room, his colour looking a little better.

Crosshair, Tech and Wrecker quickly straightened from where they had been clustered in deep discussion. Hunter shot them a mistrustful look.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve got a plan,” announced Crosshair.

“And?”

Crosshair pounced.

It was only Hunter’s recent nausea that let Crosshair catch him unawares. The taller clone knocked his brother to the floor, immediately moving to grab his arms.

“Crosshair!” Hunter yelled, the name a curse as he bucked wildly and came close to shaking the older boy off. Crosshair responded by flipping Hunter to his front, quickly wrenching his arms up behind him and placing a knee firmly on his back, leaning all of his weight into it to keep Hunter pinned.

“If you can’t handle the lotion treatment,” said Crosshair, baring his teeth in a humourless grin as he fought to still his ferocious younger brother, “we’re going to go for the Wrecker special.”

Hunter wrenched his head to the side, gazing in terror up at Wrecker’s shaved head. “You wouldn’t dare,” he snarled, trying and failing to twist away.

“Wrecker?” said Crosshair, almost casually.

Wrecker grinned at his cue, cricking his neck and sauntering over with the clippers in one hand. Hunter renewed his struggle in earnest as the blades whirred to life.

“I feel somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of forcing this on Hunter against his will,” protested Tech from several feet away.

“If you’re not going to help just keep your mouth shut,” hissed Crosshair. Awkwardly he locked both Hunter’s arms with one of his and with his newly freed hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding his head in place.

“I’ll use the lotion! I’ll use it!” howled Hunter.

Crosshair scoffed. “You threw up just at the smell of it!”

“I’ll… I’ll put up with it! I can! Please, Cross–”

“And having your hair combed?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Crosshair!” Hunter’s pleas were rapidly dissolving into sobs. “I’ll do it, I’ll use the lotion, I’ll comb my hair. Please don’t cut it!”

Now Wrecker hesitated, crouched by Hunter’s head and looking to Crosshair for guidance. “Whaddya say, Cross? Gonna let him up?”

“To be applied weekly,” Crosshair quoted. “You’ve got long hair. It will take weeks.”

“I’ll do it!”

“I’m not having you throwing up and sick every week!” Crosshair dug his knee more firmly into Hunter’s spine, drawing a whimper of pain from the boy. “Your hair will grow back. Probably quicker than you’d get rid of the lice.”

For a moment he loosened his grip on Hunter’s hair, stroking his scalp almost soothingly. Then he twisted his fingers into place once more, glancing at Wrecker with a nod.

“I’m doing this because I care about you,” he ground out through gritted teeth, ignoring Hunter’s sobs as Wrecker started to shave great hanks of hair from Hunter’s head. “Better this than weeks of sickness.”

By the time they were done the humour had faded from the situation. Wrecker looked solemn as he made a final untidy pass over Hunter’s shorn head. Tech had retreated to his bunk, curled up with his back to the others and headphones turned up so loud the noise spilled into the now-quiet room.

Beneath Crosshair’s weight Hunter’s fight had subsided to piteous submission. Crosshair knew Hunter hated having the clippers near his head. Hated the noise, hated the faint electromagnetic field from their power-pack. They had cut Hunter’s hair once before. Only once.

Wrecker shut off the clippers and rocked back on his heels. “There. All done.”

Crosshair ran his hand across Hunter’s unevenly clipped hair, making a soothing noise. “Hey. It’s over. You’re okay,” he murmured softly, gently easing himself up to free the younger boy.

Hunter curled in on himself, hunched over his knees and wrapping his arms tightly round his chest.

“I hate you Crosshair.”

It was a venomous whisper. Crosshair looked taken aback and glanced at Wrecker for support.

“It’s better this way,” he repeated, but there was a note of doubt in his voice. “Better than the lotion making you sick.”

Hunter pushed to his feet, keeping his head tucked down and shoulders hunched defensively. He grabbed a clean shirt from his bunk without a word and let himself out of the room.

Crosshair watched him go in bewildered silence. Beside him Wrecker toyed with the clippers, and used his toe to nudge Hunter’s shorn locks into a single pile.

Glancing over, Tech removed his headphones and stood.

“If you’re quite done with that drama, perhaps we can treat our headlice now.”

Crosshair followed him to the bathroom without comment.

The scent of the lotion made him gag as he applied it, but he breathed shallowly through his mouth and scrubbed it into the roots of his close-cropped hair. Tech busied himself with his datapad, refusing to look at Crosshair. Crosshair didn’t like that. It gave him time to think.

He wouldn’t apologise. He wouldn’t. He was right. This was better for Hunter.

He cared for Hunter. Cared too much. Had felt a jolt of panic when the fumes had made Hunter throw up.

No matter how Hunter felt about it, this was the best option.

As he stood in the fresher, feeling sick to his stomach, he tried to tell himself it was the lotion that made his sensitive eyes water.

Not Hunter’s hurt and fear.

Not the way Hunter had fled without a backwards glance.

“Crosshair? Time to comb your hair.”

He followed Tech’s instructions numbly, scraping the fine-toothed comb through his silvery hair in careful sections until his whole scalp prickled. Then he leaned his head over the sink, lathering shampoo into his hair and rinsing it again and again until the chemical smell no longer lingered.

Until he thought the smell no longer lingered. Who knew what Hunter would think.

“It’s Hunter’s fault,” he announced, unprompted. “If he didn’t have such long hair it would have been easier to treat. Probably wouldn’t have caught lice in the first place.”

“Do you really believe that?” asked Tech cooly. He kept his attention fixed on his own reflection, combing through his hair with painstaking precision.

“Yes,” snarled Crosshair defensively. Yes, he did believe it. Had to believe it.

He busied himself towelling his hair roughly, so he didn’t have to look at Tech as he asked his next question.

“Hunter will get over this, right?”

Tech was silent until Crosshair peeked out from under the towel. He was staring at Crosshair in the mirror above the sink.

“Hunter’s hair will grow back,” said Tech, in a flat tone of voice that filled Crosshair with dread.

The young engineer grabbed his own towel and moved to the door.

“His trust… I don’t know.”

Crosshair watched Tech go. Watched the empty doorway for a while. Eventually he moved to the door and shut it, engaging the lock.

The privacy gave him chance to sift through his thoughts.

He sat with his back to the door for a long time, listening for Hunter’s return.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday24 #“i'm doing this because i care about you”#badthingshappenbingo #victim blaming #the bad batch #tbb fanfic #cadet batch #headlice #just_thoughts

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sio-writes · 1 month

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Blood and Bourbon - Prologue

Hello everyone! I'd like to introduce my new story: Blood and Bourbon, about a vampire and his immortal partner as they work through their blossoming relationship while also investigating a mysterious organization that's somehow connected to Elliot's past. (m/m, slow-burn, PWP, romantasy, eventual BDSM, horror vibes)

(Also, I'm trying more spaced out paragraphs since I've moved all my writing to Obsidian, if it sucks visually please let me know!)

1813

As Elliot carefully picks his way down the trellis outside his bedroom window, his mind wanders with all the possibilities of being caught. Lord Damien could be waiting by his feet, invisible and watching him like he enjoys doing. The staff could be waiting for him at the property line, their looks of sympathy doing nothing to ease the panic Elliot will surely feel upon being returned to the manor. Or, his mind helpfully supplies, they could send the dogs after him. That would be a real treat. Their teeth hurt his newly turned flesh, he'll heal-- as always-- but that doesn't erase the anxious swirl of thoughts in the basin of his mind.

His feet hit solid ground, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then another, and another. Elliot's standing around like an idiot when he should be *running*. So he breaks out into a sprint through the south garden.

The night is still and his senses are sharp. The air smells like fresh water and the half-moon is just bright enough to light his way. Were he human, it would be nearly impossible to navigate the darkness, but Elliot hasn't been human in nearly 200 years.

It shouldn't be this easy, there has to be a catch. He's waiting for an alarm, the barking of the dogs, a yell from one of the staff, anything. But all he can hear is the creaking of the frogs down by the lake. It's suspiciously quiet, but Elliot won't take this gift for granted, so he runs.

He makes a break across the next side of the gardens, weaving in and out of the shoulder-high rose bush maze in the pattern he's had memorized for years. Left, right, two lefts, right, repeat. His bag of essentials sounds louder with each step, and the stolen supply of blood sloshes back and forth against the outside of his leg. He had to leave his favorite clothes in his room, only taking the most ordinary pieces he could find to help him blend in. His current outfit is outdated by about a century, but if Elliot follows the river downstream, he won't run into any people until he hits the coast. He can worry about his fashion sense later.

The tree line is in sight, only a field of grass several dozen meters wide stands in the way. The moon pop out from behind a cloud and turns the grass silver, like a giant serving platter. It's so open, so vulnerable, if anyone saw him out here, he'll never see daylight again. No, he has to go now.

Elliot runs so fast he feels his feet as they begin to lift off the ground. He's not as practiced at flying as he is his other powers, but he's going faster in the air, and that's the priority. He's across the field record time, and easily covered by the trees. He's at the edge of the property.

Go, go, go! his brain screams at him, but his feet aren't listening. They've stopped, rooted to the ground once more and firmly locked in place. He's just standing there, still as the statues in the gallery.

There's no other home for him, no one to take him in. His family is long gone, the village he grew up in is now a large town full of strange people with strange customs. He doesn't know anyone other than the manor staff and Lord Damien himself. Where will he go? What will he do? Can he do anything? He'll be alone.

Elliot fiddles with the strap of his bag, unsure of the answers to any of those questions as he watches the manor from a distance. The candle he placed in his window is lit, and he can see a second phantom glow on one of the lower floors, one of the staff members most likely. He's not worried about the staff member, no one checks on him past sundown anyway.

The manor is huge and dark, even from this distance, a behemoth of stone masonry and a shameless display of wealth. He can't go back, he can't stay with Lord Damien, not for a moment, not for anything the world.

Elliot takes one last look at his only home, and then turns on his heel and starts off in the woods. Waiting for the other show to drop, unable to shake the feeling that he's being watched.

Chapter 1>>

#my writing #Blood and Bourbon #exophillia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #vampire #Vampire romance

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toasterdrake · 1 year

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Doric x gn!Reader - helping when her arm is strained from an injury

Simon's healing spell had been lacking. Healing wasn't his strongest suit, and his strongest suit was questionable at best. Time would be the best nurse.

Regardless, Doric was impatient. She despised her own crippling weakness, and tried to ignore its existence. Unfortunately, her injury was very real, insistent, and certainly not ignoring her.

Her most pressing issue as of now, Doric was annoyed she hadn't been able to wash her hair, something she took great care to maintain. An incapacitated arm would not stop her -- other simple tasks may have been difficult, but she had triumphed over those as well.

Slipping out of your shared room in the tavern, Doric set out to find the washroom, intent on addressing her needs herself despite the party's offers.

Your dreams had been restless, your sleep light. Having awoken to creaking bed springs, in the semi-darkness you watched Doric's silhouette creep into the hallway, the door's latch falling softly.

After a beat, you rose from your own bed. You couldn't help but feel protective when Doric was this vulnerable. It didn't help that recently she'd made a habit of only hurting herself further in her insistence to act unhindered.

Feeling your way along the wall as your eyes adjusted to the low light of the hallway, you followed Doric's track. She was easy enough to locate, a significant indicator of her presence that of candelight spilling from beneath a closed door.

Armour discarded for the sake of comfortable rest, Doric's tunic was folded by the side of the sink, leaving the druid in only her bindings. It must've hurt to wriggle out of her tunic, if her quiet attempts to shed her armour earlier that night were any indication.

Copper hair darkened and slick, rivulets of water weaved between the map of freckles across her pale shoulders. Her horns gleamed in the glow of a single candle's flickering flame, and the dark pupils of her eyes were blown wide; cobalt almost sapphire.

Leaning on the door frame, you regarded her. She didn't seem bothered to be shirtless in front of you, so you didn't make a thing of it.

"You're being foolish."

Doric rolled her eyes and scoffed. "It's a simple task."

You hummed. "Maybe so, but it's one you can't do yourself right now." Taking a step closer, you eased the door closed behind you. "You're halfway there already, so just let me help."

"If I'm halfway there then let me finish." Doric retorted, dismissing you by facing the basin.

Alas, the next stretch of her task was easily the most difficult. Doric eyed the soap bar, then turned back to you.

"You'll tell no one about this."

"Fine by me," you said, cracking a smile.

Sitting on a three-legged stool, Doric leaned back over the basin, bracing her arms on either side of the table. This was your wordless permission to begin. Every muscle in Doric's body was tense, and she glared fixedly at the splintered ceiling as you walked over.

Lathering soap onto your hands first, you started at her temples; massaging in little circles with your fingertips. This carried you down to the nape of her neck, and thus to the ends of her hair, which led you back up to her roots. Doric's eyes fluttered.

Working around her horns was simple enough, though the thought crossed your mind to ask if they needed maintenance as well; oil, or whatever else? Ultimately, you decided not to overstep your welcome and leave her care to herself. There would be another time.

In no time at all -- or a good hour later, neither of you knew -- all that remained was to wash out the soap with clean water. Shielding her eyes with one hand, you worked through Doric's hair until confident it was free of suds. Then, allowing the druid to lift her head at long last, you dragged another stool over, having aquired a towel.

Despite not being of the finest quality, the towel did its job well enough. Minutes ticked by as you made every laborious effort, Doric growing fonder of your care with every second. At the cost of your time, a simple task had been made simple again.

Carefully dried now, Doric's hair was crazily soft. Doric seemed content with your attention now, as she had no complaints when you picked up the horsehair brush leaning against the basin, a low steady purr rumbling in her throat instead.

Carding your fingers through her hair a final time, a grand opportunity had been presented to you. Sparing a few extra seconds, your fingers worked nimbly to weave a small braid just behind her ear. Unnoticed by the extremely relaxed tiefling, you tied it off with a strand of your own hair, enjoying how your shade complemented hers.

Delusions kept private, you shook Doric awake -- the late hour and calming ministrations had allowed her to drift into a much-needed rest. Her jaw cracked with a yawn as you helped her get her tunic over her shoulders. Asleep on her feet, you guided her back down the hallway by the light of the candle.

"Thanks," Doric spared a moment to murmur before dropping onto her bed, injured arm out at an angle.

"My pleasure," you whispered back amidst her gentle snores.

Blowing out the candle, you climbed into your own covers, wide awake, heart hammering. You brought your hands up to your burning cheeks, closing your eyes tightly.

#dndhat #doric the druid #dndhat doric #doric x reader #doric imagine #doric x gn reader #doric x fem reader #doric x male reader #dndhat x reader #dndhat imagine

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arthenaa · 1 year

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Upcoming Auror! Sebastian Sallow x Auror! Reader Fic Details <3

Hi guys! As some of you may know, I'll be doing a Seb Auror Fic soon which will be based in the Philippines <3. Since there's no wizarding lore yet in the PH, i've decided to set the setting first before moving w the story. Here are the details below!!

MOODBOARD

Setting:

Mid-1800s, Philippines.

Hogwarts Legacy Setting will be adjusted slightly before the events of the fiction. (At this point I suggest just not getting into it too much im getting confused as well lmfao)

Details:

(About the Filipino Wizarding Community)

Philippine Magic has deep roots in the dark arts. Wizards and Witches back then often used and were masters in the arts of dark magic. It was often a misconception that the dark arts were inherently evil and while it did hold some truth to it, it all depends on how it's used. Filipino Wizards and Witches value the proper use of dark magic to use it to help people rather than harm them. However due to the misuse of said magic because of its great power, there is then a rise of magic users who seem to use it for personal gain. So these Wizards and Witches adapted their form of dark arts into the magic that can help combat sinister magic. This evolved into healing magic which is the main core of Filipino wizardry.

Marahuyo en Mahika Akademya | Philippine School of Wizardry

(place of reference: University of Santo Tomas)

A school formed to preserve the ancestral magic and history of Filipino Wizardry, Marahuyo en Mahika Akademya is a School of Magic for Wizards and Witches in the Philippines. Founded by Maria Ana Flordeliza Santos, she opened the gates to magic users so that they may expand their knowledge, academic prowess, and capabilities in the field of magic. The school's patron deity is Bathala, the god of creation and the being who granted mahika to the people.

The process of acceptance is quite peculiar. At the young age of 11 is when young wizards and witches will be doing a sacred ritual also known as Pagtawas. While the ritual is used to detect supernatural illnesses, it also detects magical traces within the person. It is a form of healing and a sacred ritual to determine one's fate. A piece of the person's hair will be burned on a special type of candle and then its wax will be poured into a basin. If the wax produces an image or a form according to the person's true self (some form a type of animal or plant) then the person does indeed have magic. If nothing happens, there is no magic within them. From then on, their parents will be responsible for the basic magic curriculum. At the age of 15, they will then be brought to the Akademya by carriages driven by the Tikbalang tribe. They have 5 years of magical curriculum to learn during their stay there. There are three houses to be sorted in Marahuyo en Mahika;

Mayari

known for their bravery, strength, determination, ability to excel in their most desired fields and leadership. They are categorized as the warriors.

Colors: Navy Blue and Beige

Hanan

known for their optimism in the unknown, courage in taking risks, perseverance amidst challenges, and an open perspective in life. They are categorized as the pillars.

Colors: Gold and Bronze

Tala

known for their willingness in helping others, their need for knowledge, vast creativity, and wisdom. They are categorized as the shepherds.

Colors: Cyan and Silver

Philippine Bureau of Magic and Wizardry (aka PhilMaj)

(place of reference: Las Casas Filipinas De Acuzar)

The official governing office of the Philippine Wizarding Community. Inspired by Britain and America's Ministries of Magic, the PhilMaj was to be open not only to the PhilMaj community but to wizards all over the world thus the name in English. Founded by the 5 great Maharlikas (aka Aurors), the organization was created to protect the Filipino Wizarding Community from outside threats which includes 'SeroMahi' (Sero (Zero), Mahika (Magic) or the Muggles basically).

The PhilMaj exists independently and separates themselves from their seromahi counterparts as they see seromahis as a threat to their existence if they are to be found. With the Philippines experiencing a great force of oppression from outsiders, PhilMaj has done its best to stay hidden and away from its affairs (they are specifically known to hide too well that they have not encountered any type of exposure to the seromahi community. They, unfortunately, have strict rules regarding wizard —seromahi relationships and usually wizards or witches with mixed bloodlines take long processes to enter PhilMaj. MaraMahika (school) is an exception as it accepts all magic users despite their blood lineage).

Aurors also known as Maharlikas are divided in Divisions. Division I is for investigation, Division II is for order and Division III is social relations.

PhilMaj has different departments to tend to concerns.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Department of Protection of Magical Tribes and Folk

Department of Control and Care for Magical Creatures

Department of International Social Relations

Department of Magical Education

Department of Magical Businesses and Endeavors

Department of Magical Transportation and Building

Department of Recruitment and Referrals of Wizards and Witches

Department of Mysteries

Current location of PhilMaj is in Manila, Philippines. (Guarded by the Siyokoy Tribe in the waters of Manila Bay, the waters open like a door as it parts the way underground where the PhilMaj Headquarters reside)

____________________________________________

A/N: i have a shit ton of details in my notes but im sharing the general lore or idea of the magic world in the philippines. this counts as a teaser as well 😎 lmk if i've miswritten something or if some things dont line up. you guys can add ideas as well and ill add them in my notes hehe (if you wish to be included in this fic's taglist, reply to this post or any of my posts regarding this fic ty !!)

#arthenaa #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy x reader #sebastian sallow x reader #arthenaa auror seb fic #teaser

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the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep · 5 months

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Alchemy 410, Chapter 2: Botany

SUMMARY: Illyth Arabana and Gale Dekarios can’t be in the same room without wanting to throttle each other. Can they survive being lab partners in their fourth year alchemy class? In this chapter, Gale and Illyth squabble in the botany lab, but share a moment of unexpected tenderness in the dark streets of Waterdeep.

RATING: M

PAIRING: Gale x OC

TAGS: Enemies to friends to lovers, pre-canon, Gale in university/college, eventual smut, slow-ish burn

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

Chapter 1

Illyth bit her lower lip thoughtfully as she perused the collection of herbs and fungi in the botany lab’s supply room.

“How much of the spawn vine do we need?” she asked Gale, who stood behind her, holding the potion’s component list.

Gale hummed to himself as he scanned the list of plant samples needed for the draught of truth. “Twenty grams exactly,” he replied with a matter of fact tone. “Did you know that spawn vine can only be grown in sub-tropical climates? They must be harvested before dawn, lest the plant cutting degrade under sunlight.”

Illyth sighed inwardly. There he goes again, she thought to herself. It’s barely worth the energy to interrupt him.

She gave him a soft hum of acknowledgment as she retrieved a dark green jar of spawn vine and a pair of small tongs with which to select an ideal specimen. She set the jar beside the scale and weigh basins and continued to look for the specimen they needed.

“Spawn vine… sparrow beak… squid ink…,” Illyth read aloud in a low voice, looking for starborn flax. Her eyes and fingers scanned the shelves.

Behind her, Gale had fallen silent for a change. He listened to the soft sound of Illyth’s voice reading each specimen jar. For someone who sounded so irritable most of the time, her voice had a soothing quality to it that Gale never noticed before.

“Aha!” the drow breathed, grinning as she found the starborn flax. “Whoever was in here either can’t spell or just doesn’t give a two-headed rat’s ass about being orderly.” Illyth held up yet another small jar and smirked. “I found it behind the zephyr root.”

Gale stifled a chuckle. Illyth’s sharp tongue produced the most unique figures of speech, even if they were often directed at him. “People are hardly careful in here. It’s a pity. One time, I was in here in search of a weavemoss specimen and someone let loose an army of small frogs that damaged all of the storage jars with all of their hopping about.”

Illyth gave him a sideways glance as she measured out the samples into a weigh basin. “I heard that was you.”

Gale scowled. “Absolutely not!” he retorted. “I would never make such an elementary mistake.”

Illyth snickered as she placed the starborn flax into a velvet pouch that she produced from her robe pocket. “I’m teasing you. It’s too much fun to get you all riled up.”

Gale rolled his eyes. He resolved to find a way to get back at her. Not in a way that would cause irreparable harm to her person, but just enough to strike back a little bit.

“I haven’t seen your cat lately,” Illyth remarked. “Where’s she?”

“She’s not a cat, she’s a tressym. And you know that,” Gale hissed. “She’s home with my mother, I’ll have you know. She visits whenever she wishes, or when Mother sends her to keep an eye on me.”

“After the whole affair with the death slaad, somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Illyth murmured as she continued to weigh out the last of the spawn vine. “Someone has to babysit you, after all.”

“That’s enough from you,” Gale snapped irritably. “Gods, you’re insufferable. Do you know that?”

“I save only my best for you, Dekarios,” Illyth grinned impishly as she turned to put away the specimen jars.

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

“Is this guy even real or was this just a ploy to make me stand around in the rain?” Illyth asked Gale over the rain’s deafening drone. The two of them stood under an arcane dome, which managed to keep them dry enough, yet the dampness that surrounded them seemed to seep into Illyth’s bones.

“Do they not have rain back in the Underdark?” Gale snickered. “You’re worse than my Aunt Gilda at tolerating even the slightest chill.”

Illyth rolled her eyes, but said nothing. A steely silence grew between the two of them, filled only by the thrum of the rain on the dome. The streets of Waterdeep were largely vacant at this hour, save for the pubs, which were always full of garrulous throngs of patrons. Illyth could smell the stale, beery stench of old ale from the pub across from where they stood. It was a foul, but comforting smell; one that served as a gentle reminder that she was still entitled to a good time now and again.

“I’m guessing you have an apprenticeship lined up already,” Illyth said, her question sounding more like a statement of fact than an actual inquiry. They would both be graduating in Mirtul, which was only three months away.

“Oh, yes,” Gale replied. “Elminster shall be coming from Silverymoon directly following graduation. From there, I shall study under him, learn all that I can, and conduct only the finest research.”

He looked over to Illyth, who still stood shivering next to him. In the flickering lamplight from the street lamp beside them, she looked uncharacteristically vulnerable. Even Illyth’s stocky build seemed much reduced. It was if she was shrinking into herself.

“And yourself?”

Illyth’s eyes flicked away, looking back out at the pub. “No. Nothing right now.”

Gale felt his cheeks redden. His connections and prodigious talent earned him the attention of so many mentors. Illyth, while nearly as brilliant as he was, seemed to struggle to be given more than a passing glance.

“I-I see,” Gale stammered uncomfortably. “It was not my intention to —“

“It’s fine,” Illyth interrupted. “There’s still plenty of time.” This was a lie, however. Most of her classmates had accepted clerkships, apprenticeships, or jobs after they graduated. By now, all of the slots had been filled. There was nothing left but scraps.

“You’ll find something,” Gale said reassuringly. “You’re an intelligent woman, Illyth. Anyone would be a fool to overlook that.”

Illyth felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. She could tell Gale wasn’t saying that to placate her or make himself feel better for having caused an awkward situation. It was genuine.

“Thanks,” she said finally.

“You needn’t thank me for reiterating the truth,” Gale replied. His eyes brightened with recognition as a halfling meandered up to them.

“Arrare,” Gale greeted the halfling. “You have the beholder’s eyestalk, yes?”

“Would I be traipsing about in the rain if I didn’t?” Arrare replied dryly. He produced a small pouch from his gambeson pocket and handed it over to Gale, who exchanged him a few coins.

“Tell your family I said ‘hello’,” Gale called after Arrare as he disappeared off into the rain.

“So that’s that,” Illyth sighed. “Acquisition complete.”

Gale nodded in agreement as he looked at the dried eyestalk. “Not the most impeccable specimen, but it shall do the trick.”

“Great. Can we go? I’m about to freeze to death out here,” Illyth griped.

“Alright, alright,” Gale chuckled. As the two of them walked back down the street, the protective dome followed them. Rain continued to pelt down on it, filling the silence that had once more formed between Gale and Illyth.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #baldur's gate #illyth id activity

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meliissa-art · 8 months

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Sakha's birth

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Note: Yakuts are also called Sakha. I prefer to use Sakha, as that is the name they commonly use. When I say "Yakuts", I am still talking about the Sakha people.

Another note: I created this post to explain the origin of an OC of mine, who is the personification of the Sakha people and the Republic of Sakha as well (. If you dont like the concept but you are interested in Sakha people's history, this post could still interest you.

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Even though there were yakuts before, I think Sakha was born around 1500. Of course, she does not know the exact year she was born, so this year is only a reference for estimating her age.

The origin of the Sakha / Yakuts, is extremely complex and has many theories. It is said that Yakuts came from the Kurykans, but at the same time, some sources say that they came from the Kurumchi, Tumats, and also the Ymyyakhtakh could also be their ancestors or related to them. The exact origin of the Sakha is still unknown, but they probably originated after the assimilation of different tribes.

The name "Sakha" itself and the Sakha people find their roots in the Turkic-dominated eastern part of the Scythian Confederation, referred to as "Saka" in contemporary Persian sources. These tribes later became part of the Tiele Confederation, settling west of Lake Baikal as Kurykan Tieles, and they could have evolved to the Sakha that migrated to the Lena Basin. Also, some scholars suggest that the Sakha could have also lived east of the Aral Sea.

As you may imagine, the Sakha were almost everywhere. So why did they migrate towards the Lena Basin? They probably did that because some tribes rebelled against Genghis Khan, such as the Tumats (who could be the ancestors of the modern Tuvan people), so its possible that Yakuts rebelled against him too.

Their migration to the Lena Basin coincided with the displacement of other Siberian tribes, such as Evenki and Even. As they settled around the Lena River, the Sakhas interacted with the Kulun-Atakh culture, which might have been assimilated by the Sakha over time.

By the way, I think Kulun-Atakh could also have been a nation, but maybe it didnt live for that long.

The Sakha Nation, as known today, is believed to have finalized its formation in the 16th century. During the early years, two important figures shaped their identity as we know it today, according to the legend: Omogoi Baay and Elley Bootur.

Omogoi Baay moved with his family and settled first in the Chara river, and then he was the first to settle in the Tuymaada Valley (where modern Yakustk is located). Omogoi Baay became rich and became rich. According to his father’s behest, Elley Bootur, who arrived from the south and became an employee of Omogoi, married Omogoy Baay’s daughter.

Elley Bootur also forged yakut's identity, as he introduced innovations in horse breeding, improved housing, dishes, and organized the first Ysyakhs (which are their main event, its like their New Year) . After himself, he left a large offspring, who later became the founders of the Sakhas.

Around 1500s, the Yakuts were the main tribe around the Lena, and eventually, in 1540 aprox., the Khangalas Toyonate was founded, under Munnan Darkhan's rule. During this time, the Yakut people we know today completed their formation, and Sakha, the Nation herself, was born.

Sakha herself was found in the Chara River's shore, where Omogoy Baay settled at first. After she was found, people realized soon she was not a normal baby, the Toyon Usa (the Yakut King) was informed.

Despite her eyes being dark brown, they have a purple highlight that shows if the light hits the charoite inclusions in her eyes. This purple glow is an indicator of her immortal nature.

(Note: in the Chara River there are deposits of a rare mineral called Charoite, which is purple.)

After she was found, she was taken care of by the King's family, as her mission was to become a great diplomat and warrior who could represent her people in the future, and protect them if needed.

I will talk in another post about her childhood, but for now, here is a post where I included two videos that talk further about her history:

https://www.tumblr.com/meliissa-art/738531636317224960/history-of-sakhayakutia?source=share

#aph sakha #hetalia sakha #hetalia #hws sakha #sakha #siberia #aph siberia #hws siberia #hetalia siberia #yakutia #history #siberian history #indigenous russia #north asia history

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quicksilverdrabbles · 1 year

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Shattered (1)

Taliesin: Ugh. How far away from the next town are we?

Kaidan: Nowhere close enough to get to shelter before nightfall. Guess we're making camp.

Morana: There's no need for that. We can use my master's old outpost nearby.

Lucien: Your-? Are you sure you're okay with being where your master lived?

Morana: It's fine. It's where I hid out after I destroyed his lab in Morrowind. Not really a... traumatic place for me, if that's what you're thinking.

Xelzaz: Still, I don't know..

Morana: It has a toilet. And bathtub.

Taliesin: I'm in.

Lucien: Let's get on with it.

Inigo: What are we waiting for?

Morana: *thumbs up* It's pretty close by. We'll be there before sundown.

Xelzaz: Your master was an alchemist as well, was he not? Does he have any special recipes or ingredients in this outpost?

Morana: He figured out a way to cultivate Jarrin Root. I've been meaning to go back and restock my supplies.

Xelzaz: Jarrin Root?! How on earth did he manage that??

Morana: I still haven't figured it out yet. He kept the plant in its own self-sufficient terrarium so I don't have to worry about taking care of it, but I've yet to be able to keep a new clipping alive.

Taliesin: How long have you been walking around with the most deadly plant on Tamriel in your pockets???

Morana: Since.. always?

Kaidan: Gods above, it's a wonder Styx hasn't gotten into it.

Morana: Styx is a good girl. And besides, I only actually use it against powerful enemies. Like giants, and now dragons... *sighs, head tilting down and away from them* .. He was a brilliant man, really. Horrible and cruel, but brilliant. He was even looking for a cure for the Afflicted of Peryite. Got pretty close too, until I killed him.

Lucien: Imagine what he could have done, if he had better methods..

Taliesin: I imagine he'd be revered as one of the world's greatest doctors.

Morana: ...

Morana: Watch your step. It's kind of dark inside, and it's a long fall if you trip on the staircase. Don't kill the frostbite spider, he's my pet. Eats all the skeevers that try to get in.

Lucien: That.. is a terrifying image.

Kaidan: It goes underground?

Inigo: Another ancient ruin, I imagine. Your master had an affinity for finding vacant buildings.

Taliesin: Yes, yes, very interesting. Where is this bathing room you say you have? My hair is an absolute birds' nest and must be remedied immediately.

Morana: First door when you enter the main room.

Taliesin: Excellent.

Morana: Everyone else can get comfortable. Yaksha, would you mind checking for injuries?

Yaksha: Of course. If anyone has any unusual pains, let me know, please.

Lucien: Oh, actually I've been getting the strangest throbbing on my leg-

Morana: *sighs, pulling her hood down and adjusting the circlet on her brow, setting her cane against the wall to sit on an armchair nearby*

Kaidan: Oh, getting comfy are we?

Morana: *nods* I figured I may as well, if we're spending the night.

Kaidan: You want dibs on the bath after Taliesin?

Morana: No, you can take it first. I need to sit down and drink some potions. It hurts today.

Kaidan: Oh.. alright. Is there anything I can get you?

Morana: ... Can you ask Xelzaz to make me half a honey-glazed roll, please?

Kaidan: Won't it upset your stomach?

Morana: Not if it's a small portion.

Kaidan: Aye, I'll see to it, then.

Taliesin: *walks out of the bathing room with an edgier than usual frown on his face*

Kaidan: Hm? What's up with you, ya' fucken grump? Morana didn't have your favorite scented soap?

Taliesin: Hmph. Your turn is next, is it not? Why don't you go in there and see what is 'up' with me.

Kaidan: ...? Alright, I'll bite.

Morana: *happily munching on half a honey roll, swinging one leg while her left sits perched on the table nearby*

Xelzaz: Good?

Morana: Mhm..

Kaidan: *walks into the bathing room, stopping in his tracks at what he sees in the corner. A mounted mirror, completely shattered. Shards of glass litter the bottom of the basin, with the pieces still hanging on to the frame cracked and splintered in a pattern like a spiderweb* ... What?

Taliesin: ... Raven?

Morana: Hm?

Taliesin: Can I.. ask you something?

Morana: Mhm. *pats the seat next to her, licking the remaining syrup off her fingers so she can sign properly* What's up?

Taliesin: ... How long has that mirror in the restroom been broken?

Morana: *frowns, shaking her head* It's been broken since I came here.

Taliesin: That's nonsense and you know it. Everything else in this place is in pristine condition. What once may have been broken has probably been fixed, all except that mirror.

Morana: ...

Taliesin: Did you break it? Intentionally, I mean.

Morana: What does it matter?

Taliesin: Answer the question, please.

Morana: You weren't even supposed to see it. It had a cloth over it for a reason.

Taliesin: ... Okay, that one's my fault, I'll admit that much.

Kaidan: *walks out of the bathroom* Hey, Morana? Can I ask you about the-

Morana: Did you tell Kai?!

Taliesin: Yes, okay, I am a horrible person! I was just-!

Morana: What, worried?? Did you think I was hiding something?

Kaidan: What?? No, he was probably just-

Morana: *whips around and glares at Kaidan* Stay out of it!

Kaidan: *raises his hands to his shoulders* Ah. Yeah, you're on your own with that one, Tal-a.

Taliesin: *deadpans* I'm ever so glad for your support, Kaidan.

Morana: Out with it!

Taliesin: Gods- Okay fine, I will admit I was worried. The cloth had fallen halfway off and I saw the broken glass- at first I was going to simply sweep the glass up so nobody hurt themselves, but then I saw the mirror and started thinking about the implications that might have gone with it-

Morana: I broke that mirror ages ago. Long before I met you or Kaidan or anyone. And even disregarding any implications- *her sign becomes more pointed and aggressive* It's none of your business.

Taliesin: If your health might be at risk, I would like to think it is my business! I'll not be parading around acting like nothing is wrong when there is still so much about your past you have not told us! We only know the least of what you've been through and the affects it has had on you! And that doesn't give me any cause to worry??

Morana: It's not just that, Tally, it's the fact that you smother me! You always just assume I need the help instead of asking! You jump in on fights I can handle or speak for me when I don't need you to!

Taliesin: I just want to help you! What's wrong with that?!

Morana: It makes me feel useless! It makes me feel like I can't go two fucking steps without needing to be coddled and I don't! I have bad days, but I've always had bad days, I can handle it! When Kaidan or Lucien or anyone else offers their help, they don't do it because they think I'm weak, but it just feels like you do! And they ask if I need help!

Taliesin: I- You don't-

Morana: And while we're on the subject of trust, Taliesin- *stands, leaning heavily on one leg and thrusting her finger into his chest* The names we share may not be our own, but at least I would tell you my name if I could remember it. I trust you enough for that. Not only do you think I am weak, but you don't think I'm someone worthy of that.

Taliesin: ...

Morana: *turns and snatches her cane, walking past him and pulling aside a curtain, revealing a bedroom before the door behind it slams shut*

Kaidan: ...

Xelzaz: ...

Taliesin: ... Damn it.. *runs a hand through his hair, looking stressed as he leaves the room*

Inigo: *staring at her bedroom door in shock* ... Uh. I could not catch all of that.

Lucien: I'll, uh.. I'll tell you later.

Inigo: .. I am going to go check on her.

#hehehe ✨️angst✨️#stuck in a hotel room all day so I'm just writing a lot lmao #skyrim #tes #the elder scrolls #modded skyrim #dragonborn #ldb oc #kaidan skyrim #lucien flavius #inigo skyrim #skyrim taliesin #yaksha skyrim #Morana oc #I feel like Tally would only swear in super emotional moments #xelzaz skyrim

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